Chapter 4 #2
“I guess.” And then he stood, a stack of arms and legs and pointy joints, and hauled me up by my arms. He was surprisingly strong for someone so weedy. “And I’m an awesome swimmer. C’mon, I’ll show you how to do that somersault.”
Countless belly flops, a few dives, and one semi-successful somersault later, Sam and I lay outstretched on the raft, faces to the sky, the already-hot morning sun drying our bathing suits.
“You’re always doing that,” Sam said, looking over at me.
“Doing what?”
“Touching your hair.”
I shrugged. I should have listened to Mom when she told me bangs wouldn’t work for my hair type.
Instead, one spring evening while my parents were marking papers, I took matters—and Mom’s good sewing shears—into my own hands.
Except that I couldn’t get the bangs to lie evenly, and every snip just made things worse.
In less than five minutes, I had totally butchered my hair.
I crept downstairs to the living room, tears running down my face. Hearing my sniffles, my parents turned to see me standing with scissors in hand.
“Persephone! What on earth?” My mother gasped and flung herself at me, checking my wrists and arms for signs of damage, before hugging me tightly, while Dad sat agape.
“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get this fixed,” Mom said, stepping away to make an appointment at her salon. “If you’re going to have bangs, they need to look intentional.”
Dad gave me a weak smile. “What were you thinking, kiddo?”
My parents had already put in an offer on a lakeside property in Barry’s Bay, but seeing me clutching those scissors must have sent them over the edge, because the next day Dad called the Realtor and told her to up the offer. They wanted me out of the city as soon as the school year ended.
But even today I think my parents were probably overreacting.
Diane and Arthur Fraser, both professors at the University of Toronto, doted on me in a way particular to older, upper-middle-class parents with just one child.
My mom, a sociology scholar, was in her late thirties when they had me; my father, who taught Greek mythology, was in his early forties.
My every request for a new toy, a trip to the bookstore, or supplies for a new hobby was met with enthusiasm and a credit card.
Being a child who preferred earning gold stars to causing trouble, I didn’t give them much need for discipline.
In turn, they gave me a very long leash.
So when the three girls who formed my closest circle of friends turned their backs on me, I was unaccustomed to dealing with any sort of adversity and I had no idea how to cope except to try my hardest to win them back.
Delilah was our group’s uncontested ruler, a position we bestowed upon her because she possessed the two most important requirements for teenage leadership: an exceptionally pretty face and total awareness of the power it gave her.
Since it was Delilah whom I angered, and Delilah whom I needed to win back, my attempts to gain readmittance to the group were targeted at her.
I thought cutting my bangs like hers would demonstrate my loyalty.
Instead, when she saw me at school, she raised her voice in an exaggerated whisper, and said, “God, does everyone have bangs these days? I think it’s time to grow mine out. ”
Every morning I dreaded the school day—sitting alone at recess, watching my old friends laugh together, wondering if it was me they were laughing about.
A summer away from everything, where I could read my books without worrying about being called a freak and swim whenever I wanted to, felt like heaven.
I looked over at Sam.
“Where’s your brother today?” I asked, thinking of how they’d goofed around in the water the day before. Sam turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his forearms.
“Why do you want to know about my brother?” he asked, his brows knitted together.
“No reason. I just wondered. Is he having friends over tonight?” Sam looked at me from the corner of his eye. What I really wanted to know was if Sam wanted to hang out again.
“His friends were over really late,” he said finally. “He was still asleep when I came down to the lake. I don’t know what’s going on tonight.”
“Oh,” I said limply, then decided to take a risk. “Well, if you want to come over again, that’d be cool. Our TV’s kind of small, but we have a big DVD collection.”
“I might just do that,” said Sam, his forehead relaxing. “Or you could come over to our place. Our TV is pretty decent. Mom’s never home, but she wouldn’t mind you being there.”
“You guys are allowed to have friends over when she’s not there?” My parents were by no means strict, but they were always home when I had people over.
“One or two is okay, but Charlie likes to have parties. Just small ones, but Mom gets mad if she comes home and there’s, like, ten kids in the house.”
“Does that happen a lot?” I’d never been to a real teenager party. I crawled to the edge of the raft and dangled my feet in the water to cool off.
