The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing (3 page)

“There’s no reason at all for us to assume it could be Devin,” my dad repeated, his face pale. “This article gives next to no details. The description probably fits a million people in this country.”

My mother said we should call the Newmarket police department, and the suggestion made my dad raise his voice. “No one’s calling the police department,” he insisted. “Devin’s not a missing person. He left of his own free will. We can’t ring up police departments across the country every time we open the newspaper, for God’s sake.”

My mom scrunched up her eyebrows. “We’re talking about our son,” she said hoarsely. “If I have to call police departments across the country, I will.”

Mom snatched up the cordless and dialled information to ask for the number. Dad listened to her without offering another word of protest. The two of us sat there trying to piece together details from the half of the conversation we could hear. Mom’s fingers trembled worse than ever as she hung up. She said that the body had just been identified as a young man from Quebec but that the police wouldn’t reveal any more as the family had yet to be notified. I silently cursed my brother for making us miserable, even as relief clawed at my throat.

My mind sifts through it all again as I roll over in bed — dream Devin, missing Devin, the Devin who would’ve applauded me for calling it quits with Jacob and the one who raged at my mother, accusing her of trying to make him fat when she was only trying to get him to eat some pot roast and peas.

It makes me so sad to think about that I can hardly stand it. Does anyone bother to coax Devin to eat dinner anymore?

CHAPTER FOUR

~

MS. YUEN PAIRS ME
up with Aya Yamamoto for a conversation exercise in French last period. It’s the first time we’ve spoken to each other since that night at Wyatt’s but neither of us mentions it. Aya’s French is almost as good as her English and that makes me angry with her. She’s too smart to act like a skank for people like Wyatt and Orlando. What was she even doing at Wyatt’s party? The people she usually hangs out with play the flute and top the honour roll.

I don’t say goodbye to her when the bell rings. I’m not holding her fully responsible for that night but she’s not innocent either. Now that I’m unattached I could easily spend too much time thinking about things that don’t really matter, like why people do the things they do, but I’ve decided that I won’t. What I need is to keep busy, and I’ve settled on the idea of a part-time job.

Last spring I started thinking that I’d like a baby blue scooter to cruise around town in. I could change my mind long before I have the money to buy one, but at least it’s something to think about that doesn’t involve high school guys or serious amounts of talent in an as yet undiscovered area.

If I had a scooter now I could hop on and be home in a couple of minutes rather than the fifteen it takes me to walk. Izzy’s mom picks her and Marguerite up almost every day, but my house is in the opposite direction and since we’ve just started hanging out together again it doesn’t seem like a good time to ask for a favour. Actually, even if I had a scooter I’d sooner ride in something with a roof this afternoon because it’s starting to rain.

I pull my hoodie over my head as I step outside. Not only is it raining but it’s cold. I bury my hands in my pockets and consider searching out Izzy after all. Her mom usually picks her up by the south doors near the office and I’m about to head that way when my eardrums pick up on Nicole Lapatas screeching at some lanky junior guy I don’t know by name.

She’s only six feet away and I can’t avoid hearing her scream, “You’re disgusting! You’re going to be one of those guys whose best friend is his hand forever and who’s still living in his parents’ basement when he’s forty because no girl will go near him!”

The lanky guy laughs, stares intently at his phone, and intones, “Ooh, you’re sexy when you’re mad, Nicki.” I can’t see the image on his cell from where I’m standing but the noise from it is clearly audible. Some guy’s shouting encouragement to Nicole, telling her she’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen and
oh yeah, baby, YEAH, Nicki, baby, that’s it …

The guy looks up from his cell, a dirty grin stuck on his lips as he says, “You got some nice moves here. Why don’t you want anyone to see them?”

Nicole grabs for his phone, but she’s not fast enough. He yanks it into the sky above his head and laughs again as she jumps for it. “You
are
a frisky one, aren’t you?” He whistles low but flicks his eyes away from mine when he sees me staring. His laughter turns embarrassed and then stops completely. “Okay, okay — there,” he says, slipping the cell into his backpack. “Happy now?”

“Fuck you,” Nicole declares, worry lines etching into her forehead. She reaches for his backpack this time, sliding the zip halfway
down before he fights her off.

“Calm down,” he tells her. “
Ree-lax
, Nicole. Just chill, would you?”

Nicole hasn’t given up. Both her hands lunge for his backpack, all her weight and energy focused on it like she means business. The guy pulls back fast, spinning away from her and upsetting her balance. He doesn’t glance back to see her crumple to the ground. He’s halfway to the football field by the time I realize it’s up to me to do something.

