“Two please,” I said, standing up. More than anything I wanted to go around the table and give Joc a hug, but she was still sitting with her head down, rubbing her eyes. Sometimes a person needs a private moment. So instead I asked Ms.
Hersch, “Can I help make lunch? I’m not a burny drippy kind of cook.”
Ms. Hersch gave me with a broad smile, and I could feel the warmth of it reaching back through all the years I’d been coming to this house.
“Sure you can help, hon,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Opening the fridge, I took out a block of cheese.
The following afternoon I was outside, raking leaves from the front lawn, when the sound of a familiar engine came rumbling down the street. Open-mouthed, I turned to see a blue Firebird with leaping orange-red flames pull up in front of the house. For a long moment I stood frozen, my heart in an absolute kick-ass thud as Cam sat motionless in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. Then slowly he opened his door and got out of the car. Coming through the gate, he walked over to me.
“Hi, Dyl,” he said quietly, his eyes not quite meeting mine.
“Hi,” I said hoarsely, then just stood frozen again, not knowing what to say. “I...tried to call you,” I said finally. “Last night.”
He nodded. “I turned the ringer off my cell,” he said, studying his feet. “I didn’t...feel like it, I guess.”
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Cam,” I blurted miserably. “You don’t know how bad I feel about this. I’m just really
really
sorry.”
“I know you are,” he said quickly. His eyes flicked across mine and I saw them redden. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” he said, glancing away again. “The whole thing between us, from the very beginning. At first I was mad. I thought how could you do this to me, waste my time for ten months leading me on like this? But after a while I could see how hard you were trying...to care about me, I mean.”
“I do care about you,” I said, the words bursting out of me. “I love you, Cam. I really do.”
“I know,” he said gruffly. Ducking his head, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Then he took a shaky breath. “So, after that I thought maybe there was something wrong with me,” he continued grimly. “I hadn’t tried hard enough, or—”
“No,” I burst out again, but he lifted a hand and I saw that he was working his way toward something. So I just shut my mouth and waited.
“I guess,” he said heavily, “that was the way I’d felt all along— that you weren’t, y’know...turning on...because I wasn’t good enough. It was always there in my gut—the feeling that I wasn’t doing it for you, that there was something wrong with me. But then I realized that you were probably feeling the same thing about yourself. And how could anything ever work between us if we were both feeling that way?”
He stared past me, his shoulders slumped. “I mean, it just wasn’t working, even though we both cared about each other. And we were both too scared to admit it. Until
you
finally got the guts to say it. You had the guts, not me.”
He looked at me then, and I could see the sheer courage in him, how hard it had been to come over and tell me this. Suddenly the impossible space between us evaporated. Dropping the rake, I grabbed hold of him and hugged tight.
“Jeeeezus,” I whispered.
Cam stiffened, then let his arms slide around me. “I can’t believe I let those guys talk me into that bedroom thing at Gary’s,” he said into my hair. “That’s how wrong I was getting inside, Dyllie—I actually went along with that.”
His arms loosened, and I realized that I couldn’t hang on forever, I had to let him go. With a sigh I let my arms drop, and he took a step back.
“I guess the whole thing was getting me really twisted around inside,” he said slowly. “When you said those things in the car afterward, you saved me from something, Dyl. I dunno what exactly—a way of thinking and being, maybe. There’s more space inside me now. I can breathe better, y’know?”
“I know,” I said fiercely. Oh, how I wanted to hug him again, just grab hold and never let go. Instead, I stood smiling weakly at him as he smiled weakly back. Then, as if on cue, the front door burst open behind us and Keelie came barreling out, her shoes half on and her jacket sliding off her shoulders.
“I’m ready, Cam,” she hollered. “I’m ready to go driving now.”
“Keelie,” I said, turning quickly. “Cam’s not here to—”
“Actually,” interrupted Cam, putting a hand on my arm, “I am. I called ahead and asked Keelie if she’d like to come driving with me. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks, y’know. C’mere Keelie, let me do up your jacket.”
With a grin he got down on his knees, zipped up Keelie’s jacket and fastened her shoes. Then he straightened, took her hand and turned toward the car. Abruptly he stopped and turned back.
