Rachel’s Manifesto
Copyright 2011 Rhonda Herrington Bulmer
Published by Codepoet Media
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter One
The blonde girl in the blue dress is up next—she’s excited and nervous, like she’s been invited to a party by all the best people.
“Are you sure you should go?” I call from behind. My voice is quivering. “Maybe there’s a safer way to cross the river, somewhere else?”
She looks back at me with brilliant eyes and shakes her head. “No. I’m ready. It’s now or never.”
With the concentration of a high-wire artist, she skims half-way across the slippery log in bare feet. I hold my breath.
Maybe she’ll make it.
Not this time. Her right foot slips out from under her on the slick trunk, long since washed free of bark. I watch with horror as she disappears, screaming down river until water gushes into her lungs and she’s dragged voiceless to the bottom. My stomach churns while my eyes search the waves back and forth for any sign of her, but she’s gone.
Ow! Ah, geez. What’s that? A piercing, buzzing noise, punches my right ear. Is it a crow, sitting on my shoulder…?
Rachel slapped the sleep button on top of her alarm clock with the palm of her hand. Six-thirty a.m. She was sweating buckets. “I hate when they drown,” she muttered, sitting straight up in bed and putting her head in her hands for a moment. She always felt nauseated afterward. Just breathe. In and out, until the images fade away.
After a few calming breaths she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet grazing the floor. She wiggled her toes on the carpet, hoping the rough sensation would help jolt her awake. Then, yawning, Rachel looked up and her eyes fell on the calendar pinned to her bulletin board. Friday, June 1st. It was the last day of school before exams on Monday. Her gaze dropped a couple of weeks to the eighteenth—the prom! I can’t wait. Hugh’s going to look amazing. I saw his tux. I have no idea what I’m going to wear.
And then, Hugh’s graduation on the twenty-second.
“I can’t believe my boyfriend is graduating,” she said, the sound of her voice breaking the silence of her empty house. As usual, her mother had already left for an early shift at the hospital. “I’m going to miss him so much next year.” Rachel put on her fuzzy slippers and trudged to the bathroom.
One more year for me and I’m done too, she thought while she brushed her teeth and wiped the yellow stuff out of her bleary eyes with a washcloth. Maybe I could go to the same school...who knows what could happen?
She felt a tingle of excitement while she pulled on a pair of jeans (the low rise ones that Mom hates) and the t-shirt she borrowed from Kelly. I have a date with Hugh tonight! Pizza and a movie. And then, he’ll bring it up again, I just know he will. What am I going to say this time?
*****
Rachel was worried until about half-way through English class, chewing on her pen until the end was all mangled and scrunched over. Very bad habit.
Kelly leaned forward and whispered in her ear from the seat behind. “Chewing on your cud, there, Rach? Aren’t you afraid of breaking your teeth?”
Rachel smiled. “I have good teeth.”
“Quit bragging. Once you bite through, that pen’s going to leak blue ink all over your teeth and the shirt you’re wearing. And it’s mine, remember? My favourite red shirt, the one you promised not to ruin?”
“Okay, okay. I’m just nervous,” retorted Rachel in a low voice. She placed the pen on the desk in front of her
“What number did you get?” Kelly asked.
“Thirty.”
Kelly made a face. “Aw, he’s not going to get to you. The class is half over.”
“I hope you’re right, ‘cause I didn’t do the speech,” said Rachel.
“You didn’t write anything at all?” Kelly said, lifting her eyebrows.
“Nope.” Rachel tried to stop fidgeting while Mr. Cole called for the next victim.
“Thanks, Jennifer. That was a great speech, very thorough. I didn’t know you were interested in medical technology. I’m looking forward to hearing if you feel the same way next year,” said Mr. Cole, nodding his dark curly head from the back of the class. Jennifer was Cole’s favourite student, a brainiac, probably next year’s valedictorian. “Now remember, folks, this manifesto doesn’t just have to focus on your career plans, but also on what’s important to you in general, and what kind of skills and talents you have. This is an exercise in being aware of who you are and where you’re going. Okay, number fifteen, you’re up.”
Number fifteen (also known as Michael “Mickey” Ryan) stood up and shuffled to the front of the class. He pulled his hands out of the pockets of his baggy jeans and cleared his throat. “My name is Mickey and this is my personal manifesto,” he announced. Then, he began to sing, in a melodramatic but flat voice, “and now…the end is near…and so I face…the final curtain…”
“Stop,” said Mr. Cole, his hand up like a traffic cop. “Mickey, that’s I did it my way, and you didn’t write that.”
“But it’s all about me,” Mickey protested. “I am doing it my way!”
“Yes, I assumed you would,” Mr. Cole said with the half-smile and raised eyebrow he used when he was trying to be witty. He glanced at the smirks on people’s faces. “But did you prepare anything of your own?”
Mickey nodded, shifting his feet. “Actually, I did, but I’m warning you, it’s not as good. Over the summer I plan to work at the garbage dump and save enough money to go half on a car with my dad—I figured a Porsche 911 would be a nice, affordable chick magnet, but my dad has his eye on a nice little VW bug rusting out in the backyard—he thinks I deserve a challenge! And by this time next year I plan to be better at math, I’m not sure how, but Donald Trump says, ‘Do what you love and never give up.’” Mickey attempted to flatten his yellowy-brown hair in a Trump comb-over, but his tight curls would not cooperate. Instead, they stuck in a lump on the top of his head before settling back in place. He cleared his throat, and his brown eyes glinted in appreciation at the snickers from the class.
Rachel smiled. Mickey’s sole purpose in life is to make people laugh.
“Anyway, I haven’t given my long-term goals that much thought, but after graduation, I have my eye on a fry-cook position at Burger King while I moonlight as a hip-hop dancer-slash-stand-up comic at the Right Spot, where I’ll have a seat reserved every night for my favourite teacher, Mr. Cole.” Mickey took a deep breath after his run-on sentence. Rachel giggled and clapped with the rest of the class as he slid back to his chair.
“Now that’s the Michael we all know and love,” said Mr. Cole, tipping his pen towards Mickey with a grin. “I’ll definitely take you up on that reservation at the Right Spot, at least once, anyway. Okay, who’s next?”
