Leslie's Journal by Allan Stratton Read Free Book Online Page A

the stairs by my armpits.
    He drops me at the landing. Runs back for my knapsack and shopping bag. Shoves twenty bucks in my hand. “I’ve called a cab to meet you at the end of the street. Go! Now!” He pushes me out the door, tosses my stuff after.
    It’s like a bad dream. I’m awake and asleep and I’m running down the street. I get to the corner. Slump on the curb. There’s lights. A cab. I get inside.
    It’s two-thirty when it drops me off at my apartment building. I can’t go upstairs; I’m supposed to be at Katie’s. So I go down to the laundry room. It’s got bright fluorescents, old machines, scuffed walls and cracked linoleum. At least I’ll be alone.
    There’s a tub at the end of the machines. I strip down, wash myself, and dry off with my new top. Then I put on the clothes Mom made me pack for Katie’s; they’re in a plastic bag at the bottom of my knapsack. The new stuff I dump in a washer.
    I’m not taking them home. I’m tying them in that plastic bag and tossing them in the garbage. But first I need them clean. I mean, what if somebody finds them? Sees the stains? It’s like I’ve committed a crime.
    And know the worst part? If I’d been awake and sober, I would have said yes.

Ten
    A fter writing that down, I ran to the washroom. No way I wanted anyone to see me cry. I stayed in my cubicle till I figured everyone was gone for the day.
    I figured wrong. As I walk down the hall, I see Katie, Ashley and a couple of other girls hanging around, pretending to be minding their own business. What they’re really minding is the fancy envelope taped to my locker door.
    I open it and take out the card. It’s got a picture of a cartoon lion doing somersaults. Inside, it says, “You Drive Me Wild! No Lyin’!” Underneath is a handwritten note: “Had a great time Saturday. Hope you did too. I’m out on the bleachers catching a few rays. J.”
    The card. It’s so casual—so stupid —it makes me think I imagined everything. Only I remember the blood, the pain. My face flushes: I’m mad. What planet is this guy on?
    When I look up, the girls are staring at me. For one horrible second I think this is a repeat of a year ago, before my folks split, back in the time I was more or less normal.
    I’d made the mistake of trying out for the junior cheerleading team. Needless to say, I didn’t make it. Like—duh—to be a cheerleader you have to be cute and perky and able to do the splits without falling over. All the same, when the list went up on the phys ed bulletin board, I was crushed. While all the Cute and Perkies jumped up and down squealing, me and the other losers hung around like a bad smell, congratulating everyone and pretending to smile.
    When I got to school the next day, there was a typed letter from Ms. Patrick, the cheerleading coach, stuck in the crack of my locker. It said how there’d been a mistake and my name should have been on the list and I should show up for the first practice that night after school.
    I practically bounced off the walls all day. I told everybody, even phoned home and left a message for Mom and Dad. After school I was the first one into the changeroom.
    But no sooner were we lined up on the track than Ms. Patrick hollered out, “Leslie Phillips, what are you doing here?”
    “I came like you asked in the letter.”
    There were titters everywhere. Ms. Patrick said she’d like to speak to me in private and got Lara Babson, Queen of the Cute and Perkies, to lead warmup exercises while she walked me to her office. Everybody was staring. Katie, too, who’d come to cheer me on from the sidelines.
    Inside, I showed Ms. Patrick the letter. She said I should’ve known it was fake since there was no handwritten signature. Also, that if there’d been a mistake she’d have mentioned it during morning announcements and added my name to the posted list along with her initials. She made it sound like the whole thing was my fault.
    Then she asked who I thought