The History of Hilary Hambrushina Read online

  My jaw dropped, and I could barely speak. How dare my mom imply I had no other friends? Did my own mother think I was that much of a loser?

  “I have plenty of other friends!” I sputtered.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Like who?”

  I said the first name I could think of. “Felicia.” It was the name of an actress in a soap opera magazine Lynn had lent me.

  “Felicia?”

  “That’s her formal name. We call her Fe for short.”

  “Well, why don’t you give Fe a call?”

  “All right, I will.” I jumped off the kitchen counter. As I was plotting a believable excuse for why Fe would be unavailable for the whole summer, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” I volunteered.

  I opened the front door and stared. A girl I’d never seen before was standing on our porch. She was as skinny as a pencil. In fact she looked like a pencil, with her straight body and short frizzy hair. This hair was a funny shade of light brown, like sugar, and its wild strands reminded me of the flakes formed by an eraser when you rubbed it. The girl was dressed all in white, and she looked like she’d rooted through her laundry basket and thrown on the first things she found. A T-shirt with a pattern of small pink animals. A pair of gym shorts that must’ve ended a foot above her bony knees. Scuffed sneakers. But somehow, maybe because her clothes were all the same colour, she didn’t look sloppy. I frowned, but when I looked into her eyes, the frown dissolved. Her eyes, a deep brown, were almost completely round, like chestnuts. I’d never seen eyes like that before.

  “Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Kallie. I just moved in next door. What’s your name?” Her voice rose at the end of each sentence like she was asking a question.

  “Hilary.”

  “Hi, Hilary. Nice to meet you. Do you want to be friends?”

  The question was so abrupt I didn’t know what to say. The girl looked right at me with her chestnut eyes, and I got a shivery feeling that she was looking right into me, if you know what I mean. But she was smiling, expecting an answer. Before I knew what I was saying, I stammered, “I guess so.”

  “Great! Let’s go play outside!”

  I didn’t want to go anywhere with this odd girl, but I didn’t know how to get rid of her without being rude. So I said the only thing I could think of.

  “I have to ask my mom first.”

  I started down the hall. To my surprise, Kallie followed, even though I hadn’t invited her. We entered the kitchen at the same time.

  “Mom? This is Kallie from next door. Can I go out and play with her?”

  I could’ve smacked myself for sounding so childish in front of my mom and a stranger. Even worse, as soon as I asked the question, I knew it was a mistake. Of course my mom would let me go out. Hadn’t she just been telling me I needed more friends?

  Mom didn’t disappoint. Smiling, she said, “Of course, Hilary.” Then she stood up, wiped her hands on her overalls, and extended a hand to Kallie. “It’s nice to meet you, Kallie. Sorry about the paint.”

  “No problem,” said Kallie. “We’ve been painting all weekend, so I’m used to it.”

  “Where do you come from?” asked my mom.

  “From my mom and dad,” Kallie said solemnly.

  My mom laughed, a little awkwardly. “I meant, where did you live before you moved here?”

  “Oh. In Oakville. We’ve moved around a few times, but I’ve lived in Ontario all my life.”

  “Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

  “Thanks. I’m looking forward to living here.”

  I began to twitch. Mom and Kallie were acting like I wasn’t even there.

  “We’re so glad you’ve moved in,” Mom said. “Hilary was just saying she wanted to make some new friends now that Lynn’s gone, weren’t you, Hilary?”

  I felt like a dog being asked to sit up and beg. “Actually,” I said coldly, “you were saying that, and I was disagreeing with you. I have plenty of friends.”

  Mom and I glared at one another, but luckily, before she could respond, Kallie broke in.

  “I’m sure you do. But I don’t know anyone around here, and I wouldn’t mind a tour of the neighbourhood, if you’re not busy with anything else, Hilary?”

  “Sure, fine,” I said, not taking my eyes off my mother. “I have an opening in my social calendar right now, so I think I can fit you in.”

  “Great!” She turned to my mom. “It was very sanguine meeting you, Hilary’s mom.”

