Wake (76 page)

Jem doesn’t seem to feel weird about it, either. There’s no need to say it at every opportunity or write each other mushy love notes. We’re just coasting.

I’m fairly certain that I like it.

The girls are discussing summer fashions over lunch. Apparently pastel blue is popular at the moment.

I can’t believe anybody actually cares about this crap.

“So what’s with the gloves, anyway?”

I look up from my lunch to find Diane giving me a probing look across the table. She glances from my sea foam green gloves to my face and back again.

“I like them.”

“No, really. Your wardrobe is so emo. You never wear any color.”

Today’s outfit is pretty standard: gunmetal grey tee, black jeans, and a black hoodie. Everything I own is black and grey, except for my gloves and socks.

“You’re supposed to wear black when someone close to you dies.” I get falsely sympathetic eyes from Paige. I’m pretty sure Jem just roll ed his.

“Oh, right, your sister was sick,” Diane says. “
That’s
why you moved to New Brunswick.”

“Newfoundland.”

“Whatever, same difference.”

Jem is shaking his head at Diane like he thinks she’s an idiot. She is, but it’s rude to say so. I nudge his foot under the table.

“So what happened to her?”

“She died, obviously.”

“What did she have?”

“Cancer.”

Diane wrinkles her nose in an affected wince of sadness. “That’s what happens to smokers.”

“Want to know what happens to people who don’t know when to shut up?”

The feet of Jem’s chair scrape against the floor as he leans away from the table, holding his stomach.

He makes a sound of discomfort and everyone looks at him like he’s a bomb without a timer. Christ, what now?

Jem claims to be feeling unwell. “Walk with me to the nurse?”

I take what’s left of my lunch out of the cafeteria and dutifully walk with him. It means I’ll have to put off teaching Diane a lesson in manners, but she’ll be rude again in the future. I can be patient.

As soon as we’re beyond the cafeteria doors, Jem straightens up and walks like everything is just fine.

“You shouldn’t have to listen to that shit,” he says. “Who cares what Diane thinks of anything?” He faked a stomachache to give me an excuse to leave.

“Were you trying to protect me there?” That is both bizarre and completely unnecessary.

Jem smirks and takes my carton of milk out of my hand. “You looked like you were about to punch Diane in the face.” He’s not far off the mark; I was considering stabbing her hand with my fork.

“You don’t need to do that.”

Jem shrugs. “I’d do it again. Your mourning is none of her business.”

I take my milk back. The bastard drank the last of it. “Dude.”

“Want to go throw rocks at seagulls?”

Jem: June 1 to 4

Thursday Willa and I play checkers in the clinic. She’s really horrible at games of strategy, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen her fail hard at tic-tac-toe.

“Will you stop being so damn smug?” she snaps when she’s down to three pieces.

“This is smug?”

Willa gives me the finger and makes her move. Now she’s down to two pieces.

“You ass.”

I could be nice to her, but… “We should talk about plans for Sunday.”

Willa narrows her eyes at me. She knows I’m trying to annoy her. “What about it?” she says through her teeth.

“We’re doing lunch at The Circle?”

Willa stares at me like she can’t wait to get to the point. “Anything else, Captain of the Bloody Obvious?” I don’t think it fazes Willa that the only thing separating us from the other people in the Dialysis Clinic is a thin curtain. They can totally hear her filthy mouth.

“What would you like to do after? We could see a movie.”

“I want to hike the creek again,” she says. I wasn’t expecting that. She’s fought the whole notion of arbitrary anniversaries until this point; I didn’t expect her to suggest plans.

“The same one as last time?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s our place.” I can sort of see her perspective, wanting to return to the place where we first shared our secrets…where I said horrible things about her and she slapped me. Or maybe not.

“Are you sure?”

“We’ll bring enough water this time,” she promises.

“Alright.” I reach for her hand. “Thank you. It’s a date.”

“One other thing.”

“What?”

“My brother wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Are you serious?”

“I promise he won’t do any permanent damage. He might harass you a little, but he respects people who hold their ground.”

