The Goodbye Girls Page 5

  “He’s very food-motivated. It’s like training a puppy.”

  “Wow,” I say again.

  When we get to her room, Willa reaches for her notebook. “I like the scented candle idea. We should make that a standard item.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Everyone loves a good scented candle. Even guys.”

  She nods and makes some notes. “I’m just going to double-check our email. I want to make sure we only have two due tomorrow, and none due the night of the wake-a-thon.” She goes to her desk and starts up her laptop.

  Crap. The damn wake-a-thon.

  “Ha!” she blurts. “Mystery solved!” And she spins around the laptop so I can see.

  There in the inbox is an order for a platinum breakup basket from Heather Martin. “Oh my god!” I say. “She was going to break up with him.”

  “See the time?” Willa points to the screen. “Tonight. 8:45 P.M.”

  “Little did she know, we were already en route to her house.”

  Willa nods. “Well, she doesn’t need her order filled. We just saved her a hundred bucks.”

  “Plus, now she doesn’t look like the bad guy.” I smile. “Guess I’d be laughing too.”

  Chapter 8

  I’m practicing my flute when Mom brings in a stack of clean laundry.

  She waits and listens till I finish playing. “I meant to ask you,” she says, setting the pile on the corner of my desk, “how was your dinner at Willa’s?”

  I frown. “Whaddaya mean? Like, how were the tacos?”

  “No. More like, how are they doing.”

  I start taking my flute apart. “Okay, I guess. You asked me this before, Mom.”

  “I know. Aren’t I allowed?”

  “If you’re so concerned, call up Marlene. I’m sure she could totally use a friend.”

  “No, no.” Mom quickly shakes her head. “That would be weird. I barely know her.”

  I shrug. “She’d probably love a grown-up to talk to. They had a big fight the other night.” I think of the whole cigarette thing. “I think she’s sort of stressed.”

  “She and Willa had a fight?”

  I nestle the flute parts into their velvet case. “No. Her and Greg, Willa’s dad. He was there when we got home from school. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Oh,” Mom whispers. “That’s too bad. What was it about?”

  “Not a clue. And Willa hasn’t said anything about it since.”

  Mom sits down on the edge of my bed. “She’s lucky to have a good friend like you, Lizzie. I know you’ll be there for her if she does want to talk about it.”

  “Yeah,” I say slowly. I can’t figure out why Mom’s all interested.

  She must have read my mind, because she says, “It’s just very sad when families break up.” She stands and smoothes out the spot where she was sitting before leaving and closing the door behind her.

  Still a little puzzled, I get up and put my clothes away. Is Mom comparing our situation to Willa’s? Our family didn’t break up. Dad died.

  The only real similarity is that both our stories are sad.

  * * *

  “Do you have everything you need?” Mom asks, following me to the door.

  “Yeah,” I say, balling up my earphones and shoving them into my pocket. It’s the night of the wake-a-thon, and I’m praying for some sort of natural disaster, zombie virus, or alien invasion—anything that might cancel it.

  “And you’re sure you don’t want me to sponsor you?”

  “No, I went door-to-door with Willa,” I lie. “I got enough.” I hadn’t wanted to ask Mom. I knew she’d feel she had to, so I’d made up a name, sponsored myself fifty bucks (that was the minimum needed to participate), and took it out of our business fund.

  “Okay.” She holds up a plastic grocery bag. “Here. I did up a bunch of snacks. Granola bars, rice cakes, dried banana chips—”

  “Mom, they feed us there.”

  “I know. But it’s going to be all junk. I want you to have something healthy.” She shakes the bag at me as if somehow that’ll make banana chips more enticing.

  I stuff the bag in my knapsack. “Thanks.”

  “What about your pillow and sleeping bag?” she asks.

  “Mom, it’s a wake-a-thon. The keyword being wake.”

  “God. Why don’t they have a sleep-a-thon?” Mom says, passing me my jacket. “Kids your age? You need your rest.”

  I smile and give her a hug. “I love ya, Mom. See you tomorrow.”

  Over her shoulder I see Trish standing on the stairs, a giant scowl on her face.

  “I can’t believe you guys are giving up a Saturday night to do this,” she says. “It’s so…dorky.”

  “What do you care? It doesn’t affect your Saturday night.” But I knew it did. Because Garret was going to be at the wake-a-thon.

  “I wish. Student gov is donating all your food. I’m on the pizza-serving committee. And then, because I’m not a band geek, I have to leave.”

  “Well, why would you want to stay?” I keep playing dumb. “You just said it was dorky.”

  “Um.” She tilts her head. “Garret’s there.” She says it like she’s talking to a complete moron.

  “Oh, woe is you.”

  “I don’t know why he wants to go,” she says. “He’s going to die of boredom, stuck there all night.” She drags her hands through her hair. “This stupid trip is ruining my life.”

  “Don’t worry, Trish.” I wink. “After you leave, I’ll keep a close eye on him for you.”

  “Very funny,” she snarls. “He only talks to you because you’re my little sister.”

  Bitch.

  * * *

  Willa’s mom drops us at the front entrance. “Don’t forget to make good choices,” she calls as we get out of the car.