  Sanguine? What language was she speaking?

  Mom laughed. “It’s Mrs. Boles.”

  “Mrs. Boles, then. Cheerio!”

  Kallie turned and headed for the front door. I had no choice but to follow if I wanted to avoid an argument with my mom. As I was pulling the door closed, Mom called, “Don’t worry about being back for lunch, Hilary. Stay out as long as you like.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  -4-

  The Mona Lisa of Toronto

  As I shut the front door behind me, I turned around to see Kallie looking at me thoughtfully, and I realized she must be wondering why my mom and I were so mad at one another. I tried to act like what had happened was no big deal. But my face gave me away by turning as red as a geranium. I had to say something to cover my embarrassment.

  So I blurted out, “Let’s go to your house.”

  “No!” she said violently.

  I pulled back. “Why not?”

  Her voice was cheerful. “Because it’s not ready yet. We still have much painting to do. It’ll take another week. I only want you to see my room when it’s almost finished.”

  Then she skipped (not ran or jumped but actually skipped, in little hops and bounds) to the end of the driveway. “Come on,” she shouted.

  When I reached her, she was smiling again, as if nothing had happened.

  “When my parents and I took a walk last night, I saw a neat park with a playground and swings not too far from here. I thought we could go swinging,” she said.

  Swinging? What does she think I am, a third grader, I asked myself. But again her request was so abrupt I couldn’t think of a good answer, so I agreed.

  We didn’t say much on the way over, but when Kallie pointed out the park to me, I felt like someone had grabbed my belly button with a hook and twisted it. The wooden playground and red swings were set in a sandy hollow next to a low brick building that looked like a mental institution. It was my old school, Susanna Moodie. What if someone from my class saw us there, swinging?

  “What’s wrong?” asked Kallie.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to tell Kallie this was my old school. Who knows what she’d do. Run up and introduce herself to anyone who walked through the yard, maybe. She looked from me to the school and back again. I knew she’d figured it out, but she didn’t say anything.

  The swings were empty. Kallie raced over to one and plopped down, and she was soon high in the air, the sunlight catching her hair and making it appear blond. I sat down on the other swing and watched her. She seemed so happy, just swinging, and it reminded me of me when I was younger. When Kallie noticed I wasn’t swinging, she dragged her feet through the sand to make herself stop.

  “I guess you don’t feel like swinging today?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “That’s O.K. We can just talk.”

  But neither of us said anything. Finally I asked, “Have you seen any movies lately?”

  “No. We don’t have a DVD player, and I haven’t been to the cinema in ages. It must be at least a year.”

  A year! I could barely last two weeks without going to the movies. And everyone I knew had a DVD player. In my neighbourhood, it was like having running water and electricity.

  “Besides,” she said, “there’s not much worth seeing. Mostly it’s just people making kissing noises that sound like cows pulling their feet out of poop, or people getting blown into pieces. I can see that on the news for free. I usually only like cartoons.
There’s a good one coming out this summer, Saura, about a warrior princess.”

  I struggled to keep my eyes from wandering upwards. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

  “I don’t listen to much music. My parents have some opera CDs, which are enchanting. When you’re in the mood.”

  I didn’t think I could stand much more of this, so I searched my brain for a good excuse to leave. My mom needed me? No. I was sure Kallie had heard her tell me to stay out as long as I liked. I suddenly remembered there was something I had to do? That was so fake even I wouldn’t have believed it. I felt sick? That was a possibility.

  Just as I was trying to figure out how to fake an ulcer, Kallie asked, “Do you have any middle names?”

  “Of course.”

  “What are they?”

  “Laura.”

  “Laura,” she said slowly, as if she’d never heard this name before. “That’s very mellifluous. It means ‘laurel tree,’ you know, and the laurel is the symbol of victory.”

  I kind of liked that, although I didn’t usually feel very victorious. I figured it was supposed to be a joke in my case.

