Page 9 of Canadian Boyfriend

I forced myself back to earth. “Why do you call this a depression car?” This car was cool. It was fun to ride in, and, I assumed, fun to drive. Mike Martin and Olivia seemed to have a whole schtick around her getting into it. They ate ice cream in it. It seemed like theoppositeof a depression car.

Mike Martin blinked a few times. I opened my mouth to clarify that I wasn’t trying to pry. To explain that I was merelycomplimenting his car because I was enjoying eating ice cream in it so thoroughly.

“When my mom died, we decided to get a convertible to cheer us up,” Olivia said.

Ah. “So really, this is an antidepression car? An antidepressant with a retractable roof?” I took another bite of ice cream and tried to keep my freak-out over its amazingness internal.

Mike Martin chuckled. “We decided to get a convertible because we like going on long drives, and Olivia wanted a green one, which turned out to be surprisingly hard to find.”

“Well, there was that Porsche, and it wasbrightgreen. Like,limegreen. I loved it. It’s why I dyed my hair this color.”

“I vetoed lime green.” Mike Martin smirked. “And also the price tag.”

Hmm. If I had thought about the automobile-buying habits of professional athletes, which I had not until that moment, I would have thought they picked up cars on a whim, like adding a scratch-off lottery ticket to your otherwise sensible grocery purchase.

“He said he’s not a Porsche guy.” I could hear the eye roll in Olivia’s tone, but it sounded like normal tween annoyance. It was less venomous than the way she’d spoken last week. “But then we found out the newest Mustangs also come in really bright green, so I still don’t know why we couldn’t get one of those.”

Mike Martin twisted in his seat to look at Olivia. “You picked the color family; I picked the specific hue.” Then he turned to me. “We went with a Mustang, but vintage since the new ones don’t come in dark green. If we were getting a green car, I wanted it to be dark green.”

“Why?” I asked, thinking that if you were going for anuplifting color, lime would be a more logical choice than this forest shade.

Click-click-clickwent the smile, and I knew I was in trouble before he even opened his mouth. “I wanted my car to match my eyes.”

Inside my apartment, I made a beeline for the closet in my bedroom. I studied my reflection in the mirrored door. My hair was ridiculous, thanks to the convertible ride. I looked like I’d stuck my finger into an electrical socket.

I moved things around until I could reach the box at the very back of the closet, the box full of old programs and dried flowers and other remnants of a life I’d left behind, and got out my old red three-ring binder. I hadn’t opened this binder since I’d written the last letter in it. I’d made a decisive break from my past when I quit ballet. The only thing from my old life that remained in my new life was my mother. Or, as Gretchen called her, the Wicked Witch of Wayzata. But other than Heather Evans and her flying monkeys, the past was in the past.

Or at least it had been until recently.

Dear Mike,

I think I might have to quit the mall. Now that I’m in Level VI at ballet, I have class every day after school until seven. Between that, actual school, and homework, I’m about to fall over by Friday night. But I don’twantto quit. I like my weekends at the mall. It’s peaceful there, which I realize makes no sense because it’s crawling with people. In a weird way, I’m more at home behind the counter at Caribou, joking with my coworkers, than anywhere else. Mom said it’s up to me whether to quit, which is a new one. Like, what? Heather Evans does not have an opinion on something?

I’m going to try to hold out through the holidays. Even if I geta big partany part inThe Nutcracker, I’ll still be able to work over winter break. It’s school that gets in the way. Ihavethought about the fact that if I started doing B work instead of A work, it would take a lot of the pressure off. But as Mom points out, B work is not going to cut it. Which is rich, because she’s the one who wants me to put off college and audition for companies right away.

Anyway, blah, blah, how are you? Please do not feel bad for not being able to make it to prom. It’s not your fault your hockey finals conflict with prom. That’s much more important than a school dance!

Love you to the moon and back,

Rory

P.S. Say hi to Erik for me!

3—BRIGHT THINGS

MIKE

Sarah told me once, when I asked her how she’d gotten through the hard times in her life—and she’d had some hard times—that the trick was to “look for the bright things and hold on to those.”

Aurora Evans was a bright thing.

I could see why Olivia liked her so much.

Mind you, I wasn’t sure I should trust a single God damn thing Sarah had ever said to me, but as my shrink was always pointing out, that wasn’t fair. And since getting back into our normal routines was what Liv and I were supposed to be doing this fall, I was making it a point to put us in Aurora’s path.

As my mom had said when she’d left after spending six months with us—as she’d said nearly every day of those six months—the only way out is through.

Olivia hadn’t wanted to go back to school this fall. I’d pulled her out after the crash last January and filed a homeschool plan and let her finish grade five with a tutor. But Liv had to go back. Things needed to return to normal. On the surface, anyway.

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