The Goodbye Girls Read online

  Advance Praise for The Goodbye Girls

  “Funny the mess people can make of their love lives—or at least it is in The Goodbye Girls, Lisa Harrington’s hilarious deep dive into the chaos of high school romance and revenge.”

  –Vicki Grant, award-winning author of 36 Questions that Changed My Mind About You

  “Lisa Harrington is the Queen of Dialogue. Her words pull you into the teenage world with an effortless, snappy sense of humour, and realistic portrayal of the ups and downs of friendships and family. She makes writing look easy.”

  –Daphne Greer, Silver Birch–shortlisted author of Jacob’s Landing

  “Lisa Harrington’s teen dialogue is always spot on and doesn’t disappoint in her latest offering. Paired with a fast-paced plot that expertly weaves in deeper layers of family secrets and best-friend drama, The Goodbye Girls holds you in its grip until the end.”

  –Jo Ann Yhard, author of Lost on Brier Island

  Copyright © 2018, Lisa Harrington

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  3660 Strawberry Hill St, Halifax, NS, B3K 5A9

  (902) 455-4286 nimbus.ca

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Cover design: Cyanotype Book Architects

  Interior design: Grace Laemmler Design

  NB1292

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places, including organizations and institutions, either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Harrington, Lisa. Author

  The goodbye girls / Lisa Harrington.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77108-635-6 (softcover).ISBN 978-1-77108-636-3 (HTML)

  I. Title.

  PS8615.A7473G66 2018 jC813’.6 C2017-907932-8

  C2017-907933-6

  Nimbus Publishing acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities from the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) and the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of Nova Scotia. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Province of Nova Scotia to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.

  Chapter 1

  An ear-piercing Shriek rings out across the high school cafeteria. The kind that makes your eyes automatically squeeze shut and your insides scrunch up. When it ends, I stretch my neck to see above the crowd. I’ve heard that shriek before. I live with it—Trish.

  I don’t know how I see it from so far away; I just do. A splotch of red against pink. It glows like it’s on fire.

  “Here. Hold this.” I shove my lunch tray at Willa.

  “Hey, just a sec!” she exclaims, struggling to balance my tray on top of hers. “It’s not like I can just grow an extra arm out of my butt!”

  I stomp over to Trish’s table practically frothing at the mouth. She doesn’t see me coming. “Is that…” I place both my hands flat on the end of her table, “ketchup on my brand new T-shirt?” I say it real quiet, letting the words leak out through my teeth.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me standing there. “Uh…hey, Lizzie.” She quickly reaches for some napkins and starts blotting the red spot, rubbing it in to the soft pink fabric, making it worse.

  “I repeat. Is that ketchup on my brand new T-shirt?”

  “Um….”

  It’s as if I can hear her frantically shuffling the words around inside her head, arranging them into some kind of order that will make sense.

  Finally her head snaps up. “You know, Lizzie, you could show a little more concern, like, for my well-being.”

  “What?”

  “Well, what if this is blood or something? Like maybe I got injured. Did you ever think of that?”

  I straighten up and fold my arms. “If you did, you probably deserved it.”

  Olivia, one of Trish’s friends, gasps dramatically and slaps her hand to her chest. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that!”

  “Yeah, Lizzie. Real nice,” Trish says all snarky.

  Like all this is my fault. “Gimme my shirt back.” I hold out my hand. “You didn’t even ask if you could borrow it.”

  “Oh. What. I’m just supposed to strip off, right here and now?”

  I shrug. “Whatever it takes.”

  From behind me a voice says, “It was an accident, Lizzie.”

  My breath forms a little hiccup in my throat. I turn. It’s Garret.

  “Todd and I were messin’ around,” he says. “He frisbeed his tray across the table and it flipped one of those ketchup cups right onto Trish’s….”

  There are numerous snickers from around the table.

  “Boob!” someone shouts.

  Garret’s cheeks redden. “Uh…chest area.”

  Garret MacLeod. If Disney’s Prince Charming could take a human form, it would be Garret MacLeod. A senior, co-president of student government, on the football team, awesome drummer, with a smile that turns my legs into silly putty. He only has one fault—he’s been going out with my sister, Trish, for almost four months.

  I lean in close to Trish and whisper, “You’re a dead woman.” Then I make my way back to my part of the cafeteria, the part designated for the “tenners”—the unworthy, invisible grade tens.

  “Your potato wedges are cold,” Willa says, sliding me my tray. “They’re probably gonna be sort of gross.”

  “Story of my life,” I grumble.

  “I saw you talking to Garret. So things can’t be that bad.” She glances back over at Trish’s table. “Do you think he was born that way? Or is it something he practices?”

  “It can’t be learned,” I say, like I’m an expert. “You either got it, or you don’t.”

  Willa sighs. “I’ve been in love with that guy since grade three.”