On it went, from Colleen Estabrooks, the vegan environmentalist who wanted to manufacture everything in the world out of hemp, not to mention outlawing cars, beef and chicken; to Kenny Gaynes who actually did admire Donald Trump and wanted to be even younger than Mark Zuckerberg was when he made it to billionaire status. Good luck creating the next Facebook. Rachel looked at the clock. 11:30 am. Class ends at 11:45. There was enough time for two or three speeches before the bell.
“Number twenty-six—that’s…Kelly Miller, come on up,” Mr. Cole said, glancing at his book.
Kelly stood up and sauntered to the front of the room. “Speak slowly!” Rachel whispered as she brushed by.
“Hi, I’m Kelly…”
“Hi, Kelly…” answered the class in singsong voices. People hang on her every word, thought Rachel. How does she do it? Oh right, she reminded herself. It’s because she’s five-foot-ten and gorgeous.
“…and I would just like to say that since life is so short, I plan to concentrate on doing the things I like and not taking everything so seriously. People get all caught up in planning a career…where they’re going to school, where they’re going to be in five years, how much stuff they’ll have in ten years, who they’re going to marry, how many kids they’re going to have (if any), planning for retirement when they’re twenty…it’s useless. Almost nothing works out the way you plan it, anyway. And even if it does, there’s no guarantee at the end of it that you’ll be happy.” Kelly paused a moment to let her words sink in, playing with her pale blond hair.
Mr. Cole grinned and sat up a little straighter. “So you’re saying that any planning for the future is a waste of time? We should all wander around aimlessly and live with our parents?”
“Not necessarily. But people think they can control what happens to them, and they can’t. Just ask my mother—the more she planned, the more went wrong. Can you believe she wants me to follow in her footsteps and be a teacher? I can’t think of anything more boring than to live her life over again,” Kelly said. “Uh, no offence,” she added, with a glance at Mr. Cole.
Mr. Cole gestured in the air. “This exercise is about you, and what you want out of life, so let’s focus on what you said at first…you planned on doing the things you enjoy and not get caught up in the rat race, so to speak—so what are they?”
She thought for a moment, her eyes bouncing around the classroom. They landed on Rachel, who was making a face. Keep the crap going, the class is almost over, she was trying to say. Did Kelly understand? Fortunately, it seemed she did. Straightening her back and turning her attention to the teacher, Kelly became a bit more focused.
“Well, I would like to organize more social events for the school next year. I thought a winter carnival would be so much fun! I’ll have to be involved in make-up and costumes for next year’s drama production too, because whoever was doing it this year didn’t know what they were doing—their faces were so pale they were glowing …oh, and then there’s prom and safe grad next year…I have some amazing ideas for that, maybe an eco-friendly theme… I can’t wait to organize a committee! And I’m interested in hair and fashion, maybe we could start a club…?” she said, glancing at Rachel, who begged her silently to continue.
“Don’t forget to mention world peace,” Mickey Ryan snickered from the front seat. He just couldn’t help himself, thought Rachel. It’s too bad—he didn’t mean any harm. But she’s not going to ignore that one.
Kelly pointed her long index finger at him with one eyebrow raised. “You are making fun of beauty pageant contestants? That’s funny, coming from you. At least beauty queens have showers and get a haircut occasionally. And they know that ugly orange plaid is only for hunters.”
There were some sharp intakes of breath around the classroom as Mr. Cole stood up and walked towards the pair. “That’s enough,” he said, pausing for effect. “I’m sure beauty contestants, as well as high school students, are aware that attacking other people’s fashion choices is rude. Over the weekend you can write a 1000-word essay on cultural definitions of polite behaviour throughout history and why common courtesy is still needed in our society. Right after you say I’m sorry, of course…”
“Mr. Cole, I…” Kelly started to object, then saw his stern face. She turned to Mickey. “Sorry, Mick,” she muttered.
“It’s okay, Princess,” he grinned. Rachel watched Kelly’s eyes flash at hearing Mickey’s pet name for her.
“Thank you, Miss Miller. You can sit down. By the way, if you fail to pass the essay in, I will deduct twenty-five marks from next Tuesday’s English exam,” Mr. Cole said.
Kelly scowled as she passed Rachel on the way to her seat.
Mr. Cole patted Mickey on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Michael. I liked plaid in high school, and look how well I turned out.” His eyes scanned the class, looking for support, but all he saw was groaning students.
“Speaking of essays, before we finish with one more speech, I have a summer project to suggest.” He turned to list a few symbols on the whiteboard with a red erasable pen: ?4U, 459, 9, MBS. “What’s wrong with this picture? You can’t even spell words with letters anymore! You’re resorting to numbers. How about this one?” He turned back to the board and wrote the letters TIR.
“Well, now that you know what they mean, we’ll have to come up with something new.” Billy Drisdelle said, laughing from the back row.
“Aha! Exactly,” Mr. Cole put the pen down. “You guys need to keep reading and working on your vocabulary over the summer, or the English language will disappear. How about looking up a new word every day, and using it in a sentence?”
The class groaned again. Mr. Cole shrugged. “Well, just a suggestion. It is my job, after all. I think we have time for just one more before the bell rings. Who’s next?”
“Number twenty-seven,” the class chimed in together.
“Very well, twenty-seven. That’s…Hannah Quinlan. Come on up, Hannah.” Mr. Cole leaned against the radiator at the front, by the chalkboard.
Of all Rachel’s friends, Hannah was the most likely to succeed. And the most likely to look up a word a day. Kelly thinks she’s kind of boring, thought Rachel, as she watched her friend glide to the front. But I think she’s…what’s that word that Mom uses? Grounded, that’s it. Hannah is grounded. She knows who she is and where she’s going. Her personality kind of matches her hair—doesn’t everybody take redheads seriously? Rachel’s mouth dropped open. Hannah! I can’t believe you’ve got cue cards! It’s the last day of school!
Hannah cleared her throat. She was really good at speeches—clear voice, straight back, hands at sides, subtle glances at the cue cards, no fidgeting. “It’s not important to be the best at everything, but to do your best at everything. That’s what I strive for. I have achieved some success so far in soccer, in piano, in history, math and science…but not because someone else made me or because it was expected of me. I have achieved success in those areas because I enjoy them, and I want to do well for enjoyment’s sake. I expect the rest of my life will be the same way, since I expect to be the same person. For instance—”
Saved by the bell, thought Rachel. The loud buzzer in the hallway signalled lunchtime. Mr. Cole motioned for everyone to stop moving while he made closing arguments.
