Breakaway Read online

  The movie, which is about talking dogs and cats, verges on annoying. Breanne falls asleep after a half hour, and Evan puts her in the backseat where she curls up, using my hoodie as a pillow.

  Most of the time, conversation with Evan is easy. He always asks about my friends, and he cares about my hockey. Sometimes he gets judgmental about the girls’ partying. It’s strange because I don’t like what they do, but I hate it when somebody else criticizes them.

  Tonight Evan’s quiet. He leans against the passenger door, his seat jammed as far back as it will go to accommodate his legs. He stares fixedly at the windshield, but I can tell he’s not watching the movie because he doesn’t react to anything on the screen.

  “What’re you thinking?” I ask.

  He looks out the side window. “Nothing.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” I ask him.

  “You couldn’t,” he says.

  I know he feels helpless, the same way I feel about Mark. Evan can’t control his own feelings, and he can’t control mine either. Only one person can change that.

  I think about Michelle and Jodi’s song.

  The strangers passing. Missing out. Risk.

  “I think I want to go out with you,” I say quietly.

  He doesn’t hear me because the movie soundtrack is too loud. No need to pull the words back.

  Then I think about Mark and Holly. They probably have sex every time they’re together. Just like the rest of the girls on my team do with their boyfriends.

  And I’m alone.

  “Evan, I want to go out with you,” I say again, louder.

  There’s no chance he doesn’t hear me this time.

  “Jessie, don’t,” he says.

  “I mean it.” I say the words with conviction because at least half of me needs convincing.

  “You’re feeling bad because I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says. “You’re scared about what’s going to happen with hockey and school next year.”

  I shake my head.

  He stretches his long arms. “It’s time to go home. I have to make an early start tomorrow.” He looks over his left shoulder into the back seat. “Look at her,” he says. “I miss her when I’m away.”

  That’s when I do it. I lean right over and kiss him.

  I don’t know if Evan’s ever been kissed before. I know he’s never had sex because he says he’s saving himself for marriage. It probably hasn’t been difficult for him up to today.

  I’m a rookie in the kissing department...not counting a June night long ago. I never had a serious boyfriend before Mark – and heaven knows Mark was a prude most of the time. If I knew then what I know about him now, I might have gotten him to loosen up.

  So here I am kissing Evan, trying to convince him I’m serious about going out with him, and I’m thinking about Mark.

  You shouldn’t be doing this, that infuriating little voice warns me.

  The voice that takes the fun out of everything.

  Something about the way I’m kissing Evan must change his mind because suddenly his hands are tangled in my hair, holding me close, but not too close. He pulls back after a minute and takes a deep breath.

  “Wow,” he says, shaking his big head. “Where’d you learn to kiss like that?”

  He’s easily impressed, my little voice says. Wouldn’t the truth shock him?

  I ignore the voice, bent on pursuing this thrill ride on the SS Jessie Mac.

  “I’m serious, Evan. I want to go out with you.”

  “I’m leaving for Calgary in less than twelve hours. You’ve had all summer. Why did you wait so long?”

  “I didn’t know it until a minute ago,” I tell him.

  “Look,” he says, “I resigned myself to this ‘friend’ thing a long time ago. I didn’t like it, but I had no power to change it.” He holds both my hands and squeezes them gently. “Jessie, if you’re not serious, please don’t do this. It’s not fair.”

  His last three words echo in my brain. Where did I hear them before? Who said that?

  “I am serious.” I lean over and kiss him again. To convince him I mean it.

  To convince yourself, my little voice says.

  You’ve been wrong before, I tell the voice. Why should I listen to your sanctimonious crap this time?

  Evan lets me kiss him, and when I pull away, he takes a long, shuddering breath. “You better mean it.”

  “I do,” I tell him.

  Breanne stirs in the back seat then snores lightly.

  “I think you should take us home,” Evan says.

