Tiffany and Tiger's Eye Page 2

  The older kids crashed into the basement, laughing that the neighbours had threatened to call the cops. The tornado in me wanted to kiss Chloe again, but my sensible side won out. Cops scared me half to death, and the last thing I wanted was to be thrown in jail. My dad had told me about being beaten, strip-searched and locked up on bogus charges after protests. To me, those were scarier than ghost stories.

  I got up and left the party without even saying goodbye. Not to Chloe, not to anyone.

  After the weekend, everyone at school started calling me “Martina.”

  They didn’t have to explain. It was just a more sophisticated way of calling me a lezzy, like the tennis star Martina Navratalova. She was one of the most famous athletes in the whole world. She was also the only out lesbian I knew of. Real-life lesbian, I mean. After that kiss with Chloe, I knew there were lesbians in my midst, and I was one of them.

  No one sat next to me at lunch, or talked to me before class. Mr. Burlish had to assign me a lab partner because nobody wanted to come near me.

  And Chloe was nowhere to be found. That’s what hurt the most.

  By the time summer rolled around, the idea of escape was beyond bliss. Too many memories. Too much loneliness and desperation. Too much holding on by a thread. It would be nice to spend two whole months with my aunt and uncle.

  Aunt Libby’s station wagon was olive green with wood panelling along the sides. It was by far the ugliest car I’d ever seen, but my heart beat faster every time it pulled into our driveway. As Uncle Flip helped Mikey and me toss our luggage in the back, my mother and my aunt stood on our crunchy brown grass and whispered.

  Sometimes I felt jealous of my mother. It must be nice to have a sister.

  My mom had tears in her eyes as she said goodbye. She hugged me hard, but I squirmed away. It made me uncomfortable, feeling her sharp, hard breasts pressing into my chest. Mikey was short, even for his age, and his head didn’t reach that high. Mom bent and kissed the top of his head, making her skunk-streak of grey hair all the more blatant. Why did she keep dyeing it? My mother would look pretty all grey, though I never got up the nerve to tell her so.

  I didn’t look at my mother as we pulled out of the driveway. I could feel her standing there in her yellow summer knit with the big white buttons down the front. Waving goodbye.

  Mikey unbuckled his belt and swung around, waving vigorously out the back window. Once we were out of range, I turned as well, because I wanted an image of her to keep in my mind. By then, it was too late.

  Fishing around in my bag, I found my needlework and tightened the wooden frame. Then I dropped it in my lap and stared ahead as my vision blurred with tears.

  “Dad’s gone,” Mikey said. He must have been talking to my aunt and uncle, because I obviously knew my dad hadn’t been around lately.

  I blinked fast, wiping stray tears from my cheeks. We didn’t usually talk about what went on behind closed doors, but I guess with family it was okay. Aunt Libby probably knew everything anyway. She probably knew more than me.

  But if she did, she didn’t let on.

  “Buckle up,” she told Mikey, gazing at him in the rear-view mirror. She didn’t say anything about my dad, and neither did Uncle Flip.

  “Where did he go?” Mikey asked. “My mom won’t tell me.”

  I punched my brother in the arm. “Shut up, stupid.”

  Uncle Flip seemed shocked by my behaviour. “Rebecca! Help your brother with his seat belt.”

  Leaning across the middle seat, I grabbed the buckle and pushed the metal tongue into the little slot. I was close enough for Mikey to lean in and whisper, “Where did Dad go?”

  I pulled away and sorted my embroidery floss. My current pattern was a Holly Hobbie with two old-timey girls riding an old-timey bicycle, the kind with one huge wheel at the front and two little wheels at the back. The text said Start Each Day in a Happy Way, and I couldn’t help wondering if the naughty subtext was intentional or if I just had a really dirty mind.

  Mainly, I liked the pattern because it had two girls instead of a girl and a boy.

  “Where did he go?” my brother asked.

  I struggled not to jab his bare leg with my embroidery needle. That question irked me, not because I didn’t want to tell him, but because I didn’t know the answer.

