Breakaway Read online

  “You didn’t.”

  “Oh yes I did.”

  I decide not to push him. Maybe his parents can help him work something out. Maybe I could write another letter – to his coach. To the university.

  You do that, my little voice says.

  “Do you want a sandwich?” I ask.

  “I’m not hungry,” he says. “I don’t feel like much of anything right now.”

  The way he says it makes me wonder if he’s talking about himself.

  “I have to go.” He moves out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.

  My guts start churning again as I follow him outside. The wind is cool, and I wrap my arms around myself. He walks to his car and opens the driver’s door.

  “Evan, I’m so sorry!” I call out, shivering.

  He climbs in and drives away.

  –

  Evan’s dad drops by a few hours later to burn me in effigy. He alternatively sits, stands and paces, and I let him rant, too emotionally drained to say a word.

  At the moment he’s pacing. “Do you have the slightest idea how much you’ve hurt him?” he demands.

  There’s nothing of the mild-mannered pastor I know. Rev. Gedak’s an Old Testament prophet, raining down the wrath of the Almighty. And I deserve every minute of it.

  “Yes.”

  “How could you be so thoughtless? Did you enjoy leading him on for the past two months?”

  I’d like to ask him if he feels at all responsible for Evan’s meltdown, but I know better than to provoke him.

  I hear the muffled sound of the garage door opening.

  “That’ll be my mom,” I say.

  Rev. Gedak sits down and puts his head in his hands. “He worked so hard to get that scholarship,” he mutters. “It was all for nothing.”

  “Maybe it isn’t too late for him to go back,” I suggest. “Could you call his coach or the university and see?”

  “You’re missing the point,” Rev. Gedak says bitterly. “He doesn’t want to go back. Even now.”

  Mom and Mrs. Gedak enter through the kitchen. Mom’s as white as a sheet. “How’s it going?” she asks.

  “How do you think it’s going?” Rev. Gedak stands and begins pacing again. “Your daughter has ruined my son’s life!”

  “Don’t you raise your voice in this house,” Mom says. “Has he been yelling at you, Jessie?”

  “She deserves far worse!” he shouts.

  I blink rapidly to hold back the tears.

  Mrs. Gedak moves towards her husband. “Honey, you’re making the situation worse. And your blood pressure will be going through the roof. Let Diane handle it.”

  “That’s the problem. She doesn’t handle it!” He jabs his finger at me from across the room. “She lets this girl run wild! You think I haven’t heard the stories about that party? This town isn’t big enough for you to hide in, Missy!”

  Oh great.

  Mom folds her arms. “I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Let’s go home,” Mrs. Gedak pleads, tugging on her husband’s hand. “Evan needs you.”

  The reverend’s shoulders drop, and the anger drains from his face. The resemblance between father and son kicks me right in the stomach.

  Why can’t I feel about Evan the way he feels about me?

  Felt about me.

  He’s so good, and I’m going to hell.

  As if reading my mind, Rev. Gedak says, “We should ask for God’s intervention.”

  My phone starts playing Gary Glitter, and we all look at my purse.

  “Maybe that’s Him now,” I say.

  Rev. Gedak glares at me.

  “Or maybe Evan.” I know damn well it isn’t because his number plays Creed, but I’m looking for any excuse to leave the room. I dig out my phone and check the screen.

  Liam MacArthur.

  Better than nothing.

  “I have to take this,” I say, gliding out of the room.

  “Jessie,” Mom says.

  “I’ll just be a minute!” I sit down at the kitchen table, right where Evan sat a few hours ago. “Hey, Liam.”

  “Hey, Jessie,” he says. “I was wondering what you’re up to this afternoon. Want to come out to my place?”

  “I can’t,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Can I call you later?”

  I wish I could let him do that. He’s so easy to talk to, and right now, I could use a friend.

  So one day you can make him feel like shit too, my little voice says.

  “Not tonight,” I tell him. “See you at school.” I disconnect.

  I sit there for as long as I dare, staring at my phone.

