Kate’s sitting in the front row, her hair pulled back in her usual swishy ponytail, and when Paul hands out bananas and condoms she’s one of the first to get one. The laugh that explodes from my mouth is a little louder than I intend. It makes Rana duck into her lap and Kate turn to scan the rows of heads accusingly. Paul gets fed up and says something like, “You guys better smarten up. This is part of your Career and Personal Planning mark.”
Between bells Rana and I head to the washroom along the main hall. Usually I avoid that washroom because it’s the largest one in the school and there are always long lines of girls waiting for stalls or standing at the row of mirrors. The place reminds me of a hive, but one littered with toilet paper and really bitchy honeybees and a constant buzz of gossip over the stalls. While Rana pees I stand at the mirrors fixing my hair and wait for the right moment. “Ran,” I call in a clear voice over the top of the stall, “did you hear Kate lied about sleeping with Elgin? She’s still a virgin.” The bees pause for an infinitesimal second before resuming their activities. The stall door swings open and Rana comes stomping over to gape at me in the mirror. I use the word pathetic and Rana’s laughing, hand over her mouth, going holy shit, that’s too good.
As we walk down the hall we pass right by Kate’s locker. She’s pulling textbooks out and stuffing them in her backpack. Rana mutters the same word I used, pathetic, but it sounds harsher from her mouth. The strange thing is, Kate doesn’t look at Rana — she looks right at me.
THE RAIN COMES DOWN hard so I stand under the awning, waiting for Carlie’s blue Nova as the school empties around me.
“You look like shit,” Carlie says, as soon as I buckle my seat belt. She’s always pissed when she has to drive me to the mall. “When’s the last time you brushed your hair?”
“I can’t brush my hair.”
“You can’t brush your hair?” She taps her fingers on the steering wheel and throws herself back into the seat with a sigh whenever we hit a red light and I ignore her and watch the scenery: the condos, the gas stations, the antique stores. “How are you getting back?” she asks, putting on mascara while we wait at a light.
“I’ll take the bus.”
As the mall comes into view, Carlie accelerates, screeching around the corners in the parking lot like we’re on a racetrack. She slams on her brakes for an old lady who is nowhere near the crosswalk, but almost hits two girls in tight white jeans trying to cross an intersection, honking at them as they run across the street. They give her the finger when they’re safely on the other side. “You should buy yourself something,” Carlie says as she pulls up to the curb. She motions to my head. “A hairband or a scrunchie.”
“Shut up, Carlie.” I get out of the car without saying goodbye and Carlie drives away before I’ve even closed the door.
The smell of sweet and sour pork, drugstore perfume, and new leather makes me dizzy as I walk through the revolving doors. The mall is dead, full of outdated stores selling greeting cards, sunglasses, and baby clothes. There are two stores selling vacuum cleaners, as if one isn’t enough. Everything smells like greasy Chinese food or preteens or the elderly. Escalators lead nowhere and people either move way too fast or way too slow. At the lingerie store I dig through the sale bins and find three matching sets of bras and panties in my size. Through the window, I catch sight of Kate drifting by like a ghost, sucking on a giant Orange Julius. I duck behind one of the bins and the sales lady sneaks up behind me and asks me what I’m doing, as if I’m planning to stuff a bunch of thongs in my pockets.
I take the long way to the Bread Garden where Rana and I planned to meet up, strolling through some empty corridors and across the Bay so I’m sure not to run into Kate. The restaurant is nearly empty, rain streaking the windows, the sky fallen dark, and I pace at the glass display case while a pimply kid from my school waits unblinkingly for me to make a decision. I want to yell at him, Blink, god dammit, but I feel sorry for him too because his shift looks somewhat like eternal damnation. In the end I get nothing, deciding to wait for Rana to see if she’d rather split a cinnamon knot or a chocolate muffin. I take a seat next to the windows and while I’m dusting cookie crumbs off the table, Paul walks in. Something has happened to him; it’s as though outside the school walls a metamorphosis has occurred that’s broken him free from his cocoon of bad footwear and pitying gestures. As he stands at the counter with a newspaper tucked under his arm, ordering his coffee and picking out a danish, he seems like someone relaxed and cool and utterly unlike Paul. He’s still wearing jeans, but he’s also wearing a leather jacket and expensive-looking boots. It suddenly occurs to me that the Birkenstocks may be meant to connect with students, as though baring his gnarled toes shows some kind of vulnerability. When he turns to find a table, I’m staring right at him with a dopey grin on my face. “Paul!” I shout across the restaurant like it’s been years since I’ve seen him instead of earlier this afternoon. Right away the image of a banana encased in latex flashes in my brain and I start to sweat.
“Studying hard, I see,” he says, standing over my table, taking a sip of his coffee and balancing his danish on a plate in one hand.
“You can sit down,” I say, pushing one of the chairs from the table with my foot.
Paul looks around the empty restaurant. “For a minute,” he says, sitting down and folding his danish in half, taking a large bite. From across the table even his smell is different — pearly soap and forest sap. I watch him chew. He swallows and asks, “How are you doing? I assume better, since you haven’t been to my office this week.”
“Much better,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Really a lot better.”
“You’re attending all your classes?” Paul’s chin dips to one side and he raises his eyebrows.
“Yep,” I lie with a smile.
“Can’t have a repeat of last year.”
“Last year was really abnormal for me. It was an anomaly.”
“Good word.”
In the mall, outside the restaurant, I see Kate and Adrienne walk by together. Kate’s oblivious, but Adrienne does a double take when she sees me and Paul. I watch them walk out the front doors, their coats pulled up over their heads against the rain. Something tingles inside of me as Paul stuffs the last bite of pastry in his mouth. “I should get going,” he says, standing with his coffee. I walk out of Bread Garden with him and we stand under the awning, looking at the rain. I pull my jean jacket closed, trying to look especially cold and miserable, as I secretly scan the parking lot for Kate and Adrienne. “Do you have a ride?” Paul asks.
“Nah, I was going to take the bus,” I say, looking over at the empty stop.
As I’m getting into Paul’s car, Rana’s coming up the street toward me, looking pissed and giving me a half-hearted wave. I pretend not to see her, bending down in the front seat to retie my shoes.
“I don’t normally give my students rides,” Paul says, shifting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot. We drive slowly down Marine Drive, the rain enveloping everything and the wipers thwacking across the windshield. There’s something about being in a car when it’s pouring that makes conversation uncomplicated. Words are muffled, all the sharp edges softened and the empty spaces filled. We talk easily and for the first time about things other than school, about music and the best place for sushi on Lonsdale. I give Paul directions that take us out of the way, and when we finally reach my block I feel disappointed. I point out my house and Paul drives a little further, stopping behind a tall hedge. “Thanks,” I say, as I get out of the car.