Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [6]
I take two baby steps, then toss my head and walk right up. Without warning, he puts his arm around me and gives me a kiss. And not just any kiss. He actually slips me the tongue!
He smiles again. “Gotta go,” he says.
“Okay.” I feel sort of absentminded, like an amnesia patient in some Movie of the Week. My knees are wobbly. I try not to fall down.
“By the way, my name is Leslie,” I call after him.
“Right,” he says. He waves, real casual and slow, and keeps on walking. I turn to the cafeteria window and curtsy. Katie’s eyes are right out of their sockets. Ashley looks like she’s just had a heart attack.
And me? I’m in love!
Five
After school on Friday, I found his locker. On the first floor in the south wing. Number 1124. Just my luck. It’s miles away.
Spying on a guy’s locker is tricky, because if he finds out, for sure he’ll never want to see you again. But this morning I couldn’t help myself. All weekend I kept thinking if I wasn’t there when Jason arrived, he’d meet some other girl and it’d be all over.
I tried to blend into the walls, walking slowly up and down the corridor, pretending to read To Kill a Mocking-bird, then stopping for some water at the drinking fountain. Dumb or what? I looked like a browner and I had to pee all morning.
To make matters worse, Jason didn’t show. He’s not even here today. Maybe he’s had an accident. Maybe he’s switched schools. Or maybe I’m being stupid, which is probably more like it. I bet he’s just skipping, which is what I’d be doing if I wasn’t trying so hard to see him.
Jason, Jason, Jason. Love is a killer, especially if you can’t talk to anyone about it. Like, if I tell Katie how I feel, she’ll tell Ashley and Ashley’ll tell the world. As for Mom? Get real. When I’m suicidal she laughs it off as a “phase,” and when I’m happy she gets suspicious.
I’m extra obsessed on account of I wanted to see Jason after my shitty weekend. It was Dad’s turn to have me, only he was busy Saturday. Fine. He’s always busy Saturday, working overtime, he says, since Mom is out to nail him in the divorce. (Which she says is a lie, but that’s another story.)
To cut it short, Dad picks me up Sunday about two o’clock and tells me today is going to be special—there’s a surprise at his apartment. As we drive out to Oakville, I’m thinking, Great, he’s finally fixed his old DVD player so we can watch movies instead of being stuck staring at each other over buckets of cold Chinese takeout.
Well, the DVD player isn’t the surprise. When he opens the door, I see a couple of empty packing boxes in the hallway, and there’s this strange smell of air freshener. Then Dad calls out, “We’re home,” and all of a sudden she bounces in from the bedroom looking like a Colgate commercial.
Her name is Brenda. I know that without anyone saying, because Mom and Dad used to fight about her all the time before they split up. And now I get to see her, all cute and perky, this overgrown cheerleader out to make a good impression. “Hi,” she says, and out comes her hand like she actually expects me to shake it.
“This is the surprise?” I glare at Dad.
Brenda ignores what I think is a pretty obvious signal. “You must be Leslie,” she beams.
“And you must be the Bitch,” I reply.
Brenda looks like someone just slapped her—if only!—and Dad’s ears go red. As per usual, he knows he should say something but can’t figure out what, so he just sputters, “Leslie ...”
“No, Dave, it’s all right.” Brenda pats his arm. “I understand.”
Dad settles down and tries his fatherly bit. “Leslie, Brenda’s accepted my invitation to move in.”
I look at the boxes. I sniff the air. “No kidding.”
Now Dad puts his arm around her. My stomach’s dissolving.
As for Brenda, she’s from another planet. “I’d like to be your friend,” she bubbles.
I want to explode, but I don’t. Instead, I pin her with my eyes, smile and say in a sweet little voice: “Is that so? Well, if you’d like to be my friend, perhaps you could tell me why you broke up my family and ruined my life?”
“Leslie! You will apologize!” Dad shouts.