If This Is Home Page 2

  “I’m Kurt.” He sticks out his hand for me to shake. I almost laugh at how absurd this is.

  “Is this where you make all your friends, Kurt?”

  He laughs out loud and flashes me another smile. Holy cow, his teeth are beautiful. In fact, once I get past his teeth, I see that he has really nice eyes, too. They’re a hazel colour, and they’re framed by thick, dark eyelashes. I wonder why I’ve never seen him around. Maybe this is where he spends all of his time.

  “Jayce. Well, J.J., actually.” I return his handshake. His hands are surprisingly soft and warm.

  “I have a problem with being on time, too,” Kurt says. “Well, actually, it’s more like a problem with staying at school at all.”

  I nod. No wonder I’ve never seen him before. I gaze at his sandwich and my stomach growls.

  “What grade are you in?” I ask.

  “Grade twelve. But I’m not going to graduate.” Kurt says this simply, as though it’s not a big deal or anything. He finally takes a bite of his sandwich, and I’m relieved. If he eats it, I won’t have to look at it anymore. “You?”

  “Ten,” I tell him. “But I have every intention of gradu­ating on time.”

  He smiles his megawatt smile at me again. I seem to amuse him.

  “Well, J.J., I bet you will.”

  He rises from the desk behind me and heads to the back of the room. I find myself blushing suddenly at our encounter and flip my notebook open to resume drawing. I try to concentrate, but my mind keeps playing our conversation, and his smile keeps interrupting my thoughts.

  How crazy of this guy to just come up to me and start talking. I mean, I’ve never even seen him before. And in detention? It’s probably not the best place to meet someone.

  I continue my drawing, adding some shading, and I realize that, without even being conscious of it, I am drawing a picture of my mother. A younger, prettier version of her. The realization takes me by surprise, but it’s undeniable. The thin, angular face and cheekbones. The perfect mane of hair. Her guarded smile. No matter what she is smiling about, the smile never quite reaches her eyes.

  I add some finishing touches, and then the bell rings. The lunch hour is over. Kurt whisks past me and waves.

  “See ya around,” he says.

  “Don’t count on it,” I say back. I don’t know why I’m treating him like this, but I can’t seem to help it. He laughs one more time and strides out of the classroom before I’ve even risen from my seat.

  In the hallway I see Amanda and a crew of girls heading toward me.

  “How was detention?” Amanda asks in a singsong voice.

  “You missed out,” I tell her, and she laughs.

  “Well, we went to Wendy’s. Erika Blackwell was there. You should have seen what she was wearing. Barely any clothes. She looked like a tramp. I just don’t know what Luke sees in her, anyway.”

  Luke is Amanda’s ex-boyfriend. They dated for all of three weeks before Luke hooked up with Erika at a party. Luke gave Amanda the cold shoulder after that night and has been with Erika ever since.

  “He’d be so much happier with me,” Amanda sighs.

  “Maybe he’s a dirtbag for cheating on you in the first place. You’re better off without him,” I tell her, but Amanda has this dreamy look on her face.

  “We were perfect for each other,” Amanda declares. “We could really talk. He told me things that nobody else knows. And I did the same. We had a connection.”

  “Amanda, he didn’t even have the decency to face you and talk to you about what happened,” I remind her. “He brushed you off.”

  “He’s just confused right now,” she tells me, and I roll my eyes. How can someone be so desperate for love that they can’t see the situation for what it is? If a guy can’t be dependable or there for you emotionally, how can you call that love?

  The rest of the afternoon zips by, even detention after school. My eyes scan the room for Kurt, but he’s nowhere in sight. I feel a pang of disappointment, and then tell myself that I’m being stupid. After telling Amanda that Luke isn’t right for her, it seems funny that I’m even thinking of a boy I met in detention as boyfriend material.

  I’m relieved when one of the teachers dismisses us. I’m anxious to get home and check on Joelle. I prac­tically dive for the classroom doorway and dash for the school doors.