  “I myself have two middle names,” Kallie continued. “Amonalisa and Eadoin.” (By the way, you pronounce the last one “Eh-dean.”)

  I burst out laughing.

  Kallie looked hurt. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because those are the dumbest names I’ve ever heard! No one has names like that!”

  “But I do.”

  “A-mona-lisa? You mean it’s one word?”

  “Yeah. Haven’t you ever heard of the Mona Lisa?”

  “Well, duh! Everyone’s heard of the Mona Lisa! But Mona Lisa is two words, not one. I’ve never heard of anyone named Amonalisa.”

  “Neither have I. My parents made it up.”

  “So it’s not a real name,” I said smugly.

  She looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “How do you define what a real name is? All names are made up at some point. Someone made up your name centuries ago. Just because a name’s newer, why does that mean that it’s not real?”

  I couldn’t think of an answer, so I started picking on her second middle name.

  “And Eadoin? What does that mean? Some Italian guy calling his cousin? ‘Eh! Dean!’”

  “No. It’s Irish. It means ‘blessed with many friends.’”

  “And are you?” My voice was dripping with sarcasm.

  She ignored me. “While we’re on the subject of names, you should know that Kallie is not my first name. At least, not my whole first name. It’s a nickname.”

  “For what?” I snickered. I couldn’t wait to hear what was coming next.

  “Callisto.”

  “Callisto?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I call myself Callisto, but I like Kallie better because it’s less encumbered. Kallie is a kite in the wind, but Callisto is a corset.”

  I didn’t know what a corset was, but I wasn’t about to ask.

  “And I like Kallie because you can spell it so many different ways. Sometimes I spell it with a ‘c’ instead of a ‘k,’ sometimes with just one ‘l,’ sometimes with a ‘y’ instead of ‘ie.’ It all depends on how I feel.”

  “How do you usually spell it?” I sneered.

  “K-a-l-l-i-e.”

  I squinted at her. Her expressionless face suggested she was serious. “I don’t believe you. Nobody spells their name in different ways.”

  “I do.” She was swinging slowly and smiling. Nothing I said made any difference to her, and this bothered me. I dug my fingers into the rusted metal of the swing.

  “I think you’re making up a story,” I said.

  Her face brightened. “Do you write stories, too?”

  I inhaled sharply. I hadn’t thought about my writing in months, and now two people had mentioned it in the same day. Kallie’s question made me uncomfortable. I responded, almost violently, “No.”

  Kallie looked disappointed. “Oh. Who’s Lynn, by the way?”

  “She’s my best friend,” I said proudly.

  “Your mom said she was gone. Did she move away?”

  “No! She’s just gone to California for a vacation. She’ll be back very soon.” I sounded really snobby.

  But Kallie didn’t seem to notice my rudeness. “What grade are you going to be in next September?” she asked.

  “Grade seven. I’m starting junior high.”

  “Really? So am I! What school are you going to?”

  “Mackenzie.”

  “What do you know? That’s where I’m going, too! I’m so glad there’ll be someone I know there. Isn’t it great that we’re going to the same school?”

  Wonderful, I thought. Not only will I have to live next door to her, she’ll probably be in all my classes, too. I looked at the ground and didn’t answer.

  Kallie started swinging faster. Then she leapt off in mid-air, landing on her hands and knees. I jumped up, a cry rising in my throat, but she bounded to her feet.

  Her back was to me so I couldn’t see her face. “Got to run! Nice meeting you, Hilary. See you around!” And she took off.

  For a few seconds, I stood there. Then I started to run after her. I wasn’t sure why I was doing this, but all I could think was that I wanted to ask her what the name Hilary meant. But I soon gave up chasing her. I felt like some medieval torture device with pointy little teeth had latched onto my side. And Kallie ran like one of those African animals on the Discovery Channel. I quickly lost sight of her.