“Gee, thanks for that pearl of wisdom.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

Willa huffs and rolls her eyes. “I’m dating a third grader.”

I love pissing her off.

Friday My day has not officially begun until I get a hug from Willa. I find her in the parking lot—not so difficult, since I’m pretty sure her rattling muffler can be heard in Winnipeg—and get my morning hug. Willa has been surprisingly amenable to affection since we started dating, holding my hand and reciprocating hugs and kisses, but sometimes I wonder if she really wants to or if she does it to appease me. She doesn’t seem any happier or angrier than normal, just more demonstrative.

I mention that she’s been more open and affectionate lately as I kiss her good morning—a knot of freshman are openly staring. To hell with them. Willa shrugs and pinches my earlobe.

“You’re not something I need to hide from anymore.” The way her tone pitches up at the end makes it almost a question. I grin from ear to ear. She considers my arms a safe place. No more hiding her true self, no more defensive anger over shit that doesn’t matter. We’re finally on the same team. I have her trust and honesty, and those are a rare gift from Willa.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She pokes the corner of my grinning mouth.

“Too late.”

I know there is plenty that she still hides from, but I still feel good about this small change in her. She hasn’t been open with anyone else since Thomasina. It’s progress.

*

Cody has Diane’s cold now. Despite the fact that she should probably be in quarantine, she has decided to come to school again. I wonder if she’s even taking cold medicine, or if she’s playing up her symptoms on purpose to get sympathy and attention. Cody, at least, has a reason to be at school with a cold. He has a test he can’t miss, but he keeps a careful distance from everyone at lunch and at least he is taking something for the coughing.

Diane takes the empty chair beside Willa. I expect her to ask Diane to move or to get up and switch seats, but instead Willa puts her foot on the edge of Diane’s chair and physically pushes it about two feet to the left.

“Hey!”

“You’re invading my bubble.”

Whatever witty riposte Diane has ready is cut off by a massive sneeze that she barely bothers to cover.

“You’re phlegming all over the table!”

“No one needs to catch your cold before grad,” Paige interjects. Diane narrows her eyes and asks in a spitefull tone if Paige has found anyone to go with yet. She hasn’t, and it’s a sensitive subject with her, so Hannah does the gracious thing and interrupts the tension. While the chatter turns to movies, I study Willa. I promised her we’d make plans to avoid the grad dance. I’ll have to think of something special to do with her that night.

*

I’m due to arrive at the Kirk house at five for supper. I wear a nice shirt, but nix the idea of a tie. I don’t want to look like a kiss-ass. I ask Mom to give me a ride, mostly because I want to exploit her gentle presence to keep Frank Kirk from shooting me on sight.

“You seem nervous,” she says as we turn onto the Kirks’ street. I’ve met girlfriends’ parents before, but this is different. Frank already has a grudge against me and I know he’s suspicious of me as a cancer patient, like I might unintentionally hurt his sister with my health problems. I already have, so in a way he’s right. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“Not nervous, just terribly alert.”

Mom even offers to walk me to the door. Luckily it’s Willa that answers. She gives Mom a hug and extends the dinner invitation to her as well.

“Thank you, but I have to get back.” She gives me a hug goodbye and I almost wish she would stay.

“Is your brother in a good mood?” I whisper to Willa as I hug her hello. She just shrugs. Helpfull as ever, I see.

Frank is in the kitchen, sitting at the table and nursing a beer. He asks me if I want one, which seems like a pretty obvious trick question.

“No thank you, sir.” The man looks at me like I’m a strange, wild animal in his house that he isn’t sure how to deal with—whack it over the head with a basebal bat, or keep a door open and hope it leaves on its own? He sits there and stares at me while I make myself useful to Willa however I can, stirring pots, setting the table. She’s making beer batter fish and home cut fries for her brother, and barley with vegetables for me. She serves herself an equal portion of both my food and Frank’s, like she’s trying to be impartial.

Frank looks from the bowl of barley to me and something clicks behind his eyes.

“Is that some vegan…stuff?” he asks. Something tells me he had a different word than ‘stuff’ in mind.

“No, Frank, it’s just barley,” Willa said.

“Barley?”

