I Know It's Over (24 page)

Nathan’s dad grounded him for the next month—even from the GSA—but otherwise he’s doing okay, better than me. I slept for about four hours last night, dreaming about stuff I don’t want to remember. The funny thing is I really wanted to go to school this morning. Then I got here and my chest started pounding again.

I don’t remember a single thing from Information Technology class. No, wait, I remember Jonah clapping my back and saying how great Marc’s party was. English and physics were equally stimulating. One of the teachers made a comment about us all being “works in progress.”

I could’ve stood up and announced, “Not me. I’m done.” But I don’t want people thinking I’m funny today. In fact, I don’t want anyone to talk to me and I’m relieved when Dani breezes by me in the hall. She shouldn’t be embarrassed about the other night, but I don’t have the energy to tell her that. Anyway, it’s not like we were ever really friends. I never called her just to see how she was. I didn’t want to hurt her either—that’s the best thing I can say and it’s not great.

Keelor I can’t avoid, but when he stops by my locker at the end of the day to check up on me, I can’t help feeling the way Nathan felt about me:
He doesn’t really want to know.
Maybe my bad luck feels contagious. Most of us could get somebody pregnant. All it takes is a little slipup.

“She’ll be all right, man,” Keelor says. “Those people know what they’re doing. When is she coming back to school?”

“Next week,” I tell him. “But we’re not in any of the same classes.”

“That’s a good thing. You don’t need that now.”

I do. But he wouldn’t get that.

Nathan walks by at that exact moment, says hi to both of us, and keeps walking. Once he’s gone, Keelor says, “I told you he wouldn’t come to Marc’s party.”

“He was at a party in Toronto.”

“With gay people, right? I get that he’s gay, but do you notice how everything’s about that now?”

“Like everything isn’t about you getting laid,” I say with a smirk.

“Of course not.” Keelor’s face explodes into a grin. “There’s always hockey.”

“Right.” It’s hard to believe there was a time when the three of us were practically the same person. The only thing I can think is that it was never really true in the first place.

I sleepwalk through the next two days—classes and work—it’s all the same, I’m just not there. I jump when anyone speaks to me and Brian reminds me to smile and look customers in the eye. That’s something he tells you on your first day at Sports 2 Go, along with where to hang your jacket. Usually I can do this job in my sleep—people live to buy things—but that part of my brain has been switched off.

So I force myself to play Nick Severson.
Ha ha. These are good. Excellent. Whatta ya play? They’re the best at their price range. On your credit card? Have a good one.

There’s no way to distinguish between real Nick and phony Nick. It’s disturbing. I could play Nick Severson forever and most people wouldn’t notice the difference as long as I stayed off the ice.

Mom picks me up at the end of the night. She gets into the passenger seat and shuts her eyes, like she completely trusts me to drive home unsupervised. It’s like she’s making a point of it. Saying she trusts me without actually saying it. I’m supposed to trust her too, you see, and I never explained about Christmas Eve. She’s still pissed off about that and the feeling doesn’t seem to be fading. What she doesn’t understand is that I see through everything she’s doing and it only makes me feel farther away.

“How was work?” she says finally, slowly opening her eyes.

“All right.”

“You still enjoy it?”

“It’s okay.” I watch the road and feel her frowning beside me.

“I’ll be gone before you leave for school tomorrow,” she announces. “I have a job interview first thing.”

“Great.” I smile over at her. She’s gotten a couple phone interviews out of her resumes but nothing live until now. “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll ace it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mom says with a laugh. “All those probing questions. What particular strengths do you bring to this job? Describe an instance in your current position where your efforts averted a potential disaster.”

“Maybe you should bring a lawyer,” I joke.

“Or maybe you could do the interview for me,” Mom suggests. “You’re much better at thinking on your feet—like your father.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew half the things that have happened lately. I’d laugh if I had the energy. As it is, I keep driving without even a smirk to give myself away.

“Oh, Nicholas.” Mom folds her arms in front of her and stares out the window.

“Oh,
what
?”

“What happened to our communication?” she says sadly.

