her pack to the side, she sat on one of the swings. Her feet shuffled in the summer dust, then pushed hard off the ground. She started moving, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, her long legs pumping the air as it rushed by her face.
Lee swung for what seemed like hours. Her legs grew tired and her head felt empty. When the first students got off an early bus, Lee jumped down, snatched up her pack and hurried to the far corner of the playground. She sat on the grass, her back against the metal fence, and took out her journal.
I’m never going back. Dad said he’d get me a dog. He promised to help me build a dog house. He said he’d paint my bedroom, let me pick the colours. He said I could even do it myself. He made so many promises!!! What a liar! He lied about meeting in Edmonton, too, I know he did. I hate it when people lie. Now I’ll never see him again.
I won’t go back! I wish I could live with Uncle Brooke. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t drink, and he’d never walk out on Alex and me.
Lee looked around the playground. Some kids were playing soccer not far away. Twice someone called “hi.” She didn’t say anything. She needed a plan. She had to think.
Just as the bell rang, Natasha ran onto the playground. Lee jumped up and hurried to the far door.
The hall was crowded with kids yelling, locker doors banging and packs swinging back and forth.
Her pack! Lee walked back to the fence to pick up her pack and then sauntered back to the building. She was in no hurry to get to class. Natasha was nowhere in sight.
By the time Lee reached her locker, the hallway was almost empty. Her grade six teacher walked by.
“It’s not like you to be late,” she said.
Lee scowled, but didn’t say anything. After throwing her pack into her locker, she banged the door shut and stomped to the classroom. She flung the door open (now that she was into slamming) and marched in.
Her new teacher, Ms. Candle, looked up from the attendance sheet. “You just made it,” she said, erasing the x.
“So?” Lee sat down. She threw Natasha a dirty look, then focused on her empty desk top. Why was she acting like this? She didn’t usually treat Natasha this way. They’d been best friends since grade three. Lee put her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her fists. She wasn’t the sort of student who purposely caused problems. Sure, she’d gotten into trouble before, been angry or rude. Now she wanted to misbehave, to yell, to smash something. She was furious. She kicked the desk leg.
Ms. Candle asked everyone to take their binders out. “It’s time for our writing assignment,” she said cheerfully.
“Sure,” Lee mumbled. “I’ll write a story: My dad, the drunk, takes all our money for booze…” She scowled. I’m sure Ms. Candle would love a story about that.
Lee kept her elbows on her desk, her head on her fists.
“Lee, where’s your paper and pen?” Ms. Candle walked along the row.
“I can’t think of anything to write.” Lee bent down and found a pencil in the front of her desk. She took a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it a little, looking up.
Ms. Candle took a pen from the desk and put it in front of her. “Yesterday you wrote a great story about the beach.”
“That was yesterday,” Lee muttered.
“Why not write about that beach again and what you found there. It sounded like an interesting place,” Ms. Candle prompted.
“Why should I? I don’t want to write a stupid story,” she said loudly.
Ms. Candle frowned. “I’ll ignore that this once, young lady,” she said. “Get started.” She turned sharply and walked down the row.
Lee saw Natasha looking at her with surprise, her big, brown eyes wide in her round face. She looked back angrily, then grabbed her pencil. Why write in pen? It would be all wrong anyway. Everything was all wrong. “I HATE my life,” she wrote. She erased it. “My parents are splitting up.” She erased that too. “It’s no use,” she wrote before crumpling the paper into a ball and stuffing it back into her desk.
She sat, her head on her fists, until Ms. Candle came by again. Lee told her to leave her alone.
Ms. Candle asked Lee to go out to the hallway for a talk.
“What’s the matter?” The teacher ran her hands through her short, dark hair. Her olive-brown face wrinkled into a question mark.
“Nothing.” Lee, looking at the floor, slipped her hands into her pockets.
“You don’t usually act like this. Did something happen this morning?”
Lee didn’t answer. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets.
“Do you want to talk?” Ms. Candle tried again.
“No!” Lee wanted to kick the wall, but at the same time she felt tired, empty.
She started pulling her hands out of her pockets. She did want to talk. She wanted to ask why these things happened, what she could have done to make things different. But then she remembered Mom’s words, “It’s best not to talk about it too much with others. They may not understand.”
Lee pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and looked at the floor.
“You’d better wait here,” Ms. Candle said. She walked to the office, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
“I phoned your mother,” she said when she returned. “I’m sorry to hear your dad left. If you need to talk, I want to listen.” After a short silence she said, “Just do the best you can today.”
Lee didn’t say anything.
Ms. Candle told her to go back to her desk. Lee sat there, doing nothing, thinking nothing until the recess bell rang.
Lee saw Natasha walking over before she’d reached the classroom door.
“I’m sorry. I waited for you as long as I could,” Natasha said. “I was almost late myself. Where were you this morning?”
“Nowhere.” Lee took her lunch from her locker. She ate the jam sandwich in a few hungry bites and kicked the locker shut, hard.
“What happened with Ms. Candle in the hallway?” Natasha asked before biting a piece of her banana.
“Nothing.” Lee walked outside, her hands in her pockets. She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Natasha followed. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.” Lee sauntered on.
“Bad day?” Natasha asked.
Lee