  I knotted my thread and started stitching. Part of me wanted to tell Mikey our dad was “getting better” again—my mother’s code for those rehab stints that never worked out—or I could say that his band had gone on tour, but I couldn’t speculate in front of my aunt and uncle. If they knew the truth, they’d realize I was just guessing. Then I’d feel like a stupid kid. I never liked feeling that way, even back when I was just a stupid kid.

  Before long, the hum of the highway put Mikey to sleep, and I followed soon after.

  Chapter 2

  It was nearly afternoon when we pulled into the long gravel driveway leading up to the cottage. There was something magical about that spot, maybe just because it was an escape from the house. The cottage was my favourite place in the world.

  And Canada Day was the best time to get there. Down by the public beach, there were games for the little kids, a horseshoe competition for the old people, and a barbeque for everyone. At night, there would be fireworks over the lake. That was for everyone, too. I’d never met a soul who didn’t like fireworks.

  Mikey and me threw our luggage into the cottage, then took off down the road in our flip-flops. I’d worn my bathing suit instead of underwear because I knew we’d both want to swim as soon as we got within spitting distance of the lake.

  Aunt Libby was never too concerned about where we were. The whole area had a community feel. We all looked out for each other, and that went double for Mikey and me. Even though I was the older one, I knew he wanted to keep me safe too. That’s what siblings were for.

  I wasn’t friends with any of the kids at the lake. Most of them were Mikey’s age anyway, or else they were way older than me. Also, my unpopularity was like a perfume that warned other people to stay away. I was a loser. Don’t want to be seen with Rebecca—her uncoolness might rub off.

  When we got to the beach, the Canada Day festivities were in full swing. Mikey joined up with the same kids he played alongside every summer. I sat in the sand with my needlework and watched the old folks play horseshoes. The sun warmed my legs and the back of my neck. For a while, I closed my eyes, and that was the happiest I’d felt all year.

  I didn’t open my eyes until the hum of a motorboat jolted me from sun-drenched paradise. The glare off the water burned my retinas. I’d forgotten my sunglasses in the car. Still, I couldn’t look away. Somehow, I knew there was something worth seeing on the water.

  When I caught sight of her, I knew for sure.

  Her hair glistened like gold in the summer sun. She didn’t look any older than me, but she was out with the older kids, zipping around the lake on water skis. Her bathing suit was sort of like a two-piece, except the top and bottom were joined together at her sides. The design was bright blue with black tiger stripes, and it looked amazing against her porcelain skin.

  I knew I was staring, but the girl in the bright blue bikini was too far away to see me, and nobody on the beach seemed to realize I existed. Which I didn’t mind. It was better to be invisible than to get picked on.

  “Becca.” Mikey kicked sand at my legs. “Rebecca!”

  “Jeeze, Mikey. What the heck?” I brushed the beach off my shorts, then stood up and shook like a wet dog. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I called your name, like, a hundred times!”

  All his friends were watching. They made me self-conscious, and even a little jealous.

  “Can we go swimming now?”

  I glanced at the boat in the distance, like it would give me an answer. The swimming area was nowhere near the government pier where the teens would dock to trade off skis, but I still didn’t want the girl in the blue bikini to see me in the water. I wasn’t sure wh
y.

  “Becca!” Mikey kicked more sand at my legs, and his grimy pals followed suit.

  “Stop it, you little jerks!”

  The old ladies looked up from their crochet and glared at me. I didn’t fit in, not even with them.

  “These guys’ parents went somewhere, so you have to watch all of us.”

  “Fine, just stop kicking sand at me.” I tore out of my shorts and left them on the beach with my cross-stitching. No one would ever see my one-piece bathing suit. I never took off my T-shirt to swim. Never.

  The greenish water was always cold until you plunged your head right under. I tried to take it slow, but Mikey and his annoying little friends had other plans. I don’t know whose idea it was to climb me like a tree, but with three kids clinging to my top, I toppled over in the water, taking them all down with me.

  “Get off me, you little brats! We’re all gonna drown.”