  I walked home slowly, holding my side. I couldn’t figure Kallie out. Even the way she spoke was weird. And I’d never had someone ask me if I wanted to be friends with her. You can’t just decide to be friends, I thought. You have to get to know the person and like her first. But for some reason, even though I’d felt bored with her, I wished Kallie hadn’t taken off on me like that. I looked for her as I walked past her house, but she wasn’t outside. When I got home, my mom was surprised to see me.

  “Back so soon?”

  “Kallie had to go.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  I shrugged, grabbing a can of Coke out of the refrigerator. “What’s for lunch?”

  “You can heat up one of those mini-pizzas.”

  I had my back to my mom, but I could tell she was looking at me as I punched the buttons on the microwave. After a while, I heard her turn around and begin to paint again. “Did you find out about the washing machine?” she asked.

  “What washing machine?”

  “You know, the thing they were trying to start up in their driveway. What are they doing with it?”

  “Oh, that. Who knows. Probably trying to contact the planet Zolaxstar.”

  Then, without warning, my mom said angrily, “Hilary, sometimes I get really sick of your attitude.”

  “What? What’s your problem?”

  “Kallie seemed like a very nice girl. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

  I froze. How had my mom known what had happened between Kallie and me? Unless…

  “Did Kallie come here before I got home?”

  “No. I could just tell by the way you’re talking about her. You think she’s a geek, or whatever your latest word is for people who don’t fit a certain mould. I really think you need to be more tolerant of other people.”

  I stared at the ceiling.

  “It’s true. You’ve been going to the same school since you were four years old, and you haven’t had many new classmates. But next year, there will be new people, people from different backgrounds and cultures, and you have to learn to accept them for who they are.”

  “For your information, Mom, there were plenty of people from other cultures at Susanna Moodie. And of course I accept them! What do you think I am, a racist?”

  “No, of course not. But being open-minded means accepting people of all cultures, including your own, even when they don’t act like you.”

  I quieted down, like a boiling cauldron reduced to a simmer.


  “You need to have a little more confidence. You have to like yourself before other people can like you. If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will.”

  What did that have to do with anything? “Of course I like myself!” I said.

  Mom sucked in a long breath. “Well, I hope so.”

  But the cauldron was boiling again.

  “You just want to tell me what to do!” I shouted. “You don’t have a life, so you’re trying to run mine! Well it won’t work!”

  “Hilary!” she exclaimed, dropping the paintbrush on the table.

  But I’d stormed out. Upstairs, I slammed my bedroom door and leapt onto my bed. I threw my head back onto the pillow and smashed into something bumpy. The something was a bag of Mom’s homemade potpourri, with pinecones and crumbly brown stuff. Why was she always leaving these things here? I didn’t want my pillow to smell like a rose that had OD’d on sugar. I tossed the bag away. Then I jumped up and grabbed my dictionary. To my annoyance, I found what I was looking for: sanguine, an adjective meaning “cheerful and hopeful” or “having a healthy red colour.”

  What had Kallie said to my mom? “It was very sanguine meeting you, Hilary’s mom.” “It was very having-a-healthy-red-colour meeting you, Hilary’s mom.” No, that couldn’t be what she meant. “It was very cheerful meeting you, Hilary’s mom.” That didn’t make much sense either. I supposed it was just Kallie’s weird way of telling my mom she was happy to meet her.

  And I don’t care what Mom says, I thought. Thinking Kallie’s weird doesn’t mean I’m intolerant. She just is weird. Anyone can see that. I vowed that no matter how much my mom tried to push me away from Lynn and towards Kallie, it would never work. I didn’t want to be friends with Kallie, and I decided to avoid her.

  -5-

  Hambrushinas

  Avoiding Kallie turned out to be easy. She didn’t come over, and I never saw her outside, even though I started going out more often. My latest idea was to spend the summer getting a tan. So I slathered on greasy sunscreen and plopped down in a lawn chair that felt more like a pile of tough ropes held together with metal. I spent the days reading magazines and trying to convince myself I was on a secluded beach in Bora Bora instead of in a suburban backyard where the only exotic thing was the manure smell of my dad’s experimental compost.