want that to happen.
15
R ule #27: Great-looking shoes are worth the pain . They were more than great-looking shoes. They were fabulous. Sparkly lavender high, high heels that laced halfway up my calf. And I didnât care if my feet hurt. Maybe they would take my mind off everything else that hurt.
I looked at my dress in the mirror again; pale blue with a round neck, no sleeves, and swirls of lavender and purple everywhere. No lace. No ruffles. No frills. I wondered where the last person to own the dress had worn it.
Spencer peeked out of the closet, whiskers twitching. He didnât like all the uproar. For a second I thought about hiding out in there with him. There was a knock at the bedroom door. Spencer retreated again.
Jason stuck his head in the room. âReady?â he asked.
No. I wasnât ready.
I thought about holding my breath until my face turned purple and my eyes rolled back in my head, or diving under the bed and lying there for the rest of the day in the cool, dusty darkness.
Rule #7: Hiding under the bed wonât solve anything. If the dust bunnies donât get you, the vacuum cleaner will . Mom had told me that one the first day of school in grade six. Iâd tried to put red streaks in my hair the night before, hoping it would make me look older. (I was still waiting for my breasts to pop out.) The streaks had turned out purple and I think they glowed in the dark.
Mom made me French toast and braided purple and silver ribbons into my hair so the purple chunks would look like Iâd done them on purpose.
I looked down at her bracelet on my wrist. âIâm ready,â I said, turning around. Jason held out a hand. I was probably about five the last time weâd held hands. I hesitated for a second, then I laced my fingers through his and we went downstairs together.
Dad was in the middle of the living room. He looked incredibly handsome, his freshly shaved face and crisp, white shirt bright against his charcoal suit. âLook at the two of you,â he said. âYou look great.â
âYouâre looking good too, Dad,â Jason said. Iâd never seen the dark suit Jason was wearing. With his deep blue shirt and tie, the effect was sort of mobster chic.
âIâm ⦠uh ⦠glad youâre both here,â Dad said. He glanced at me. âThank you.â
He didnât seem to know what to do with his hands. It was as if heâd suddenly discovered he had them. As if heâd looked down and found these âthingsâ at the end of his arms. Now they were everywhere, tapping and snapping, adjusting his jacket, touching his hair.
âHey, Dad, why donât I drive?â Jason said.
âYeah, why not,â Dad said, handing over the keys. He looked at me again.
Donât look at me, I thought. Youâre not leaving me any space to breathe. Iâm here in my pretty dress and my sparkly shoes. Thatâs all youâre going to get. Thatâs all I have to give.
Somehow we got out of the house and into the car. I leaned my head against the back seat and closed my eyes.
Dad and Anne were getting married at a small inn about half an hour out of the city. It was going to be a very small, simple wedding, no fancy ceremony or reception, just all of us and some of Anneâs and Dadâs friends. My grandmother, Dadâs mother, wasnât coming. She lived in a nursing home in Montreal and she didnât remember things very well. Anneâs mother and father were dead, and like Dad, she didnât have any brothers or sisters.
Jason pulled into the parking lot with a little spray of gravel. Peter Gregory came down the steps of the old house. I hadnât known he was coming.
Peter and Dad had been friends since they were in the seventh grade. The last time Peter had been in town was just before Jason went to rehab.
I got out of the car. Peter grinned and said, âWow!â I smiled and hugged him. He
15
R ule #27: Great-looking shoes are worth the pain . They were more than great-looking shoes. They were fabulous. Sparkly lavender high, high heels that laced halfway up my calf. And I didnât care if my feet hurt. Maybe they would take my mind off everything else that hurt.
I looked at my dress in the mirror again; pale blue with a round neck, no sleeves, and swirls of lavender and purple everywhere. No lace. No ruffles. No frills. I wondered where the last person to own the dress had worn it.
Spencer peeked out of the closet, whiskers twitching. He didnât like all the uproar. For a second I thought about hiding out in there with him. There was a knock at the bedroom door. Spencer retreated again.
Jason stuck his head in the room. âReady?â he asked.
No. I wasnât ready.
I thought about holding my breath until my face turned purple and my eyes rolled back in my head, or diving under the bed and lying there for the rest of the day in the cool, dusty darkness.
Rule #7: Hiding under the bed wonât solve anything. If the dust bunnies donât get you, the vacuum cleaner will . Mom had told me that one the first day of school in grade six. Iâd tried to put red streaks in my hair the night before, hoping it would make me look older. (I was still waiting for my breasts to pop out.) The streaks had turned out purple and I think they glowed in the dark.
Mom made me French toast and braided purple and silver ribbons into my hair so the purple chunks would look like Iâd done them on purpose.
I looked down at her bracelet on my wrist. âIâm ready,â I said, turning around. Jason held out a hand. I was probably about five the last time weâd held hands. I hesitated for a second, then I laced my fingers through his and we went downstairs together.
Dad was in the middle of the living room. He looked incredibly handsome, his freshly shaved face and crisp, white shirt bright against his charcoal suit. âLook at the two of you,â he said. âYou look great.â
âYouâre looking good too, Dad,â Jason said. Iâd never seen the dark suit Jason was wearing. With his deep blue shirt and tie, the effect was sort of mobster chic.
âIâm ⦠uh ⦠glad youâre both here,â Dad said. He glanced at me. âThank you.â
He didnât seem to know what to do with his hands. It was as if heâd suddenly discovered he had them. As if heâd looked down and found these âthingsâ at the end of his arms. Now they were everywhere, tapping and snapping, adjusting his jacket, touching his hair.
âHey, Dad, why donât I drive?â Jason said.
âYeah, why not,â Dad said, handing over the keys. He looked at me again.
Donât look at me, I thought. Youâre not leaving me any space to breathe. Iâm here in my pretty dress and my sparkly shoes. Thatâs all youâre going to get. Thatâs all I have to give.
Somehow we got out of the house and into the car. I leaned my head against the back seat and closed my eyes.
Dad and Anne were getting married at a small inn about half an hour out of the city. It was going to be a very small, simple wedding, no fancy ceremony or reception, just all of us and some of Anneâs and Dadâs friends. My grandmother, Dadâs mother, wasnât coming. She lived in a nursing home in Montreal and she didnât remember things very well. Anneâs mother and father were dead, and like Dad, she didnât have any brothers or sisters.
Jason pulled into the parking lot with a little spray of gravel. Peter Gregory came down the steps of the old house. I hadnât known he was coming.
Peter and Dad had been friends since they were in the seventh grade. The last time Peter had been in town was just before Jason went to rehab.
I got out of the car. Peter grinned and said, âWow!â I smiled and hugged him. He
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