I Know It's Over Part 20

"I'm okay." Jillian nods and stretches her legs out in front of her. "I talked to her yesterday and she sounded all right, but it's not like it's ever really over, you know?" She s.h.i.+fts her attention to the water falling behind us. "I don't know if it's something I can trust in the long run."

"I guess no one ever knows that about anything."

"I guess." Jillian's lips spring into a smile. "How come every time we get together it turns deep?"

"Maybe we're just deep people." I smile back. "So are you gonna give me your IM or what?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?" Unless I'm so much bad news that she'd never consider typing two words to me. "You can let me know how it's going back in Windsor."

Jillian tells me her IM address, but my brain is crawling along on half power and I know I'll never remember it. I jog into Sports 2 Go for a pen and piece of sc.r.a.p paper and jot down my IM and e-mail addresses. Back at the fountain, I watch Jillian print out hers. She tears the paper in half and hands me the bottom part.

"Sorry I laid that stuff on you the other day," I say, sliding the paper into my pocket. "I've been pretty messed up lately."

"Don't worry about it. It was a mutual thing." Jillian hunches over, smiles, and folds her arms across her knees. "You see-deep."

"Well, the casual s.e.x thing didn't work out," I tease.

"Hey." She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "Reality check. I was never going to have s.e.x with you." She sits up straight and glances over at Sports 2 Go. "Anyway, I guess I should let you get back to work."

We stand up together and I tell her I'll IM her next week. It sounds like a line, but I mean it. I hardly know her, but I'd like to find out more and IM is about my speed right now. With some distance between us maybe we can actually be friends. It's a nice thought and I'm standing there wondering if it's okay to hug her goodbye again when she leans down and kisses me fast on the lips.

"You'll be okay," she says.

She turns and I watch her stride off-all six feet plus of her, blond ringlets trailing down her back over her T-s.h.i.+rt. It's weird, she doesn't remind me of Kate Hudson anymore. The fact is, up close the only thing they have in common is blond good looks. Jillian is definitely the kind of girl all the guys chase, even though she doesn't act like it, but I'm better off out of the running. Everything's okay with us and I mean to keep it that way.

I walk back into Sports 2 Go and Grayson cuts me off at the new cargo pants display. "She your girl?" he asks, voice bursting with approval.

"She's just a friend."

"Now that," he says, earnestly shaking his head, "is a shameful waste."

Depends on how you look at it, but I don't drop an explanation on Grayson.

Nathan picks me up at the end of my s.h.i.+ft. Keelor's already in the car and it's such a flashback to be in the car with the two of them that I s.h.i.+ver under my skin as I climb into the backseat. We swing by Taco Bell on the way over to Nathan's and pick up burritos, nachos, and quesadillas-your basic heartburn combo. The only thing missing is cold beer and the more the three of us talk about that the worse the craving gets. By the time we get to Nathan's house, we sound like your standard beer commercial and Nathan's dad actually smiles as the three of us charge through the front door.

"Unbelievable," Nathan whispers as we park ourselves in the living room. "We've barely said three words to each other since New Year's, but give him a whiff of testosterone and bingo, instant Mr. Congeniality."

"Is he watching the game with us?" Keelor asks.

"Without a doubt," Nathan says. "You think I could keep him away? It's probably the only reason he let you guys come over."

Sure enough, Nathan's dad joins us in the living room at game time. He looks more relaxed than I've seen him in months, like a man who has a handle on things. Familiar territory can do that to a person. I should know. I'm so glad to be sitting there with Nathan and Keelor that I don't even mind about Nathan's dad cras.h.i.+ng the game.

It's an absolutely spectacular game too. The Leafs have four players out with injuries, but they battle hard. Chiaramonte gets off to a slow start, p.i.s.sing himself off so much with his uninspired performance that he smashes his stick against the boards in disgust. That earns him an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty, but well-directed anger can work wonders and once he's back on the ice, he pulls himself together and scores two quick goals. Shane Vanderbreggen drives the puck into the Boston net too. Suddenly they're an unstoppable force out there. Lightning on ice. It's awesome to watch and when Leafs goalie Mulcahy finally lets one in during the third period, they hit back with another goal straightaway.

In the end they level the Bruins 52 and I soak up the victory and feel Keelor and Nathan soaking it up next to me. We've lived moments like this one so many times before, but it still seems fresh. The weirdest thing is that Nathan's dad is probably the only person in the room that gets exactly how I'm feeling right now. Nathan and Keelor, they've already let go.

Things are what they are, I guess, and these guys are my best friends, no matter what they think of each other. Together they actually manage to make me stop thinking about everything for most of the night.

twenty-two.

Sunday is hard and slow. I do homework and think about Monday. Sasha will be at school every day from now on to remind me. It's like a sick joke. Look at what you lost. Look at what you did. Now go to English and listen to Mr. Diebel rag on everyone who doesn't have a PhD understanding of The Old Man and the Sea.

Mom, agonizing over her Monday morning interview, is nearly as tense as I am and Holland points out that we're both acting so whacked that she may have to become a teen runaway. I think she'd run about as far as Diego's house, but that's another story and her business (as she repeatedly reminds me).