  “What’s the hurry?” I hear when I get outside. It’s him. Kurt.

  “I gotta get home,” I say breathlessly, not even stopping to acknowledge him.

  My stomach flutters a bit, knowing that he’s nearby. I decide to turn to look at him and my insides almost melt at his dazzling smile. I notice his cool Converse shoes. He’s wearing a leather jacket and he’s standing all by himself. Has he been waiting for me?

  “I’ll walk you,” he says. But I am still running. “Or run with you,” he adds, laughing.

  “Catch me if you can,” I call out to him.

  “Is that a challenge?” he asks. I’m secretly hoping he takes me up on it, and when I hear the sound of him approaching, I can’t help but smile.

  I give it all I’ve got, but his long legs are able to make bigger strides, and he keeps pace with me easily. We run side by side until we get close to my street, and then I slow to a walk.

  “Wow, girl, you sure can run,” he says admiringly. “What’s the rush?”

  I don’t want to tell him about Joelle being practically by herself all day. I mean, my mom is there, but she isn’t really able to care for her properly. What would I say?

  My mom has kind of given up on everything and stays in bed all the time. My four-year-old sister pretty much fends for herself. I’d invite you in, except I’d have nothing to offer you but a hot, steamy bowl of oatmeal and, really, my life is getting far too complicated to add something new in, so it’s best if we cut ties now.

  Somehow I don’t think that answer will work. I think quickly, hoping that I can come up with a convincing lie. “My grandma is coming in from out of town today. We’ve got to be at the bus depot to pick her up.” The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to change them.

  Oh no, surely he has no reason to go to the bus depot, does he?

  Thankfully, my answer seems perfectly logical to him.

  “So, you’re not doing any more detention time, are you?” he asks. “You don’t look like the type.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I snap back.

  “Well, you just … I don’t know … you seem really cool. I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who’d be getting detention.”

  “How would you know?” I say. His smile disappears.

  “I’m not all bad, J.J.,” he says pointedly. He seems reserved now, almost hurt. I try to look at his face, but he’s staring at the ground. He’s tried to compliment me and I’ve shot him down. Something about his clenched jaw and his downcast eyes makes me want to reach out and hug him.

  “Sorry,” I say softly, and instantly he brightens.

  “It’s all good,” he replies. “People get the wrong idea about me all the time.”

  We walk in silence for a couple of minutes. I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. We’re approaching my block. It’s time to say goodbye. I don’t want Kurt knowing where I live.

  I look ahead and the first thing I notice is the police car and ambulance. They are in front of our house. My heart starts thudding in my chest. Joelle, my mother … what could have happened? The colour drains from my face and I break out into another run.

  “J.J., what’s the matter? Where are you going?” Kurt calls out, confused.

  Kurt can’t see where I live. He can’t know what’s going on. I lied about rushing home as it is.

  “I gotta go. I’m way too late!” I call out. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  Kurt stops in his tracks. “Okay. I guess I�
��ll see you tomorrow!” he calls back. He is oblivious to what is going on up the street from us.

  I race down the street. My legs throb. I am filled with fear. A million different scenarios fill my mind, none of them good.

  Of all of the days, why did I have to have detention today? Maybe if I hadn’t been so late.

  I look back again. Kurt has turned around to head back the way we came, and I feel some relief that he won’t be part of whatever is waiting for me.

  My eyes search for my mom or for Joelle as I approach our yard, but I see nothing. I race to the front door, which is wide open. I’m panting and sweating and out of breath. I feel like a crazed animal.

  I zero in on the police officer who is kneeling by the couch. I realize that she is holding Joelle, who is crying.

  “Ellie!” I call out to her, and she looks up in relief and runs to me, clutching me as hard as she can. I scoop her up and hold her close. “Where’s Mom?” I ask, but Joelle has buried her head into my shoulder.

