Breakaway Page 18

  She has a lot to tell me. Apparently the florist isn’t the only one to get the axe. But I’m not listening.

  Mark.

  “So are you bringing an escort?” Brittni asks at last. “I’d like to know – for the seating plan.”

  “I won’t be bringing anyone,” I assure her.

  You don’t need to now, my little voice says.

  “Got your shoes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember, I’m buying the jewelry. I ordered it at a discounted rate through the salon.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Something wrong, Jessie?” she asks. “You sound like you’re sick.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “How’s your hockey season going?” she asks.

  “Not bad. We’re almost at .500. Four wins and six losses.”

  “Who do you play next?”

  “We go to Regina tomorrow.” I consider asking her if she wants to come watch, but I know better.

  “Look, Jessie, I have to go.” She sounds distracted. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You too.”

  She hangs up.

  I set down the phone and stare at the ceiling.

  “Why didn’t you tell her about the Mac’s?” I ask out loud.

  You know why, my little voice says.

  – Chapter Thirty-five –

  I go to school in the morning, even though I’ve got a pounding headache and I’m all stuffed up. In homeroom, I’m shaking like crazy and running a fever. Mr. Gervais takes one look at me and buzzes the school secretary, telling her to call my mom. He escorts me to the office himself.

  Mom walks in fifteen minutes later.

  “What about Sunny?” I ask.

  “We can pick it up later. Right now, I’m getting you home and into bed.”

  “But I have a game tonight!”

  “No hockey for you,” Mom says.

  “You should get her tested for mono,” the school secretary says.

  “The kissing disease?” Mom asks.

  “I’ve seen a lot of it around here.” The secretary peers at me over her reading glasses. “Believe me. I know mono when I see it.”

  That scares the hell out of me. We’ve talked about mono in health class. All the way home I’m checking my neck for swollen glands and my abdomen for bloating.

  Where would I have gotten mono? I haven’t...

  Lightning bolt.

  Oh yes, you have, my little voice says.

  Well, then Liam better have it too. If I had a voodoo doll, I’d make sure of it.

  I go straight to bed and sleep until after suppertime, with Rufus curled up beside me. He’s the only one happy with this turn of events.

  The Oilers beat the Rebels 4–3 in OT that night. I get a thousand texts from the girls while they’re on their way home from Regina.

  Missing hockey sucks. Being sick sucks.

  I stay home from school on Friday. My head is pounding, and my nose is stuffy, but the fever’s under control. Courtney comes home at noon and makes me a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Sometimes she manages not to be a pain in the ass.

  After she leaves I have a hot bath. As soon as I get out of the tub, I notice the spots on my stomach and legs.

  “What the hell?” I towel myself off.

  My fears about mono are coming to fruition.

  Later in the afternoon, right around the time the spots start itching, Dad comes home early from work and takes me to Dr. Bilkhu. Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, I feel like I have a big M painted on my forehead.

  Damn you, Liam MacArthur.

  Dr. Bilkhu checks my ears, nose, throat, and stomach, checks my lungs, and makes a few notes in my folder.

  “Do I have mono?” I ask him sorrowfully.

  He spins around in his chair. “Have you ever had chicken pox?”

  “When I was a baby.” I stare at him. “Mom said I only had a few spots. I can’t get it again, can I?”

  He nods. “If you had it very young, and didn’t have many symptoms.” He turns back to his desk and writes more notes. “Take ibuprofen for the headache and an antihistamine at bedtime to help with the itch.”

  “What about during the daytime?”

  “Calamine lotion. Lots of it. And no hockey until I see you again, Princess.”

  –

  The Oilers lose 5–1 to the Rebels on Saturday afternoon while Courtney’s team hangs a licking on Fort Qu’Appelle at the LMC. My sister trumpets about the Xtreme’s 7–1 victory downstairs while I lie in bed with my pillow covering my ears.

  I do not share her joy.