“Thanks Hannah,” he gestured towards the curly-headed girl, “That’s a very thoughtful idea, we should all work for the work’s sake. I wish I had your drive and energy! Thank you so much, class. We’ve heard some great insights from all of you…I think it was a good exercise. Good luck on exams next week and enjoy your summer!”
Rachel stood up and packed her few books. She watched Kelly and Hannah cross the aisles to meet her as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom.
“Am I good, or what?” Kelly said.
Rachel grinned. “Thanks for stringing Cole along, I was sweating bullets.”
Kelly shrugged and smiled. “I think he has a crush on me.”
“No, it’s Mickey who has a crush on you,” Hannah teased in a low voice.
Kelly snorted. “That midget? He’s a long way from Broadway. I think he’d better work on his material—and Mr. Cole was way too harsh.”
Hannah chided her. “Hey, short guys have feelings, too,” she said. “Oh, and if you need help with that essay, I’m here for you,” she added, grinning. Kelly curled her lip.
The three girls walked towards the doorway. “What are we having for lunch?” asked Rachel.
“I dunno,” said Hannah. “Wanna go to Dulcie’s?”
“Our favourite high class diner around the corner?” asked Kelly. “What’s the special?”
Hannah piped up. “Hot turkey sandwich, I think.”
Rachel shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Coming, Kel?”
“What does it matter?” Hannah interjected. “She doesn’t eat anything, anyway.”
Kelly made a face at her. “I can’t help it if I’m fussy. But the grilled cheese is tolerable.”
The girls were interrupted from a voice at the back of the room. “Miss Hoffman, may I see you for a moment?” Mr. Cole called from behind his desk.
They looked at each other, eyes wide. Kelly grinned at Rachel. “Meet you at the diner in ten, Miss Hoffman. I’ll order you the hot turkey?”
Rachel nodded at her and swallowed hard as her friends left the room. She wheeled around to face the teacher. “Yes, sir?”
She didn’t think Cole was old enough to be called ‘sir,’ but she thought it might win her some points. She knew what was coming. Either he was psychic, or he could read her face like a newspaper.
He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head. “You didn’t write a manifesto, did you?”
Rachel hesitated, then shook her head.
“Why not?”
I don’t know what to say. “Because…” Oh for heaven’s sake, Rachel, just admit it. What does it matter? It’s the end of the year, and you’re not going to have him next year! “Because I didn’t know what to say.”
Mr. Cole sat up in his chair and started packing his books in his briefcase. “You have no likes or dislikes, no opinions, no future plans? You have no talents, no skills, no desires, no beliefs?”
“Well, I do, but…they just don’t seem worth mentioning. Why would anyone be interested in my opinion?” Rachel answered. I don’t have anything special to say. “I like spending time with Hugh,” she offered.
“Who’s Hugh?”
Rachel shifted her weight onto the other foot. “Uh…Hugh McNamara. He’s graduating this year. He’s my…”
“Boyfriend?” .Mr. Cole inserted.
“Yeah.”
“Ah.” He rose from his desk, his briefcase in hand. “Well, I would be interested in hearing your opinions. I’m sure others would, as well, if you were willing to share them. Rachel, do you know what makes the difference between success and failure?” he asked. “Assuming you want to succeed at something, that is,” he added.
“No.” For heaven’s sake, it’s lunchtime!
Mr. Cole put his briefcase down and leaned against the desk. “Confidence. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Rachel. There’s more to you than meets the eye. It would be a pity if you didn’t take time to discover who you really are. Perhaps when you’re not spending time with Hugh, you could find out.”
“Maybe I could just ask him instead,” she joked.
Mr. Cole generally appreciated humour, but this time he didn’t laugh. His gaze levelled her. “That’s not a good idea, Rachel. If you don’t know who you are, others will tell you. And they may have their own motives in mind.” Then his sober gaze dissolved into a sunny smile. “Good luck on the exam. Have a great summer,” he said. He picked up his briefcase and walked out the door.
“Bye, Mr. Cole,” she called after him.
Rachel stepped through the giant oak front doors. Her frustration with Mr. Cole melted away in the bright, cheerful sunshine. She heard the birds singing above her head as she slipped past the long row of one hundred-year-old maple trees in front of Anne F. Leslie High School. What does a person have to do to get a high school named after them?
There were four high schools in Briardale, and Leslie was the oldest. Its stone walls and gothic architecture made it one of the most impressive buildings in the city center. But it needed expensive repairs, and there was talk of ripping it down.
The diner was just around the corner. Monday to Friday, it was always full of Leslie students at lunchtime and after school, munching on burgers and pizza.
Kelly and Hannah were almost finished by the time she arrived. They waved her in from the window. “Where have you been? Your lunch is getting cold,” said Hannah, between bites.
“Yeah, what did Cole want?” Kelly asked, having barely touched her sandwich. “That guy is so intense. He doesn’t let up. The last day of school and he’s still on your back!”
Rachel shrugged sliding into the booth and dipping a fry in ketchup. “He just wanted to know why I hadn’t prepared anything. You know what he’s like.”
“Well, was he hard on you? What did he say?” Hannah asked.
Rachel lifted her eyebrows and made a mock-intense face. “He doesn’t think I know who I really am,” she said, wishing the turkey was still hot.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “That guy needs to take up golf…or something,” she giggled.
Hannah put her milk glass down. “Well, do you?”
“Do I what?” Rachel retorted.
Her eyes sparkled. “Do you know who you really are?” Hannah asked.
“So asks the future psychologist,” joked Kelly. “Hannah, the queen of rhetorical questions. Aren’t you supposed to be telling her who she is?”
Rachel was tired of this conversation. “Enough, already! Hannah, I know you don’t think I’m very self-aware, but yes, I know who I really am. I’m Rachel Hoffman, I’m seventeen, and I’d rather talk about my date with Hugh tonight.”
“Umm—yes, Hugh the beautiful. Blond, blue-eyed, and taller than me. Rachel, you’d better watch out—I think I want him. Where are you going tonight? I might show up,” asked Kelly.
