Whack. Whack. Whack.
There was another knock at the door, loud, above the music.
“Go away!” Lee hollered. “Leave me alone.”
She heard Mom’s voice yelling something at her through the door, but she couldn’t understand it. Her mother didn’t come in.
Good. In the cookie tin Lee found another pencil.
It’s her stupid fault!!!! she could have tried harder to make it work. Now I’m alone. I hate them both!! I hate this room! I hate this music! I hate this day! I hate everything!!!
Lee looked up at the wall at one of her favorite photographs hanging above the bed: a picture of she and her cousin Alex tubing at “The Slide” near their usual campsite. That’s the picture she’d take with her if she left. If Dad packed his locomotive picture, he must be leaving for good. And he had said goodbye in a way that made it sound absolutely final. He had never done that before, ever.
I might as well run away too. Why stay in this place??? I’ll go and live in the old, abandoned shacks in the hills. I’ll tell Alex, he’ll understand. I’11 swear him to secrecy. He’ll bring me scraps of food. I’ll survive without them. I’m sure no one will even notice I’m gone!
She banged the covers of her journal shut. Maybe that was a stupid idea. Kicking the dresser harder, she turned up the music- loud, angry music- to block out everything, especially the word goodbye.
She lay on the bed, listening to her tape. When one side finished, it flipped automatically, and she tuned in and out, listening to song after song after song.
She stared at the ceiling, wondering if she’d ever see her father again. She’d hardly seen him these last few years anyway. He always came home late (even though his job at the depot ended at seven o’clock) and stayed in bed until after she left for school most mornings. On weekends or holidays, if he was around, he was cranky. Sometimes, when he worked on his latest model engine in the garage, he put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and didn’t even acknowledge she was home.
When she was younger he had taken her to the park, played ball and soccer with her, pushed her on the swings. That was before he started drinking so much. Since then it had been like Mom always said: “If he’d paid as much attention to his daughter as he did to his bottle, he’d have been a real father.”
What difference did it make now? Mom was right; they’d be better off. He wouldn’t spend all their money on liquor, they’d stop arguing, she’d know where she stood.
The gray spot on the ceiling, where water had once seeped through from the above apartment, shifted shapes before her eyes. Ugly shapes.
Her alarm clock read 7:12. Lee didn’t feel like leaving now, but maybe later, after dark, she’d take off. She’d go to her friend Natasha’s house and ask if she could spend the night there. She sighed. I suppose I can stay here for now, she thought, but I’ll definitely never talk to Mom again. Ever.
Lee woke up at 6:14. She stretched and noticed she was still wearing her shorts and T-shirt. She was covered with a blanket and her shoes lay beside the bed. Minnie, her gray tabby, lay curled up beside her pillow, one paw outstretched. She started purring, but didn’t move.
Mom must have come and tucked her in. Lee didn’t remember waking up. Just as well. She’d be just like that with everyone from now on- asleep, deaf, silent.
She got up quietly, but stepped on the pencil stub. Swallowing her scream, she kicked the stub across the room.
With a longer pencil, she scribbled:
Another dreary day. I may move tonight. I won’t even tell Alex. Maybe I’ll live in the mountains–the bears and cougars should leave me alone. I’ll eat berries. I’ll make it on my own. They’ll all be sorry!!!
She bit hard on the end of her pencil. Putting her journal in her pack and picking up her shoes, Lee walked to the front door. She’d leave early for school. Her stomach growled. She’d better take some food. Opening the fridge, she shoved aside the milk, cheese and bits of left-over chicken. Never mind her mother’s rule about eating a healthy breakfast. Lee grabbed the bread and jam and headed for the counter.
As she rummaged in the drawer for a paper bag, her mother walked in, tying the belt of her faded cotton housecoat.
“You’re up at the crack of dawn,” she yawned.
Lee grabbed her sandwich and hurried to the front door. Why did her mother have to be up so early?
“Honey, you need to eat something.” She pushed her uncombed auburn hair off her face. Lee noticed her puffy eyes. “I know you’re angry at me, but you have to at least eat properly.” Her mother sighed, trying to smile. Instead, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears.
Turning her back to her mother, Lee bent over to put on her shoes. Slowly, she tied her laces. Why don’t I just walk out? she thought. What would happen if I left too? If I yelled, “I’ll never come back either!” and slammed the door?
Her mother stood in front of the door. Lee noticed her bare feet, the toenails she used to polish pink. Standing as tall as she could and facing her mother, she said, “What do you care?”
“Honey, I do care.” Her mother’s eyes reddened. She held her arms out. “This is really hard for me too, you know.”
Lee backed away. She ran to the kitchen and banged the cupboard doors as she got her cereal. After slurping her orange juice, she purposely spilled part of her cereal on the table before eating a large spoonful. She left, flinging the front door shut behind her.
She slowed as she got closer to Natasha’s house. She was too early. But what did she care about stupid Natasha anyway? She was going to spend the rest of her life being angry. Even at Natasha. Especially at Natasha, who had a nice dad and grandmother, even if they were terribly strict. At least Natasha had a family.
Lee ran past her friend’s house, her pack bouncing against her back, and on to the school playground. The doors of the school were still locked, the grounds empty. It was Friday, the first week of school after the summer holidays. Lee’s first week in grade seven.
Hurling her pack to the side, she sat on one of the swings. Her feet shuffled in the summer dust, then pushed hard off the ground. She started moving, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, her long legs pumping the air as it rushed by her face.
Lee swung for what seemed like hours. Her legs grew tired and her head felt empty. When the first students got off an early bus, Lee jumped down, snatched up her pack and hurried to the far corner of the playground. She sat on the grass, her back against the metal fence, and took out her journal.
I’m never going back. Dad said he’d get me a dog. He promised to help me build a dog house. He said he’d paint my bedroom, let me pick the colours. He said I could even do it myself. He made so many promises!!! What a liar! He lied about meeting in Edmonton, too, I know he did. I hate it when people lie. Now I’ll never see him again.
I won’t go back! I wish I could live with Uncle Brooke. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t drink, and he’d never walk out on Alex and me.
Lee looked around the playground. Some kids were playing soccer not far away. Twice someone called “hi.” She didn’t say anything. She needed a plan. She had to think.
Just as the bell rang, Natasha ran onto the playground. Lee jumped up and hurried to the far door.
The hall was crowded with kids yelling, locker doors banging and packs swinging back and forth.