The Goodbye Girls Page 4

  “Okay…” Trish shoots me one last look as she backs out of the kitchen. “Have fun, I guess.”

  “Yeah, you go, Mom,” I say.

  She smiles. “Thanks. There’s money on top of the fridge for pizza.”

  In my room I pack my knapsack. From where I am I can see Trish standing in the bathroom brushing her teeth. I go and lean on the door frame. “It’s good. About Mom. Don’t you think?”

  Trish, mouth full of foam, meets my eyes in the mirror and keeps on brushing.

  I’m not sure why, but I sense Trish isn’t as jazzed about the fact that Mom has plans as I am. “It is, Trish. It’ll be good for her to go out, socialize with people.”

  She spits, slurps some water from the tap, and spits again. “Totally. Except she’s not going out with people.”

  “What do you mean?” I say. “She said people. It’s probably people from work.”

  “Trust me.” Trish shakes her head. “I know the signs. It’s singular. Person. Not people.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t know. If it was a person, or like a date, why wouldn’t she just say so?”

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  Willa’s standing on the sidewalk, waiting for me.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say. “I was just talking to Trish.”

  “Those are words I don’t hear often. Do tell.”

  “Nah.” I don’t feel like telling her about Mom. It’ll only lead to Willa bashing her own mom, which sort of makes me uncomfortable. I really like her mom. “Not worth it. Trish doesn’t even know what she’s talking about.”

  “Yup. That sounds like Trish.”

  The trip deposit is due today, so just before we get to the bus stop, I pull Willa off the sidewalk and behind a clump of trees. “I took four hundred bucks out of the fund,” I say, reaching into the side pouch of my knapsack. “Two hundred for you, two hundred for me.”

  She pats her jacket pocket. “Mom cut me a cheque this morning. It’s all good.”

  “But half of this money is yours.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We’ll divvy it up later.”

  I just look at her.

  “Come on.” She loops her arm through mine. “We have more important things to discuss.”

  The bus comes right away, so we don’t get to discuss any of the “important” things she referred to. I can only assume it’s about the business.

  We drop our stuff at our lockers and head to the band room.

  “We have to make up a schedule for the next couple days,” Willa says quietly as we walk down the hall.

  She’s right. We’re getting crazy busy. We’ve even received a few requests from other high schools. I told Willa we should decline, stick to the West, but she said that would be discrimination, and that if we service the neighbouring high schools the sky will be the limit. And Sean seemed okay with the extra travel. We just had to throw in dessert—a large Blizzard for any trips downtown or to Bedford.

  Who knew there would be so many couples wanting to break up? I can’t help but wonder if maybe there were a lot who were just hanging on, sticking it out, because they couldn’t stomach the thought of ending it. Then shazam! We come along. The Goodbye Girls must seem like the answer to their prayers. Whatever the reason, we’re reaping the benefits. We have three more breakups that have to be carried out before the weekend. Thursday and Friday are the most requested nights. Thursday because some want to be officially single by Friday. And Friday because some like the idea of not having to see the other person for two days. At least, that’s what me and Willa think.

  “I’ll come over after school. We’ll make a list of what we need,” I say, joining the line of kids handing in their deposits in front of Mr. Fraser’s desk. “And you should see if Sean is available Thursday after work.”

  “Believe me. He’s available.”

  As I fish around in my knapsack for the cash, my elbow bumps the person in front of me. Before I can apologize, he turns. “Not you again.”

  How did I not notice he was standing right next to me? “Oh, hey, Garret.” I’m surprised to see him. He’d basically said he wasn’t going on the trip because of Trish.

  “I changed my mind,” he explains, as if reading my thoughts. “Like you said, I can’t not go because of Trish.”

  Marvel. Someone actually listened to me. “Don’t worry. Trish’ll get over it.”

  “Yeah….” He doesn’t sound very certain. Then he points to my handful of bills. “Trish told me you were planning on selling everything you own. Must be workin’ for you.”

  I nod. “It’s amazing what people will spend their money on.”

  The line slowly moves and it gets to my turn. I pay my deposit and Mr. Fraser hands me a receipt and a sheet of paper. “These are some fundraising ideas we’ve tried in the past. Feel free to participate in any or all. Any money you raise will come off of your own individual total.”

  “Thanks.” I move off to the side to wait for Willa and read Mr. Fraser’s handout. After she finishes she comes over and says, “I’m staying. I have to get Mr. Fraser to look at my flute. I’m having cork issues.”

  “Okay. I’m off to French.”

  “Wait. Did you see?” She waves Mr. Fraser’s paper in the air. “A wake-a-thon. How awesome is that?”

  I smile a smile that shows all my teeth. Oh, I saw. I’d rather donate half my brain to science. Going door-to-door begging for sponsors, then getting locked in a school gym with a hundred crazed, hormonal, sweaty high school students for twelve hours? No thanks.

  “We have to go. It’ll be so much fun. And because we don’t really need the money, we’d only have to get a couple of sponsors, just enough to look like we made an effort. We could even make them up.”

  “Yeah…sure…maybe.” I pretend to sound interested.

