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“today we’re going to use the sewing machine to finish our tote bags.” For the past few classes, we’ve been cutting out fabric and using fabric paint to create designs. I painted a bunch of tulips. Alberta painted a skull and crossbones.
    As per usual, she acted like I wasn’t even there, but then her thread got tangled up in the bobbin. “Hey, new guy,” she said. “Help.”
    No “please,” no nothing. But my mother raised me to be a gentleman. I got up and moved around to her station. She didn’t even nudge over an inch or anything, which meant that as I was showing her how to rethread her machine, I was forced to breathe in the scent of her hair. (It smelled like tropical fruits. But still.)
    I sat back down. “Next time, you’ll be able to do it yourself,” I told her. “And the name’s Henry.”
    She didn’t answer. Not even a thank-you.
    Rude.
    A good five minutes later, she said, “Where did you learn to sew?” It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me.
    “My mom taught me the basics a couple of years ago. So I could make my own Halloween costume.”
    “What was the costume?”
    My ears prickled, and I was pretty sure they were turning pink. “Captain Underpants.”
    She laughed.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-HEEE-haw.”
It was like machine-gun fire, followed by a donkey’s bray. “What was it, a giant pair of Y-fronts?”
    “Better than that,” I said. “It was a flesh-colored one-piece. With buttons for the nipples and belly button. I stuffed it full of pillows, then we bought an enormous pair of underwear to put over top.”
    “Awesome,” she said, and I actually think she meantit. “Who are you going to give your tote bag to?”
    “My mom.”
    “I’m going to give mine to my older sister,” she said. “ ’Cause it’s ugly, like her.” Then she smiled and looked right at me, and it was the first time I noticed she had a lazy eye.
    “What’s your sister’s name?” I asked.
    “Ontario.”
    “Seriously?”
    “No. Her name’s Cricket.”
    “Stop.”
    “I poop you not. Mom got to choose her name, and her favorite soap-opera character on ‘The Young and the Restless’ was called Cricket.” She sighed. “Yup. We are total white trash.”
    “Who picked your name?”
    “My dad. They were living in Fort McMurray, Alberta, when I was – you know –
conceived
.” She pretended to gag.
    “Look on the bright side. At least they didn’t call you Fort McMurray. And at least you weren’t conceived in Newfoundland.”
    She laughed again.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-HEEE-haw!”
    It was kind of adorable.
    In Port Salish, everyone thought I had a crush on Jodie. But they didn’t understand that Jodie and I just
got
each other.We both secretly wanted to be contestants on a show called “Are You Smarter Than a 5 th Grader?” even though we mocked the show all the time and dubbed it “Are You Smarter Than a Cheese Grater?” We still liked playing with Lego, even though we knew we were too old. And we loved exploring the tide pools together by the ocean’s edge at low tide. I still remember the day we found a perfect sand dollar. Perfect! Not a fragment missing, not even a crack. I let Jodie keep it because she’d been having a bad day.
    Then my brother did what he did.
    I saw Jodie just once after that.
    I walked to her house about a week after IT happened. I don’t know how I got up the guts to do that. It wasn’t bravery, that’s for sure. You know when you’re having a bad dream and part of you
knows
it’s a dream and that part of you is shouting,
It’s just a dream! Wake up!
But you don’t wake up – you just keep having the nightmare? That’s what it felt like as I walked to her house. A part of my brain kept shouting,
Abort mission! Abort mission!
But it was like I was sleepwalking. I just kept going.
    Jodie answered the door. She looked terrible. Her face was blotchy and red, and her eyes were puffy from crying. I know I looked just as bad.
    We stared at