  I’m too miserable. I’m covered from head to toe in red welts. Even the bottoms of my feet itch. There are blisters inside my ears and between my fingers. I’ve draped a sheet over my dresser mirror, so I don’t have to look at myself. No way am I going to school until all the spots are gone.

  “You have to look at the bright side,” Kathy says when she phones me on Sunday.

  “There is no bright side,” I tell her.

  “What if this happened just before Brittni’s wedding?” Kathy asks.

  “Point taken,” I concede. “But missing the wedding wouldn’t be that big a deal. I’d rather go to the Mac’s with you girls.”

  “Funny you should say that.” Kathy sounds edgy. “I thought you were backing out.”

  “I couldn’t,” I tell her. “I’d already committed.”

  “You have a bigger commitment to your team,” Kathy says. “Here we are, finally hitting our stride, and you’re getting all flakey on us.”

  “I’m not flakey,” I assure her. “I’m itchy. Should I send you a picture?”

  “Spare me.”

  After she hangs up, I drop the phone on the bed, startling Rufus. “I really would rather go to the Mac’s,” I tell him, ruffling his head.

  I turn up the volume on my iPod to shut out the voice.

  –

  I faithfully follow Dr. Bilkhu’s instructions, especially for the spots on my face, and they start to heal. Thanks to daily homework delivery, courtesy of Amber, I manage to keep caught up in my classes.

  By Thursday afternoon I’m presentable enough to go back to school. There’s a nasty scab on my temple, but my hair pretty much covers it. Long sleeves and a scarf do the trick for my arms and neck.

  Mom insists on driving me even though I tell her I’m okay to drive myself.

  “I don’t want you overdoing your first day back,” she says as she pulls into the parking lot behind the Comp. “And no hockey practice tonight.”

  “I know. We have a bye weekend anyway. Dr. Bilkhu says I can go to practice next week. He’s pretty sure I’ll be good to go for the Notre Dame tournament.”

  “When’s the first game?”

  “A week from today. Then there’s a game on Friday and two on Saturday.”

  “Sounds like too much too soon,” Mom says.

  “I’ll be fine by then. Quit worrying.” I open my door.

  “What time should I pick you up after school?”

  “I’ll get one of the girls to give me a ride.” I climb out of the Explorer and reach for my backpack. “See you later.”

  The back entrance is great for avoiding people. I manage to slide through the afternoon without attracting too much attention. In history, I’m actually ahead of the class. In calculus, wonder of wonders, I’m rocking the derivatives.

  At the end of the day, while I’m waiting for Amy in the main foyer, I see Liam’s football buddies, but I don’t see Liam. I’d like to ask them where he is. Ever since the party at his place, I’ve wanted to apologize to him...although I’m not sure where I’d begin. Self-conscious about the marks on my face, I turn my head and let the guys go by.

  Amy shows up a few minutes later.

  “Hey!” she says. “Welcome back to the Land of the Living.”

  “Thanks.” I shoulder my backpack. “Sure I won’t make you late for practice?”

 
“No worries. I’ve got time to drop you off and pick up Subway.”

  We step out into a cutting November wind. The light is already changing as Planet Estevan hurtles towards the shortest day of the year.

  “If it weren’t for hockey, I’d hate winter.” I’m puffing from the effort of keeping up with her long strides.

  “Yeah, it bites.” She turns to look at me. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “What do you think?” I jiggle my backpack. “I’ve been missing for a week.”

  “Will one more day hurt?”

  “What have you got in mind?” I ask.

  “I’m heading to Agribition early tomorrow. My brothers are competing in the rodeo, and the whole fam’s up there. I stayed back because of practice tonight.” She gives me a little push that nearly knocks me over. “I could use a sidekick for the drive.”

  “Are you coming back tomorrow night?”

  “No, but my auntie is, if you need a ride. Or you can bunk at the hotel with us.” She pauses. “Just so you know, we all snore.”

