The Hero In My Life (Chapter 29)
Words: 2565
Summary: Back to school... with all that entails.
Previous Chapters: Click the Hero In My Life tag.
Chapter 29
I didn’t see Sharon at all over the break. And there was no anonymous gift dropped off where I was sure to find it. If there had been, I would’ve reciprocated with the labradorite pendant, but since Sharon was obviously still mad-or still expecting me to apologize first-I was keeping the pendant. It saved me from having to admit to my parents that Sharon and I weren’t talking at the moment; when Mom asked what she’d given me, I’d taken it out to show them. It almost wasn’t a lie. The whole reason I had it was because Sharon was being stubborn and not coming around to talk to me, so in a way, I guess I did have it because of her. Yeah, I knew that was a pretty big stretch, but whatever. I was used to lying and working just enough truth into my lies to make them technically true. If you squinted.
Where’s Sharon?
-Oh, I think she’s all tied up at the moment (To a bomb, in an airplane cargo hold) but she’ll be here soon.
-She had to dash off for a minute (at 150 kph) but she’ll be back as soon as possible.(I hope!!!)
Yeah, I was an expert at telling technical truths. It was great to know I hadn’t lost my touch.
Really great.
Seriously.
Sure.
Jodie and I got together a couple more times, but it just wasn’t the same as hanging out with Sharon. If the two of us had been in the same class last semester, we probably could have found things to talk about, but now, when Jodie wanted to tell me what I’d missed in Roehampton, it all seemed to revolve around people I didn’t know. Sharon, Jodie and I had gone to Oliver Mowat, but that wasn’t the only middle school that fed into Simcoe. Jodie kept bringing up kids I’d never heard of and then sort of stopping when she realized I had no clue who she was talking about.
Eventually, we just watched movies on Netflix. Or we tried to. But Jodie liked to talk over the movie soundtracks, giving her take on whether the leads had any chemistry together or how cheesy some of the special effects were. Or she’d start squealing and saying she couldn’t look when someone on the screen was clearly headed for a disaster. I wasn’t really into rom-coms or roadtrip movies in the first place, but if I was going to watch one, I wanted to actually follow the story. Which I couldn’t when Jodie wouldn’t shut up. I toughed it out. It was still better than being tied up in a museum and being guarded by a cobra. Weird how that was still my gold standard for unpleasant situations. It hadn’t even been the worst fix I’d ever been in, just the first.
By the time the new year arrived-Mom and Dad let me stay up to watch the ball fall in Times Square on TV and gave me some rum-free eggnog that tasted too sickly-sweet to finish-I couldn’t wait for Sunday when I’d be going back to Glen Ayr.
If only I’d had another way to get back there besides the Macklins.
Well, I didn’t have another way to get back, not without telling my parents that Sharon and I were fighting. Which probably wouldn’t have been all that big a deal, now that I think back on things, but at the time, it felt pretty major. I figured my dad would just tell me I’d make other friends, which wasn’t the point. I already had. I still missed Sharon. I imagined Mom either giving me another talk about friends drifting apart over time or offering to call Dr. Macklin to see if she could talk to Sharon about patching things up. I could deal with a sympathetic ‘I thought that’s what was going on’ if I had to. I mean, I didn’t like the idea that my mom could sometimes read me like a book, but she was my mom, you know? If she couldn’t, who could? Somehow, though, she always picked up on the stuff I didn’t want her to and stayed clueless on the stuff I wished she’d figure out. (Sometimes, I wasn’t sure if the whole business with Sharon’s double life was an exception or a case in point.)
Anyway, I might not have minded Mom trying to cheer me up, even if I probably wouldn’t have admitted it. But involving Dr. Macklin? No way. I had to avoid that at all costs. I’m sure Mom noticed that Sharon and I weren’t constantly together over the holidays, but I told a few technical truths, enough to let her think that we might not be as close as we used to be, but that we were still friends. There was no reason not to spend over five hours in a car with her. So I was going to.
But I wasn’t going to like it.
Sharon was ‘tired’ again on Sunday. Or, at least, that’s what she told me when I clambered into the back seat.
“You shouldn’t be,” Dr. Macklin said, sounding concerned. “You went to bed early last night.”