  “I think we should talk.” I grab one of his hands and squeeze it. “Then we should neck some more. How does that sound?”

  His expression is priceless.

  It feels wonderful to know how happy I’m going to make him.

  – Chapter Six –

  Sunday night. The last scrimmage is history, and the final roster for the Estevan McGillicky Oilers is posted in the rink lobby.

  Sue’s cuts so far haven’t been surprising. Amber Kowalski. Two girls from Stoughton who never showed for fitness testing yesterday morning. Some thirteen-year-olds from Estevan who were too light in the pants. A Radville girl with no hands at all. One from Redvers who couldn’t do the drills.

  Even so, I don’t have the guts to look. Instead I stand a healthy distance away, equipment at my feet, and watch the girls’ faces as they check the roster.

  Kathy’s first. The set of her shoulders is confident as she scans the names. She turns away after a second, catches my eye, and gives me a thumbs up. She high-fives Randi and Carla. Miranda sidles up, and Kathy throws an arm around her shoulders and points to her name.

  So far so good.

  A girl from Lignite moves closer, and they part to let her through. She scrutinizes the names for several long moments, and I can tell by the sudden droop in her shoulders that her name is missing. She pushes between Kathy and Carla, picks up her equipment by the door, and walks out.

  Crystal, Larissa and some girls I don’t know find their names on the list. They congratulate one another and exchange compliments. The team chemistry of the Estevan Oilers starts to evolve.

  “I knew you’d make it.”

  “Anybody hear when our first practice is?”

  “Can’t wait for our first league game.”

  It’s heartwarming – and sickening – at the same time.

  Jodi finds her name. Jennifer and Amy find theirs.

  A girl from Alameda doesn’t make the cut. Nor does one of the Carnduff girls.

  Teneil comes up the stairs, drops her hockey bag beside mine, gives me a nervous smile, and approaches the group. Scans the list of names, then scans it again. Miranda is smiling and talking to Randi. Obviously she never noticed her best friend’s name is missing. Teneil’s muttered curse is Miranda’s first clue something’s wrong. Miranda reaches out to touch her shoulder, but Teneil wrenches away, sobbing, and heads straight towards me.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  She hoists her equipment onto her shoulder and scrapes her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Why are you sorry?” she demands. “You made it, and I didn’t! So much for controlling what we can control!”

  Her parents are standing by the arena entrance. Mr. Howard has to step aside so she doesn’t swipe him with her hockey bag as she swears and storms out. Mrs. Howard looks like she’s been kicked in the stomach.

  I think of the times I’ve carpooled with the Howards.

  Shit.

  Miranda approaches me. “It’s not fair. Teneil should get to play her last year of Midget.”

  “Last season she always picked volleyball over hockey,” I remind her. “Don’t you think Sue remembers that?”

  Miranda walks away, muttering.

  I try to imagine a dressing room without Amber or Teneil.

  But I can’t.

  – Chapter Seven –

  It’s the first day of my last year at Estevan Comp-rehensive School, and
I’m headed over to Amber’s house to pick her up. The morning is bright and beautiful and breezy. Since it’s been raining steadily for the last three days, it sucks that we’ll be cooped up inside the Comp for six hours.

  I gave Amber a ride nearly every day last year. The kid asks the craziest questions. She totally cracks me up.

  But today she doesn’t say much.

  “I’m sorry you got cut,” I tell her right off.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I get it. I wasn’t good enough. I’m going to play on one of the ladies’ teams. I already talked to some people.”

  “You’re going to play senior ladies?”

  “You make them sound old,” Amber says. “Some of them aren’t much older than I am.”

  I check the traffic before making a right turn. “I didn’t know that.”

  “They practice once a week and have games on Fridays. They even go to tournaments. You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Jessie. I’m on student council this year. And I’m getting a part-time job because I want to buy my own car.”

  “So you’ve got everything figured out.” I give her a quick once-over to see if she’s just saying this to make us both feel better.