Rachel looked at her sideways. “What do you need Hugh for? You’ve already had the rest of the hockey team…”
“Ouch.”
Rachel grinned. “We’re going out for pizza, and then to a movie. You can come too, as long as you sit a few rows away and don’t talk to us.”
Kelly sniffed. “Fine, I know when I’m not wanted. It seems I have an essay to write, anyway.” She put her chin on her hands.
“Enough chatter about guys.” Hannah said, standing up. “It’s time to get back to class.”
“It’s the last day of school, Hannah. Who cares?” Kelly said.
“I care. Future piano-playing psychologist, remember? I’ve got to ask Mr. Buchanan something about the math exam.” She stopped with her hand on the door. “Hey, Rachel, we’ll talk some more later, okay?”
Rachel threw some money on the table. I wish you’d stop trying to fix me.
“Sure, talk to you tomorrow.” Hannah ran quickly down the street, out of sight.
Kelly tossed her blond hair and grinned at Rachel. “I don’t know what you see in that girl.”
Chapter Two
“Yuck, Mom! Please don’t tell me any more!” Rachel said. The sunlight washed over her sour face and spilled onto the floor in the open doorway. Her mom stood outside on the low concrete steps, making her seem even shorter than her 5’ 3” frame. The daylight danced on the grey streaks in her hair. She was just leaving for a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, where she worked as an emergency room nurse.
“It was so sad. We wanted to save her, but she was brain dead,” Mom sighed. She shook her head. Her weary expression painted lines around her mouth and at the corners of her brown eyes.
“Mom!” Rachel cried, backing away from the door. “I told you, I don’t want to hear all the gory details!”
She continued, ignoring Rachel’s protests. “It’s so sad when a twelve-year-old girl dies in a boating accident. She went to the same middle school that you attended! You probably know her older brother…”
“Patrick Baker,” Rachel muttered with a sigh, resigned to the fact that her mother would not stop until she had poured it all out.
Mom leaned her head against the doorframe, staring out into the street. “Her poor parents…I can only imagine. They donated her organs to four or five different people. Her heart, her liver, her kidneys…”
“Mo—om! Please…no more details!” Rachel moaned.
The boating accident that killed Kylie Baker had been splashed all over the news for a week or two. There were calls for tougher age restrictions and water safety education for minors, but as a nurse at the hospital where she was declared dead on arrival, Rachel’s mom knew the inside scoop… and that meant Rachel knew it too.
“The operating room was a pretty sombre place while they were removing her organs. Her mother wailed in the waiting room, her father paced the floor with his head in his hands…”
“Janet!” Rachel yelled. “Stop talking about it!”
Mom’s head turned. “My name is Mom to you, young lady! What is wrong with you, Rachel? I don’t understand why you can’t sympathize with people! Sometimes I think you don’t have any heart!” Her mother straightened up, preparing to leave.
“I do have heart! I feel sorry for them!” she protested, adjusting her attitude a little. Sometimes using her given name was the only way to get Mom’s attention. “I’m just not like you…I know that a job in medicine is not for me. I want nothing to do with any job description which includes blood, guts, or the possibility of seeing death.”
Her mother threw up her hands, her car keys shaking in the air as she walked toward the car. “I know, you’re an artistic type like your dad. Good enough! I’ll keep the three-quarters of my life that I spend at work to myself, and we’ll have no conversations at all because you never talk,” she muttered, almost to herself. “See you tomorrow,” Mom stopped to add a comment before Rachel shut the door. “Oh, and keep the doors locked tonight when you come home from your date, hmm?”
Rachel nodded, impatient. “Yes, I know.”
“And you know my phone number at work if there’s an emergency?” she added again after rolling the driver’s window down.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom, it’s by the phone. See you tomorrow.”
“And no boys in the house!” she called as she drove away.
“I know! Goodbye!” Rachel cried. She closed the door and ran upstairs to her bedroom. It was four o’clock. Hugh was picking her up in an hour for dinner and a movie, and she wasn’t ready. She combed her medium-brown hair in the mirror. By the end of the summer, she thought, it would be lighter, with streaks of reddish-gold highlights. Ponytail, or hanging straight, she wondered? Most girls admired Rachel’s hair. It was her one point of vanity. It fell straight and super-thick below her shoulder with a slight curve at the bottom, no bangs. Ponytails didn’t suit everyone, but with her oval face it was a perfect look for Rachel.
She thought about Hugh as she applied a flick of mascara to her brown eyes. His were blue—not light and innocent, but dark and intense. They were the first thing she noticed about him, fringed with long, sweeping blond lashes (the kind that girls should get), and crinkling at the corners when he smiled. He was very brown from spending so much time in the sun, working for his dad’s landscaping company. Mom says the sun turns crinkles into wrinkles, but I’m sure that’s the last thing he worries about.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he had asked her at their first meeting, pulling out the chair beside her in the school library, standing, waiting for permission. She remembered nodding, unable to speak because of the lump in her throat and the pit in her stomach. “Thanks,” he said, with a sideways grin, and then turned to his reading.
Rachel hadn’t done much studying that study period. Instead she’d stolen furtive glances at him and inhaled his pleasant scent. She’d brushed his arm by accident, a wave of excitement passing through her body. “Whoops, sorry…” she’d mumbled.
“That’s okay,” he’d whispered, giving her a sideways smile before returning to his books.
Hugh had been the school hockey team’s most valuable player last year, a popular senior who didn’t even know her name. The guys wanted to be like him, and the girls wanted to be with him. Rachel smiled when she remembered how he started turning up…bumping into him in the cafeteria, the library, the assembly hall…he would sidle up beside her, a couple of friends in tow, and strike up a short conversation.
“He likes you, Rachel. Can’t you tell he’s flirting with you?” Kelly would whisper in her ear watching Hugh’s back as he walked away. Then he stole a glance over his shoulder, and Rachel jumped. He hadn’t hurried to look away, like she expected.
“Did he just wink at me?” she finally said out loud, pinching Kelly while trying to control her excitement. She watched him head out the door with his buddies.