“Yeah,” Sharon agreed, “but I guess I was too excited to sleep and it’s catching up with me now.” She sighed. “I feel like I could sleep for hours.”
She sounded convincing. Maybe she really was sleepy. Except that even when she was, it had never stopped us from talking before. One time, she dozed off while we were talking, only she kept up the conversation in her sleep for a good half-hour. It wasn’t until later that we realized she couldn’t remember a thing we’d said after a certain point.
“I hope you’re not coming down with anything,” Dr. Macklin sighed. “Sorry, Kerri,” she said. “Looks like it’s going to be a quiet trip up.” She paused. “Actually, if you’d like to sit up front, you won’t have to worry about Sharon slumping into you; I know the car’s kind of small.”
I nodded, wondering whether she was seeing through Sharon’s act.
“Have a good sleep,” she added. “And hopefully, it’s nothing serious.”
Now I was really wondering. Judging from the expression on Sharon’s face, so was she.
At first, I worried that Dr. Macklin was going to spend the whole trip peppering me with questions. Not that I would have minded conversation. I kind of liked the one we’d had in the summer that ended with her getting me into Glen Ayr. But… she was a psychiatrist, which meant that whatever I might say, she’d probably read more between the lines. I knew how to snow my parents. But a telepathic shrink who already knew a bit more about my life over the last few years? Maybe I ought to sign up for a workshop in interrogation counter-techniques this term; I thought I’d seen it offered in the fall.
As it was, after a couple of polite questions about my vacation, she focused on the road and I dozed off somewhere around Kleinburg and didn’t open my eyes until she stopped the car to fill up in Barrie.
“We’re more than halfway,” she greeted me when she got back in.
I nodded. Sharon was still sleeping. Or acting. Whatever. I remembered something then. “Um, Dr. Macklin?”
“I’d ask you to call me ‘Callie’, but I know that would probably be awkward,” she smiled. “What is it?”
I hesitated. “Were we supposed to get our marks over the break? Because I didn’t.”
Dr. Macklin started the motor. “Well,” she said, “ideally, you would have. But the school prefers to release the grades all at once and some teachers are able to mark the exams faster than others. Mid-January is more usual.” She sighed. “I was… unexpectedly occupied for over a week, back in Roehampton. Luckily, I was only teaching a couple of workshops last semester, so I didn’t have any grading to do. If I had, I’m not sure I’d have submitted everything myself.”
“Oh.”
“One thing I should mention,” Dr. Macklin continued, sounding more serious. “Your parents will be getting a transcript of your marks at the same time that you do. Their copy won’t have every subject you’ve taken-if you understand my meaning.”
I nodded. You’d better believe I did.
“You’ll see on your copy that the subjects are split into two sections. Your parents will only receive the first, unless you or they inform the school that they’ve since become aware of the true nature of Glen Ayr Academy.” She smiled. “Any other questions?”
I shook my head. “I guess not. Unless you know how I did?”
“I don’t,” Dr. Macklin replied. “And even if I had that information, it would be a breach of ethics to disclose them within earshot of a third party.”
Sharon snored.
“Particularly one who’ll be a far more convincing performer once she learns to stop hamming things up.” She looked up at her rear-view mirror and smiled. “You’re not quite ready for a Genie nomination, yet, my dear.”
Sharon snored again.
“…Although trying to brazen through your cover is smart,” Dr. Macklin continued. “Try to get some real sleep while you can; you’ll be back to the grind before you know it.”
There was no response from the back seat.
Dr. Macklin dropped me off in front of my dorm and helped me get my stuff out of the trunk. I think Sharon really was asleep this time. Either that, or she was being deliberately disgusting, because I saw a thin line of drool in the corner of her mouth when I peeked in the back. It had been a long time since we’d had sleepovers or campouts, but I was pretty sure she never used to do that.
Then again, half the time, she’d had to sneak out in the middle of the night to save the world. Or, at least, Roehampton.
“You sure you can handle that duffle bag?” Dr. Macklin asked. “Maybe I should ask a few of the Track Ones to hang around and offer assistance.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’ll just need to make a couple of trips.” I probably could have done it in one, but my kettlebell was in the trunk, too.