  “Join the club.” I snap my plastic fork in half with my thumb. “I can’t believe Trish has her claws in him. Is there no justice in this world?”

  “Not that I’ve found,” Willa says, jamming her straw into her carton of chocolate milk. “So what’s the fight du jour?”

  “She keeps borrowing my clothes without asking. Got ketchup on my shirt. I’ve only worn it once.”

  “So borrow her stuff and trash it.”

  “She has terrible taste. I wouldn’t be caught dead in her clothes.”

  “Even for the sake of payback?”

  I shake my head. “Even for the sake of payback.”

  “She’s going away to school next year, right?” Willa holds up both her hands, showing me her crossed fingers.

  “Yup. She got early acceptance to Mount A. Thank god. They told her to apply for a scholarship because there was a good chance she’d get one.” I hold up both my hands with my fingers crossed too. “It’s kind of the only way she can afford to go. And trust me. Nobody wants her to go more than me.”

  Willa looks over at Trish’s table again. “It’s weird. She acts like a total airhead. You’d never know she was actually really smart.”

  “You got that right,” I say flatly.

  Just then we hear the voice of the principal, Mr. Scott, over the speakers. “Attention, students, a few moments of your time please. Item n
umber one, due to recent activities and the number of complaints after the fall semi-formal, Halifax West is no longer welcome at the World Trade and Convention Centre.”

  The cafeteria erupts into a chorus of moans and groans.

  “Also, due to recent activities and the number of complaints, the talent show scheduled for November 22nd has been postponed indefinitely.”

  More moans and groans, mixed with a couple of cheers.

  “I’m guessing there’s not that much talent at the West,” I say.

  Willa smirks. “Shocker.”

  “There goes our flute duet.” I try to sound disappointed.

  “And due to recent activities and the number of complaints, the cafeteria will no longer be serving the Cinnabon sticks with the icing dip.”

  The cafeteria immediately turns into a war zone.

  “I bet it’s because of all the disgusting things the football team does with that icing,” Willa says. She twists around in her seat. “Sweet Jesus. You’d think it was the apocalypse.”

  “Apparently you can take away our semi-formals and our talent shows, but god help you if you deprive us of our Cinnabon sticks.”

  “Calm down! Everyone calm down!” Mr. Scott’s voice booms over the speakers. He has a good view of the cafeteria from the glassed-in bulletproof office down the hall.

  The cafeteria ladies come out, cross their arms, and stand in a line like the National Guard until order is restored.

  “The school really should supply them with riot shields,” I say.

  “One last thing. Mr. Fraser will be holding a brief meeting at 12:50 for those band students interested in going on the January cultural and performance trip to New York. Thank you, and have a great day.”

  Willa ducks as a pizza crust whizzes by her head. “Come on. We should go to the band room now, so we can get a good seat.”

  “Definitely.” I dump my wedges in the garbage and follow her into the hall. I’d been waiting for that announcement. Ever since we were told about it in that very first band class, it’s pretty much all I’ve thought about.

  “Mom’s not going to let you go,” a voice whispers close to my ear.

  I spin around. Trish is walking right behind me. “You don’t know. May—”

  “Wake up and smell the latte, loser. It’s going to cost like a bajillion dollars. You think Mom happens to have an extra shitload of money lying around that she doesn’t know what to do with?”

  My footsteps slow. I’d been so busy dreaming about Times Square, shopping, and Broadway shows, I hadn’t really thought about having to actually pay for it. I just assumed Mom and I would figure something out. I mean, how much can it be? And I have some money saved already. Trish has a point though. There is no “extra.” Like, we get by, but Mom has to work two jobs to make it happen. Did I expect her to start working three?

  What was I thinking?

  Guess I wasn’t.

  Chapter 2

  Willa nudges me. “Come on. She’s just being a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say sadly. “But she’s right.”

  As more kids begin to pour out of the cafeteria, Willa steps between Trish and me. “Here. I’ll deflect her evil rays.”

  I smile and let her steer me down the hall and away from Trish.

  “You can’t let her get to you,” Willa adds.

  “Too late.” As usual, Trish has crushed my soul. And it’s only lunchtime. What’s she going to do with herself for the rest of the day?

  “Let’s not panic until we have an actual cost, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  When we get to the band room, it’s already pretty full.

  Abby Cameron is waving at us like crazy and pointing to a few empty chairs beside her. I pretend not to see and sweep my eyes up and down the aisles looking for any vacant spots—spots that aren’t next to Abby. Abby is Trish’s best friend. There’s something about her that always seems to give me an immediate headache. She finally shouts my name out, making it impossible to go on ignoring her.

  Willa screws her face up. “What’s her deal? She usually doesn’t even acknowledge our existence.”

  “Who knows?” I pull Willa along the row and plunk down in the seat next to Abby.

  “Thanks,” Abby whispers. “Todd asked me to save him a seat, but I’m sort of trying to avoid him.”