  “I can’t skip out after missing a whole week!”

  “Get your mom to call the school and tell them you had a setback.”

  “I can’t ask her to do that.”

  “No wonder Whitney calls you Captain Anal,” she says. “McIntyre, when will you cut loose?”

  –

  The next morning I’m sitting beside Amy when she heads north out of Estevan. It’s six thirty, bitterly cold, and that November wind is roaring. The cold seeps into my guts as well, where a frozen lump of guilt resides.

  “What did you tell your parents?” Amy asks, turning on the heater full blast.

  “I left them a note.”

  “Whoa, Jessie.” Amy picks up a pop can and spits a brown blob into it. “You’re out of control.”

  “You’re out of control. How can you chew so early in the morning?” I ask.

  “It’s not a matter of choice,” she says. “I’m compelled by powerful forces.”

  “I heard it’s worse than cigarettes. You’re going to get mouth or throat cancer for sure. You should quit.”

  “And you should quit being a mother hen,” she says. “Want to stop and grab something in Weyburn? I need a coffee.”

  I am about to remark on that habit as well, but I catch myself in time. I feel like a rat for slipping out of the house without telling my parents.

  “You’re seventeen,” Amy says, as if reading my mind. “It’s time to start thinking for yourself.”

  “You’re the one doing all the thinking,” I reply.

  Amy laughs.

  Just before Weyburn, Mom calls.

  “What are you doing?” she demands.

  “Like my note said – driving to Regina with Amy.”

  “But you just missed a week of school!”

  “And I did a whole week of school while I was cooped up in my room. I need some fresh air.” I look at Amy and tell a lie I know will appease Mom for the moment. “I’ll be home by suppertime.”

  Amy scowls and starts to protest, but I shake my head.

  Mom sighs loudly. “You’re going to have a setback.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

  “You’ve got warm clothes? And winter boots?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call me at noon and let me know how you’re doing.”

  “I will.” I give Amy a wink. “Will you let the school know I couldn’t make it in today? You don’t have to lie. They’ll assume I’m still sick.”

  There’s a longer pause.

  “I’ll think about it,” Mom says. “Don’t forget to call me later.”

  I slip my phone back in my pocket.

  “Whoa, Jessie,” Amy says. “You are living on the wild side.”

  – Chapter Thirty-six –

  At Evraz Place, we pay our admission to the shivering attendant in the ticket booth and find a parking spot close to the Brandt Centre, where the rodeo events are held.

  “What time do your brothers compete?” I ask, slipping on my mittens.

  “The rodeo isn’t until tonight,” Amy says.

  “So why are we here so damn early? It’s not even nine o’clock!”

  “There’s another event I want to see.” She opens the driver’s door. “Hurry up!”

  Once we’re inside, I hear an announcer’s voice and see a sprinkling of people in the stands. In the arena below a horse and rider are loping in a circle.

  “What competition is this?” I ask.

  “Watch,” she says.

  The horse makes a tighter circle, then does a figure eight, and begins loping in a counter clockwise direction. After a few more circuits, the horse lopes to the opposite end of the arena, turns, stops, then takes off full tilt. He slides to a stop in a cloud of dust, haunches tucked beneath him.

  “This is what Liam does,” I whisper to Amy, suddenly excited. “He told me about this! That’s the big stop, right?”

  She nods once and cautions me to be quiet.

  The horse begins spinning in a circle, using its hindquarters to pivot once, twice, stopping on a dime, then taking off to perform the same stop and pivot at the opposite end of the arena. One more “big stop” midway and the cow horse moves in reverse, backing up more than a dozen steps, its neck bowed, ears swiveled sideways in concentration.

  “This is so cool!” I say.

  “Next is cattle work,” Amy explains. “The cow horse has to show that steer who’s boss.”

  “What steer?”