Dr. Macklin frowned. Then she stared into the back seat for a moment. I heard Sharon gasp. Then she mumbled, “Okay, okay, sheesh!” opened her eyes, and unfastened her seatbelt.
“Let me grab something,” she said smiling the same almost-convincing smile she’d given me before the drive home, as she got out of the car and moved toward my bags.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“C’mon,” Sharon said, still smiling. “Let me help. I’ll even let you take the big bag and I’ll just grab the small one.” So saying, she picked up the duffle with my kettlebell in it. Her eyes widened. “Heavier than it looks,” she said, still carrying it easily. “What’s in there? Books?”
“Eight-kilo kettlebell,” I admitted.
She blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to shrug like it was no big deal, as I got my big duffle out of the trunk. “I can handle it.”
“I know, but Mom won’t believe it,” she said. “So just let me take it. The sooner I get it inside, the sooner we can drop the show.”
And here I'd thought she was trying to make up. I sighed and gave in. “Whatever.”
She got my kettlebell to my suite door and beat it. I was surprised she hadn’t used her power; no dampers in the Track Two dorms. She’d moved off about as fast as she could without engaging it, though. I was rolling my eyes as I unlocked the door.
I dragged my stuff into my room and got hit with the strong smell of lemon-scented cleaner. Someone had been in to clean it while I was away. Normally, that was my responsibility. Common areas were everyone’s, unless it was something like a burned out lightbulb on the ceiling. Or a stopped toilet. I hadn’t expected anyone to come in during the break. I just hated lemon cleaner. I normally got unscented at the campus store. With a sigh, I opened my window to air out the room. It was freezing, of course, but there was no rule that said I had to take my jacket off indoors. It would be worth freezing for a few minutes if it got rid of the smell.
I went to knock on Marianne’s door.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to something on Marianne’s bed that looked like almost like a round set of wings.
Marianne hesitated. “Well, with any luck, it’s what I’ll be wearing for a couple of powwow dances this summer,” she said. “My cousins helped me make it.”
I gaped. “You mean you made it? Whoa.”
“With help,” she reminded me. “I’ve never done any of the dances before. I mean, not performing in regalia. I never thought I was good enough. But my cousin Belinda-she’s almost nineteen-she taught me some of the basics and told me that if I practice, I can probably do it.” She hesitated. “We’ll see.”
I was still admiring the feathers. “Are they eagle?” I asked, remembering what she’d said about her father’s code name. I think I’d read something about eagle feathers being sacred, too, but I didn’t know if that was true for all Native peoples, or just certain nations.
Marianne was shaking her head. “It’s my first bustle. Eagle feathers are precious. If I’d ruined any…” Her voice trailed off. “No, they’re turkey feathers, but they’ve been dyed to look like eagle feathers. Maybe one day, if I get good at making these,” she gestured toward the bustle, “I might have real ones.”
“Or you could buy one,” I suggested.
“I could commission someone to make me one,” she corrected. “Or I could make it myself. Or someone could pass theirs on to me. But you don’t buy regalia off the rack in some tourist trap. It’s… just not done.”
I felt my face grow hot. “Sorry.”
“Nah, you didn’t know,” Marianne grinned. “Heck, I don’t even know half the stuff I don’t know. I didn’t grow up on a rez. I’m still learning more every time I visit.” She lifted the bustle off of her bed and started to slide it into a garment bag. “At least, with you, if I don’t have an answer for something you ask, I can just make stuff up and you’ll believe it.”
Wait. What? I shot Marianne a sharp look and she giggled. A second later I started laughing, too. “You wouldn’t!” I gasped. “Would you?”
Marianne took a couple of deep breaths. “Probably not. No. I wouldn’t. Unless-”
We heard the suite door opened and slam shut and someone walked in.
“Who…?” I asked.
Marianne shrugged. “Sophie’s the one who sees through walls around here, not me,” she murmured. She hesitated for a moment. Then she walked over to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hall. I followed.
There was a girl in the hallway fumbling with a key-card at the door to one of the other bedrooms. She turned at our approach and we both stopped short. The other girl was Lynne Dufour.
This entry was originally posted at http://dragonbat2006.dreamwidth.org/59705.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Summary: Back to school... with all that entails.