“Ouch! Rachel! You’re supposed to pinch your own elbow, not mine!” Kelly had cried, rubbing her pointy elbow and frowning. “Yes, you dope, of course he was winking at you. You bring new meaning to word duh.”
Rachel remembered sticking her tongue out at Kelly, but grinning. At the time, she dared not believe that such a popular guy would even notice her, much less wink. Rachel, the wallflower. Rachel, the quiet. Rachel, the average. Rachel, the sudden Cinderella.
She became a regular at Dulcie’s diner, just in case Hugh showed up. She always took extra care with her clothes and wore her favourite perfume, so at least she would still look her best even if he ignored her. Rachel shook her head in the mirror. Girls are such liars. We all want to look perfect, but casual, as if we didn’t just spend hours on our appearance.
Three weeks after their first meeting in the library, she had spied Hugh eating burgers at Dulcie’s with two of his teammates.
“Hey, Rachel…” he had called, as she got a few steps beyond his seat. “Rachel Hoffman…I saw you at the game yesterday…you’re in grade eleven, right?”
Rachel smiled at the memory of squashing her excited giggle, and the unimpressed glance she gave him over her shoulder. She had wheeled around on her heel, using the pose she practiced in the mirror at home. “Yep, that’s me, grade eleven…are you thinking of repeating a subject? Do you need a tutor?” she had asked in a mild tone, with one raised eyebrow.
He had snorted, but looked at his friends and laughed, which meant he was willing to play along. “No way, man…I’m brilliant. How about you?”
She shrugged, and stepped a little closer, out of the waitress’ way. “I do okay. I’ve got a ninety so far in algebra.”
“You’ve got MacKinnon?” he had asked, cocking his head to look at her. His eyes pierced her face. They were sharp and penetrating. She nodded in answer.
She had watched him lean back and smile, putting his hands behind his head. “Ah…I got a ninety-eight in that class. Math is my best subject,” he said, his blue eyes glinting.
Did I manage to hide my disappointment? I’ve always wondered if he noticed. Math had never been her best subject and she had worked very hard for that ninety! “Hmm, a smart jock. Go figure…I’ve never heard of that before,” she had replied, grinning, and whirling out the door. Her stomach jumped with the memory of his eyes on her back all the way down the street.
So began a running competition. How witty could she be? Could she outdo him? He was quick with his answers. He always seemed to be one step ahead, but she admired that about him. He was always in control of himself, always did things well.
And then one day he asked her to a school dance. Hugh wasn’t shy like other guys, who were worried about looking stupid. He was confident, and Rachel liked the feeling of being led on the dance floor. Nine months later they were still together. The relationship certainly did wonders for her confidence and her school profile: “Who’s the girl dating Hugh McNamara?” all the it-girls had whispered. “Rachel Hoffman? No way,” they had muttered in disbelief. In a school of about 1200 students, Rachel was used to going unnoticed.
She glanced at her clock radio on the nightstand. It was five o’clock. Hugh was punctual—he would be there any moment, and he didn’t like to be kept waiting. Rachel finished with her make-up and studied her reflection in the mirror. She was not beautiful like Kelly, but her skin was clear and even, and for a girl her age, that counted for something. The doorbell rang. She rushed downstairs to open the front door.
Butterflies flew in Rachel’s stomach as the door swung open to reveal Hugh standing on the front porch. He looked terrific. Tall and fit, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, she found herself a little breathless. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi!” he said, greeting her with a light kiss. He lingered for only a second. “You’re ready, I’m impressed. Let’s go get something to eat, the movie starts in an hour.” He gave her hair a gentle tug as they skipped down the steps. “Why didn’t you wear your hair down?”
Rachel tried to hide her dismay, grabbing her ponytail. “It’s a habit,” she said, posing the words like a question. “Ponytails are easy...You don’t like it this way?” She started to remove the elastic.
Hugh smiled and stopped her. “It’s fine. I’d just like to see you wear it down once in a while, that’s all.”
“Next time,” she replied, trying to make light of the conversation. She was upset that she hadn’t succeeded in impressing him. “Where are we going to eat?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Maybe we should just get a burger. We don’t have much time before the movie.” Hugh said, climbing into his dad’s green half-ton truck. The company logo, “Vista Landscaping,” was emblazoned on the side.
After burgers, fries and soda pop they went to the movie theatre and debated about what movie they should see. “How about a romantic comedy?” asked Rachel, her voice hopeful.
“Nope,” Hugh answered with a definitive smile. “I am not in the mood for sappy sighs and cries.”
Okay, I’m a team player, she thought. “What about a drama-thriller?” she suggested.
“Umm…no. I hate predictable endings. I’m going to wait and see what Kevin says about it.”
Rachel sighed and motioned towards the marquee. “Okay, then, what do you want to see?” she asked.
He gave her a hopeful, sideways grin. “Slasher movie?” he asked, with an upturned eyebrow.
I’m putting my foot down. “I just finished hearing about the latest fatal accident victim at the hospital from my mother. Absolutely not,” she said.
They threw up their hands and settled for a feel-good movie about a teacher who turns a bunch of disadvantaged youths into achievers. Talk about predictable endings! They laughed about the silly dialogue on the way out to the car and went for ice cream.
“It’s still early, it’s only nine-thirty,” he said, as he finished his sundae. “Do you want to go for a drive?” he asked. “There’s something I want to show you.” She nodded, smiling. Rachel wasn’t ready to go home yet. She didn’t care what they did, as long as they were together. They passed through the busy downtown and the well-lit suburbs to the outskirts of the city where the streets of the industrial park were dark and quiet. Hugh pulled into the lot of a new construction site and parked in a secluded corner. It was dim, the only source of light coming from a street lamp far down the road. It’s a little lonely, she thought. Should we even be here?
“Nice building, don’t you think?” he asked, as he turned off the engine. “They’re paving the parking lot this week. I’m going to start working here after exams.”
Rachel was surprised. “At an office building?” she quizzed.
“No, no—my Dad’s company was hired to do the landscaping,” he answered, grinning. “I’m on lawn mower and gardening duty this summer.”
She raised an eyebrow in sarcasm. “Ride-on mower, you mean.”
“What, you don’t feel sorry for me? I’ll be outside, sweating and baking in the sun all summer, digging in the dirt.”
