Made That Way (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I'm back at school, waiting for math class to begin. I can't believe the summer is over already. Also, I can't believe that I've got Mr. Brumby again as my math teacher. Amber and Topaz are both in my class, too. It only took about five seconds for Amber to point out that I didn't grow at all over the summer and that I'm still a pathetic little shrimp. I have to rub my fingers on my forehead underneath my bangs to give myself strength because I'm still waiting for an appointment with the pediatrician, and now I'm out of Electralytes.

Then Logan Losino appears and says, “Hey, Sylvia, my big brother tells me you got a horse this summer.” Logan Losino is wearing some sort of knit ski cap. We won't have snow for months. It's black and pulled down so it's riding just above his eyebrows. Maybe I did do something to Logan by drawing him into my dreams. I want to see if there's a lump on his forehead too, but don't want to look like I'm staring. My heart pounds.

“Bad hair day, Logan?” says Topaz, reaching for the hat.

Of course. That's what's he's doing, he's covering up a bad haircut. What was I thinking?

Amber grabs Topaz's arm and stops her. She turns laser-eyes to Logan Losino and says, “You have an older brother?”

Logan Losino says, “Yeah, he goes out with Sylvia's cousin, Taylor Tersk.”

Amber looks to me wide-eyed. “Your cousin is Taylor Tersk? She's in my dance class. She's amazing.” She looks shocked, and a bit disappointed too, probably wondering if this means she won't be able to pick on me any more because of my famous cousin. Just to be safe, I decide not to say anything about my role in ending Taylor's dancing career.

But then I notice that Topaz has taken an interest in me too. She's staring at me and her eyes look like they're about to fall right out of their sockets. “You ride?” she says.

I nod. I try to make it look like I don't really care, though of course this has been my fantasy, that having a horse would make a difference to how I fit in with the herd dynamics at school.

Topaz says, “And you actually have your own horse? You don't just ride lesson ponies?”

I nod again. Nonchalant. But what I'm thinking is, can the conversion of my enemies really be this easy?

But then Amber says, “Oh no not another one. Not another smelly horse-nut.”

And Topaz says, “Shut up, Amber.”

I find an empty desk and take a seat. Logan Losino takes one right beside me. It must be awful to have such a bad haircut that you'd wear a ski cap on a warm day. Although this possibility is not as awful as having to wear a hat to hide a horn growing out of your forehead. I take a close look to be sure, and can't see a lump. Though with a black hat it's really hard to tell. Unlike in my dream, Logan grew taller over the summer. And he grew something else. There's a shadow of a mustache over his lip. Not dark and bristly like my dad's. It's more like the mustache my grandma used to have before she died. But still, it's a start. His features have changed too. He looks less like a little boy, though I can still see the original jokester Logan Losino lurking in the background of his face.

“How was your summer, Logan?” I say. I think it's the first time I've ever talked to him. I can't believe I'm being this brave. Maybe I don't need Premarin.

Before Logan can answer, Mr. Brumby comes in, slaps a pointer on his desk, yells at us all to be quiet, and then glares at each and every one of us in turn up and down the rows. This is what he did last year, too. He softens up over the term, though not a lot. I look up to the ceiling and for a second I think that the blind spot is there again, the one I'd have if I'd grown a unicorn horn out of the middle of my forehead. Then I realize that it's just one of the lights flickering. You'd think the custodians would have attended to this over the summer holidays. Besides, thinking I was part unicorn was a silly childish fantasy. I know that now. I don't need to believe stuff like this any more, even though I still don't know what the lump is on my forehead. Maybe it's one last after-effect of the growth hormone. Maybe I grew extra bone in my head instead of in my femurs. As long as I can get my riding helmet over it, I don't care.

Of course, I understand I'm still a hybrid though, because my mom is a psychoanalyst and, as Stephanie was so kind to point out, my dad is a Neanderthal. I can live with that.

There's a knock at the classroom door. Mr. Brumby looks furious about having his reign of terror interrupted. To make it worse when he comes back in the room he stares directly at me and says, “Sylvia. Office. Family emergency.” Then he yells at Logan Losino for wearing a hat in his classroom, but I'm out the door before I can see the haircut from hell. Or something worse.

My heart has gone crazy. My grandpa must have died. I know he talked to my mom on the phone last night and afterwards no one would tell me what it was about. Mom and Dad went directly to their bedroom and as much as I wanted to know what was going on of course I didn't listen at the door because . . . well, because of the usual way they make up when things aren't going well. Probably they wouldn't talk to me because they were too upset, and they didn't want me to worry. Now look what's happened. I never got to say goodbye. Just like with the unicorn.

Mom and Dad are both waiting for me in the office. They look so serious I think I might die myself, but they won't tell me what's happened until I get to the car.

I grab my stuff from my locker and wonder if maybe the unicorn and my grandpa are together now, running pain-free across the hills of Saskatchewan or Heaven or someplace.

I hurry on out to the parking lot. I'm looking for Dad's SUV and it's not there. Instead they've brought Mom's car, and when I climb in, there's Grandpa sitting in the back seat. And no one's looking serious any more.

“Sorry to drag you out of math class, Munchkin,” says Dad.

I look from one grinning face to the other. “What is going on?” I say.

“Kansas told us to come and get you. She said this was something you wouldn't want to miss,” says Mom. “We didn't think Mr. Brumby would understand, so we . . . .” She can't seem to finish the sentence so Dad does it for her.

“We lied,” he says matter-of-factly.

Mom grimaces and squeezes her eyes shut for a couple of seconds, then sighs and presses the start button.

“I flew out specially for this,” says Grandpa. “Used up all my frequent flyer points.”

I am totally and completely lost.

A cell-phone ringer sounds, from the speakers in the car.

“What?” says Mom.

“Incoming!” says Dad, reaching to press a button on the steering wheel. “Tony here,” he announces.

A strange voice comes through the speakers. “Tony! It's Brad, returning your call.”

Mom's face is pink. “You programmed my car to take your cell phone calls?”

Dad tells Brad he's in a meeting and will call him later. “Come on, Ev, I was just playing around with your manual, and knew you'd never use this function. Not with how you feel about cell phones and driving.” Then he swivels in his seat so he can see me.

“There's a transport truck coming in from Saskatchewan,” he says. “The driver called Kansas from the ferry.” He checks his watch with what I think is an unnecessary flourish—he doesn't need to drag things out like this. “They'll be here in an hour.”

“Tony . . . ” says Mom.

Grandpa leans over and whispers to me, “Dakota said you'd want to be there when he unloads.”

And finally I get it. “The real Brooklyn?” I say.

And he nods.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing may be an isolating endeavor for some, but my books always seem to me to be products of a wonderful community effort. I owe my friends and family for their continued support, encouragement and tolerance.

In particular, I would like to thank the following:

Annette Sharp and Kojack for the long-ears help.

Mark Hobby for the hoof talks.

Natasha for the joke.

Glenice Neal for the Toyota Prius test drive.

Anna, Seiko and Tomiko for their thoughtful reviews.

Isobel Springett for another fantastic photo for the cover.

Rita Picard for her artistic talent and technical wizardry on the video book trailer.

Randal Macnair and Ron Smith at Oolichan Books for believing in me and Sylvia.

And Mike, for holding it all together.

Susan Ketchen
was born and raised on Vancouver Island. She has successfully pursued an alarming number of educational paths and professional careers, including over a decade in the field of marriage and family therapy. She can sometimes be found out standing in her field, and always on the web at
www.susanketchen.ca
.