  There’s no way I’m asking about her latest boyfriend drama, so I just nod sympathetically, turn to Willa, and start a fake conversation about how I’m boycotting Cineplex because they stopped giving out free refills on their large popcorn. Which isn’t completely fake, because it’s all true, and I’m totally pissed.

  But Abby doesn’t get the hint. “I think I’m going to break up with him,” she says to the back of my head. “And, well…it’s all about finding the right words, you know?”

  I turn my body a bit more toward Willa and say loudly, “They didn’t put up a sign or anything. They just said, ‘Oh, we don’t do that anymore.’”

  Willa gives me a confused look. “Um. Yeah, I know. I was with you.”

  “It’s not that Todd’s not a great guy,” Abby rambles on. “But he’s going to university in Toronto next year, and I really don’t see myself as the long-distance-relationship type.”

  Thankfully, Mr. Fraser stands and clears his throat. “Please, everyone take a seat, and thank you for coming. Just a few things I want to touch on. Though much of our time will be spent performing with the other high school bands, there will be plenty of opportunity to enjoy what New York City has to offer.”

  “Oh my god. I’m so excited.” Willa bounces up and down in her seat.

  “Please note, people,” Mr. Fraser continues, “the departure date of January 3rd. It overlaps with Christmas break, so adjust any family vacation plans accordingly. I have copies of the proposed itinerary here.” He hands them to the kid sitting in the front row. “Pass it back, please.”

  He keeps on talking, but I’m not listening. I’m too busy reading the list of things planned. Four Broadway shows—we even get to vote on which ones—as well as the MoMA, the Met, and a whole day of shopping…

  “…estimate the cost at $2,100 per student. Anyone interested, please review the attached payment schedule and deposit due date,” Mr. Fraser says.

  My head whips up. What? That much? $2,100…plus spending money…

  “That’s pretty cheap,” Willa says. “I thought it’d be way more.”

  Mr. Fraser could have said $3,100, or even $4,100, and Willa’s response would have been the same. She doesn’t have much of a concept of money, which is a nice way of saying she’s kind of spoiled. Willa’s dad is a cardiac surgeon and her mom owns a chain of gourmet cupcake shops. But as if that isn’t enough, they’re also recently separated. The title for Parent Numero Uno is an ongoing battle.

  And Willa knows how to work them.

  “Cheap for you, maybe, but not for me.” I rub my forehead. “I only have about $800 left from lifeguarding at the lake. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t think it would cost that much.” Guess Willa’s not the only one with no concept of money.

  “But I can’t go without you,” Willa whines.

  “It’s okay,” I lie. “Take lots of pictures. It’ll be almost like I was there.”

  The meeting breaks up and people begin filtering out of the band room. Willa and I stay put. We just sit there, clutching our itineraries and staring at the wall.

  “So what’s the plan?” Willa finally says.

  “Plan? The plan is you’re going to New York and I’m going to wait for you to get back and tell me all about it. Oh yeah, and buy me a nice souvenir.”

  Willa shakes her head. “We’ve been best friends since grade one. I wasn’t kidding. I’m not going without you.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have much cho
ice.”

  “Your mom will think of something. She always does. Remember when you wanted that dress for the grade nine grad?”

  “Yeah…this is a little different.”

  “You know…” She taps a finger against her chin. “You could always ask her to sell her blood.”

  “True, true.” I nod, all serious-like. “I mean, how much do you really use your blood, anyway?”

  Willa laughs. “You know if my dad heard you, he’d go into some long lecture about blood and how it pumps through your veins carrying this, that, and the other thing—blah, blah, blah.” She zones out for a second, then sighs. “I haven’t seen him much lately. It sucks.”

  I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. Though Willa wants for nothing, has every whim fulfilled, I know she’d give it all up in a second if it meant her parents would get back together.

  She returns the squeeze. “Why don’t I just ask my parents for the money for you to go? They’d totally give it to me.”

  I stand, fold up the itinerary, and slide it into my back pocket. “Thanks, Willa, but no.”

  “Okay. What if it’s a loan?”

  “No. That won’t work either.”

  She looks so crestfallen. Shouldn’t that be me?

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m sure there’s an answer out there somewhere.”

  Her face brightens a bit. “Yeah. Everything will work out.”

  The first bell rings, signalling seven minutes till class, and we head out of the band room.

  “I have to go to my locker and get my art stuff,” I say. “I’ll see you after school at the bus stop, okay?”

  “Okay.” Willa walks backward down the hall. “Do you wanna come for supper?”

  “Sure.”

  It’s pretty much a regularly scheduled thing now. Willa’s older brother, Sean, often works Thursday nights and Willa doesn’t like eating dinner alone with her mom. She says it’s too depressing.

  Mom and I eat supper alone, just the two of us, all the time. Trish is usually MIA, which is fine by me. Less indigestion that way. But I know it’s all new to Willa.