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“Sure,” Marine said. “Nice to see you.”

Mom watched as Marine headed back to the book tables. Mom could barely tear herself away from the sale, even though her purchases were already weighing her down. When we finally started for the car, she blurted, “Honestly, Nat, I know you wanted to leave, but that was ridiculous.”

“It was an accident.”

“You were kickboxing in a library!”

“We were outside! Paige started it!”

“Natalie kicked an old lady, Natalie kicked an old lady,” Paige sang.

“Paige, that's enough,” Mom said.

Paige fell behind Mom and continued to lip-sync the taunt at me. I stuck out my tongue. The problem with having a ten-year-old sister is that sometimes you act like you're ten. “Anyway, it serves you right for forcing me to go to that stupid book sale.”

Mom halted, her recycled plastic bags full of books swinging at her sides. “I
beg
your pardon?”

I looked at the ground and pursed my lips. I didn't want to take it back. I tried to keep walking.

“Natalie, I'm waiting.”

I waited too. A couple of people passed by and Mom didn't start up again until they were out of earshot.

“If you're sick of tagging along on shopping trips with me, we can go right back to the mall and return those clothes I just paid for. And if you want to be so independent, you're welcome to get a summer job. I'm sure your father can get a refund for the dance intensive.”

Her words made me blush. “I'm sorry.” No reaction. “I'm
sorry
, okay?”

We loaded into Kermit in silence. If this keeps up, it's going to be a very long summer.

Sunday, June 27th

“Forgot” to call Dad today. My excuse: Paige went to a birthday party, which disrupted our joint-call routine. The truth: I wanted to know if
he
would call
me.
Was there really any doubt? Of course he didn't. What else would you expect from a man who has never said “I love you” to his own daughters?

When Dad moved away, he had this image of himself as a heroic warrior going off on a solo quest or some crap like that. Paige and I were like, “Hellooo! We're your
offspring
, remember us?” That's when Mom dove into gender studies. She started quoting fun facts like, “Men are genetically programmed to ‘sow their seed' and move on.” Not much of what she said was any help.

The truth was, our family never really stood a chance. Mom grew up on the Island, in Courtenay, and couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Dad moved to BC only for university. He hadn't planned to stay. He dreamed of developing software in Toronto; instead, he married Mom and worked as a computer tech. No wonder he decided the marriage was holding him back, that he had to leave to pursue his “bliss.” An idea he got from a book by Joseph Campbell. (How ironic that Mom gave it to him in the first place.) I've hated the word
bliss
ever since.

I used to send handwritten letters to Dad when he first moved back to Ontario. I would cut out comics from the newspaper and stuff them into the envelope. Once, Paige followed my example by cutting out a snowman from her favorite picture book. It must have made her think of Dad in the Ontario snow. She mailed it to him and kept the whole thing a secret until the next time I read her the book. When I turned a page, I found the snowman-shaped hole and asked what had happened to him. As she told me, I traced the hole with my finger and willed myself not to cry.

Dad almost never wrote back. After a while I stopped sending him letters and cut-outs, but I still wrote to him in my head.

Dear Dad,

I don't like my teacher. He throws chalk at people when they talk in class. The boy behind me talks all the time. Today I got hit by the chalk. It's so unfair. I bet the teachers in Toronto aren't so mean.

It didn't matter that these imaginary conversations were one-way. Later, I would tell my friends, “My dad says teachers aren't allowed to throw chalk at kids in Ontario. My dad says Mr. Howe would get fired.” Sometimes Dad really would give me useful information, but most of the time,
My dad says
and
In Ontario
were openings that let me reinvent the world.

During our real-life conversations every Sunday, I stood in the kitchen with the phone to my ear. It wasn't cordless. Sometimes I wanted a pair of socks, or a drink, but I wouldn't have set down the phone if a hurricane hit.

Monday, June 28th

Sasha and I spent the afternoon at Willows Beach. We sunbathed, sipped iced tea, scoped guys, skimmed magazines, watched volleyball, and generally tried to impersonate California beach bunnies. Finally, Sasha said, “Kill me now, before I die of boredom.”

“To hell with this! Let's ride a log like we used to do.”

We packed up our bags and stuffed them into a coin-operated locker near the washroom. I spotted a good-sized log not too far from the water's edge, and we ran to claim it. It was too flat to roll easily, but fortunately not very heavy, so we flipped it over and over until it was floating in the shallow water. Sasha held the “canoe” while I searched for two sticks to serve as paddles or poles. We straddled the log and cast off.

Staying upright took a lot of effort, and every so often, we lost our balance and rolled into bone-piercing cold. Our screeches drew some attention from the guys we had been ogling earlier. But we ignored their hollers, determined to make it to the end of the beach. We docked at the rock islands and picked our way across them into shallower water and then to shore. Below the waist, we'd gone numb, and bits of kelly green seaweed clung to our legs. Sasha walked stiffly, arms stretched out like Frankenstein, and joked that she was Greta the Sea Monster returned from the deep. I copied her walk and pretended to chase her, running on straight legs. We buckled over laughing and raced each other back to the lockers.

As we retrieved our bags, Sasha's stomach growled.

I laughed. “Fish and chips?”

“You're a mind reader.”

“Can I use your phone?”

Sasha rifled in her bag and passed me her cell. Mom didn't pick up, but I left a message telling her not to expect me for dinner. When I handed the phone back to Sasha, she flipped it shut and pocketed it.

“Aren't you going to call home?”

