I shrugged, ignoring him, glaring at Mum.
“You didn’t put me in Gryffindor.”
Mum did her confused-victim face and stood up.
“What?”
I grabbed a glass from the countertop, filled it at the sink, drained it, and then slammed it down without washing it.
“Your own daughter. You didn’t put your own daughter in Gryffindor?”
It sounded SO pathetic, but…but…
Kevin and Mum looked at each other conspiratorially, all aren’t-teens-crazy?
“I put you with your friends. I thought you’d be happy.”
“Plus,” Kevin butted in. “Your mum didn’t choose it. The sorting hat did.”
I gave him my very best you’re-an-idiot face.
“Happy? You didn’t even sort me into a real house! What the fucking fuck is Dumbledore’s Army anyway?”
“Language,” Kevin warned but I ignored him. Again.
Mum looked confused, then sad, then cross, then confused again.
“I thought you’d like Dumbledore’s Army? That’s the best one! Harry and his friends made that group themselves; it’s even more special than an actual Hogwarts House.”
If I’d been less angry and less tired, I could maybe have taken myself out of the situation and heard how crazy it sounded. And maybe, yes maybe, she really did think Dumbledore’s Army was better… But I was angry, and I was tired, and my OWN MOTHER hadn’t sorted me into the same house as Harry Potter.
I started towards my room but remembered something and stopped.
“PLUS,” I said, my voice even louder. “You got RID of Slytherin?! I mean, what kind of person are you?!”
Mum cowered. Kevin answered. His face was red, his smile totally gone.
“We had to get rid of Slytherin,” he told me. “There were so many complaints last year when kids got sorted into there. And, Amber, you are NOT to talk to us like that. Do you hear me?” I was breaking him down again… I felt triumphant and disgusted.
I gave him my death-glare then. “A,” I said, “I wasn’t talking to you. And, B, why didn’t you tell those stupid fucking Americans to read the damn books and realize what idiots their kids are?”
“AMBER!” he yelled. “Don’t make me call your father. If you don’t respect us and the camp rules, we’ll have to discuss sending you home.”
Dad. He’d emailed to check I’d arrived okay, but I was deliberately not answering. I was still angry about the scene at the airport, about him not sticking up for me. And I was angry at Kevin, and Mum, and myself for being so stupid for thinking my trip could’ve turned out any better than this.
I turned once more, looking at Mum, pleading with her to realize why I was so upset (knowing Kevin would never dare call Dad anyway). My voice caught. “You knew,” I whispered. “You knew how much it meant to me…”
Her eyes darted to and fro.
“Knew how much what meant to you?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “Gryffindor” again; it would sound so stupid. But she should’ve known. We read them every night. We queued with our cloaks on at midnight. And I’d asked her, night after night, “Mummy, what house would I be sorted into?” And she’d tickled me and said, “Amber, I’ve already said! Of course you’d be in the same house as Hermione.” Then she’d pull one of my frizzy curls, unwinding it, then letting it go so it sprang back up. “With hair like this.” And I’d laughed, but waited for the second half. “And because you’re brave, Amber, aren’t you? You’re a fighter. You never cry, do you, big girl? My big strong girl. Of course you’d be in Gryffindor…”
I looked at her, over the tiny kitchen table – wearing her wholesome chequered shirt, smelling of wholesome bonfire. She looked so confused.
I got it.
“You don’t remember…”
And the tiredness I’d been fighting all day hit me like a cartoon tonne falling from the sky.
Of course she didn’t remember. Every childhood moment that meant anything to me was lost to her. She’d stopped making memories the day she came back from the hospital. Ten years ago…
I’d shared my childhood with a ghost, a ghost with amnesia.
“Remember what, hon?”
“Amber, you’ve got to stop losing your temper like this!” Kevin had regained some control in his voice but his face was still red.
“I’m going to bed.” I could hardly get the words out.
“Don’t you think you should apologize?” Mum asked. On Kevin’s side, always on his side.
If I didn’t want to sleep with every inch of my body, there would’ve been so many comebacks.
Shouldn’t you be the one apologizing? (the best)
I apologize for ever coming here (childish)
I’m sorry you’re such a fuck-up (hurtful)
Sorry for ever being born! (most childish)
But I was too tired to be brave, brave like a Gryffindor.
“Sorry.”
And I slumped onto my bed and ripped up the sketch I’d made of Mum and me on the aeroplane until it made the most delicate of confetti.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
Hating another girl
+
Trying to get your feminist friends to bitch about her with you
Thirteen
The computer screen was completely black, apart from one scary night-vision eye.
“Lottie.” I sighed. “Can you not get your camera working? All I can see is your eyeliner.”
Her green eye blinked.
“Is it not working?”
“Nope.”
“Hang on.” Evie’s voice floated from the speakers of Kevin’s computer. There was a flash and my friends came into focus. Lottie was right up in the camera, so much so I could see a booger up her nostril. Evie was further back.
They both smiled and waved. I waved back, my heart hurting for them.
“I can see you now.”
“Good,” said Lottie. “Because I put eyeliner on, just for you.”
I touched my chest. “I’m touched.”
“Yes, well you’re worth it, my transatlantic pal.”
“How are you guys anyway? What time is it over there?”
Evie looked at the clock behind her. I could tell they were in Evie’s room by the general cleanliness.
“Just coming up to eight. And we’re good. Though it would be better if you were here of course…” Lottie interrupted her. “Who were those fit guys we saw?” she demanded.
But Evie interrupted her. “BECHDEL TEST,” she yelled. “Seriously, Lottie? We’re going to start by asking Amber about hot boys?”
Lottie, to be fair, pretended to look vaguely ashamed of herself. “Sorry, I got excited. Amber, tell me about your hopes and dreams and thoughts and feelings, before we get onto the boys.”
I giggled, so did Evie.
“Umm – I hope that’s not the only reason you’re talking to me. I dream about someone finally combining cheese and chocolate into one incredible snack food. I think you’re not listening properly because you’re a horrific feminist and general pervert. I feel you’re not even going to apologize for it, because you’re grinning right now!”
Lottie was sniggering. “Brilliant. Bechdel passed. NOW – who were those fit guys we saw?”
Evie objected again, while I said, “Who?” innocently, though I knew who she was talking about.
“Those guys,” she continued, ignoring Evie. “The ones we saw on the webcam. Amber, I’m so jealous! They looked like GODS, all tanned and with accents. And both of them were taller than you!”
“Oh? Russ and Kyle? Yeah, we’re just working in the same team.”
“YOU LOVE THEM!”
“What?”
“How can you not? One looks like he just walked out of an Abercrombie & Fitch advert, and the other looks like Jacob Black’s hotter and less weird-falling-in-love-with-children-inclined brother.”