“You’re drinking it,” she says before he can complain, and points to his beer. Frank doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look happy.

I like the barley dish, almost as much as I like the fact that Willa made solid food for me tonight. Eating soup in front of her brother, who already doesn’t like me because of my illness, wouldn’t do me any favors. The barley is bland and easy to chew, mixed with small slices of boiled celery, carrot and chickpeas. I detect a hint of lemon and ginger in the dressing.

“So, Jem, how are your parents?” And thus the inquisition begins.

“They’re doing well. My mom is working on plans to expand a school in Ottawa.”

“That must keep her busy.”

“It does.” She’s been singing in her office a lot, so that’s a good sign.

“And your dad?”

“Same as always. He likes working in Smiths Falls better than Ottawa—fewer violent injuries in the ER.” The crime rate in Smiths Falls is boringly low. The worst Dad sees are domestic and workplace accidents, and maybe the odd car crash.

“I there’s a nasty flu going around,” Frank says. "But I suppose that’s not something a surgeon would see much of.”

Willa rolls her eyes and says, “This bitch at school has it and is determined to infect us all.”

Frank casually scolds her for foul language and then asks me if I’m feeling all right.

“I’m fine. Better every day.” And I actually mean it this time.

Frank nods thoughtfuly as he chews. “So…what are the odds of you getting sick again?”

He flinches as Willa kicks him under the table. “Jesus, Frank.”

“I don’t know, sir. I don’t look at the stats. That’s just a quick way to drive yourself insane. Knowing the national average won’t predict an individual patient’s future.”

Willa’s toes rub mine under the table. It’s like she’s apologizing for the awkwardness. I rub her right back.

“But if you did get sick again,” Frank persists, “it would be harder to beat it twice?”

No sense in lying to him. “Yes.”

Frank gives his sister a hard look. Willa picks up his beer and drains the remaining two inches before pushing away from the table. “Excuse me, I’ll just go beat my head against a wall.”

“Willie, come finish your supper.”

“I’m not hungry.” She goes to the kitchen and starts fill ing the sink to wash dishes. I start to stand up, to go join her or talk her back to the table, but Frank stops me. “Jem.”

I sit back down for a moment.

“It’s nothing against you personal y. I think you’re a decent guy. But I don’t think you’re good for her, and you both need to face that reality.” He nods to the kitchen door and his sister.

“Respectfully, sir, I disagree.” I take my plate and hers and clear them away. Let him eat his dinner alone.

I find Willa vigorously scrubbing a frying pan, taking out her frustration on the Teflon. The pan is scratched to shit because her brother can’t be trusted in the kitchen. I set our plates beside the sink and wrap my arms around her.

“Are you okay?” I whisper into her hair.

“He promised he would behave,” she says stiffly.

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal.”

“Let it go.” I rub her arms and shoulders, trying to calm her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I expected worse.”

“You shouldn’t
expect
to be treated like shit.”

Frank comes in from the dining room, carrying his empty plate and scowling. “Rule number four,” he says. Whatever that means.

“Frank,” Willa says, “go watch TV.”

Saturday

I get up at a reasonable hour for a Saturday and enjoy a shower. As I get dressed I hear Elise playing music down the hall . She’s blasting Wheatus in her room. I thought I hid that CD from her months ago.

She starts belting the lyrics to “Teenage Dirtbag.” Ugh, how is it even possible that we share DNA?

I barge into her room without knocking and march over to her CD player. “Hey!” she protests as I eject the disk.

“As your brother it’s my job to protect you from epically shitty music.” I open the window and fling the CD out like a Frisbee.

“Jem!” And now my eardrums are bleeding. Elise punches me in the shoulder and races downstairs to retrieve her CD from the lawn, yelling “Mooooom!” all the way.

“You’ll thank me when you’re older!” I yell out the window at her. Elise picks up her CD and gives me the finger. I send it right back at her.

Elise stomps inside and appeals to the parental court for justice due to the microscopic scratch on her shitty CD. It doesn’t go precisely as she thought it would: Dad takes one look at the name on the disk and says, “You
paid
for this?”