  I basically run for the door like I’m being chased by a serial killer. One more second and I know she’ll get me to pinkie swear or something.

  For the second time I don’t notice Garret, who’s focused on reading the handout. We end up trying to squeeze through the door at the same time.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “Me too. I wasn’t looking.”

  “Did you get one?” He offers me his handout.

  “Yup. I’m good.”

  “So, wake-a-thon, huh?” His eyes are wide, his face beaming.

  Oh no. Not him too. What is it about the wake-a-thon that brings this reaction out in people? “That’s the word on the street.”

  “You have to go. They’re amazing. I went to the one last year for the Brunswick Street Mission. They blast music all night, there’s non-stop games, karaoke, they get us pizza—for free. It’s a real easy way to raise some money. You are going, aren’t you?”

  My brain is screaming, “Please, god, kill me now!” But when I open my mouth, all that comes out is, “Of course I’m going.”

  Chapter 7

  “It’s okay, you can tell me the truth,” Willa says. “You have to be getting tired of tacos.”

  I shake my head. “I wasn’t sick of them any other Thursday, why would I be sick of them this Thursday? Plus, we have them like once a year. Trish thinks she’s a vegetarian.”

  “Is she seriously still sticking with that? Because I saw her at King of Donair last weekend. Eating a donair.”

  “Yeah…she doesn’t count donair meat, pepperoni, or McDonald’s cheeseburgers. She calls it ‘selective vegetarianism.’”

  Willa smirks. “Is that what she calls it.”

  We both laugh and huddle closer together against the cold as we trudge along the sidewalk.

  We stop in at the library after school to do some homework. The business is taking over all our free time. I have tonnes of Math to catch up on and Willa has to write an essay for History due tomorrow. By the time we leave for hom
e, the sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a purple-pink glow over the roof of the Canada Games Centre across the street.

  “Why didn’t I bring mitts?” Willa blows into her hands. “Let’s stop at Tim’s and grab a hot chocolate. My treat.”

  I’m about to decline, but I didn’t bring mitts either and the thought of wrapping my fingers around a steaming cardboard cup is too tempting to turn down. “You talked me into it.”

  I pull open the door and breathe in the coffee-scented heat. While we stand in line, I stomp my boots and flex my fingers, trying to speed up the thawing process.

  “Small hot chocolate,” I say when it’s my turn.

  I hear Willa sigh behind me. She pushes me out of the way. “Two large hot chocolates and a sour cream doughnut, please.” She looks back at me. “Want a doughnut?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  We pick up our order and are about to leave when Willa slows and elbows me in the side. She motions with her head to a table in the far corner. It’s Trish and Garret.

  I shrug. “Yeah, so?”

  “Don’t you wanna go say hi?” Willa asks, all coy.

  “Oh, she’d love that.”

  She laughs and lets me manoeuvre her toward the door. But then she stops again. “No, wait. Watch. Something’s definitely up.”

  I glance over at Trish and Garret’s table. “Why? Wha…oh.” I don’t need to see Trish’s face to know she’s mad. I can tell by the way she’s leaning over the table, the way her back is perfectly straight. She has one leg tucked up under her butt so she can get in closer. Her head is making little jerks up and down as she talks. She’s talking a lot.

  Me and Willa sort of hold our hot chocolates in front of our faces and shuffle sideways so we can spy from behind a display of packaged coffee and K-Cups.

  Garret’s eyes are cast down on the table. There’s a tinge of red in his cheeks. He nods at something Trish says and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I feel like we shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper. “We should go.” Before we get the chance, Trish and Garret push their chairs back and stand. They leave at the same time but through different exits.

  “That can’t be good,” Willa says, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

  “He was probably telling her about the trip,” I say. “He wasn’t going to go. He said Trish wouldn’t like it. I told him she’d be fine, that she’d get over it.”

  We’re quiet on the walk to Willa’s.

  “You don’t know if that’s what they were fighting about,” Willa finally says. “She could have been chewing him out for not holding her hand in the hall or some stupid thing.”

  “I guess,” I say.

  “And if they were fighting about the trip, it’s not like it’s your fault.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, god. You don’t feel guilty, do you?”

  “No, no,” I say.

  “Or…” She gives me a sly look. “Maybe you’re kinda happy?”

  “No!” I punch her on the shoulder. She almost stumbles over the curb.

  “Okay.” She holds up her hand. “Simmer down.” And she nurses her arm where I hit her for the rest of the way.

  In Willa’s front hallway, I throw my coat over the banister. She’s about to do the same when I hear her suck in her breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  She’s staring at something on the floor. I stand next to her so my line of sight is parallel to hers. I see a small red duffle bag beside a pair of men’s sneakers.

  “Dad’s here.” Willa whispers it like she’s afraid to say it out loud. She beckons for me to follow her as she practically skips down the hall.

  Then, “Marlene! Be reasonable!”

  “Oh, go to hell!” Followed by the sound of glass breaking.

  Willa stops short, which makes me smash right up against her back. Without speaking, we both turn and head upstairs to her room. A minute later the house vibrates with the slam of the front door.