Nicole Lapatas is lying across the littered cement, one of her legs folded under the other and her skirt askew. I step towards her, realizing as I do that someone else is hurrying in her direction too. I bend down in front of Nicole and say, “Are you okay?”

Genevieve Richardson, last year’s student council treasurer, crouches down next to me. She extends her hand to Nicole, who takes it and pulls herself up. “God, that looks sore,” Genevieve declares, her eyes on Nicole’s injured bare right leg, which is both scraped raw and covered in runny mud and itty bitty pebbles.

I groan inside as I stare at it. There’s a cigarette butt on the ground between us which could easily have wound up fused to her skin too. “It’s too bad you weren’t wearing pants,” I say sympathetically.

Nicole nods at me. Her eyes have filled with tears.

“Are you all right besides that, do you think?” Genevieve asks, her long red hair falling over her shoulders as she scrutinizes the wound. “Does it feel like anything’s broken?”

Nicole places her weight solidly on her right leg and shakes her head. At that moment Jacob and Orlando strut right by us. Jacob eyes Nicole’s leg and I’m sure he notices that she’s crying too, but he doesn’t say anything. Suddenly I want to run after him and thump him hard on the back. He’d either laugh at me or act like I was being hysterical and the thought eggs me on. I have the crazy feeling that I’d do it, if only Genevieve and Nicole weren’t next to me.

“You’ll have to clean that out really well,” Genevieve continues. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

Nicole winces as she peers down at her leg. “I hope it doesn’t scar.”

“It doesn’t look deep,” Genevieve tells her. I nod in agreement, still visualizing smacking Jacob.

“Do you have a ride home?” Genevieve asks, throwing her hair back over her shoulders. “I can give you a lift.”

Nicole sighs and stares off at a speck in the distance. “That would be great. Thanks.”

I follow Nicole’s eyes to the disappearing guy, who is now only a dot on the horizon. “Maybe you guys can run him over on your way home,” I offer. On a normal day I’d pretend not to have noticed what happened between them, out of politeness, but it doesn’t feel like an ordinary day anymore.

Nicole smiles thinly. “You promise?”

The fact that he seemed to be watching some sexy footage of her that she wasn’t happy about is good enough for me. Like I needed another demonstration of how much high school guys suck. “If I can add someone to the list too,” I quip.

Nicole smirks and wipes her damp cheek with the back of her hand. “Since Genevieve’s driving I guess that’s up to her.”

The three of us are getting soaked standing there, but Genevieve, with her perfect features and A average, still looks like a cross between young Gwyneth Paltrow and teenaged Nicole Kidman. “Come on,” Genevieve says impatiently, digging her hands into the pockets of her brown leather jacket. “I’m freezing.” She cocks her head at me. “Do you need a ride too?”

“I’d love one.” Genevieve has never bothered to suck up to me because of Morgan. I can’t imagine her sucking up to anyone, and maybe it’s dumb of me to feel mildly excited about catching a ride with her, but if I don’t tell anyone it doesn’t count.

I let Nicole take the front seat in Genevieve’s not new but not ancient Honda Civic. Genevieve asks us where we live and begins driving in the direction of Nicole’s house. It’s quiet in the car and Genevieve explains that her speakers are blown. “I meant to buy new ones,” she says, “but I started to get used to the silence.”

Then we’re back to a semi-awkward quiet that lasts until we pull into Nicole’s driveway. “Thanks for the ride,” she tells Genevieve before turning to glance over her shoulder at me. “Thanks, Serena. I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

“See you, Nicole,” I say back. We just finished
Lord of the Flies
in English this morning and I’m never going to pick up the book again if I can help it. Who wants to read a novel about how we’re all basically savages at the core? If that’s true, I don’t want to know it.

I hop in the front so Genevieve won’t feel like my chauffeur, and as soon as I shut my door she says, “So have you seen the video? I didn’t want to mention it to Nicole because she seemed pretty upset, but really, she should’ve known better. You can’t let them film stuff like that.” Genevieve clucks in disapproval. “But I feel sorry for her anyway. It’s not like she can undo the damage, is it?”

“Actually, I didn’t see the video. The guy Nicole was fighting with was watching it so I just heard a bit from his cell.” I have that
Lord of
the Flies
dread in my stomach and wonder if I really want to know more. “What is it? Like a sex tape?”

