“Okay, well go over to the wall above the window, that way if you come down, you can land in the sink and not fall too far,” Jez says, wringing her hands a little. She’s always brave, but I’m proud of her for handling this so well.
“Good idea.” I slowly force my legs down to the floor and start air-walking toward the window. Jez follows underneath me, looking up, still wringing her hands. I hover above the sink, and I’m just about to put out my hand, when the bathroom door opens.
Shelley Norman, a big grade nine girl, walks in. Jez shrieks. I whip my hand out and touch the window, saying a little prayer: this better work.
It does. Next thing I know, I’m lying on Shelley Norman. I fall like a stone and land on this beefy grade nine girl. At least she breaks my fall. She shoves me off her and glowers at me. She’s mean. She’s breathing mean and nasty all over Jez and me.
“What the heck are you doing, Golden? Didn’t I tell you in gym class last week never to touch me? Geez, you’re crazier than everyone thinks,” Shelley says. She looks like she is going to turn me into stone.
“She’s not feeling well, Shelley,” Jez says. “We’re just going to the principal’s office.”
Jez grabs me and we tear out of there as fast as we can. I can actually feel Shelley Norman’s mean, hot breath on my neck as we squeeze by her.
As we run down the corridor I sneak a quick peek at my best friend, who for the first time in our lives looks back at me like she has no idea who I am.
TEN
After Jez and I run out of the bathroom, I can tell she is really upset, because she’s clutching my arm, like she does in scary movies when she’s about to start screaming. Unfortunately, this isn’t a movie, although I’m starting to wish it was. I really don’t want my best friend to start screaming, though, because then I will be kind of convinced that I am a freak.
I’m pretty convinced already.
We make our way outside to the sidewalk in front of the school and start walking back and forth. I eye some trees nearby in case I start to float away and need to grab on to something quick.
Jez doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then she blurts out, “Okay, Gwennie Golden, what’s going on? You … you were … you can fly!” I have to hush her up; even people far away are looking over at her, because she’s shouting.
“Shhh, Jez. Quiet, I don’t need people hearing us.”
Just then Christopher and Christine come running up. I must look pretty weird or freaked out, because my little sister says, “What’s wrong with you? You ran into the bathroom at lunchtime.” At the same time my little brother says, “You were supposed to help us get french fries.”
Shoot. I forgot about that. I did promise my mother that I’d help the twins buy themselves french fries at lunch today. Now they’re getting older, she wants them to start to learn the basics of how to survive on the planet, starting with the essentials, like how to purchase french fries in a busy school cafeteria lineup.
“Sorry, guys, I kind of had an emergency. I forgot. We’ll do it on Monday, okay?” The twins eye me curiously. Sometimes it seems like they are using both their brains as one big brain and secretly working things out between themselves, without talking. I swear they are brain-talking together about me now as they look at me.
“Yeah, Gwen had an emergency …,” my little brother says.
“… because she had to go poop!” my little sister says. Then the two of them run off together, laughing hysterically.
“They’re weird,” Jez says, watching them go. I must look hurt, because she says quickly, “Sorry, but they are. I swear they think together before they speak.”
“Yeah, sometimes it seems like that. Look, lunch is almost over. I don’t know what’s going on. I woke up yesterday morning on the ceiling. It happened this morning, too. I don’t know why.”
“Well, are you feeling okay, otherwise?” she asks. Jez is a born mother — that’s all she ever asks anyone, if they’re feeling okay.
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s the really weird part. I actually feel fantastic. I mean, I feel really, really great. I wake up on the ceiling, and it’s like the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.”
“But how do you get up there?”
“How the heck do I know? I just wake up there. It’s been happening here at school, though, which is weirder.”
Jez actually laughs. “Weirder? What could be weirder than waking up on your ceiling, Gwen? Does your mom know?” As soon as she says it, she realizes how that sounds.
She shakes her head. “No, of course she doesn’t know, does she?”
I shrug. “What do you think? I’m not going to tell her I’ve been flying around my room at night. She’s already got enough to deal with.”
I bite my lip and look away. We don’t talk about that, Jez and I.
About what my mother has to deal with.
ELEVEN
Okay, so I know you’re going to make a big deal about that last sentence, and you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But I know you’ll be thinking about it, so I’m just going to deal with it now, and then it’ll be over.
My dad died seven years, one month, and eleven days ago, right before the twins were born. He was out one night during a freak storm, where things like cows and trees went missing. He went out to check on a neighbour, then we never saw him again.
We have a box with his stuff in it, stuff Mom calls “mementos,” but I don’t know what that is exactly since I’ve never seen inside. I’ve never even seen the box. It’s in her closet and she never brings it out.
Ever.
We never found his body, either.
We had a funeral.
The casket was empty.
Now you know.
TWELVE
Jez and I have gym class after lunch.
We share the class with the grade nine girls, which is quite awful, especially if we are playing dodgeball or something. They are so much bigger than us, and better shots. Unfortunately, our gym teacher, Mr. Short (who is actually very tall), really loves dodgeball. And he has this unnatural belief that every teenager loves dodgeball, too.
Who wouldn’t love being pelted with heavy rubber balls?
We walk into the gym in our shorts and sneakers. Yep. We’re playing dodgeball. Shelley Norman bangs into me with her shoulder and snickers.
“Get ready to pay, Golden.”
I’m in for it. I might as well paint a target on myself right now. Sure enough, every shot from Shelley is directed right at me. I get pretty banged up. I get a shot right in the head, but Mr. Short has his back turned and doesn’t notice.
Jez tries to protect me for a while, but Shelley is a wicked shot and keeps missing Jez and hitting me. I’m a magnet. Shelley can’t miss.
Eventually I just give up. Balls are bouncing off me in all directions. The other grade nine girls start to join in and the pack mentality really takes over.
I start to feel sad. But I start to feel a little angry, too. And with that little feeling