“Mom.” I’m so numb that I don’t care. “Cut the melodrama. We’re just talking about your interview. You always do this.”

“Yes,” she says coldly, “I don’t know why I don’t just switch off my emotions until you move away.”

“Shit.”
What a heartwarming thing to say. Thanks, Mom.
“I’m not playing any head games with you. Just because I don’t tell you everything doesn’t mean you can act like this.”

“And you can’t behave however you want and expect to get away with it, Nicholas.”

“I’m not DOING ANYTHING,” I shout.

“And you’re not SAYING ANYTHING either,” she yells back.

Those are our last words for the night. Mom gets out as soon as we pull into the driveway and I open the garage and park the car inside. My anger defuses the moment I step into my bedroom. I curl up on my bed and listen to Holland’s music through the wall. I’m so lonely, but nothing will fix that tonight, not even Sasha. Tomorrow night everything will be different and most people won’t even notice. We made such a big deal about being us all along and I’d rather think about us tonight too, but what’s this thing inside her if it isn’t us?

We haven’t been fair to it. If there’s a way to be fair to all of us, I don’t know what it is. This thing inside her has a heartbeat and everything. A doctor wouldn’t be able to hear it yet, but it’s there and soon it won’t be. Soon it won’t be anything anymore and I’ll walk away from this, but I won’t be the same.

I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t change anything. It’s useless, but I can’t help feeling it.

I’m sorry.

I turn the light off and slip under the covers. Sleep comes and goes in bursts. I don’t dream; I just think the same things over and over and I’m wide awake way before my alarm goes off. Yesterday’s clothes are plastered onto my body and I peel them off, stand in the shower, and then trudge down to the kitchen. Mom’s finishing her coffee. She’s wearing a light gray blazer and skirt and she looks up at me and says, “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Are you on your way out?”

“Yes, that interview I told you about,” she says curtly.

“I remember. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she says, suddenly gracious. She sets her coffee mug in the sink and smiles slightly. “I better dash—don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck,” I say again. You can never have too much good luck. Besides, I have nothing else to say to her.

I sit down at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cornflakes. Then I walk to school. It’s the earliest I’ve ever been there and hardly anyone is around. I bum a cigarette from a ninth-grade kid with shaggy red hair and smoke it by the park bench just off school property. This kid, with the name I can’t remember, looks at me like I’m royalty and says my name every chance he gets. A couple of his friends come over and bum cigarettes. One of them asks me if I was at Marc Guerreau’s party and if the rumor about Meaghan is true. I tell him he shouldn’t listen to rumors and that everybody makes up bullshit about parties, although I saw part of it for myself.

“Relax, man,” the puny ninth-grade kid says. “I’m just asking.”

“It’s a stupid question,” I say, and I must look mad because the kid’s eyes get scared.

I drop my cigarette and walk back towards the school. Holland and Diego are talking in the hallway. She’s stuffing her coat into her locker and he’s leaning against the locker next to hers and smiling like she just said something hilarious. They don’t see me and I don’t stop.

I have double physics first and I prop my monster textbook up on the counter in front of me, take out my pencil, and doodle on a sheet of loose-leaf paper. Sitting still is impossible. I shift my weight in my chair and tap the countertop with my fingers. The girl on my left shoots me a highly annoyed look and grits her teeth.

The morning doesn’t improve. My English teacher, Mr. Diebel, has to say my name multiple times before I hear him. I have no idea what he’s been talking about; I’m just twitching away in my seat, thinking about this afternoon. I don’t know exactly what time it’s happening at, but I feel more panicked with every second. My voice stalls when I try to speak and Mr. Diebel flexes his right eyebrow like I’m just another brain-dead student, not worthy of his time and effort.

“Thank you for your insight, Nick,” he says wryly, playing to the crowd.

Next it’s on to lunch, but I’m not hungry. Socializing is out too. I don’t want to sit around with Keelor and Gavin, pretending I’m all right. My body makes the decision for me. It swings away from the cafeteria and out into the winter sunshine. The air is cold but still and my feet keep walking. They take me all the way down to the lake, where I stop and stare at the water. It’s hard to believe that it was ever warm enough to swim in and I think about that first day with Sasha, how nervous and excited she made me. It seems like something I made up in my head now. How could anything ever feel so perfect?