By that night I'm wound up so tight that I have to finish The Old Man and the Sea twice because the words don't stick. I fall asleep with my earphones on sometime after two and wake up at three minutes after six. It's way early, but I'm wide awake so I start getting ready. Real slow. Like everything has to be perfect. I wipe the salt stains off my shoes and spend twenty minutes in the shower. Mom's up early too and we have toast and orange juice in the kitchen together. Her interview isn't until ten-thirty and she offers Holland and me a ride to school.

It's snowing heavy and the roads are slippery so everyone's late. I stand at my locker, my body jumping under my skin like something's about to happen. I figure I'll wait-get it over with first thing-but nothing happens. Kids are taking advantage of the weather and loitering in the hallway and I go upstairs and check out Sasha's locker. She's not there and I don't know what cla.s.s she has first period. I go back to my locker and grab my physics textbook. My eyes are ready for anything and I glance at everyone I pa.s.s as I head for cla.s.s. I can't do this and I can't not. There's no choice, just me blinking away like a freak and waiting.

That's my morning and Sasha must have a different period for lunch because I don't see her, Lindsay, or Yasmin in the cafeteria. Or maybe she's avoiding me, even though we said we wouldn't do that. There's no way to know, but my throat swells up like that's the answer and I almost bail early, but Keelor pulls me into the conversation and keeps me there until the bell rings.

I have Visual Arts next and part of me relaxes, despite everything. The radio, Ms. Navarro, and Nathan-it's the atmosphere I need right now and I'm swinging through the hall trying to keep that in my head when I see Sasha. Lindsay and Yasmin are standing on either side of her, making her invincible, and I stop and stare. Sasha hasn't seen me yet; her head's bent and Yasmin's whispering something into her ear. Suddenly her head whips up and her dark eyes meet mine straight on. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. My stomach somersaults. I'm terrified of this girl with the tiny hands and all the feelings underneath that surge to the surface too-in a race to see which of them is strongest.

Sasha bends her head and says something I can't hear. Yasmin and Lindsay march past me and Sasha stops directly in front of me. "Hi," she says soberly. "How are you?"

"Okay," I lie, then shake my head, giving myself away. "I don't know." Five skater guys are sauntering up the hall towards us with their boards in their hands and Sasha grabs my sleeve and guides me over to the row of lockers lining the hall. "What about you?" I ask. "You look good." Actually, I'm too freaked to judge, but as soon as I say it, I take a closer look and find it's true. Her hair's s.h.i.+ning, she's wearing mascara, and she smells like vanilla. You'd never know anything happened to her.

"I'm all right." She's speaking so quietly that I have to lower my head to hear her. "Better than when you saw me last week. It's just weird to be back."

"I know." It's weird to have her standing next to me, looking like her old self. I have no idea how we're going to do this and I look into her eyes and say, "I'm glad you're back." I lean against the locker, trapping the pain behind my eyes. "I thought maybe you were gonna avoid me."

"No," she says. "I was never going to do that."

"It happened before," I remind her.

"We both did that before." She clears her voice and blinks up at me. "Anyway, I'm not, but I should get to chemistry."

"Yeah, I should get to art, but..." I reach out and squeeze her arm. "Welcome back." How can that be it? What's left for tomorrow? But it's too much to ask and maybe she doesn't know any better than I do. All I can do is take it day by day like my dad said. It seems impossible, but there's nothing else.

"Thanks," she says. Her eyes are still on mine and she takes a step closer and folds her arms tight around me. It's the thing I miss most and I throw my arms around her and breathe into her hair. Almost everything about it feels right, but it hurts at the same time and then I know Sasha's right-it could never work between us now, we'd just remind each other of everything that happened and everything that didn't. Things are what they are and I hold on to her and let the feelings rip into me, every last one of them.

I have no idea what will happen tomorrow, but it won't be this and that keeps me holding on longer. She's waiting for me to stop. I know it the same way I know everything about her. And so I let go and watch her take a step back. She looks the way I feel. Maybe we won't be able to talk much for a while, but I hope I'm wrong about that.

"I'll see you later, Nick," she says, her eyes trained on mine.

"See you," I say.

She walks away and I stand hunched over with one shoulder against the locker and my arms knotted in front of me. I need to catch my breath and I'm trying, sucking oxygen deep into my lungs and watching people hurry past, when someone thumps me on the back. It's Nathan, announcing that we're already late for cla.s.s. I pry myself away from the locker and follow him into the crowd.

acknowledgments.

Eternal thanks to my tireless first reader and sounding board, my husband, Paddy, for his unwavering faith.

Over the last few years I've spent numerous hours on Verla Kay's Blue Board and am grateful to Verla and my fellow Blue Boarders for creating such a wonderfully supportive and informative online writing community.

Special thanks to my agent, Stephanie Thwaites, for believing in this book with me and steering the s.h.i.+p.

Many thanks also to Kirsten Wolf, who secured the perfect home for my novel.

My editor Shana Corey's painstaking work has shaped I Know It's Over into the kind of book I always hoped it would be-I can't thank her enough.

Finally, thanks to my brother, Casey, for sharing his knowledge of Canada's favorite sport.

C. K. Kelly Martin lives in the Greater Toronto area with her husband. This is her first novel. You can visit her Web site and blog at www.ckkellymartin.com.

end.