Impossible Things (2 page)

By five o'clock Mom still wasn't home, and I was getting hungry. I went down to the kitchen and started foraging in the cupboards. Ben was sitting at the kitchen table playing chess on his laptop. I wondered if he was still mad at me for what I'd said. “You hungry?” I asked.

He shrugged but didn't take his eyes off the screen. “What's for dinner?”

“Um, mac'n'cheese?” When it comes to cooking, I don't have a big repertoire.

“Cool.”

I put a pot of water on the stove, opened the box and pulled out the little cheese packet. Then I heard the front door open and close.

Mom was home, carrying a take-out pizza in a cardboard box. When Dad was here, she used to cook, but he's been away for two whole months, and he won't be back until April. In the meantime, we're eating a lot of pizza, a lot of Chinese food and a fair bit of mac'n'cheese.

“How's it going, kids?” she asked, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the back of a kitchen chair.

I avoided her eyes. “Fine.”

She nodded and sat down, running her fingers through her dark curly hair. She has great hair, and Ben does too. Me, I got Dad's straight brown hair, and light brown eyes and olive skin. Dad looks great: all tanned and outdoorsy. I just look beige all over. “Hey, Mom?” I said, putting plates on the table. “I was wondering if I could dye my hair.”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. Your hair's lovely.”

“It's not lovely. It's boring.”

“You're twelve,” she said, taking a slice of Hawaiian pizza. “You're too young to start dyeing your hair. Anyway, if you're like me you'll start going gray in your twenties, and then you'll have to dye it for the rest of your life. So don't be in a rush to start.”

“I'd like it gray,” I said sullenly. “I wish it would go gray now.”

She sighed. “You know, Cassidy, I've spent the whole day volunteering at hospice, talking to people who are going to be dead in a few weeks or months. Could we just have a nice dinner together, minus the attitude?”

I took a slice of pizza and said nothing.

Mom smiled. “So how was your day? Anything interesting happen?”

“Well, no one died,” I said. “No one was even diagnosed as terminally ill.” I took a bite of lukewarm pizza. “So, no, I guess nothing interesting happened.”

“If you're going to be like that, fine.” She turned to Ben. “How about you, honey? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” Ben said, staring at his plate. “Um. Yeah. Nothing exceptional, but pretty good.”

I guessed being bullied by Tyler and his gang couldn't compete with the soon-to-be-dead people either.

“Your dad called this morning,” Mom said. “He sounds like he's doing well. Says he misses you both.”

“I miss him.” And I miss you too, I thought. Lately, even when she was home, she was too wrapped up in her painting to have time for us. “There's a new girl at my school,” I told her. “Her name's Victoria. She just moved here.”

Mom smiled hopefully. “Well, she won't know anyone then. Perhaps the two of you can be friends. Why don't you invite her over?”

“Mom! I don't even know her!”

“So, how are you going to get to know her if you don't take the first step?”

“It doesn't work like that, okay?” I hadn't brought anyone home from school in over a year. I had friends from summer camp, but they all lived too far away to see often, and I had some online friends, but as for school…well, I started getting called Cathidy at the beginning of grade six, and it had pretty much gone downhill from there.

Victoria would probably just laugh if I invited her over. I looked at my mother. “Newsflash, Mom: It's impossible to make friends unless you're exactly like all the other kids.” Under the table, I tightened my hands into fists. “Impossible.”

Three

The next morning, Mom was already painting by the time I got downstairs. Her studio used to be the den, but now it was completely filled with stacks of paintings leaning against walls, tables covered in paints and pastels and brushes, half-finished sketches taped up everywhere. It was chaos. She had been painting since I was a baby, but in the last couple of years she'd gotten serious about it. She had a show coming up soon, which I guess was why she was so busy. That and the dying people.

“Hi,” I said.

Mom glanced up. “Is that really what you're wearing to school?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, good morning to you too.” I glanced down at myself: jeans, a purple scarf rolled thin and tied as a belt, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that said
I love free speech
. I have an awesome T-shirt collection. Mom hates most of them, but she says I'm old enough to choose my own clothes.