She imagined the tan he would get by the end of the summer and smiled to herself. “Oh, you have an enormous pool to cool off in at the end of the day and someone to serve you drinks. What about my job, grocery store clerk—‘Good morning, hi, hello, how are you…did you find everything you were looking for today, ma’am? Oh, your bag of peas is leaking, I’ll send someone for a new one. Oh you don’t want that ice cream, after all? That’s okay, he can take that back. Thank you for shopping at Swanson’s. Have a nice day, have a nice day, have a nice day…’” she mocked over and over again with an exaggerated smile.
Hugh laughed without sympathy. “At least you spend your day in air-conditioned comfort,” he answered. “And by the way, life at the mansion isn’t as easy as you think…my parents are not very happy with me right now,” he said, his face more serious.
“What are they upset about?” she asked, taking her seat belt off and turning to face him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re such a good son…what can they possibly be upset about?”
“I’ve been accepted into the business program at Mt. Carlson University so I can take over the landscaping company when I graduate. Dad’s done very well for himself. The company is growing, he has some major contracts, and he’s expanding into other communities. He sees no reason why I shouldn’t want to keep building it. The problem is, I don’t want to take over the business, and I told him so.” He sighed as he leaned his head into the backrest and stared out the window.
Mt. Carlson University was a seven-hour drive away. I don’t want you to leave. “Did you tell him you want to be a policeman?” Rachel asked. I don’t want to be married to a policeman… too dangerous.
He made a face. “Not yet…it was just a thought. I don’t know, I’m not sure. I just wish my family wasn’t so heavy-handed. ‘Hugh, I can’t believe you don’t want to follow in my footsteps—sons have been doing that for generations! The company is doing so well--I’ve done all the hard work for you. Don’t you want to be a businessman, a pillar of the community, providing employment for other people?’” he mimicked, in a derisive tone.
“I’m sorry, Hugh.” Rachel was sympathetic. She realized that for all his advantages, Hugh faced huge expectations. “What are you going to do?”
He paused for a moment, and then his expression changed. He slid across the bench seat to be close to her. “I’m going to kiss you and stop thinking about it,” he said, pressing his lips to hers. She responded as Hugh pulled the elastic out of her hair, and his fingers stroked the strands as they cascaded below her shoulders. They were there for some time, until clothing was loosened and cheeks were red and the windows steamed. Rachel was both excited and nervous…this wasn’t her ideal spot to make out. The place gave her the creeps. What if somebody finds us? she wondered.
“Hugh, do you think we should be here?” she asked, tipping her head back and pausing for breath.
“I think it’s a great idea…unless you want to go to your house.” Hugh whispered, undeterred. “Your mother’s working, isn’t she?”
Rachel was hesitant. “Hugh, I’ve told you before—my mother doesn’t want guys in the house when she’s not there.”
“She doesn’t have to know, Rachel,” he replied, nuzzling her neck. “Don’t you think it’s time? Come on, Rach. I can’t stand to be around you and not touch you.”
“I’m still thinking about it. I want to, but…” she trailed off, not understanding her own confusion.
“But what? We’ve been together for nine months.” He frowned a little and pulled away to look at her.
“But it’s a big step and I don’t know if I’m ready…” she said, knowing her resistance had spoiled the atmosphere. She hated to irritate him.
They were so engrossed in one another that they failed to notice the sound of a vehicle approaching or its headlamps falling on their truck. Only a few short footsteps and a sharp rap on the driver’s window grabbed their attention. In seconds they split apart and adjusted their clothing as Hugh rolled down the window. A stern-faced policeman stood outside the truck.
“Can I see your driver’s license and registration?” he asked Hugh, who handed them over without saying anything. The policeman studied the documents with a flashlight and glanced up at the pair. “What are you doing here? Do you realize this is private property?” he asked them. Rachel was mortified. He knew what they were doing there.
“Yes sir. I’m sorry,” Hugh mumbled. “I just wanted to…to show her the building.”
The policeman flashed his light over their faces, through the cab and outside to look at the empty, open box of the truck as he spoke. He raised one eyebrow and his lips curved in a tiny smile, but his voice was still stern. “Well, now that she’s ‘seen the building,’ you can move along. It’s pretty late, don’t you think? Perhaps you should be getting home.”
They nodded without saying anything, and buckled their seatbelts. The policeman went back to his car and waited for their truck to drive away. He followed behind them for a few minutes before turning off onto another dark side street.
They glanced at each other with sheepish looks before facing the road. “That was embarrassing,” said Rachel.
Hugh shrugged. It didn’t seem to bother him as much. “Ah, who cares? I bet he sees that every night.”
“He might see it every night, but it’s my first time,” she replied out loud, and then regretted it. She sounded whiny.
Hugh reached over and grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Rachel. He should be so lucky.”
She was grateful for the compliment, it made her feel better. Then Rachel snickered. “So,” she asked him, “do you still want to be a policeman?”
They joked about it all the way home.
Friday pm, June 1st
Dear Diary:
Dinner: Cheeseburger, fries and a hi-test coffee, which is why I’m still awake at 2 a.m. Dessert: Chocolate sundae (with peanuts). I’m considering going downstairs to raid the refrigerator. Not a good idea, unless I call it early breakfast.
What a day! I did manage to escape the speech, but not Mr. Cole. I didn’t fool him. He seemed disappointed that I didn’t write a manifesto, and rambled on about how important it was to ‘know who you are,’ and how I shouldn’t let a guy tell me ‘who I am.’ What does that mean? Adults talk in circles and they expect us to get all their hidden meanings, as if we’re studying Shakespeare. I don’t even like Shakespeare. But I suppose he just wants to help me, in his own nosy, snoopy way.
Four words to describe date: Confusing, amazing, enjoyable, and embarrassing. Confusing-Hugh wants to have sex (see note below) and I don’t know if I should; Amazing-I like Hugh so much: he’s funny, smart, gorgeous, good at everything he does, and I like being seen with him; Enjoyable-burgers and a movie is more fun with someone you like; Embarrassing-policeman caught us making out in the truck in the middle of nowhere. But, it could have been more embarrassing. My mother came home from work early, and if we had been doing it here when she showed up I’d have a lot of explaining to do. Dodged a bullet there...
