and rub your ears
and tell you everything is going to be okay
it is ok
i had my cousin
and all her friends were really nice
i’m so relieved it’s over
you should have told me
we could have talked about it
how far along were you?
nine weeks
ohmigod
so you were pregnant on halloween
and thanksgiving
and nobody knew it
crazy, right?
i need to go
can we talk in the morning?
might be hard
but i’ll try
are you sure you’re ok?
i just can’t—
god. wow.
i am sitting here in shock.
see you soon
yes! soon. i can’t believe we have school on monday.
i can’t believe it either
oh bethy. oh dear.
talk to you tomorrow, k?
ok
After talking to Noe, I still couldn’t sleep. I got up from the computer and started rummaging through Pauline’s books. The den seemed like more of a storage room; Pauline had moved cardboard boxes of books aside to fold out the bed. I pulled down one book and then another one, making a little stack to take to the couch with me. The cardboard boxes were mostly photography books; I dug through them and pulled out one about the boreal forest and one about polar bears. I was at the bottom of the photography box when my eye fell on a spine that wasn’t like the others. It was a scruffy journal held together by sagging elastic. I slid it out from between its neighbors and flipped it over.
Nature Notes, said the cardboard cover. I slid off the elastic and opened it.
Property of Pauline Delacruz, said the inside page, with a date from a summer eighteen years ago. When I turned the page, a dried maple leaf fell out.
Algonquin Paddle-o-Rama, said the first entry. Day Uno. Saw three moose, a bear, and a beaver. Tipped canoe, cookies lost, hot dogs salvaged. Rachel and Claire sang a war song, Pete and Gary banged the drums. Leslie cooked bannock with chocolate chips, yum.
I smiled at the mention of Mom, a smile that froze at the next sentence:
Our Fearless Leader Scott “J-Stroke” McLaughlin can’t read map, driving everyone crazy with inane route suggestions. Must cast him onto next mosquito-infested island, lighten load.
I sank onto the foldout bed, my ears ringing.
Scott McLaughlin. Mom. Canoe trip.
I wasn’t sure I could read this.
Day 2 yielded blue herons and lily pads, Day 3 Lev stung by a bee, Doctor Pauline administered dose of whiskey, Day 4 Green Canoe Crew fell victim to Galloping Trots, Day 5, snapping turtles and seven-foot moose, Whiskey flowed at campfire, all were raucous and wild. much hooting and dancing. stumbled to bed.
Day 6, Leslie acting weird, says she got her period. offered secret chocolate stash to no avail. Day 7, rain, thunderstorms, everyone miserable. Day 8, heading in.
There were some loose photographs tucked into the back of the journal. Pauline and Lev, paddling canoes. Mom building a fire. And one of the whole group: Mom, Pauline, Lev, a few women I didn’t recognize, a few men who couldn’t possibly be him (too young, too old, wrong skin color), and one boy in red swim trunks with hairy legs, who was the right age and the right color and had a face shaped just like mine. I found his name in the list written under the photograph.
Asshole, I thought to myself as angry tears pricked at my eyes. Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.
Could a word reach through space and time to burn someone? I hoped it could. I hoped he could feel the heat of it on the back of his neck. I hoped wherever he was, he knew how thoroughly he was hated.
I slipped the journal into my backpack and lay on the bed.
All I knew was I wanted to go home.
67
IN THE MORNING, THE CRAMPS HAD dimmed. My phone was crammed with texts from Noe:
are you ok???
so worried.
where are you???
Noe seemed to think I’d come close to dying. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe there was a famous movie where the girl died, or she was imagining a more dramatic procedure than had actually taken place.
i’m fine, I texted back.
i have to call my mom now.
poor dear.
thinking about you.
call me as soon as you get home.
When I ventured into the kitchen, Pauline was boiling a pot of herbs on the stove for me to drink. I thought of Ava’s roommate. I guess some of that stuff was good to do and some of it wasn’t. Pauline said it was mostly chamomile, with valerian to help me relax.
“Sometimes I forget what it feels like to be seventeen. I fought with my mom all the time,” said Pauline.
“What about?” I said.
Pauline rolled her eyes. “Clothes. Music. Swearing. Lev.”
We sat in her kitchen eating muffins that Lev had baked that morning. I started to think that Pauline had changed her mind about calling Mom and the knot in my stomach relaxed, but after we’d finished our muffins Pauline reached for the phone.
“Are you ready?” she said, then shook her head. “Stupid question.”
Mom drives a lot faster than a bus, especially when she’s angry.
She cried, called me an idiot, and said she would be there in five hours.
68
WHEN I HEARD THE CAR DOOR slam in Pauline’s driveway, my heart jumped. A few seconds later, Mom burst into the house without knocking. Her hair was disheveled and she hadn’t taken the time to grab a sweater even though it was ten below. Our eyes met, and it was like someone had switched on a heat lamp. My body went hot all the way from my hair follicles to my intestines.
“I can’t believe you,” she shouted, and then she wrapped me in a hug that almost knocked me down.