“You can come too if you want, Dyl,” he said. “There’s lots of room.”
A giant ache reared up in me, but I rode it out and let it fade, a last sad breath. “Maybe next time,” I said reluctantly. “I’d really like to next time.”
The same ache came and went in his face, and he turned and continued toward the car. As he opened the passenger door, Keelie glanced back at me.
“The queen of the Sirius galaxy isn’t coming?” she asked doubtfully.
Suddenly then, it hit me—happiness, exuberance,
jubilation
.
The queen of the Sirius galaxy! I was finished with that bitch forever.
“No, she isn’t!” I called, the words bursting out of me in a glad shout. “But you’ve got the once and future king to take care of you, Keelie. And you know you’ll be all right with him.”
A quick grin crossed Cam’s face and his shoulders seemed to straighten. Helping Keelie into the car, he closed the door. “See you later, Dyl,” he said, walking around the front.
“Hey—you can always come in for hot chocolate when you get back,” I said.
His grin widened. “Yeah okay,” he said. “Should be about an hour.”
Getting in, he started the engine as Keelie waved frantically from her window. Then the Firebird pulled away from the curb with a loud rumble, its bright hand-painted flames leaping across the sides and hood.
Firebird
, I thought, watching it go.
Foxfire
. All along we’d each had our own private fire—different kinds maybe, but enough sweet heat to keep us warm as we went our separate ways.
Picking up the rake, I got back to clearing leaves.
Chapter Twenty-four
Monday morning before classes, I went to the front office and asked to see Mr. Brennan. Eyebrows raised, a secretary told me that he was busy but would be free soon. Ten minutes later I was called into his office. With a questioning smile Mr. Brennan gestured to a chair and asked, “What can I help you with, Dylan? Something to do with the library display?”
Taking a very deep, very polite breath, I sat down. “I decided,” I said, not quite meeting his eyes, “that I wanted to tell you why I put
Foxfire
in the girl silhouette’s groin.”
As soon as I said this, of course, a flush started creeping up my neck. Groin—it’s such a...well...
groiny
kind of word, y’know? Not the easiest thing to say to your high school principal.
Fortunately Mr. Brennan didn’t appear to notice. “I’d be interested in hearing about it,” he said warmly.
“Well,” I said, “okay. It was actually the same reason that I had for using
The Once and Future King
.
Foxfire
is about some girls who saw that everything around them was wrong. Society had the wrong priorities, people weren’t being treated right, that sort of thing. So they decided to do something about it. Sure they made mistakes, but what they were really interested in was justice and fairness. And because they were all girls, I figured it had a lot
to do with...well, with being a
girl
. I mean, we live in our whole body, right? Our whole body is our heart and mind, maybe even our soul. So I think our heart and soul and mind live in our groin, just like anywhere else. And we need to make that part of us be about truth and respect and love, just like our heart.”
As I spoke Mr. Brennan leaned slowly forward in his chair, his eyes glued to my face. “I like that, Dylan,” he said, as soon as I’d finished. “I think you’re absolutely right. And I also think that if you wrote that up as an explanation and posted it beside your display, you could take down the censor strips and put
Foxfire
and
The Once and Future King
back into their original positions.”
A huge grin split my face. I mean, I was jubilant. Mr. Brennan grinned jubilantly back.
“That’s great!” I said. “Except tomorrow is the last day of October. So Ms. Fowler has to put up a new display on Wednesday.”
“Oh, I think she’ll be quite happy to leave this one up for another month,” said Mr. Brennan. “Putting up displays isn’t her favorite pastime, y’know.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She mentioned that.” Then a new thought hit me and I blurted, “Hey.”
I paused, wondering how far to push things.
“Hey what?” prompted Mr. Brennan.
“Well,
The Joy of Sex
used to be in the boy silhouette’s mouth,” I reminded him.
Mr. Brennan shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t think that one is appropriate for this setting. Keep it in mind for later, when you’re studying graphic design at college.”
“Graphic design?” I repeated, staring at him.