“Yeah, but mostly they’re pretty boring, and Mom doesn’t find out.” Sam came and sat beside me, plunging his shoestring legs into the lake, kicking them back and forth. “I usually stay in my room, reading or whatever. If he has a girl over, then he tries to get rid of me like last night.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” I asked. Sam pushed back the hair that had fallen over his eye, and gave me a suspicious sideways glance.
I’d never had a boyfriend, and unlike a lot of girls in my class, getting one wasn’t high on my priority list. But I’d also never been kissed and would have given my right arm for someone to think I was pretty enough to kiss.
“Charlie always has a girlfriend,” he said. “He just doesn’t have them for very long.”
“So,” I said, changing the subject. “How come your mom’s not around a lot?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” He didn’t say it harshly, but his comment sent a prickle of fear down my neck. I hesitated.
“I don’t mind,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. I felt my body relax. “Mom runs a restaurant. You probably don’t know it yet. The Tavern? It’s our family’s place.”
“I do know it, actually!” I said, remembering the packed patio. “Mom and I drove past. What kind of restaurant is it?”
“Polish . . . like pierogies and stuff? My family’s Polish.”
I had no idea what a pierogi was, but I didn’t let on. “It looked really busy when we went by.”
“There aren’t many places to eat here. But the food’s good. Mom makes the best pierogies ever. But it’s a lot of work, so she’s gone most days from the afternoon on.”
“Doesn’t your dad help?”
Sam paused before responding. “Uh, no.”
“Okaaaay,” I said. “So . . . why not?”
“My dad’s dead, Percy,” he said, watching a Jet Ski roar by.
I didn’t know what to say. What I should have said was nothing. But instead: “I’ve never met anyone with a dead dad before.” I immediately wanted to scoop the words up and shove them back down my throat. My eyes went wide with panic.
Would it make things more or less awkward if I jumped in the lake?
Sam turned to me slowly, blinked once, stared straight into my eyes, and said, “I’ve never met anyone with such a big mouth before.”
I felt like I was caught in a net. I sat there, mouth hanging open, my throat and eyes burning. And then the straight line of his lips curled up at one corner, and he laughed.
“Just kidding,” he said. “Not about my dad being dead, and actually you do have a big mouth, but I don’t mind.
” My relief was instant, but then Sam put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a little shake.
I stiffened—it was like all the nerve endings in my body had moved to beneath his fingers.
Sam gave me a funny look, squeezing my shoulders gently.
“You okay there?” He shifted his head down to meet my eyes. I took an unsteady breath.
“Sometimes things just come out of my mouth before I think about how they sound or even what I’m really saying. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry about your dad, Sam.”
“Thanks,” he said softly. “It happened a bit over a year ago, but most of the kids at school are still weird about it. I’ll take your questions over the pity any day.”
“Okay,” I said.
“No more questions?” he asked with a smirk.
“I’ll save them for later,” I said, standing on shaky legs. “Want to show me that somersault again?” He jumped up beside me, a crooked smile on his mouth.
“Nope.”
And then in a flash, he grabbed my waist and pushed me into the water.
WE FELL INTO an easy routine that first week of summer.
There was a narrow path by the shore that ran through the bush between our two properties, and we went back and forth several times a day.
We spent the mornings swimming and jumping off the raft, then read on the dock until the sun got too hot, and then we’d hit the water again.
Despite how often she was at the restaurant, it took Sue just a few days to figure out that Sam and I were spending more time together than apart.
She showed up on our doorstep, Sam in tow, holding a large Tupperware container of homemade pierogies.
She was surprisingly young, like, way younger than my parents, and dressed more like me than a grown-up, in denim cutoffs and a gray tank top, her pale blond hair pulled back into a swishy ponytail.
She was small and soft, and her smile was wide and dimpled like Charlie’s.
Mom put on a pot of coffee and the three adults sat out on the deck chatting while Sam and I eavesdropped from the couch. Sue assured Mom and Dad that I was welcome at her house anytime, that Sam was a “freakishly responsible kid,” and that she’d keep an eye on us, at least when she was home.
“She must have had those boys right out of high school,” I heard Mom telling Dad that evening.
“It’s different up here,” was all he said.