  “We have another family member here!” the officer calls out. Two paramedics emerge, carrying a stretcher. Strapped inside is our mother. Her diminutive figure looks almost skeleton-like under the blankets. I can’t really see her face beneath the oxygen mask, but I know it is most definitely her. I hold Joelle’s head down on me so that she doesn’t see our mother like this. The paramedics move quickly. I stand in confusion, trying to take in the scene. The police officer who was comforting Joelle starts asking questions, but her words blur together. The world feels like it is spinning out of control and the only thought that sticks with me is this: I’m about to lose my mother.

  Chapter 2

  I awake with a start to the sound of beeping monitors, a slow, steady rhythm. I open my eyes and bristle from the bright fluorescent lights above.

  So it is all true. We are actually in the hospital. This wasn’t a dream after all.

  Mom is sleeping. Despite all of the tubes and things sticking out of her and how pale she looks, she seems to be resting comfortably. Ellie is sleeping, too. She’s in the chair beside me, curled up into a ball. She looks so small and vulnerable, like a kitten. I stroke her forehead gently and then reach for my mom’s hand.

  Her hand is cold, her skin papery thin and almost translucent. When did she get to be so frail? I wonder. Seeing her this way, examining her up close, I can’t believe how different she looks. Maybe I was just so busy trying to keep up with everything that I hadn’t noticed. After all, Mom hasn’t been feeling well for a long time. I think back to how many times I told her she should see a doctor.

  “It’s just a cold, Jayce,” Mom kept assuring me.

  “Mom, colds don’t last this long,” I’d say.

  “I just got run down. That’s all.”

  That’s the thing: I’d had plenty of colds before but never one that had me in coughing fits like she’d have. Sometimes her long, hacking coughs would wake us up at night. Sometimes I’d rush into her room, asking if there was anything I could do. Her whole body would shake with each cough.

  “I’m fine … fine,” she’d assure me, waving me off. “Go back to sleep.”

  Now, I gaze at her face and a lump forms in my throat. This isn’t fine. Why didn’t I make her do something about this sooner? I smooth some of her hair back from her face.

  Despite how different she looks, my mother is still beautiful. She’s always been a head-turner. For as long as I can remember, men have openly stared at her. She is tall and thin, with long, curly blond hair that cascades halfway down her back, and she has huge blue eyes. I know she has always been proud of the attention. To her, her eyes are her best asset.

  “ ‘Those eyes can promise you the world ….’ That’s what your dad used to say to people about me.” Mom would get a twinkle in her eye and a flush in her cheeks retelling the story.

  When I was a young girl, Mom often talked to me about the magical love story between her and Dad. On special occasions, when Mom was getting ready to go out, I’d perch on the side of her bed and watch her apply her perfume and makeup, mesmerized by her beauty. I’d look at her in wonder, thinking that I’d never seen someone so beautiful. Except then Dad stopped coming around as much, and everything was different. Mom didn’t dress up and go out at night much after that, but she kept telling me that he’d be coming back soon.

  “Life on the road is busy, you know, Jayce,” she’d say to me, when I asked when I’d see him next. “Your dad is an amazing musician. He’s gotta be out there playing if he’s going to make it big. And your dad, he’s going to be real big someday.”

  Mom never stopped believing that he was out there working hard for us and that he’d be back. But he only came back once in a while and often for only one night at a time. He’d call unexpectedly to let us know he’d be coming into town. She’d start humming or singing around the house when she knew he was coming. She’d often spend hours cooking food so that she could spoil him with delicious meals, and she’d scrub the house until not a speck of dirt remained.

  We’d be practically buzzing with excitement when we’d hear the familiar rumble of his big van coming up the street. I’d light up like a Christmas tree when I saw him. He’d scoop me up and twirl me around and I’d feel so loved and protected when he put his big, strong arms around me. He had his own special name for me: “Jaybird.” He’d also pick my mom off her feet and swing her around. Mom would blush and hit him playfully, but I could tell she loved it.