I was about to ask what was wrong with my outfit, but when I looked up, Mom had already turned back to her painting and forgotten I was there.

In the kitchen, Ben was perched on a stool, eating a bowl of toxic-looking purple cereal and balancing a heavy book on the edge of the counter. I made some toast and peanut butter and poured a glass of milk; then I pulled another stool up to the counter and sat down beside him. He was absentmindedly stirring his cereal with his spoon while he turned pages with his other hand.

I peeked at the book he was reading.
Future Tech:
Innovations in Transportation
. Typical Ben material. He might have no friends, but at least he was a genius. Presumably at some point he'd join Mensa and find other geniuses to hang out with. I, on the other hand, was just friendless. Not a genius. Not an artist. Not a brilliant engineer. Not anything special at all.

It was barely even light out when we left the house. A bank of heavy clouds hung near the horizon, and I wondered if it was going to snow again. The inside of my nose crinkled with each breath. I yanked my favorite paisley scarf up over my chin and buried my hands in my coat pockets. I'd forgotten my gloves, but I couldn't be bothered going back for them.

Ben was quiet. He was funny that way. Sometimes he'd chatter nonstop about whatever his current thing was—magnetic-levitation trains or jellyfish or the bubonic plague. And then other times, he'd go hours without saying a word. I was glad today was a quiet day. I felt bad about what I'd said yesterday, but I hadn't forgotten about what he'd said either.

We were halfway across the schoolyard when a tiny elf-like girl appeared beside us.

“Hi, Sydney,” Ben said. He looked at me. “See you later.”

“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

I asked, curious.

He shuffled his feet a bit but finally said, “Sydney, this is Cassidy. She's, um, my sister.”

Um, my sister.
Like it just about killed him to admit it.

Sydney grinned at me. Pointy ears stuck out from under her blue woollen hat. “Good morning, Cassidy. A pleasure to meet you.”

I nodded. Another freak. “Hi.” I watched the two of them scurry off toward the school.

I couldn't believe it. Even Ben had a friend.

By the steps leading up to the school doors, Amber was showing her newly manicured nails to Madeline, Chiaki and a couple of other girls. Her nails were a hard shiny pink with tiny white daisies painted on them. She stopped talking and let her hands fall slowly to her sides when she saw me. “Oh, look. It's Cathidy. Nithe pants, Cathidy. Thalvation Army?”

I glared at her. “You got it, Amber. How about yours? Child labor in some third world country?”

“She is such a freak,” Amber said to her friends, not even bothering to answer me. The other girls laughed as if Amber had said something so hysterically funny that they could barely contain themselves.

My stomach hurt. Chiaki had been my best friend, back when we were younger. We went to Brownies together in third grade. Seriously. We made friendship bracelets and played this game where you had to make thumbprints and draw faces on them and exchange them with all the other Brownies.
I'm a thumbuddy,
you had to say. Of course, with my lisp, somebody and thumbuddy sounded pretty much the same.

Anyway, I was used to Madeline and Amber being mean, but even though Chiaki had dumped me and joined the enemy halfway through grade six, I hated seeing her with them. My eyes suddenly felt hot and prickly. I pushed past the girls and ran into the school and down the hall.

Victoria was on her way out of the washroom just as I was heading in, and I practically knocked her over.

She caught my arm and pulled me back inside. “Hey, are you okay?”

I brushed tears aside with the back of my hand. “Yeth.
Yes
.”

“Was it those girls again?”

I nodded. “Always. I try not to care.” I didn't know why I was telling her all this. It wasn't something I usually talked about.

“Amber's so mean all the time. I don't get why she's popular.”

“Better to be on her good side, I guess. Everyone sees how she treats the kids she doesn't like.” I shrugged. “People are scared of her.”

“
You
don't seem scared.”

I made a face. “Newsflash: I'm a good actor.”