  But she looks happy.

  By the time we get to the Comp parking lot, she’s talked me into helping her out with the talent show next week. As I back into a spot, I wonder why I ever worried about her. Amber’s one of those people who knows how to bounce – whether she gets rubbed out on the boards or served up a big helping of Reality.

  On the other hand there’s Teneil.

  She’s waiting for us in the courtyard, sitting at our “team” table. It’s not like we won’t let anyone who’s not on the team sit with us. We’re not a clique or anything. But nobody’s ever been cut before.

  As soon as Amber and I sit down, Teneil starts in. She doesn’t even say hi. “So when’s your first practice?”

  “Monday.”

  “Found a head coach yet?”

  “No.”

  She raises an eyebrow at Amber. “I was looking on the internet. Most AAA teams carry more than seventeen. Lots of them AP players.”

  Hard to guess where this is going.

  Amber smiles and shrugs.

  Teneil turns to me. “Did Sue ever say why she only wanted seventeen?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “How many out-of-town girls made the team?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Teneil’s inquisition goes on until Miranda arrives. Then the two of them sit there and whisper while Amber tells me about potential part-time jobs, and I pretend to listen.

  I’m relieved when the other girls show up.

  And even more relieved when the buzzer sounds for first period.

  English. Mrs. Buckingham. She’s the greatest. I had her in Grade Eleven, and she doesn’t disappoint. I don’t think about hockey even once during her class.

  After English, there’s homeroom.

  I’m still with Mr. Gervais down in the band room, and – surprise surprise – so is Amy Fox. She looks big, even with khaki shorts and a tank top replacing her pads. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she doesn’t wear a lick of makeup.

  “Where are you billeting?” I ask her.

  We’re sitting on one of the carpeted tiers, legs stretched out in front of us.

  “My aunt,” she says. “That was the plan all along. I want a university scholarship next year, and I needed to transition to girls’ hockey. Playing in Estevan means my dad won’t have to pay someone to billet me.”

  I gather money is an issue for Amy’s family. I know her dad raises cattle, and the beef market has been in trouble for a while.

  “Bet he’ll miss you on the farm,” I tell her.

  “I’ve got three brothers,” she says.

  “So where do you want to play next year?” I ask. “Best case scenario.”

  “An Ivy League school,” she says. “I won’t be choosy. No offence, but another reason we picked this team is because my numbers are going to look better if I get lots of shots.”

  Some other kids come over to talk, and I introduce them to Amy. While they’re getting acquainted, I think about Amy’s assessment of the Oilers.

  Lots of shots on Amy means the opposition is blasting right past the defence.

  My position.

  And there’s no way I want that to happen.

  – Chapter Eight –

  I check the list of talent show entries on my clipboard. “I don’t know why people bother to enter. Everybody knows Jodi’s going to win.”

  “Yep, she always wins,” Kathy agrees. “But I still say you should have played your flute. You’re always telling us how good you were in junior high.”

  “I lied.”

  The guys on stage finish their air band routine, performed to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and back off the stage, bowing and waving their arms like rock stars.

  “I have no idea what that song’s about,” I say philosophically.

  “Who’s next?” Amber demands.

  “Calm down, Kowalski.” I check the clipboard again. “Liam MacArthur.”

  “He’s Indian,” Kathy says.

  “You should say First Nations,” I correct.

  Kathy tries to peer at my clipboard, but I pull it tight against my chest. “Can you at least tell me what he’s doing?” she asks.

  “Rope tricks,” Amber says. “What would you expect from somebody in Rodeo Club?” She walks out on the stage to introduce him.

  Liam enters from the opposite side, wearing Wranglers, a checked shirt, boots, a white Stetson and a huge, shiny belt buckle. He walks to centre stage, uncoiling a lariat. Kathy puts on a Keith Urban song, and Liam starts his routine. He keeps the rope in continual motion, twisting and snaking around him.