Previous Chapters: Click the Hero In My Life tag.
Chapter 29
I didn’t see Sharon at all over the break. And there was no anonymous gift dropped off where I was sure to find it. If there had been, I would’ve reciprocated with the labradorite pendant, but since Sharon was obviously still mad-or still expecting me to apologize first-I was keeping the pendant. It saved me from having to admit to my parents that Sharon and I weren’t talking at the moment; when Mom asked what she’d given me, I’d taken it out to show them. It almost wasn’t a lie. The whole reason I had it was because Sharon was being stubborn and not coming around to talk to me, so in a way, I guess I did have it because of her. Yeah, I knew that was a pretty big stretch, but whatever. I was used to lying and working just enough truth into my lies to make them technically true. If you squinted.
Where’s Sharon?
-Oh, I think she’s all tied up at the moment (To a bomb, in an airplane cargo hold) but she’ll be here soon.
-She had to dash off for a minute (at 150 kph) but she’ll be back as soon as possible.(I hope!!!)
Yeah, I was an expert at telling technical truths. It was great to know I hadn’t lost my touch.
Really great.
Seriously.
Sure.
Jodie and I got together a couple more times, but it just wasn’t the same as hanging out with Sharon. If the two of us had been in the same class last semester, we probably could have found things to talk about, but now, when Jodie wanted to tell me what I’d missed in Roehampton, it all seemed to revolve around people I didn’t know. Sharon, Jodie and I had gone to Oliver Mowat, but that wasn’t the only middle school that fed into Simcoe. Jodie kept bringing up kids I’d never heard of and then sort of stopping when she realized I had no clue who she was talking about.
Eventually, we just watched movies on Netflix. Or we tried to. But Jodie liked to talk over the movie soundtracks, giving her take on whether the leads had any chemistry together or how cheesy some of the special effects were. Or she’d start squealing and saying she couldn’t look when someone on the screen was clearly headed for a disaster. I wasn’t really into rom-coms or roadtrip movies in the first place, but if I was going to watch one, I wanted to actually follow the story. Which I couldn’t when Jodie wouldn’t shut up. I toughed it out. It was still better than being tied up in a museum and being guarded by a cobra. Weird how that was still my gold standard for unpleasant situations. It hadn’t even been the worst fix I’d ever been in, just the first.
By the time the new year arrived-Mom and Dad let me stay up to watch the ball fall in Times Square on TV and gave me some rum-free eggnog that tasted too sickly-sweet to finish-I couldn’t wait for Sunday when I’d be going back to Glen Ayr.
If only I’d had another way to get back there besides the Macklins.
Well, I didn’t have another way to get back, not without telling my parents that Sharon and I were fighting. Which probably wouldn’t have been all that big a deal, now that I think back on things, but at the time, it felt pretty major. I figured my dad would just tell me I’d make other friends, which wasn’t the point. I already had. I still missed Sharon. I imagined Mom either giving me another talk about friends drifting apart over time or offering to call Dr. Macklin to see if she could talk to Sharon about patching things up. I could deal with a sympathetic ‘I thought that’s what was going on’ if I had to. I mean, I didn’t like the idea that my mom could sometimes read me like a book, but she was my mom, you know? If she couldn’t, who could? Somehow, though, she always picked up on the stuff I didn’t want her to and stayed clueless on the stuff I wished she’d figure out. (Sometimes, I wasn’t sure if the whole business with Sharon’s double life was an exception or a case in point.)
Anyway, I might not have minded Mom trying to cheer me up, even if I probably wouldn’t have admitted it. But involving Dr. Macklin? No way. I had to avoid that at all costs. I’m sure Mom noticed that Sharon and I weren’t constantly together over the holidays, but I told a few technical truths, enough to let her think that we might not be as close as we used to be, but that we were still friends. There was no reason not to spend over five hours in a car with her. So I was going to.
But I wasn’t going to like it.
Sharon was ‘tired’ again on Sunday. Or, at least, that’s what she told me when I clambered into the back seat.
“You shouldn’t be,” Dr. Macklin said, sounding concerned. “You went to bed early last night.”