  When I go back into the living room, no one has moved. It doesn’t even look like they’ve said anything. Rev. Gedak’s lips are moving in prayer.

  Mrs. Gedak turns lifeless eyes on me. “Jessie, I just want you to know how disappointed I am. I never dreamed you were this shallow.”

  Ouch.

  She stands up. “We’ll be going now. I think it would be wise for you to avoid all contact with Evan. He’s very confused and hurt and fragile, thanks to you.”

  After the Gedaks are gone, Mom wraps her arms around me. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I have a feeling he would have quit school even if you hadn’t been dating.”

  She’s shorter than I am, so I rest my cheek on top of her head. “That’s the problem, Mom. I don’t think we ever were.”

  – Chapter Twenty-seven –

  “Let’s talk turkey,” Kathy says. “My dad made ours in one of those deep fryers in the backyard. Nearly set himself on fire. Good thing he was wearing insulated coveralls.” “My mom forgot to take the bag out of the neck again,” says Crystal. “It was so gross, I wouldn’t eat the dressing.”

  The girls keep yacking until I think I’ll go insane. The fate of our team hangs in the balance. Sue and Bud are meeting with our parents and the Estevan Minor Hockey executive right now.

  The only player who says nothing is Whitney.

  And that’s as it should be, I think. Her bad decisions and big mouth got us into this mess.

  “How’s Evan doing?” Kathy asks, sliding closer to me on the bench.

  “I haven’t talked to him or his parents since Friday.”

  “It was pretty bad, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “I told you so,” Kathy says with infuriating smugness.

  The dressing room door opens, and Miranda’s mom and stepdad walk in. The parent meeting must be over.

  Soon we’ll know if we’ve still got a team.

  After what you did to Evan, should you be thinking about hockey at all, my little voice asks.

  The rest of our parents file in. It gets crowded soon, and we have to squeeze together to fit on the benches. Kathy moves over, so Mom can sit beside me. Mr. Parker, whose eyebrows are singed and forearm is bandaged, sits with Kathy. Dr. Bilkhu sits with Larissa. Mrs. Jordan slips an arm around Crystal’s shoulders. The Johnstones sit with Whitney of course. Mrs. Johnstone’s eye makeup looks smudgy.

  Definitely not tattooed on, I decide.

  “It’ll all be over soon, ladies,” Mr. Johnstone says. “Only a little while now.” He looks over at the Rookie sitting next to him. “How are you doing?” he asks.

  “Fine.” The Rookie looks petrified.

  “Your coaches are very disappointed in the decisions you ladies made last weekend, but there’s a chance they’re willing to overlook them. Those letters you wrote had quite an impact. Whose idea was it to write the letters?”

  “Jessie’s,” the Rookie offers.

  Mr. Johnstone smiles warmly at me. “Good for you, Jessie. A brilliant strategy.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be strategic. I was being sincere.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Sincerity does the trick every time.”

  The Minor Hockey executive enters and lines up near the door, since there’s no place for them to sit.

  We sit there in the ho
llow quiet for what seems an eternity. I check my phone. Ten minutes. Did Sue and Bud decide to go home without delivering a verdict?

  The door opens, and Sue appears. She looks even grimmer than usual.

  “Bud had to go home,” she says. “There’s an emergency at his daughter’s house. Nothing serious. A problem with the septic system, I believe.”

  We’re done like dinner. He was the good cop.

  “I want to thank all the parents for coming. I know some of you drove quite a ways, and we appreciate it.” She folds her arms and moves to the centre of the room.

  Closed body language, I think. Bad. Very bad.

  “What we have here is a trust issue,” Sue continues. “Bud and I thought we could trust you girls, and apparently we can’t. We can’t trust you at home, so we can’t trust you on the road. You can understand why we have reservations about going forward with this team. Bud’s health situation isn’t ideal, and my career is demanding. To put it bluntly, we don’t have the time or stomach for this.”

  One of the Rookies sobs.