  “Okay,” Mikey said.

  That’s when the mud-throwing started.

  Some scrawny kid with pigtails picked up a wad of wet sand and launched it at my back. It felt like baseball between my shoulder blades.

  I turned around, but that was a terrible idea. The next mud ball slammed me in the face, knocking my head back so hard a bolt of pain shot down my spine. I stumbled back, tripping over one of the kids I was supposed to be minding. With my eyes full of sand, I didn’t know which of Mikey’s friends I’d landed on, but the brat yelled, “Get your big butt offa me, mud monster!”

  I splashed lake water in my face, aiming for my eyes, trying to get those sharp little shards out. That’s when I heard Mikey say, “Call her Martina. Mud Monster Martina.”

  “Mikey!” My heart dropped into my stomach. Mikey was supposed to be my comrade at the cottage. Instead, he was encouraging his pals to launch insults he shouldn’t even know. “Where did you hear that before?”

  “From Kristin in my class,” he said. “Her sister goes to your school. She says everyone makes fun of you. They call you Martina.”

  My brain buzzed. It felt prickly, like my whole head was full of bees. Just then, I looked up and saw the older teens’ motorboat crawling across the stretch of lake just outside the beach enclosure.

  They were all looking at me. All of them. The tan boys in fluorescent shorts pointed at me and laughed. There I was, sixteen years old and covered in mud, with kids still pummelling my front and back with handfuls of wet sand. I didn’t have the strength to look at the girl in the tiger bikini. I could only imagine she was laughing too, but I didn’t want to know. This weird feeling came over me that if our eyes met in that moment, she’d hear the name my brother had called me, and she’d know far too much.

  Mikey probably didn’t even know what “Martina” meant, but he must have seen in my face how much he’d hurt me. As I ran from the lake I heard him call out, “Sorry.”

  My feet found my flip-flops, but I forgot about my needlework and my shorts. I ran all the way up the gravel hill. Sharp pieces of rock lodged themselves in my feet, but I didn’t stop. I just kept running, like I could outrace my humiliation.

  When I got back to the cottage, my aunt and uncle were gone, and I was glad about that. I ran straight to my room, which I hadn’t even peeked in since we’d arrived. It looked the same as it always did, and there was something about the funny-coloured walls and the dark moons-and-stars duvet cover that made the space feel eerily sacred. I held my breath as I crossed the threshold, but once inside I fell face-first onto my bed.

  I cried until all the sand should have rushed out of my eyes, but there was always more. Always more tears, always more pain. Stupid Mikey! Why wouldn’t he tell his friends to cut it out? Why would he call me Martina? Didn’t he know this place was my escape?

  And then, though I was entirely alone in the cottage, a small voice said, “I’ve missed you…”

  Chapter 3

  I looked at the red-headed doll on my dresser. My eyes were still bleary when I whispered her name. “Yvette?”

  I wasn’t crazy. I knew my doll couldn’t really speak, but ever since Uncle Flip gave her to me as a “period gift” when I was thirteen years old, I’d imagined conversations with her. There were some things I couldn’t tell my family, things I would have told friends if I had any. Yvette filled the void. I gave her a voice, even if that voice was just in my head. Whenever I visited the cottage, Yvette was my consolation.

  “Yvette, I’ve missed you too.”

  “You don’t understand,” Yvette said to me. “I’ve missed you. You haven’t visited me in almost a year.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, sitting up on my bed. The duvet was gritty with sand. “We were up at Easter to open up the cottage. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, in that snarky voice I couldn’t stand. “I guess I blocked it out because the whole time you were here I begged you to take me home with you and you didn’t.”

  Maybe I was lucky not to have friends. If Yvette was any indication, friends were more trouble than they were worth.

  “I’m not having this conversation again.” I crossed my legs. Sand stuck to my wet skin and my T-shirt. The crotch of my bathing suit was full of the stuff. “I run in here crying, and all you can think about is yourself? Maybe you should have used all your time alone to become a more compassionate person. Or doll. Whatever.”