  “Would have been nice if he’d come up and said hi to his daughter, don’t you think?” Willa says, her jaw clenched.

  What do I say? “Yeah.” I nod. “It would have been nice…but you never know, maybe he was late for something.” Looking for a distraction, I pick up a roll of clear gift wrap from her desk and hand it to her. “Here. Let’s do up these baskets. Pass me the lists.”

  She’s staring off into space and doesn’t answer me.

  “Willa?” I say gently.

  She snaps out of it. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry.” She leafs through some stuff on her desk. “The lists, the lists…here we go.” She holds up a piece of paper.

  We get to work, lining the baskets with colourful straw, checking items off the list as we place them inside.

  “I love the smell of this,” I say, sniffing a candle before rolling it up in tissue paper. “I’m always surprised at some of the stuff people request.”

  Willa is folding the personal letters and sliding them into envelopes. “What does it matter at this point? Is the person getting dumped really going to care?”

  I want to say, Well, we hope so. It’s kind of the point of our whole business, but I don’t. She’s momentarily gone to the dark side. I can’t really blame her.

  As she drops the letters in each basket, she says, “You know, when I started high school, all I wanted was a boyfriend. I was so jealous of those gaggy, cute couples. How they’d hold hands, make out by their lockers. Now…” She gathers up the corners of the gift wrap on the first basket and scrunches it at the top. “I just feel sorry for them. They’re all doomed to failure.”

  I cut off three strips of ribbon. “Not always,” I say. Though I’m not sure how much I believe my own words.

  Willa holds the wrapping tight while I tie bows on the baskets. Two pink. One blue. Two girls. One boy.

  “I smell taco meat,” Willa says. “Dinner must be ready.”

  Down in the kitchen, we find Marlene, her back to us, rummaging through a drawer and cursing under her breath. “Help yourself, ladies,” she says without turning.

  Willa puts two taco shells on a plate and passes it to me. “What did Dad want?” she asks Marlene.

  Marlene is still rummaging. “Where is it?” she mutters.

  “Mom!”

  “What do you want me to say, Willa?” She spins around. “That he was here because he wants to come home? Because he doesn’t.”

  Willa folds her arms and stares at the cigarette dangling from Marlene’s mouth. “You don’t smoke,” she accuses.

  “I used to.” Marlene flicks the lighter—the lost treasure from the drawer—and inhales deeply. “I quit for your father.” She exhales, blasting out a stream of smoke. “But he doesn’t live here anymore.”

  I stand awkwardly off to the side, waiting for some kind of cue from Willa.

  She gives her mom a good glare. “We’re eating in the family room.” Then she takes her plate, stuffs her tacos with meat, and leaves the room.

  I do the same, but shoot Marlene a weak smile as I grab the guacamole on the way out. She attempts to return the smile through a haze of smoke.

  Sean is already there in the family room, planted on the couch watching Coronation Street.

  “Since you got off early, can we leave by eight thirty?” Willa asks.

  “Kay.” He jams in a mouthful of taco. “I want one of those bacon-wrapped deep-dish pizzas from Little Caesars, though.”

  Willa rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

  We finish supper and set off to make our deliveries. The first two are routine, the baskets retrieved by an adult—a mom or dad. I like it best when it goes down that way; I don’t have to see the faces or reactions of the dumpees. It still gives me an icky feeling, like something is curdling in my stomach.

  I check the name and address for th
e last delivery. Heather Martin. “Do you know her?” I ask Willa.

  She shakes her head. “I’ve heard the name before.”

  “I’m amazed at how many kids we don’t know, though it’s probably good. Makes it easier.”

  Willa quickly places the basket at Heather’s front door, rings the bell, then joins me behind a pair of green bins.

  We watch for a couple seconds and the door opens. Heather looks up and down the street first—they usually do—then she looks down at her feet. She bends to pick up the basket. I turn and start to crouch-crawl toward the street when I feel Willa grab my arm. “Check it out,” she whispers. I contort my body and stick my head out around the green bin. Heather is sitting on the doorstep, the basket between her legs. She takes out random items and studies them under the porch light. She opens the scented candle, gives it a sniff, and smiles. Actually, she looks sort of happy. Finally she scoops everything up and goes inside. We hear her laughing as she closes the door.

  “Well, that’s a first,” Willa says as we hurry back to the car.

  I slide into the back seat. “I guess she really liked the stuff.”

  “She must have seen it coming.”

  “I wish more of them did,” I say.

  Willa talks me into going back to her place for a while. I should have gone straight home, but we hadn’t finished doing up our shopping list for the next round of baskets and we were trying to stay on schedule.

  We follow Sean into the family room. “Could you drive Lizzie home in about a half hour?” Willa asks.

  “What the hell? We just got home,” he whines, plunking down on the couch.

  “Ummm…hold on,” Willa says. She runs out then comes right back carrying a small brown paper bag. “There’s a sour cream doughnut in it for ya.”

  It’s the one she bought this afternoon with our hot chocolate. She must have forgotten to eat it.

  He looks at the bag suspiciously. “Glazed?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay,” he says, and she tosses him the bag.

  “Wow,” I say as we climb the stairs.