I crouch down and stick my hand in the water. It’s ice cold and my instincts want to yank it straight back up again, but I hold it there for a minute, letting it ache.

My feet start up again and I follow them to the park on the hill. An old couple is pushing two little boys with fat mittens on the swings. Another woman is standing at the base of the wooden jungle gym and protectively eyeing a little girl, frizzy red hair sticking out of her hat, standing on top.

“Penny,” the woman shouts, “are you getting hungry?”

“No, Mummy,” the little girl calls back. She has a strong English accent and it makes her sound so proper that I smile. “Do you want me to come down?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” her mother says.

The little girl sits down at the top of the slide, poised to push off. “I’ll come down soon,” she promises, “but not yet.”

She’s so precise that it kills me and I look up at this Penny girl, who is bundled up for arctic temperatures, and smile straight at her. She waves to me from the jungle gym and says, “Mummy, that boy is watching us.” It’s funny, Penny can’t be any older than four or five, but she knows I’m not a man.

“It’s all right, Penny,” her mother says, her voice registering a hint of embarrassment. “He won’t bother you.”

“I know that, Mummy,” she says, exasperated. With that she hurtles herself down the slide.

I turn my back and start walking again, but I can still hear the girl’s voice. “Mummy,” she’s saying, “I’ll have you for a long, long time, won’t I?” I’d never guess little kids would think about that, but obviously some of them do.

“Of course,” her mother says. “Years and years.”

“Years and years,” Penny repeats, and I can tell what’s she thinking: Exactly how long is that?

You can never be sure of anything, even when you’re five years old. I’m tired of walking and I don’t know where to go anymore. My head is pounding behind my eyes and my stomach wants to puke its guts out, only there’s nothing in there but orange juice and cornflakes.

I cross the street and pass the row of stores on Main Street. A few people are taking advantage of the sun and walking their dogs. A black Labrador retriever tied to a sign outside Starbucks is devouring the remains of a bag of potato chips.

Beyond downtown it’s houses again and I head north for a while before hanging a left. This is Keelor’s neighborhood. I’ve spent so much time here over the years that it feels like a second home. Most of his neighbors still have their Christmas lights up and the family across the street has six reindeer lined up on their lawn. Santa Claus has lost his balance and is lying on his back. I go over, stand him up, and hover around the bottom of Keelor’s driveway.

I should go home and lock myself in my room; I shouldn’t step up to Keelor’s front door and ring the bell. His cousin might not be home and what if she is?

But I can’t control myself. I walk up the driveway and hit the bell. Jillian opens the door, frowns at me, and says, “God, you’re pathetic.”

No, she doesn’t. She stands in front of me in a purple-striped sweater and jeans, looking surprised and waiting for me to say something.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she says. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was—walking around.” My mouth stumbles over the words. “And then I was in the neighborhood.” I point at Santa Claus across the street.

“Don’t you have school?” Her eyes rake over me, evaluating my state.

“Yeah,” I admit, and she reaches for my arm and pulls me inside.

Jillian stands with her back against the wall and watches me take off my shoes. “Are you okay?” she asks. Would I be here if I was? I shake my head and stand stiffly in the hallway. “You want to talk about it?” she asks.

“No.” I turn and reach down for my shoes. “I should go.”

“No,” Jillian says forcefully. “Come in—I’ll make you something warm.” She reaches out and touches my hand. “You feel cold. How long have you been out there?”

My mind skips back to Penny’s mom at the bottom of the slide.
Are you getting hungry?
What makes me think I can do this to some girl I’ve known for six days?

“I’m okay,” I tell her. “It’s not that cold today.”

We go into the kitchen and Jillian makes two hot chocolates, hands one to me, and leads me into the living room. Jazz is playing on the stereo and a Clive Barker novel is splayed out on the coffee table.

“I should’ve said goodbye to you on New Year’s,” I say, sitting down next to her on the couch. “I just felt kind of weird about the whole thing—not even with you, really, but about my girlfriend.”