  “Most of you wrote letters to apologize for your behaviour. One individual did not apologize, and that individual is a glaring exception.” Sue turns and looks directly at me. “Why did you do it, Jessie?”

  “Tell her,” Kathy says under her breath. “Tell her now.”

  “I didn’t bring the booze, and I didn’t invite the guys.” I nearly choke on the words. “I didn’t drink either.”

  “I know you didn’t, Jessie,” Sue says. “I meant, why didn’t you tell us the truth in the first place?”

  “I don’t know.” I wipe at the corner of my eye. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing the rest of your teammates, and their parents, felt differently.” Sue shifts her eyes from me to Larissa’s dad. “Dr. Bilkhu assured me you hadn’t been drinking when he saw you in emergency that night.”

  I heave a big, ragged sigh.

  “It’s all my fault,” Whitney says. “I invited the boys. I told them to bring the beer.”

  “Pretty late for that confession,” my mom says.

  Whitney’s face crumples.

  “Weren’t you there last week when I asked for all the information?” Sue demands.

  Whitney sobs. “I was scared everyone would hate me.”

  We already hate you, I’d like to say.

  “I’m sorry,” Whitney says. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Last weekend I had a conversation with your team sponsors,” Sue says. “I asked them if they wanted to withdraw their support. After taking a few days to consider, they said they would support the team if we did. Estevan Minor Hockey responded in the same fashion.” Sue shakes her head. “I also contacted the AAA League and the SHA. They all said it’s up to Bud and me. Now Bud’s gone home, and before he left, he said, ‘It’s up to you, Sue. You know these girls better than I do. Do what you think is best.’” Sue shakes her head and laughs. “Men are cowards, don’t you think?”

  Sue never laughs. She wouldn’t laugh if she were pulling the plug.

  I look over at Kathy. She winks.

  “What kind of team can I expect if I do decide to go forward?” Sue asks.

  That’s when everyone starts spilling their guts, making outlandish promises like we’ll always keep the dressing room orderly and bake muffins for every road trip and never eat junk food on game weekends or complain about having to pick up the pucks or bitch about our ice time or playing third line. Sue lets us go on for a few minutes.

  “All right,” she says. “We don’t have much time to get ready for North Battleford. Prepare for Death by Dryland tomorrow. I’ve hired Gunvor.”

  – Chapter Twenty-eight –

  “Did you watch Sports Centre last night?” Kathy asks as we line up at the cafeteria salad bar.

  “Missed it.” I pick up a bowl.

  She grabs one too and moves to the other side. “They did a segment on potential picks for the World Juniors. Guess who they talked about?”

  “No idea.”

  “Aren’t you interested?”

  “I’d like to be interested,” I tell her, “but all I think about these days is calculus. Now that we know there’s such a thing as Death by Dryland, I’m wondering if there’s also Death by Derivatives.”

  “I’m talking about Mark Taylor,” Kathy says. “As in Mark ‘I’m Going to the Show’ Taylor. Mr. Hitman. The Big Defensive Threat.”

  “They mentioned Mark on TSN?”

  Kathy pops a crouton in her mouth, which earns her a dirty look from one of the cafeteria ladies. “What?” she asks.

  “Mark’s the second highest scoring defenceman in the WHL. He’ll be playing in the Subway Series against the Russians. He deserves a mention.” I load up on cherry tomatoes and sunflower seeds.

  Kathy adds three dollops of ranch dressing and flings the spoon in the container. “Funny you’d care about his stats.”

  “Funny you’d care that I care,” I retort. “For a change of pace, why don’t we talk about hunting season for a while?”

  Kathy piles on the bacon bits. “That’s all Brett talks about. And here I thought the ref talk was bad enough! And if he’s not actually pushing bush or talking about it, he’s busy making sausage. I don’t even remember the last time...” She pauses. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. Are you thinking about Mark?”

  “No,” I lie. “I was thinking about Courtney.”

  “How’s Little Sis doing?” Kathy asks.

  “She’s got Mom and Dad wound around her little finger, that’s what.”