  Yvette rolled her eyes. I pictured her doing this so often that I could actually see the glass beads circling in her porcelain head. “Maybe if you didn’t leave me alone so much, I wouldn’t get lonely.”

  How could I argue with that reasoning? It did occur to me that I was getting agitated over an imagined conversation with a doll, but she’d become almost real to me over the past three years. In some ways, it was better to have a jealous porcelain friend than no friend at all.

  “So tell me about the girl in the blue bikini,” Yvette said.

  My heart clenched. “How could you possibly know about her?”

  Stupid question. Yvette was in my head. Anything I knew, she knew.

  In my mind, Yvette cocked her head and crossed her arms. “Would you rather talk about Mrs. Kaufman?”

  “No,” I spat back. “I mean, what’s to tell?”

  “You enjoy her company,” Yvette said. “That’s enough. Chloe’s another matter.”

  My blood boiled at the mention of that name, and Yvette’s insistence that there was something going on with us. “I don’t even know where Chloe is. Stop being so jealous of every girl in the world. I’m allowed to talk to other people, you know.”

  “You did more than talk!”

  “So what? I don’t belong to you—you belong to me. You’re my doll, Yvette. I’m not yours.”

  Yvette looked away. She must have known I was right. There was no point in acting so possessive.

  Nobody came looking for me. Maybe Aunt Libby and Uncle Flip had seen me running up the hill in my wet T-shirt and flip-flops, or maybe Mikey had assumed I’d gone back. Either way, when night fell and that pop-gun sound exploded over the lake, the cottage was empty.

  I’d never watched the fireworks alone before. It made me sad enough that I almost went back down to the lake. Almost. I just couldn’t stand the idea of being laughed at by a bunch of little kids. I’d had enough mud-slinging for one day.

  In our long front yard, Uncle Flip had set up lawn chairs—the kind with aluminium frames and woven rubber tubing that your body sank into. After spending most of the afternoon reading on the prickly green couch, I made silent amends with Yvette. Without a word, I brought her out front and set her on the chair next to mine.

  Fireworks exploded overhead. The display looked nicer over the lake, since every eruption echoed in the mirror of its black surface. From the cottage the explosions seemed disembodied, but anything was better than facing all the people who’d laughed at me earlier in the day. I got enough of that at school. Summer was supposed to be a vacation.

  “Rebecca?” Yvette turned her fragile head in my direct
ion. “Can I sit with you?”

  My heart warmed as I repeated those words to myself again and again. Without a word, I scooped her up and sat her on my thigh. We craned our necks and watched the fireworks together. The arguments and jealousy were worth it for moments like these. When we were peaceful together, Yvette brought me more joy than any real person in the whole world.

  I’m not sure how, exactly, because I know I didn’t make her do it, but as the fireworks boomed and dispersed like dandelion seeds overhead, Yvette snuck her way up my body and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. When I closed my eyes, that tiny porcelain mouth felt almost human.

  When I went to bed that night, I brought her with me.

  Chapter 4

  The sizzle of bacon roused me from sleep, but I didn’t open my eyes until Aunt Libby knocked at the door. “Rise and shine,” she said in her chipper sing-song voice.

  I didn’t know how anyone could be so pleasant first thing in the morning. My response was less a word than a grunt.

  Opening my door, which never closed properly anyway, my aunt sang, “Wake up, wake up, you sleepy-head.” When she didn’t finish, I looked up and found her staring blankly at my floor.

  Yvette’s tiny floral dress and apron were strewn across the ratty rug, and the sight confounded me. I hadn’t undressed my doll. I hadn’t, but how could her dress have come off in the night without my help, or someone else’s? Those were definitely Yvette’s clothes. I could feel her porcelain skin under my covers.

  Aunt Libby’s brow furrowed. She wouldn’t look me in the eye, but I wished she would. I needed to communicate that I didn’t know how Yvette had become undressed. It wasn’t me. I was every bit as confused as she was.

  Backing out of my room, Aunt Libby said quietly, “Breakfast’s on the table whenever you’re ready.”