Drive by Diana Wieler Page A

eventually, although “date” is probably too complicated a word. The people I knew just hung around together. There were some basement parties, some school dances, some moments along the dark north wall of the rec center. But until you could drive there was hardly any way to be alone with someone you liked.
    I liked Mona Perenthaler and I was pretty sure she liked me. In a group, we always wound up standing next to each other. Maybe I was kind of goofy and loud sometimes, but she laughed at my jokes. And when she talked, I shut up. I had experience with shy people; I knew you had to listen.
    Part of me seemed to be listening to her all the time. I could lose my train of thought standing next to her, swept up by the nearness of herhigh, heavy breasts and long back, her curving buttocks that strained against the pockets of her jeans, exactly the same height as where my hands would be, if she was against me.
    Mona was taller than many of the other girls but still she managed to look up at me, cheeks flushing pink, biting her lip in a way that made me want to bite it, too. Even in a crowd, I could almost hear her heart beat.
    That afternoon in April I was excited by my life, barely able to squeeze my shoulders down the aisle of the bus that was taking us out for the Rosetown Introductory Field Trip.
    R.I.F.T. was a tradition, and a joke. Because all the kids from the smaller towns went to Rosetown Senior, one day each spring they’d bring in the new groups for a tour – as if our families didn’t shop in that town every week. But the real joke was the acronym. The open house probably did more to stir up rivalries than anything else they could have done. A small place like Floret might only have two or three students starting at a time. That year from Ile-des-Sapins we had twenty-two.
    On the bus we seemed like more.
    â€œFor Pete’s sake, tone it down!” Mr. Wiebe called back at us, time after time. But we were on our way into new territory. We needed to be bigger than we were; we needed to be more.And Mona Perenthaler was on that bus. I couldn’t tone it down.
    If Rosetown had any sense, they would have given their own school the day off for this, but they didn’t. And so as we were led around – the gym, the labs, the classrooms – there were moments when every high-school kid in the province seemed wedged into the same hallway.
    By three o’clock we’d been in our coats too long. I was overheated and bored, the skin under my shirt itchy with sweat. Just as Mr. Wiebe was trying to lead our group out, the final bell rang. Doors burst open and the hallway flooded. “Stay together, people. Stay together!” Mr. Wiebe shouted, but I was shuffled back by the surge from all directions. All I wanted was to get out into the cold air, but I was trapped, waiting for an opening.
    â€œAnother Ile-des-Sapins bastard.”
    I turned to see Chris Butler. Big, brooding, pig-eyed, he was six feet tall in grade nine, the cousin of a friend of a friend, and he was from Floret. We’d played a pick-up game of football together last fall, on the same team. He couldn’t run worth a damn, wouldn’t even try, and I’d told him so.
    I was in a bad mood, but I wasn’t going to play his game today. I ignored him and tried to move ahead.
    â€œHey, Friesen. Ever ask your mom why she married your dad?”
    The strange question caught me, made me look back against my will.
    â€œBecause Mennonites are so fucking stupid they believe babies take five months.”
    My face was suddenly burning. I took a step toward him, the school and my group fading away.
    â€œI don’t think I heard you right. In fact, I know I didn’t.”
    I was big in that hallway. The walls seemed to be squeezing the breath out of me, but Chris was bigger and he held his ground.
    â€œThen I’ll keep it simple – French slut.”
    I hit him, exploded at him in a furious charge.