  “Mom. We’re locked in the school,” Willa says.

  “I know. But it only takes a second—”

  “See you at seven, Mom.”

  We walk toward the school door. A security guard is waiting and lets us in. On the way to the gym, we bump into Garret and some other band guys wheeling TVs on top of carts down the hall.

  “What are you doing?” Willa asks.

  “Oh, hey, guys,” Garret says. “We’re setting up a couple Wiis and a PlayStation in the gym.”

  “Sweet,” Willa and I say at the same time.

  Garret points at me with two fingers. “Care to have your ass kicked at Wii bowling?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “FYI, I totally own at Wii bowling.”

  “Yeah, sure ya do,” Garret laughs, and he and the other guys continue down the hall.

  “What was that?” Willa says.

  “What?”

  “That. That little bit of somethin’-somethin’.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Frig off,” she says. “You two were totally flirting.”

  I give her a shove. “You frig off. He’s going out with my sister!”

  “Yeah, I know that. But does he?”

  * * *

  Willa and I spend the first couple of hours wandering around the gym, talking to different groups of people, trading magazines, and watching some of the girls give each other manicures. Around ten o’clock, Mr. Fraser announces that the pizza has arrived and requests that we all give Student government a round of applause for donating the food.

  Trish stands with the other members, smiling at the crowd, looking all, No really, it’s our pleasure.

  “Please,” I whisper to myself.

  I hang back while Willa goes up to get us some pizza. She comes back empty-handed. “Don’t suppose you have anything to eat. The pizza looks disgusting. It’s got little puddles of grease in all the pepperoni pieces, and it’s starting to congeal and turn white.” She makes
a gagging noise.

  “It’s your lucky day. Right this way.” She follows me over to the edge of the gym where all our stuff is. I take out the grocery bag from Mom and pass it to her.

  She looks deep into the bag and squishes up her nose. “Tell me there are a bunch of chocolate bars hidden at the bottom.”

  “Yeah…probs not.” I grab my water bottle from the side pouch of my knapsack. “I’m going to fill this up. You want me to do yours?”

  She crunches on some banana chips. “Sure. These are a bit dry.” She fake coughs and holds up her bottle.

  “Water refill,” I say to the teacher standing guard at the exit. She nods me through.

  I go to the newly installed water bottle station and push on the lever. Nothing happens. “Perfect,” I say. Luckily, there’s a bathroom right across the hall.

  When I pull open the door, there’s Trish, sitting on the vanity, picking at her nail polish. “What are you still doing here?” I ask.

  She looks up. “Waiting for Madison to come get me.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d been crying. I bend over and check under the row of stalls. All empty. “Are you okay?”

  She sniffs and wipes her nose with her cuff. “Yeah.”

  “Because your eyes—”

  “I’m fine,” she barks, jumping to the floor.

  I roll my eyes. “Okay…just thought I’d ask.”

  She stares at me for a second, like she’s thinking hard about something. “Listen. You know how you said you were going to keep an eye on Garret?”

  “That was a joke, Trish.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Well, I want you to keep an eye on him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just to see if he’s, like, paying extra attention to anyone, or if there’s someone paying extra attention to him, that sort of thing.”

  “And what? Report back to you?” I shake my head. “I’m not going to be your spy.”

  “Shit, Lizzie. I’m not asking for your kidney. And I’d do it for you.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “I would,” she insists. “That is, if you ever manage to get a boyfriend.”

  Bitch.

  Chapter 9

  By one o’clock, the gym smells like the boys’ locker room.

  Only six measly hours to go.

  Willa and I are leaning against the wall, guzzling from our water bottles. We just finished an epic battle of Dance Dance Revolution. I have zero feeling left in my legs. But it was worth it. I was crowned champion, even though Garret tried to trip me so I’d lose to his friend Simon. After that major win, we moved on to Wii bowling, where I beat Garret about a half dozen times. My fist is still in a permanent clenched position from holding the remote so tightly. My body feels all rubbery and I have to keep curling and uncurling my fingers. I’d give my right arm for a pillow and a sleeping bag. Wish I’d listened to Mom. Can’t let her know that, though.

  Willa rests her head on my shoulder. “Whose genius idea was this?”

  “Yours, I believe.”

  “You need to stand up to me more.”

  “Oh yeah,” I say dryly. “That always works.”

  Without lifting her head, she raises her arm and flicks me on the cheek. “Smartass.”

  I drain my water bottle. “Your turn to refill. New bottle station isn’t working, so just go to the bathroom by the caf.” I think about my last trip to the bathroom and Trish’s request. She had tried to hide it, but it was obvious she was upset. I scan the gym. “Have you seen Garret?”

  “I think he’s helping fix the laptop. It crapped out partway through the Harry Potter marathon.” She looks up at me and flutters her eyelashes. “Why?”

  I wiggle her off my shoulder. “Trish wanted me to keep an eye on him.”

  She stands and puts her hands on her hips. “One, why does she want you to keep an eye on him? And two, and more importantly, why the hell would you do anything for her?”

  “I know, I know. But I think she’d been crying. She asked me to see if he was, like, noticeably hanging out with someone. I think she thinks he might be interested in someone else, or someone else is interested in him.”