  I wish I had more memories of him, but, in truth, I only got to be with him for a few hours at a time on the days he came home. Mom would put me to bed early so that the two of them could go out. When I woke up in the morning, I’d run to check if he was still around. I’d see them tangled in each other’s arms in bed, and my heart would swell with pride, seeing my parents together like a real family. I’d hope and pray that he’d stick around for longer, but when they awoke, he’d usually start packing his bag. He’d explain that he had to get back on the road. I could see the disappointment on my mom’s face each time, because it mirrored my own.

  As I got older, it got harder to keep feeling so good about him. I’d see my friends with their dads, playing catch or going to the store together, and my heart hurt thinking about mine. I’d tell everyone that he was on tour, but when he didn’t come back for months at a time, my friends started wondering if he even existed. In grade seven, after not seeing my dad for over a year, I started wondering if he even existed, too. And if he really loved us, why wasn’t he here with us?

  “Your birthday is coming up, J.J.,” Mom had remarked to me one morning, just a couple of weeks before my twelfth birthday.

  “Yeah,” I’d said noncommittally.

  “How about we have a nice get-together for you and your friends in the backyard?” she’d offered.

  I’d shrugged. Our lawn was so overgrown and the weeds were so high, it looked like a jungle back there. Then there was the car — the metal heap of junk that stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t the party atmosphere I wanted. Sensing my displeasure, Mom had sighed.

  “Jayce, your friends aren’t going to care about what the yard looks like. They’ll be here to celebrate you.”

  “I’ll just tell them to bring their safari equipment. It’ll be great,” I’d said sarcastically.

  Mom had thrown down the fork she was holding with such force that it had bounced loudly across the table.

  “Is there a problem with the life I’ve made for you?” she’d asked, stern.

  “Life is perfect,” I’d replied. “What more could I want?” I knew with my bad attitude I was about to push my mom over the edge.

  “If there is something you feel you’re really lacking, let’s hear it!” she’d barked.

  “How about a father?” I’d shot back.

  Mom’s face had changed. She’d pursed her lips tightly and taken a deep breath.

 
; “You have a father, J.J. He loves you very much. He loves both of us. He just can’t be here as much as he’d like.” Even Mom had known that her words sounded hollow.

  “As much as he’d like? How about ever?!” I’d yelled.

  “Is that what this is about?” Mom had spat. “Your dad will be at your birthday.”

  “How can you be so sure? He wasn’t at my last birthday.”

  That was the truth. I had waited all day for him to come, thinking there was no way he’d miss my important day, but he’d never shown up. Mom had bitten her nails nervously as the day had gone on, knowing I was only half-interested in the small party I was having. I’d watched the window like a hawk. I’d been sure he was just late, that something must have kept him. But he never showed up. There wasn’t even a phone call.

  A year later, Mom had tried to convince me he wouldn’t fail me again.

  “He’ll be there,” Mom had assured me, her voice softer.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” I’d said, running from the room to fight the tears that pricked my eyelids.

  When the day of my party had rolled around, I’d woken up in a foul mood. Mom had put a plastic tablecloth on our rotting picnic table and had brought out a mishmash of dishes for our guests. She’d made a chocolate cake with thick chocolate frosting, and it looked delicious. She’d counted out twelve candles for the cake.

  “I don’t have an extra one for good luck, but you don’t need it, J.J.”

  I’d known she was trying to reassure me, but I had felt like I needed all the luck I could get. Mom had been overenthusiastic about the whole party, wanting to make the day special for me, but all I’d been able to think of was how everything we had wasn’t good enough. I’d been worried that my friends would notice that my party looked nothing like their parties, where there were tons of decorations, games, and food, and everything looked picture-perfect.

  And all I’d been able to think about was how my dad wasn’t going to be there and how awful it made me feel. As though Mom could read my mind, she’d kept saying, “He’ll be here, J.J., you’ll see.”