“Sure,” said Mr. Brennan. “You’ve got the mind for it, Dylan. I could see you coming up with some interesting professional work some day.”
“But I don’t take art,” I stammered.
“Well now’s a great time to start,” said Mr. Brennan. “You’re in grade eleven, so you’ve got almost two years here. That should be enough time to work in some art courses.”
“Huh,” I said. Stunned, I just sat there, then noticed him glance at his watch. “Well thanks,” I said, getting up. “I’ll write up that explanation tonight and post it tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said. And then, to my surprise he stood up, reached across his desk and shook my hand. “Thanks for coming to see me again about this,” he said. “I’m glad we had a chance to sort it out.”
“Me too,” I said, doing the red thing all over again—story of my life, on repeat, every five seconds.
Leaving Mr. Brennan to his busy schedule, I headed through the crowded halls to homeroom. In spite of the fact that our conversation had turned out positively, a decidedly grim feeling was taking over the pit of my stomach. Over the next few hours I had a decision to make regarding another possible conversation with Dief personnel, only this one wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant. So I sweated out my morning classes, mulling it over, and then just before lunch, slipped into the girls gym. Leaning against a wall, I waited as a flood of grade-nine girls left for the locker room, then walked over to Ms. Harada, who was collecting loose volleyballs.
“Ms. Harada,” I said, “do you have a minute?”
“Certainly, Dylan,” she said, straightening with a smile. “What’s up?”
“Well,” I said, glancing around the gym. At the moment it was empty, but any second someone—as in a member of the phone patrol—was likely to come walking in. “Would it be possible to talk in the gym office?” I asked.
Ms. Harada gave me a startled look. “Sure,” she said. “There’s no one in there right now so we can talk privately.”
Crossing the gym, we entered the office and she closed the door. “I was hoping you would come see me last week,” she said, sitting down behind her desk. “A position opened up on the senior volleyball team, but it’s filled now.”
With a nod, I sat down in an empty chair. “That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about,” I said. “Michelle Allen quitting.”
Ms. Harada lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Well,” I said reluctantly, “the reason she quit was because the other girls on the team...well,
some
of them...hazed her into quitting.”
A frown crossed Ms. Harada’s face. “What do you mean?” she asked.
I gave her a quick rundown on the conversations that I’d had with Rachel and Julie, then added, “I know I should’ve come to you right at the beginning. I regret that I didn’t, I
really
regret it. Last night I called Michelle and talked to her about it. She said it was all small stuff—no bruises, nothing major stolen, no out-and-out accusations. But she got the message.”
For a long moment Ms. Harada sat there, just staring at me. “I never...picked up on it,” she said slowly. “Not a thing. Was everyone involved?”
“Probably not,” I said, running through the team members in my mind. “But they all would’ve known about it.”
Eyes narrowed, Ms. Harada sat lost in thought. “That is
not
the way things go on my teams,” she said finally. “I’ll certainly be giving Michelle a call tonight. Thank you for telling me about this, Dylan.”
“She said she wouldn’t come back,” I said, getting to my feet. “Everyone would just get a hate on for her over it, worse than before. It wouldn’t be worth it.”
Ms. Harada nodded, her face serious. “We’ll see,” she said as
she held open the door. “Like I said, that is
not
the way things go on my teams.”
I stepped through the doorway, then turned back to face her. “Ms. Harada,” I said hesitantly. “Would it be possible...”
The look on my face must have told her what I’d been about to ask. “My lips are sealed,” she said firmly. “No one needs to know my source on this one.”
“Thanks,” I said in massive relief.
“I understand,” she nodded. “Things haven’t changed that much since I was your age.”
With another grim look, she closed the door.
That evening I wrote out my explanation for the library display and brought it to my lunch-hour shift the next day. When she saw it, Ms. Fowler broke into a pleased smile and went into her office to fetch the display case key. As she unlocked the case, Joc steadied a chair for me and I climbed onto the seat. A crowd gathered quickly, making the expected wisecracks as I removed the censor strips, then surging forward excitedly to read the exposed titles. So I explained that these were Ms. Fowler’s substitute titles,
not
my original ones, and handed them to her.