“Yeah,” Sharon agreed, “but I guess I was too excited to sleep and it’s catching up with me now.” She sighed. “I feel like I could sleep for hours.”
She sounded convincing. Maybe she really was sleepy. Except that even when she was, it had never stopped us from talking before. One time, she dozed off while we were talking, only she kept up the conversation in her sleep for a good half-hour. It wasn’t until later that we realized she couldn’t remember a thing we’d said after a certain point.
“I hope you’re not coming down with anything,” Dr. Macklin sighed. “Sorry, Kerri,” she said. “Looks like it’s going to be a quiet trip up.” She paused. “Actually, if you’d like to sit up front, you won’t have to worry about Sharon slumping into you; I know the car’s kind of small.”
I nodded, wondering whether she was seeing through Sharon’s act.
“Have a good sleep,” she added. “And hopefully, it’s nothing serious.”
Now I was really wondering. Judging from the expression on Sharon’s face, so was she.
At first, I worried that Dr. Macklin was going to spend the whole trip peppering me with questions. Not that I would have minded conversation. I kind of liked the one we’d had in the summer that ended with her getting me into Glen Ayr. But… she was a psychiatrist, which meant that whatever I might say, she’d probably read more between the lines. I knew how to snow my parents. But a telepathic shrink who already knew a bit more about my life over the last few years? Maybe I ought to sign up for a workshop in interrogation counter-techniques this term; I thought I’d seen it offered in the fall.
As it was, after a couple of polite questions about my vacation, she focused on the road and I dozed off somewhere around Kleinburg and didn’t open my eyes until she stopped the car to fill up in Barrie.
“We’re more than halfway,” she greeted me when she got back in.
I nodded. Sharon was still sleeping. Or acting. Whatever. I remembered something then. “Um, Dr. Macklin?”
“I’d ask you to call me ‘Callie’, but I know that would probably be awkward,” she smiled. “What is it?”
I hesitated. “Were we supposed to get our marks over the break? Because I didn’t.”
Dr. Macklin started the motor. “Well,” she said, “ideally, you would have. But the school prefers to release the grades all at once and some teachers are able to mark the exams faster than others. Mid-January is more usual.” She sighed. “I was… unexpectedly occupied for over a week, back in Roehampton. Luckily, I was only teaching a couple of workshops last semester, so I didn’t have any grading to do. If I had, I’m not sure I’d have submitted everything myself.”
“Oh.”
“One thing I should mention,” Dr. Macklin continued, sounding more serious. “Your parents will be getting a transcript of your marks at the same time that you do. Their copy won’t have every subject you’ve taken-if you understand my meaning.”
I nodded. You’d better believe I did.
“You’ll see on your copy that the subjects are split into two sections. Your parents will only receive the first, unless you or they inform the school that they’ve since become aware of the true nature of Glen Ayr Academy.” She smiled. “Any other questions?”
I shook my head. “I guess not. Unless you know how I did?”
“I don’t,” Dr. Macklin replied. “And even if I had that information, it would be a breach of ethics to disclose them within earshot of a third party.”
Sharon snored.
“Particularly one who’ll be a far more convincing performer once she learns to stop hamming things up.” She looked up at her rear-view mirror and smiled. “You’re not quite ready for a Genie nomination, yet, my dear.”
Sharon snored again.
“…Although trying to brazen through your cover is smart,” Dr. Macklin continued. “Try to get some real sleep while you can; you’ll be back to the grind before you know it.”
There was no response from the back seat.
Dr. Macklin dropped me off in front of my dorm and helped me get my stuff out of the trunk. I think Sharon really was asleep this time. Either that, or she was being deliberately disgusting, because I saw a thin line of drool in the corner of her mouth when I peeked in the back. It had been a long time since we’d had sleepovers or campouts, but I was pretty sure she never used to do that.
Then again, half the time, she’d had to sneak out in the middle of the night to save the world. Or, at least, Roehampton.
“You sure you can handle that duffle bag?” Dr. Macklin asked. “Maybe I should ask a few of the Track Ones to hang around and offer assistance.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’ll just need to make a couple of trips.” I probably could have done it in one, but my kettlebell was in the trunk, too.
