She sneered and reached over her shoulder to grip the handle of her ever-present field hockey stick, jutting out of her knapsack. “Why don’t I put you to sleep with my magic wand.”
“Ha-ha!” Brendan sneered back. “Do you want me to push that for a while?” He pointed at her scooter which she was currently guiding along, holding the handlebars. Her silver helmet dangled by its strap from the field hockey stick.
Kim smiled. “Naw. Thanks. I can manage.”
Brendan loved that scooter. It was a lustrous, lovingly restored Vespa in metallic candy-apple red with a black leather seat. He had begged Kim on a number of occasions to give him a ride, but she always said no. The insurance wouldn’t allow it. He envied her having such an amazing ride. Kim leaned her scooter against a telephone pole outside Papa Ceo’s Pizza and they joined the line for slices.
Brendan marvelled that Kim never bothered to lock her scooter. “Aren’t you worried that someone’s gonna steal it?”
Kim grinned wolfishly. “Who’d dare to steal from me?” Looking at that smile, Brendan decided he wouldn’t want to cross her.
They got their slices and sat on the bench outside the window. Brendan bit into the hot, melting cheese and savoured the garlicky tomato sauce beneath. No one did a better slice than Papa Ceo. Harold looked on with a woeful expression until Brendan inevitably said, “I can’t eat all mine. You want half, Harold?”
Harold gladly accepted the half slice. It had become a ritual between them. Kim shook her head at Brendan.
“You aren’t helping,” Kim scolded.
“Aw, it’s only a half slice,” Brendan said, shrugging. “No harm done.”
Dmitri was holding a veggie slice that was easily bigger than his whole head. Brendan had bought it for him. Dmitri’s family didn’t have a lot of money so Brendan spotted him a slice or a pop from time to time. He thought that the tutoring Dmitri gave him in science and mathematics was easily more valuable than a slice or two.
“I don’t like him,” Kim said suddenly. “If I were you guys, I’d keep away from him.” She said this to all of them but she looked at Brendan when she spoke. To accentuate her warning, she popped a giant jalapeno in her mouth and chewed. No matter how much junk food Kim ate, she always stayed lean.
Harold shook his head, gazing enviously at her pizza. He had already inhaled his. “And it was pretty cool how he knew everybody’s names, like right away. That just proves he’s a magician. How else do you explain the bird?” Harold demanded.
“Sleight of hand,” Dmitri mumbled, with his mouth full. “I’ve seen magic shows on TV. It’s all illusion.”
“Looked pretty real to me,” Harold said. “Hey, Brendan? You all right?”
Brendan had been sitting looking at a poster in the nearby bus shelter, his pizza drooping in his hand. “Hmm?”
Harold waved a hand in front of Brendan’s face. “Earth calling Brendan!”
Brendan raised his head and looked at his friends. “What?” he said dumbly.
“Have you established a psychic link with the alien spaceship yet?” Harold asked sarcastically.
“Very funny,” Brendan said. “I was just looking at that poster. You ever heard of her?”
They all looked at the poster. In ornate Celtic script the title read “Deirdre D’Anaan: One Night Only at Convocation Hall.”
“My mum’s going to that,” Harold said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “She’s a folk singer or something.”
“Pretty,” Dmitri said.
Brendan stared at the picture of the woman. The entire poster was her face. She was beautiful but in a very intimidating way with piercing grey eyes and a haughty expression. Her hair spread out in a red, tangled mass about her head. The artist had manipulated the image so that her hair melded with a border of green vines and wildflowers. The eyes seemed to peer right into Brendan’s heart they were so alive.
“That’s a cool picture,” he said and turned to look at Kim. She was sitting stock-still, her pizza forgotten. She stared at the poster with a fevered intensity bordering on fury.
“Kim? Are you all right?”
Kim blinked. She realized they were all staring at her. “Huh? Yeah. I’m fine. Fine.”
Dmitri tossed his napkin into the garbage bin and picked up his books. “I have to go. My mother gets worried if I don’t head straight home. Are you taking the subway, Harold?”
Harold nodded.
Brendan watched Kim as she stuffed the last piece of her pizza into her mouth. She was acting so weird today. He decided to push his luck. “That Mr. Greenleaf is pretty strange,” Brendan said. “I don’t know what to think of him. He’s kind of… spooky. Do you know him from somewhere, Kim?”
Kim stopped in the act of putting on her silver helmet. “What do ya mean?”
“It just looked like you knew him in class,” Brendan said.
“Huh,” she jammed the helmet onto her head and did up the strap. “At my old school. He subbed there once. That’s all.” She fell silent, making it obvious she wasn’t going to elaborate.
“I don’t know,” Harold said, gathering up his drawing materials and stuffing them into his knapsack. “Anything’s better than old Bowel-ly.”
“Millionaire Bowel-ly,” Dmitri corrected. “He’s won the lottery now.”
“That’s so amazing,” Brendan said. “Do you think it’s true?”
Kim straddled her scooter. “I wouldn’t trust anything that guy said. You shouldn’t either.” She kicked the pedal and the engine roared to life. Without another word she sped off west along Harbord.
They watched her go.
“What’s up her butt?” Harold asked.
“No idea,” Brendan said. “I think it’s something to do with the new substitute teacher.”
“Greenleaf?” Dmitri said. “You think so?”
“Yeah. I think he’s kind of odd, too. Don’t you?”
“No weirder than any other teacher.” Harold shrugged. “Let’s go, D. See ya, Brendan.” He headed off north toward the subway station, pulling his sketchbook out as he went.
Brendan frowned. “There’s something about him that’s… I don’t know. Familiar.”
“You’ve met him before?” Dmitri asked.
“That’s just the thing. I’m sure I haven’t but as soon as I saw him, I felt something. It’s like some part of me should know him or recognize who he is. Does that make any sense to you?”
Dmitri looked at Brendan and said finally, “Uh-uh.”
Brendan’s shoulders sagged. “Me neither. Ow.” His hand gripped his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Dmitri asked.
“Nothing,” Brendan tugged the collar of his T-shirt down to expose the left side of his chest. “I’ve had this scar since I was a baby and it’s been bugging me today.” The scar was red and inflamed. Brendan raked his fingernails across it.
Dmitri pulled Brendan’s hand away. “You’ll only make it worse. ‘Scratch today and cry tomorrow,’ as my babka would say.” The smaller boy was always quoting his ancient Polish grandmother. “That’s worrying. You should get it looked at. It could be skin cancer. Moles can turn into-”
Brendan pulled his shirt back over the mark. “Never mind. Let’s just forget it. See you tomorrow.”
“Later on,” called Dmitri, jogging to catch up with Harold.
“Just ‘later,’ Dmitri!” Brendan called at his friend’s back. “Later!”
He watched them go, then turned to look at the ad again. Those eyes. He scanned the poster and saw that the concert was tomorrow night. He studied Deirdre D’Anaan’s face. Like his weird feeling about Greenleaf, he felt he recognized this woman from somewhere. Maybe he’d seen her on TV or something. The memory was just on the tip of his brain. Annoying, he thought. Maybe my dad has one of her albums or something.
He decided to let it go for now. He popped the last piece of crust into his mouth and tossed his napkin in the litter bin. He started walking home.
^31 The Michael Lee-Chin Crystal was opened to the public on June 3, 2007. The abstract crystal structure perches on the front of the original stone building and was met with mixed reactions by the public. There were many other suggestions for a structure to embellish the front of the museum: a giant pyramid, an enormous leather hat, and a massive blob of real mashed potatoes. Fortunately, the crystal was chosen over the mashed potatoes because of the ongoing cost of adding fresh butter to the structure every morning.