Reasons to have sex
Feels good (so far)
I’ll become an adult (I want to take the next step)
I love him and I want him to be happy
We’re going to be together forever, anyway
It’s the 21st century
It’s what everybody does
I don’t want to lose him by saying no
Reasons not to have sex
I’m scared-they say it hurts the first time
I’ll become an adult (you can’t go back again)
I can’t decide
So, maybe I’ll take Mr. Cole’s advice and do that word-of-the-day thing for the summer. (I just won’t tell anybody.) Maybe it’s a good way to sort out how I’m feeling.
quan•da•ry n, pl -ries: a state of perplexity or doubt. syn predicament, dilemma, plight.
The ‘reasons to have sex’ column is longer than the ‘Reasons not to have sex’ column, and still I can’t make a decision. This puts me in a quandary.
What’s wrong with me? I like to make out, but I start to get nervous when he gets all lusty, and then I want to run away. When I say no, or try to avoid the subject, Hugh gets so irritated-I don’t know how much longer he’ll wait for me. O God, I don’t want him to leave me.
Chapter Three
It’s big water...a rushing, roiling, churning mass of whitecaps that crash against giant boulders like speeding cars.
The river pours forth its powerful energy, but everything else is calm and peaceful. The meadows and trees are the color of spring…yellow and bright green and warm with the sun.
The opposite bank is crammed with people, going about the business of life. They’re resting before the next leg of their journey, or they’re playing ball, or sitting under crab apple trees, or lingering at picnic tables spread with food. Kids are playing fetch with their dogs beside the narrow path leading away from the river.
I see a different bridge in the far distance, to my left. Made of stone and wood and curving high above the rapids, there are more people using it to cross over to the road on the other side, some strolling, some running. Some are all alone, and some are meeting people on the other side.
Am I allowed to go, too?
“I’m afraid to drown,” I said to the tall, red-headed guy in front of me. He was dressed like a soldier. “What about the big bridge?”
“Aw, go if you want to,” he said, “but you’ll lose your place and have to go the back of the line. It’s pretty hilly, rough terrain on this side of the river. You’ll give up before you get there.”
“But nobody seems to be getting across safely on the log. It’s too slippery, too close to the waves.”
He shook his head. “It won’t be a problem for me. I’ll make it.”
He did, too.
Monday, June 18, 9:30 am
Dear Diary:
I’ve been having this dream for six months. What are dreams, anyway? Are they memories I can’t quite put together? Are they products of my subconscious, trying to come up with an answer to a problem? I didn’t think my subconscious was that analytical.
Breakfast - Skipping, I know, very bad, but I slept in. I’m going to have a latte at the mall...and maybe one of those thick, round oatmeal cookies with one side dipped in chocolate. It’s prom night!! I’m so-oo excited. This is going to be a great day.
9:45 a.m. Mom’s driving Kelly and me to the mall on her way to work. Last minute items, shampoo, make-up, hair stuff
12 p.m. Lunch at the mall, then city bus home
2 p.m. Two-hour bubble bath!
5 p.m. Hugh picks me up, we go to his house. His mother wants to take pictures.
6 p.m. Prom
12 a.m. - 6 a.m. Safe grad party, breakfast at Burger Palace
I bought a strapless, mesh-covered dress displayed in a store window last week. Kelly picked it out. I call it brownish-purple, Kelly calls it ‘eggplant.’ I wanted to buy the gray-green satin that was on a mannequin beside it, but Kelly wouldn’t let me. “It makes you look 40,” she said. Translation: she doesn’t think I show enough skin. But, maybe Kelly’s right...my mother did like the green one better!
Word for the Day:
il•lu•so•ry adj: based on or producing illusion
Dressing up is illusory, it makes people think you’re more glamorous than you really are.
*****
There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Come in,” Rachel called, putting her diary away.
Mom stepped through the doorway, her hand on the doorknob. She smiled. “Are you ready? I have to run. They’re short-staffed today.”
Rachel hopped off the bed, and glanced at her mother. You look tired, Mom. Lined and pale. “Yep, I’m ready,” Rachel said.
“Are you excited?” her mother asked, taking her by the arm. Rachel nodded, averting her eyes. “Do you have money? For the mall, I mean?” she asked. Mom’s trying to start a conversation, she thought. Say as little as possible!
“Yeah, Mom. I got paid on Friday,” Rachel answered. She broke away from her mother as they walked single file downstairs.
“I wish I could see you both tonight, all dressed up, but I have to replace someone at work. They’re really desperate,” Mom added from behind.
“It’s okay,” Rachel said, keeping her tone light and soothing. “I’ll get Hugh’s parents to give you a photograph. His dad likes to take tons of videos, too. You won’t miss anything.”
They were in the car on the way to Kelly’s house before Mom spoke again. “You and Hugh are planning on going to Safe Grad afterwards, is that right?”
“Yes, it’s at the East Side Recreation Centre,” Rachel said, looking out the window at the passing houses.
Her mother wouldn’t take the hint. She kept asking friendly questions. “And then you’re going for breakfast early in the morning?”
“Six a.m.,” Rachel replied, still not looking at her.
They pulled into Kelly’s driveway and honked the horn. Rachel turned from the window when she felt her mother’s hand grabbing hers. Her face was earnest, her eyes a bit moist. “I wish your dad were here to see you. He would be so proud of you, Rachel.”
Rachel did not have time to reply. Kelly opened the back door and bounded in, full of energy. “Good morning, Hoffman family! Are we ready to play?”
“Good morning, Kelly,” they answered in unison. Kelly was excited. Kevin Monahan, another graduate, had asked her to the prom, and she’d accepted.
Mom dropped the girls off at the busy mall entrance, and stuck her head out of the driver window. “Have a great time tonight, girls. Be careful,” she called as they walked away.
Rachel turned briefly and waved at her mother, who was waiting for a response.
“Your mom’s a nice lady, Rachel.” Kelly smiled at her as they moved through the huge doors.
She sighed in response. “Yeah, she’s nice…but…”
Kelly’s eyebrows knitted together. “But what?” she asked.