  A gate opens at the end of the arena, and a steer ambles out. The horse approaches it, ears pointed straight ahead. Amy points to the markers on the fence and explains briefly how the horse and rider need to maintain control of the animal. For the next few minutes, the horse and rider shadow the movements of the steer, racing, turning, dodging, always staying in its flight path. At the end of the demonstration, the announcer requests our applause, and the small audience scattered throughout the stands whistles and cheers.

  “That was awesome.” I lean over and speak right into Amy’s ear. “Are we going to see Liam compete?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes!”

  Amy grins at me.

  We move down into the stands and watch a few more competitors. Amy patiently answers my questions and explains the finer points of the reining portion of the event. I am on pins and needles waiting for Liam to appear.

  “Quit fidgeting,” Amy says. “You’re making me nervous.”

  Finally Liam trots out on Rusty. Her forelegs are wrapped in white bandages below the knee, a bright contrast with her shiny red colour.

  “Rusty’s definitely got on her show coat today. Let’s see if she’s wearing her game face.”

  I hear a husky male voice down below scream, “Go Liam!”

  “Betcha that’s his dad,” I say.

  I don’t listen for Amy’s response because Rusty’s already in motion, performing the same loping circuits, lead changes and figure eights as the previous horses. Her ears are in constant rotation, soaking up Liam’s voice and the crowd reaction. Liam sits back easily in the saddle, rein hand floating above the horn.

  “She is so pretty,” I breathe, leaning forward and putting my elbows on my knees. “It must be hard for him, knowing he’s got to auction her off after this is over.”

  The last figure eight brings Rusty to the opposite end of the arena, where she explodes into a gallop, ears flat back, tail bannering behind her, performing the big stop with muscles popping. She switches gears and spins gracefully on her hindquarters.

  “How does he get her to do that?” I ask.

  “How do you know how hard to give a pass?” Amy asks. “You do it differently for every girl on the team. Practice.”

  A steer trots out.

  I find myself hanging on the seat in front of me while Liam and Rusty shadow the animal. At one point I realize I’m actually leaning and moving my head in imitation of the mare’s pivots. Even my untrained
eyes can tell Liam’s performance working the steer isn’t as good as the older riders, but Rusty puts in a game effort, tracking the animal’s movements.

  When time’s up, Liam lopes Rusty out of the arena.

  “How does Liam train for this?” I ask Amy.

  “They have a small herd of cattle,” Amy says. “He spends at least an hour in the saddle every day. The training is all about programming the horse so she responds automatically. It’s muscle memory, just like in hockey.” Amy’s phone plays a twangy country song, and she stares at it, smiling.

  “Who’s texting?”

  “Russell.” Amy texts a reply and places her phone on her lap. “A few minutes ago you seemed pretty excited to see Liam.”

  I shake my head. “We’re just friends. At least, I think we are.”

  “Come on, how can you resist him?” Amy teases. “Football player? Cowboy? Future Doctor Doolittle?”

  I keep on shaking my head, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face. “The last thing I need is another guy hanging around.”

  “Why not?” Amy asks.

  I take the plunge and tell her about Evan. It takes a while, but Amy’s a good listener.

  “I already did a number on Evan. I’m not doing that again,” I tell her.

  “I think you’re scared of Liam,” Amy says, reaching in her back pocket for her tobacco tin.

  “That’s what Kathy says.”

  “There you go.” Amy unscrews the cap. “We must be right.”

  I sit up straight and put my hands on my thighs. “Why don’t we talk about your love life for a change?”

  “Okay.” Amy extracts a plug of tobacco. “You want to know who I like?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She pulls open her lip and jams the tobacco in before inclining her head towards mine. “Well, first off – it’s somebody on our team.”

  That shuts me up in a hurry.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not you,” Amy says. “And secondly, it’s not anybody I’m going to tell. She’s not like me.”

  We sit quietly, listening to the arena sounds.

  “Thanks for confiding in me,” I say after a while. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I know you won’t. That’s why I told you.”