Dr. Macklin frowned. Then she stared into the back seat for a moment. I heard Sharon gasp. Then she mumbled, “Okay, okay, sheesh!” opened her eyes, and unfastened her seatbelt.
“Let me grab something,” she said smiling the same almost-convincing smile she’d given me before the drive home, as she got out of the car and moved toward my bags.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“C’mon,” Sharon said, still smiling. “Let me help. I’ll even let you take the big bag and I’ll just grab the small one.” So saying, she picked up the duffle with my kettlebell in it. Her eyes widened. “Heavier than it looks,” she said, still carrying it easily. “What’s in there? Books?”
“Eight-kilo kettlebell,” I admitted.
She blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to shrug like it was no big deal, as I got my big duffle out of the trunk. “I can handle it.”
“I know, but Mom won’t believe it,” she said. “So just let me take it. The sooner I get it inside, the sooner we can drop the show.”
And here I'd thought she was trying to make up. I sighed and gave in. “Whatever.”
She got my kettlebell to my suite door and beat it. I was surprised she hadn’t used her power; no dampers in the Track Two dorms. She’d moved off about as fast as she could without engaging it, though. I was rolling my eyes as I unlocked the door.
I dragged my stuff into my room and got hit with the strong smell of lemon-scented cleaner. Someone had been in to clean it while I was away. Normally, that was my responsibility. Common areas were everyone’s, unless it was something like a burned out lightbulb on the ceiling. Or a stopped toilet. I hadn’t expected anyone to come in during the break. I just hated lemon cleaner. I normally got unscented at the campus store. With a sigh, I opened my window to air out the room. It was freezing, of course, but there was no rule that said I had to take my jacket off indoors. It would be worth freezing for a few minutes if it got rid of the smell.
I went to knock on Marianne’s door.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to something on Marianne’s bed that looked like almost like a round set of wings.
Marianne hesitated. “Well, with any luck, it’s what I’ll be wearing for a couple of powwow dances this summer,” she said. “My cousins helped me make it.”
I gaped. “You mean you made it? Whoa.”
“With help,” she reminded me. “I’ve never done any of the dances before. I mean, not performing in regalia. I never thought I was good enough. But my cousin Belinda-she’s almost nineteen-she taught me some of the basics and told me that if I practice, I can probably do it.” She hesitated. “We’ll see.”
I was still admiring the feathers. “Are they eagle?” I asked, remembering what she’d said about her father’s code name. I think I’d read something about eagle feathers being sacred, too, but I didn’t know if that was true for all Native peoples, or just certain nations.
Marianne was shaking her head. “It’s my first bustle. Eagle feathers are precious. If I’d ruined any…” Her voice trailed off. “No, they’re turkey feathers, but they’ve been dyed to look like eagle feathers. Maybe one day, if I get good at making these,” she gestured toward the bustle, “I might have real ones.”
“Or you could buy one,” I suggested.
“I could commission someone to make me one,” she corrected. “Or I could make it myself. Or someone could pass theirs on to me. But you don’t buy regalia off the rack in some tourist trap. It’s… just not done.”
I felt my face grow hot. “Sorry.”
“Nah, you didn’t know,” Marianne grinned. “Heck, I don’t even know half the stuff I don’t know. I didn’t grow up on a rez. I’m still learning more every time I visit.” She lifted the bustle off of her bed and started to slide it into a garment bag. “At least, with you, if I don’t have an answer for something you ask, I can just make stuff up and you’ll believe it.”
Wait. What? I shot Marianne a sharp look and she giggled. A second later I started laughing, too. “You wouldn’t!” I gasped. “Would you?”
Marianne took a couple of deep breaths. “Probably not. No. I wouldn’t. Unless-”
We heard the suite door opened and slam shut and someone walked in.
“Who…?” I asked.
Marianne shrugged. “Sophie’s the one who sees through walls around here, not me,” she murmured. She hesitated for a moment. Then she walked over to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hall. I followed.
There was a girl in the hallway fumbling with a key-card at the door to one of the other bedrooms. She turned at our approach and we both stopped short. The other girl was Lynne Dufour.
This entry was originally posted at http://dragonbat2006.dreamwidth.org/59705.html. Please comment there using OpenID.