“She never leaves me alone—ever!” Rachel burst out, waving her hands in the air for emphasis. “She’ll call me on my cell phone today on every break to tell me how I should do my hair and what kind of makeup I should wear and advise me not to wear the shoes I picked out because they could be too high and I might trip in them. And then, just before I leave the house, she’ll call to warn me that there’s construction on my regular route to the school and what detour I should take.” She paused for breath and frowned at Kelly, who was laughing. “No, no, it’s not funny!” she continued. “Once, when she was at work, I went out to the backyard to lie down and read and I fell asleep in the sun. I didn’t answer the phone all afternoon. She panicked and called the neighbours to come looking for me.” They walked down the main corridor, through to the food court. All the stores were just opening for the day, clerks pushing back the folding doors that separated their shops from the main hallways.
“Stop!” Kelly interrupted. “I would love to hear more of your complaints, but can we eat while you do it?”
Rachel nodded and pointed to a coffee shop. She kept talking as they headed in that direction. “And tomorrow…well, tomorrow, before she asks for every single tiny detail about prom night right down to the shoes everybody was wearing and the songs the band played, and how many slow dances we danced and what did we do at Safe Grad, first she’ll want to tell me about every single bloody, nasty accident victim that poured through the emergency room doors during her entire shift. I’ve told her over and over again that I don’t want to hear about the ER, but she doesn’t listen to me. The conversation will last for hours.”
Kelly threw her a sympathetic smile while they ordered. After they sat down, Rachel sipped some of her steaming latte and was more subdued. “I wish my father were still alive. Then she’d have somebody to talk to.”
“And so would you!” Kelly pointed out, biting into a cookie. “Anyway, Rach, it could be worse. You could be in my family, where everybody loves an argument. I heard them in their room last night. Well, who couldn’t hear them in their room last night? You know, I think it’s almost over. I think they’re ready to say the word ‘divorce.’”
Rachel put her cup down. “Kelly, I’m really sorry,” she said.
“Sorry?” Kelly snorted. “Geez, it’s about freaking time. They drive me crazy! Dad, the boring math professor, has been fooling around, and I think my mother suspects, but she hasn’t confronted him. So, it’s the big secret that everybody knows and pretends not to know,” she said, sipping her coffee. Rachel was shocked. Kelly was calm and nonchalant, as if she had just made some comment about the inconvenience of losing a contact lens in the sink or the rising price of mascara instead of the fact that her father was leaving her mother for another woman.
“You should see your face, Rachel!” Kelly cried, laughing and slapping the table with delight. Then she leaned in, her face conspiratorial. “I know who it is.”
“Who is it?” Rachel asked, feeling that thrill of having forbidden information.
“Oh, it’s his assistant, Petra.” Kelly mocked. “I’ve seen her. She’s blond and perky and thin and most of all, young. My father, on the other hand, is grey and rumpled but he drives a shiny BMW convertible because he can afford it now that he’s hit his mid-life crisis. He says Mom doesn’t understand him anymore. Meanwhile, my mom, in her depressed state, has stopped colouring her hair, complains about the weight she’s put on, and says nasty things about every skinny, blond, twenty-something she sees at the mall.” Kelly put her coffee mug down and folded her hands on the table in front of her for emphasis. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why marriage is an outdated and useless institution. It never lasts and I don’t know why anybody even bothers. Every couple I know is divorcing or thinking about it.”
Rachel shook her head and pursed her lips. “My parents wouldn’t have, I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t want to be rude, Rachel,” Kelly began (which was a sure sign that she was going to be rude,) “but you were only four when your father died of—of…”
“—cancer,” Rachel finished.
“Right, sorry. Your parents had only been married five years. You have no idea what life would be like for them now. Eighteen years is plenty of time to get sick of each other.”
Rachel shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it’s possible. But my mother really misses him. She still talks about him. She dates a little bit, but nobody else seems to measure up. And, I think about him, too.” She rested her head on one elbow and traced the tablecloth embroidery with her other hand. “I wonder what he would be like today, what it would be like to have a dad…” she trailed off, and realized she was pretty close to whimpering. “Pretty corny, huh?” she sat up and shook her ponytail.
Kelly’s eyes glinted. “Well, you can have mine. He’s of no use to me.”
Rachel laughed, shaking her head at Kelly’s sarcasm as they both stood up. The discussion had become too serious. It was time to shop and think of the evening ahead. The girls looked at shampoo and hair concoctions at the salon, and debated whether or not they should wear pantyhose (of course not, but make sure you shave) and whether they should wear their hair up or down—extensions, maybe? Nah, too complicated (not to mention expensive.) They looked at each other, smirking, when they saw Susan LeBlanc, who was carrying an unbelievably tacky yellow dress out of a store.
“Maybe it looks better on?” Rachel whispered to Kelly as they passed.
Kelly’s eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t nearly as hopeful. “Only if she’s dressing up as a lemon meringue pie for Hallowe’en.” Rachel giggled.
The morning became lunch, and lunch became early afternoon, and by the time Rachel got the bus home, it was two-thirty. When she opened the front door, the phone rang, and she rushed to answer it.
“Hello?” she said, her voice breathless.
“Hi, baby. Where have you been?” the voice asked from the other end of the line.
It was Hugh. Her spine tingled when she recognized his voice. “Hi!” she answered, still breathless, but from excitement. Could he hear the smile in her voice? “Kelly and I were at the mall. I just ran through the door. What are you doing?”
“Thinking about you…it’s going to be a great night,” he said. “I’m taking Dad’s car to the car wash before I get ready.”
“The Mustang?” she interrupted. The car was his father’s pride and joy. Rachel was struck with a mix of pleasure and apprehension.
“Yep, we’re taking it tonight. Pretty cool, huh? My dad must like you,” he said, sounding pleased.
That was a nice thought to Rachel. “Yeah, that’s pretty cool. I’m looking forward to it,” she replied.
“Well, I was just calling to make sure you’ll be ready at five, like we said?” he asked, almost businesslike. Hugh didn’t like to chat on the phone.
“Yes, I’ll be waiting,” she promised.
They said goodbye and she ran upstairs to run a bath.
Rachel didn’t usually spend much time primping, but tonight was special. She turned on her favourite music really loud and lingered in the bubble bath until her fingers and toes became wrinkled prunes. She took extra care washing and drying her hair, fussed over her make-up, gave herself a pedicure and a manicure, and last of all, put on her dress.