Victoria laughed; then she sighed. “Every school I've been to has had girls like her,” she said. “You know. The kind who start a stupid little club where they can decide who's in and who's out.”

“They let Chiaki in,” I muttered. “She used to be my friend.”

She wrinkled her nose sympathetically. “You wouldn't want to hang out with them anyway.”

“No, I'd just like them to leave me alone.”

Victoria opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“What were you going to say?”

“We could start our own club,” she said. Her eyes were bright behind her glasses and her freckled cheeks were suddenly pink.

I looked into the mirror and adjusted my hat. “Yeah, you and me and no one else.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “We'll see. Anyway, come on. We'll be late for class.”

The bell rang. Crap
.
My heart sank. I'd seen how Mr. McMaran reacted to lateness. “Victoria…we're so dead.”

She laughed. Of course, she hadn't seen McMaran— McMoron—in action yet.

He was in full rant mode about last week's math test when we entered the room. He broke off and stared at us. “So you think you can walk in here anytime you please? Whenever you feel like it? Huh? Is that what you think?”

His heavy face was several shades darker than its usual red; it was bordering on purple. His mouth was open and flecks of spit had collected at the corners. Not pretty.

I shook my head. “I apologize. Umm…” I couldn't think of an excuse. Anyway, the less I talked the better. There was a reason I'd said
I apologize
instead of
I'm sorry
: no letter
s
.

“I hate excuses. Don't give me excuses.” He thwomped his hand on his desk as if he'd rather be hitting me. “And please address me as Sir.”

“Ye…Okay.”

Thwomp
. “Now!”

I swallowed. “Thir.
Sir
.” I corrected myself, but it was too late. It only drew attention to my slipup. Amber and Madeline were nudging each other, blond ponytails bobbing with delight.

McMoron smirked, enjoying my discomfort. Then he turned to Victoria and shook his big head. “The new girl. Late already. Not an auspicious beginning.” He stood up and put his coffee mug on his desk. “If you can't accept responsibility for your own behavior, then there will be consequences.”

I hated him. Hated him with every little cell in my body. I'd told Mom a hundred times how mean he was and she always said the same thing:
Oh, Cassidy, don't exaggerate.

McMoron strode toward us. “The two of you can stand over here in the corner for the rest of the morning.” He grabbed my shoulder with one hand and Victoria's with the other and shoved us toward the front of the room.

I turned my head to the wall. I thought I might start crying out of sheer helpless fury, but I wouldn't give Amber and Madeline the satisfaction of seeing my tears. Behind me, I could hear McMoron's footsteps returning to his desk. Then I heard a deafening crash and the sound of splintering wood.

I spun around. The teacher was sprawled on the floor, his chair broken and overturned beside him. Everyone was staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked. He struggled to his feet, his face flushed and eyes bulging. “Just tripped,” he barked. “No reason for you all to stop working!”

He picked up a piece of chalk from the blackboard tray, but as he stepped toward the chalkboard it slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He turned toward me as he bent to pick up the pieces, and I quickly turned away to face the wall again.

Then I noticed something strange: Victoria's eyes were closed. Her hands were pressed against her temples, and there was a look of intense concentration on her face.

Behind us, Mr. McMaran was swearing his head off in a way that I couldn't imagine the principal or our parents would approve of. “All right!” he bellowed. “Here is another math exercise!” Chalk squeaked against the blackboard. “You have thirty seconds. And I expect better results this time.”

I waited for the sound of pencils scribbling frantically, but there was complete silence in the room. I peeked over my shoulder. Nathan's mouth was hanging open and his eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop right out. He wasn't moving. No one was moving. Then I heard a couple of smothered giggles. I turned right around to look at the class. They were all staring at the board. Mr. McMaran had written something across it, but it was sprawling, full of weird symbols and completely unreadable. I couldn't even tell if it was a math exercise at all, let alone decipher what it said.

I turned to Victoria. “Look at the board,” I whispered.

She pressed her fingers harder against her temples and ignored me.