Genevieve shoots me a sideways look. “It was going around school today. I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough. Basically she’s doing a striptease for Liam Powers. Lots of shaking her naked booty and so on. You can imagine.”

“That sucks.” I frown and look out the window. Nicole and Liam Powers have been hooking up since last spring. He’s a junior like Genevieve but not quite as popular. Whenever I saw Nicole and Liam together in the hall or cafeteria they were smiling. Now I’ll probably never see them together again. It occurs to me that things could’ve been so much worse with Jacob. “I can’t believe Liam would do that to her.”

“Word is it wasn’t him that spread the video — someone else stumbled across it on his cell and forwarded it around.”

I groan. “Everyone’s going to see it. That’s so unfair.” I have no idea what I’d do if it was me.

“Ridiculously unfair,” Genevieve agrees. “Now Liam Powers is some kind of hero and she’s a slut.” She combs her fingers through her wet hair. “That’s what people think.”

I know it and I grumble, “I’m so off guys that it isn’t funny.” I don’t know that I’d call them savages like in
Lord of the Flies
but they’re not far off.

“Tell me about it.” Genevieve tosses her head back. “None of them at Laurier are worth spending more than five minutes with, and with some of them five minutes is five minutes too long.”

A grin curves onto my cheeks as I look at her. I had no idea Genevieve Richardson and I were part of the same bitter club. “That’s way too true. I’ve actually sworn off high school guys entirely.”

“You really think they’ll be any better once they’ve graduated?” she asks with a dry smile. “Nope, I think we’re out of luck until at they’re at least thirty, Serena.”

It’s funny to hear Genevieve Richardson say my name. We’ve never spoken, but because of Morgan everyone knows who I am. At least seven different people have asked me whether my brother’s having a secret fling with Ariel, Much’s most popular
VJ
, because they have such terrific on-air chemistry and the entire country’s aware that he’s bisexual.

“Why thirty?” I ask.

Genevieve shrugs. “I’m being generous, it could be forty or fifty before male adolescence ends. The jury’s still out on that.”

I laugh lightly as we hang a left onto my street. “You sound as jaded as I am. Maybe we can form a club and apply for school funding.” It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who plans to avoid entanglements with guys for as long as I can. Izzy and Marguerite don’t count because as much as they’d deny it, I know they’d secretly love for someone to flash them the hot girl look. Believe me, I know how that goes; I
was
an Izzy or Marguerite until August 22.

Genevieve smiles at my suggestion. The last I heard she was with Costas Gavril, who is a senior with a face like a
WWE
wrestler but a nice guy reputation. Since I don’t want to sound like I’ve been following her life story I don’t ask what Costas did to her. “It’s the one with the green garage,” I say, pointing to my house. “Right here.”

Genevieve hugs the curb and shifts into park. “Trust me, no one’s more jaded than me, dear.” She arches an eyebrow and beams me a look streaked with weariness, boredom, and a side order of superiority. I have to admit she wears cynicism better than I do. Even the new, improved Serena can’t compete with Genevieve Richardson, but inside I know I’m every bit as fed up with the male half of the Wilfrid Laurier student population.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say as I open the door, “but thanks.”

Genevieve nods, her eyes already back on the road. “Bye, Serena.”

***

By English class the next day I know what Nicole Lapatas’s nipples look like. Technically no one’s supposed to use their phones on school premises, but it’s hard to enforce that rule in the cafeteria and the hallways. Not to mention the bathrooms, where a couple of guys in our class tell Nicole they’ve been jerking off to her image.

Nicole tries to ignore them, but she looks like she wants to neuter somebody. As we’re leaving class I slow down to ask how her leg is. She’s wearing pinstriped pants and we both gaze down at them as she says, “My mom cleaned it out for me last night. It hurt like a son of a bitch but Genevieve was right, it wasn’t really that deep.”

“That’s good.” I clear my throat.

One of the guys from our English class leers at Nicole as he ambles by.

“This is getting really, really old,” she says in a sharp voice. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do?”

If it were me I’d probably stay home and pretend to have bronchitis until someone else topped my drama. Nicole’s holding up pretty well, all things considered. “None of them have anything better to do,” I say, acidity swimming up my throat. “We go to Loserville High, Nicole.”

Nicole plays with her hair and chews the inside of her lip. For a second I think I spot yesterday’s ache in her eyes. “Listen, do you want to come over to my house after school?” I ask on impulse. “We can go over the English homework or whatever.”