She shrugged. “What for?” She unlocked her bike and sped away. I had to pedal hard to catch up.

We ate a greasy, delicious dinner at an outdoor table lit by reddish, horizontal evening light. Our silhouettes stretched all the way across the street. We butted giant heads and lifted shadow fries with massive hands.

Afterwards, we rode towards Sasha's place. She said something over her shoulder that I couldn't hear, then pulled over. “Why are you coming this way?” Her bluntness rattled me.

“I thought I would go with you as far as your place, and carry on from there. It's really not out of my way.”

She resumed pedaling at high speed, as if trying to lose me. At her driveway, she stepped off her bike. “So long, then.”

My bladder was bursting. I had to ask if I could use the washroom.

“Why didn't you go at the fish and chips shop?” She sighed. “Just let yourself in and use the downstairs one. I'll wait here with your bike.”

I shucked off my pack and hurried into the town house.

In the bathroom mirror, I didn't quite recognize myself. My skin tone had deepened, and my hair gleamed with new blonde highlights. I was wearing a bikini bathing suit top, and, in the cool evening air, the outline of my nipples poked through it. My cut-offs, still damp, hugged my hips. Two muscle lines defined my abdomen. Since my legs didn't show in the mirror, I actually looked all right. Even sexy.

A deep male voice rumbled upstairs. I couldn't hear the words, but the tone was angry. It must have been Mr. Varkosky. A high-pitched voice responded. I heard, “None of your business! … ”—“the
last time
” … —“you
always
say.” A chair was scraped back and a few banging noises followed. I decided not to flush the toilet and slipped into the hallway. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Kevin swung around the banister to face me. He stilled himself instantly. His eyes flicked up and down my body a couple of times, then locked on mine. I couldn't look away. After a few seconds, he brought his finger to his lips in a “Shh” sign, winked, and passed me.

My legs trembled and for a second I thought my knees were going to give out. I took a deep breath and rushed back outside.

“What took you so long?” Sasha thrust handlebars at me. “Did anything happen?”

“No.” I grabbed my T-shirt out of my pack and pulled it on. “I didn't even flush, for Pete's sake. Chill out.”

I pumped my legs to build up speed for the ride home. As I cycled out of the neighborhood, the scene at the Varkoskys' looped in my head. The raised voices upstairs reminded me of our house in the weeks before Dad moved out, when the tension gave me a chronic stomachache. A steep incline forced me to rise from my seat and drive down on the pedals. I crested the hill, breathing hard.

As I coasted down the other side, I replayed the moment with Kevin in the hallway. Just thinking of it made me blush. It took a rush of evening air to cool my cheeks.

Wednesday, June 30th

When I answered the phone this afternoon, a male voice said, “Hi, Natalie.”

“Who is this?”

The voice chuckled, and my heart rate sped up: it was Kevin. Maybe he was going to mention our silent encounter the other night. I let Sasha think no one had seen me; had he told her any different? Or was he going to explain that the fight wasn't what it sounded like?

He asked what I was doing for the summer. He told me he'd been tree-planting up north for most of May and June and was going back in a week. Every detail he let drop thrilled me like a private confession: Sasha never should have tabooed him.

“Do you want to go to the fireworks?”

“What?” In my surprise, it came out as a squeak.

He stifled a laugh. “The fireworks, you know, for Canada Day, down in the Inner Harbour.”

He was asking me out. He's
nineteen!
Old enough to drink and go to bars.

Snapping and crunching filled the silence. I guessed he was making short work of a toothpick while he waited for me to recover from my shock.

“I'll have to ask my mom.” How stupid did that sound? “I mean, she might need me to babysit Paige.”

“All right, you ask your mom.” He was mocking me again. Did he realize I'd never dated before? “But hurry, this offer is only good for a limited time.”

“Huh?”

“Canada Day is tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He must think I have the IQ of one of those toothpicks he's always demolishing.

After I hung up, I wanted to phone Sasha so we could dissect the situation like we always do. But a) Kevin might answer and b) I couldn't tell Sasha that Kevin had asked me out: She would hate him for attempting another Gina Incident. Worse, she would hate
me
for even considering the invitation. My heart kept pounding and my neck started to itch.

I locked myself in the bathroom. I faced the mirror, lifted my chin, and fingered my bumpy red rash.
I don't know if I want to go. He always seems to be making fun of me. Does he even like me? Or is he just trying to piss off Sasha? If I go, will she ever forgive me?

Unlike me, Sasha has dated. Last fall, she had a whole four-week relationship. I barely saw her for the “Month of Colin”—she even skipped dance class. And when she called, which wasn't often, he was the
only
topic of conversation. She could have at least tried to set me up on a double-date with the two of them. It's not like I didn't ask.
So why do I need her approval to date, even if she and Kevin do share DNA?

Paige knocked on the bathroom door. “Nat, you've been in there forever! I want my water gun.”

I opened the door and she ducked under my arm.

“You must be the only ten-year-old who still uses bath toys.”

Paige stuck out her tongue and made a farting sound.

I found Mom immersed in one of her library discards on the porch. She was wearing a sundress with an elasticized bust and a wide-brimmed hat. I don't know if she was just trying to get rid of me, but she didn't seem to think it was weird that Kevin would ask me out. She obviously doesn't remember the Gina Incident, which, if you consider how much time Sasha spent at our house venting about it that summer, is kind of disturbing. She said it was all right with her if I went. When I didn't respond, she raised her sunglasses and squinted at me. “Do you
want
to go?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Don't you think it would be fun?”