  “He’s good,” Kathy says. “You know him?”

  “He was in one of my math classes last year,” I reply. “Talked to him a few times, but we’re not friends.”

  “Of course you’re not. You never let any guys get close to you,” Kathy says.

  “Do you blame me?” I ask. “They all know about that time I got drunk at Shauna’s. I don’t trust any of them.”

  “Jessie, that was a long time ago. Everybody but you has forgotten about it.”

  When Liam finishes his performance, the crowd cheers and hollers. He removes his hat and inclines his head, flashing a gap-toothed smile. His dark hair is cut short, with one big cowlick on his forehead.

  He borrows the microphone from Amber. “For this next bit, I need a volunteer. Would someone from the audience...”

  Kathy shoves me violently from behind, and I end up on hands and knees on stage, my clipboard skittering across the smooth surface.

  Someone – it sounds like Randi – yells, “Way to go, Jessie!”

  Liam bends over, picks up my clipboard, and hands it to Amber. “Thanks for volunteering.”

  “But...”

  He’s already stepping away from me, rearranging the coils of rope. “Would you mind standing very still?”

  I get up and turn around, throwing daggers at Kathy. She grins and waves. I face Liam and stand very still indeed, my cheeks flaming while Liam shakes out a loop and begins. The rope whirs around me like a bumblebee, barely grazing my hair. I try to make eye contact with Liam, determined he should see how pissed I am, but his dark eyes register total concentration, and his thick black brows are beetled together.

  The performance concludes – again to thunderous applause – with me trussed and hog-tied like a steer. Like a moron, I hop offstage, where Kathy and Amber are doubled over.

  “Would you mind untying me?” I fume.

  Naturally they think it’s funnier to leave me in my present state.

  Liam jogs off the stage. “Are you finished with my rope?” He has to speak loudly because the audience hasn’t stopped cheering and whistling.

  Naturally that sends my two friends into hysterics. It’s a wo
nder they don’t pee their pants.

  He unravels the rope in a few deft movements, setting me free. “Frankly I’m surprised you volunteered so quick. Usually it’s a lot harder to coerce someone.”

  “Go take another bow!” Amber shouts.

  Liam steps back out. The volume increases immediately.

  “He’s cute,” Kathy says.

  “He’s not good looking,” I say.

  “I said he’s cute. There’s a difference,” Kathy points out.

  The audience starts chanting, “Jessie! Jessie!”

  “And you said you didn’t have a talent.” Kathy puts her hands on my shoulder blades.

  “Don’t push!” I snarl at her.

  Liam is suddenly back. “Come on!” He grabs my hand and pulls me to the middle of the stage, then drags my arm over my head, like I’m a prizefighter.

  Right now I’d like to go a few rounds with him and Kathy – armed with my hockey stick.

  “Encore!” someone shouts.

  Liam leans over and murmurs in my ear. “Can I tie you up again later?”

  “What?” I rip my hand from his grasp.

  Suddenly Amber’s there, introducing the next act, another air band. The guys are dressed and painted up like the members of KISS.

  I stalk off the stage, grabbing my clipboard from Kathy.

  “Hey, I’m sorry!” She doesn’t even sound apologetic. “He looked like your type.”

  “My type? I have a boyfriend! And besides, that guy is sick!”

  Liam comes backstage. “Hey you...Hockey Girl!” he says.

  “Get away from me!”

  “I just wanted to find out if you’ll do it!”

  “You are twisted, you know that?”

  His eyes widen in surprise, and he backs up a step.

  “Kathy, this guy asked if he could tie me up later! Have you ever heard of anything so perverted?” My face is burning.

  He looks just as embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that! Honest! I was just wondering if you’d help if I advance to the final round.”

  I wish there was a trap door on this stage, so I could disappear through it. “Oh.”

  “Well, will you?” he asks.

  “No,” I say slowly and distinctly. “I won’t.”