She Loves You by Rhonda Batchelor

Author:Rhonda Batchelor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000, JUV016000
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2008-07-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Dear Mr. Manning:

The most amazing thing I’m finding about this writing business is that I really don’t know what I’m thinking, deep down, until I suddenly see it there on the page. It’s hard to explain. It’s kind of a mystical experience for me when that happens — a “magical mystery tour.” I’m glad you suggested I do this. No offence; but meeting with you in person isn’t half as helpful as just writing down my thoughts.

I want to tell you more about Zoë.

Zoë lived across town from me, with her mom and dad and her older sister, Jeannie. Jeannie had already graduated from high school and was working in the office of the factory where Zoë’s dad worked. He was a tool and die (dye?) maker. I don’t really know what that is, but it has something to do with making machinery parts. It’s a trade he learned in Europe before the Second World War. He was from Hungary originally but moved around a lot and somehow met and married Zoë’s mom in England where she was a nurse.

I always found Zoë’s dad kind of scary, but I’m not sure why. It was awkward when he spoke to me because I would usually have to ask him to repeat himself because of his accent. He took to speaking to me through Zoë.

She had no problem with his accent. She was even learning some Hungarian from him. He was intense, but he was okay. The nicest time we ever had together was one afternoon in their basement. He had built a shooting gallery down there to practise target shooting with a pellet gun. He showed us how to aim and how to hold the gun steady. He was really pleased with me and said I was a natural. I couldn’t have cared less, of course. I hate guns. Happiness is not a warm gun.

Zoë was more or less respectful when her dad was around. When he wasn’t, she tended to be a bit of a brat — kind of wild and a show-off. She’d talk back to her mom. Her mom would brush it off. She seemed to be in her own happy world and not much seemed to get to her. But I would never talk to my mother the way Zoë talked to hers.

Now I wonder if I’m giving you the wrong impression about Zoë. She was nice. She was really popular at Hodgeson Elementary. We both were, which is funny to think about now that I’m such an outsider at Albertford. She was great when my dad died. If I ever started to cry, or even looked like I might, she’d put her arms around me or say something to make me feel better, even if it was just to say it was okay to cry. She began to spend a lot of time at my house. She seemed to take up some of the empty space there. Because our house is so big she had

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