  Willa closes her eyes and presses her fingers to her temples. “God, Lizzie. Sometimes you’re so stunned.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She snatches the water bottle from my hand and heads for the gym doors, shaking her head the whole way.

  I cross my arms, set my jaw, and fume for a few minutes. Oh, I know what she means. But she’s way off—totally wrong. She’s the one who’s stunned, not me. And I plan on telling her that as soon as she gets back. Then my eyes widen. Somehow, from across the gym, I’ve made eye contact with Garret without even realizing it. So he probably saw my entire pissy mental rant about Willa as it flickered across my face. God. Were my lips moving? Which explains why he’s looking at me with a sort of confused expression.

  He’s holding a coil of some kind of cord or wire in one hand and he gives me a hesitant wave with the other. I smile weakly and attempt a wave back. It turns out to be more of a limp hand flop. This is all Willa’s fault.

  “Are you two making googly eyes again?” Willa whispers in my ear.

  “Would you stop it?!”

  She sighs and passes me my bottle. “Oh, calm down.”

  “Because, like, I do know him, you know,” I say defensively. “He’s going out with my sister. It’s not like we’re not allowed to talk to each other.”

  “Talk your socks off.” She chugs some water. “It’s no skin off my nose.”

  “Yeah, well…” I mumble. “I—”

  Willa cuts me off. “Check it out.” She gestures with her head to a dark corner of the gym. We both watch as a guidance counsellor orders a boy and a girl out of a sleeping bag. There’s a lot of frantic movement inside that sleeping bag before they finally unzip it. “Ah, trumpet players,” Willa says. “Notorious for pushing the envelope.”

  I nudge her with my elbow and point to another part of the gym. “And apparently clarinettists.”

  Mr. Fraser has one of our clarinet players practically pinned up against the wall as he peels the lid off a Tim Horton’s cup, sniffs, then drags the kid by the scruff of his neck out the exit doors.

  “And Nathan was never seen again,” Willa says.

  “RIP, Nathan.”

  At that moment Katie, a fellow flutist, runs by and tugs on my arm. “Twister! Five minutes! Front of the gym!”

  I turn to Willa. “I’m whipped. Let’s take in some of the Harry Potter marathon.”

  “Sure. Plus it’s dark down there. Maybe we can close our eyes for a bit and no one will notice.”

  We start toward the far end of the gym until Garret blocks our path. “Just who I was looking for. I need you guys for Twister.”

  “Uh…” I scratch the back of my neck.

  “Actually,” Willa pipes up, “we’re kind of fried. We were going to chill for a while and watch some HP.”

  “Oh, come on, pleeease?” he fake begs, clasping his hands together. “We only need a few more people.”

  “Well…” I glance over at Willa. “Maybe one short game?”

  Willa stares at me with bulging eyes. “Sure, Garret.” She spits out the T.

  “Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air.

  “Just give us a sec,” I tell him. “We’ll be right over.”

  “Okay. But no chickening out,” he says as he jogs backwards, flapping his arms like chicken wings.

  “Maybe one short game, Garret.” Willa does her best impression of me. “Anything for you, Garret.” Then she makes kissy noises.

  “Oh, shut up. It’s a chance for me to do some recon for Trish.”

  “And again I’ll ask, why? She treats you like shit.”

/>   I sigh, then go over and grab my knapsack. “We should go slather on some deodorant and brush our teeth. It is Twister, after all.”

  The game is intense. It’s down to me, Garret, and our tuba player, Allan.

  Willa messed up on the first round. But I know it was on purpose. She and I took gymnastics all through elementary. She’s way more bendy than I am.

  The spinner shouts. “Left foot green!”

  Uh-oh. It’s Allan’s move and he’s twice my size. He’s partly arched over my upper body and if he loses his balance, he’ll squash me like a bug. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, praying for it to be over.

  Allan must sense my terror. “I’m out!” he yells and lurches himself away.

  I start breathing again.

  “Left hand yellow!”

  It’s my turn. I study the mat and try to figure out how to make the move. The only way I can pull it off will put me directly on top of Garret…like, face to face. I should just cave, but my desire to win takes over. I can do this.

  I twist myself around and slap my left hand on a yellow circle. My head hovers over Garret, who’s struggling to hold his crab pose. Our lips are only centimetres apart. I try to turn, but my shoulder is in the way. Thank god I brushed my teeth. My arm starts trembling. I can’t hold the position much longer. Sweat makes my hand slip a bit on the plastic and brings me even closer to Garret—so close I can see the tiny blood vessels in the whites of his blue, blue eyes. What’s taking so long? Yell out the next move!

  I can feel the heat of the crowd pressing in closer around us. The spinner is dragging it out on purpose, trying to torture us. My arm starts to tremble more violently and my wrist finally gives out. I collapse on Garret’s chest. Gasping, I flip myself off him as quickly as I can, as if he’s on fire.

  Allan yanks Garret up and all the guys start cheering and high-fiving.

  “God.” Willa throws her arm across my shoulders. “It’s not like he split the atom.”

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my T-shirt. “Time for some Harry Potter.”