  “Whoa, family drama,” Kathy says, “the best kind.”

  On the way to our usual table, I tell her about the way Courtney’s been acting since she started hanging out with Gia.

  “She can’t think for herself. She spends every second with Gia, and when she’s not with her, she’s texting her.”

  “Excuse me,” Kathy interrupts. “Did you say texting?”

  “Uh huh.”

  She stares at me in fascination. “Explain to Auntie Kathy how that happens. You didn’t get a phone until you were fifteen.”

  “Curfews are different. Rules about makeup and clothes and hairstyles are different. Everything’s different.” I pause to take a bite of my salad.

  “Keep going,” Kathy says. “I love it when somebody’s parents lose it.”

  “They say, ‘She was miserable for two years. Now she’s has a friend at school. Can we hold that against her?’” I stab a chunk of lettuce with my fork. “They’re giving her a puppy for her birthday.”

  Kathy sits up straight. “I love puppies.”

  “Focus, Parker.” I wave my fork. “I’m looking into a crystal ball. I see Mom and Dad trying to get Courtney to feed the dog and walk the dog. I see the dog crapping in my room. I see me cleaning it up.”

  “Are your parents still letting her play hockey?” Kathy asks.

  “She refuses to figure skate, and we have to keep her busy somehow. I just hope she doesn’t embarrass herself, and me, at bantam practice.” I pick at my salad. “I have a feeling it’s going to be brutal. You’re going to come, right?”

  “Oh yeah,” Kathy says. “I want to see this for myself.”

  –

  Will you quit following me around, telling me what to do?” Courtney explodes. “I’m not the only one who needs help!”

  Yes, but they’re not holding their hockey sticks like pitchforks, I’d like to say. Instead, I take a deep breath and back off. “Sure thing. You call me when you need me.”

  Should be timed perfectly with hell freezing over.

  I skate over to one of Courtney’s teammates, who’s trying to master the art of stickhandling a puck around her hockey gloves. I watch her for a while, then put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Your stick’s too short,” I tell her.

  “But my dad says it’s good enough. ”

  “Your dad’s wrong.”
/>   Her face lights up. “I told him the same thing,” she says.

  I show her how tall her stick should be, demonstrating with my own.

  I help another girl with her grip, and then watch Kathy, who’s working on slapshots with some of the more skilled players, like Gia.

  Skilled, yes, but I’m glad I won’t have to deal with her in the dressing room next year. I’ll be long gone.

  Afterwards, I wait in the rink lobby for Courtney to finish getting undressed. There’s not much time between her practice and mine. Kathy’s already headed over to Spectra Place. I try to avoid talking to the bantam parents, but one of the dads sneaks up on me.

  “What do you think of the team?” he asks.

  I load him up with clichés.

  Then he starts telling me about his daughter’s plans for getting an NCAA scholarship and using that as a stepping stone to the Canadian National Team.

  Every little girl’s dream. Shared by every little girl’s daddy.

  Courtney and Gia finally come along. Courtney dumps my equipment at my feet. No thanks for letting her use my stuff. No kiss my ass. No nothing.

  “Thanks for helping, Jessie. See you, Court,” Gia says before she walks away.

  I pick up my equipment. “You improved a lot from the beginning to the end of practice. If you keep working hard on shooting and stickhandling, you might get a point this year.”

  Courtney snorts and mutters something under her breath.

  “You’ve had a mad on the whole practice. What’s the problem?” I ask.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “I care about you. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made.”

  “That’s just it!” Courtney explodes. “You don’t make mistakes! Do you know how hard it is growing up in your shadow?” Her tone becomes increasingly sarcastic. “Perfect Jessie McIntyre. Hockey star. Model student. I hate it!”

  “Do you want me to stop coming to your practices?”

  She wipes an eye with her finger. “Gia wants you and Kathy to come all the time.”

  “What do you want?” I persist.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I’d be easier if Kathy helped me.”

  My phone plinks. “You better go. Dad’s waiting for you, and I have to get to my practice.”