Free The Shore Girl by Fran Kimmel

else?”
    She rubbed the end of her finger against my jagged nail. I could feel it break free.
    â€œWhat else?”
    She wouldn’t stop staring at our fingers, so I kneeled down in front of her. “What else, Rebee?”
    â€œThat if you don’t stay away, we’re outta here.”
    I took both her hands in mine and pressed them close to her chest, which gave her no place to look but my face.
    â€œWhat about you?” She had eyes like her mother’s, like almonds, only wider, more fearful. “Do you want me to stay away?”
    I could feel her hammering heart, blood pounding through veins too small for this. Betray the mother. Betray the teacher. I wanted to protect her but didn’t let myself think about what I was protecting her from. So when she shook her head no, I let go of her fists, and she fell backwards. I uncurled slowly, eclipsing her, then bowed my head and whispered in her ear. “You should listen to your mother, Rebee. Go back to your desk. And wash your hands.”
    She ran from me as though she’d been burned. I waited a long time before returning to the classroom. I made Peter do Sunburst, which I knew he hated. He stood on the chair, fists curled in angry balls.
    I left Rebee alone until the final bell, when she could plunge into the cold and away from here.
    * * *
    I called in sick today. Terrible cramps, Mrs. Bagot. The worst case of the trots . I had to call my mother in the middle of the night. Yes. Yes. Perhaps something I ate. I’ll try my best. You are very kind. Ohhhhh. I must go. Thank you.
    After the morning school bell rang, I walked through back allies to the other side of town where the Safeway was. I bought a French loaf, green olives, sharp cheddar, cherry tomatoes, and slices of pink salmon — now stuffed in my backpack inside plastic bags. Then I stopped at the liquor store and bought expensive French wine from the pimply-faced boy. He talked sincerely about bouquet and body and long finishes, as though he’d travelled to France and stomped the grapes himself.
    It was a cold, crisp day, no wind, a little past noon. I didn’t even bother to zipper my jacket. I took off my boots in front of her door and wrapped my knuckles against wood, over and over, until she appeared.
    â€œHello, Elizabeth.”
    It frightened her that I knew her name. I could see it in her face, in the way her cheekbones shifted and her eyes narrowed, although she tried to hide it by blocking the doorway. She kept her shoulders pulled back.
    â€œMiss Bel. No school today?”
    â€œThought I’d play hooky, come visit instead.” She blended with her surroundings, just as I remembered. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, sea blue, and leggings, feet bare, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Glasses, too, with thick black frames, a book tucked close to her chest. I had become vaguely possessive. You should always pull your hair back, I thought. Always wear blue.
    â€œI’m not looking for company.”
    â€œBut here I am. Just like that.”
    I pushed past her into the beautifully bare room and heard the door bang shut behind me, feeling her cold stare on the back of my neck. I walked over to the window where she must have been reading, wrestled with the straps of my heavy backpack, and slid it to the floor at my feet. I knew she couldn’t see me, so I wrapped my fist over a rock from her shelf, bent down and slipped it into my pack.
    â€œIt’s a beautiful day. Even for Winter Lake.”
    There was a striped wool blanket crumpled beside the pillow. I picked it up to feel her leftover warmth and the smell of her skin. I took the blanket in both fists, gave it a good shake, and let it billow to the floor in the centre of the room like a tablecloth.
    â€œTada.” I spread the wine and the food on the blanket, careful not to turn around and look into her eyes.
    â€œI want you to go,” she told my