Whiteout (6 page)

The
Welcome April
poster looked dumb now. Embarrassed, Robin examined the shoe box which sat on the desk. April had divided the inside into halves and painted one half blue and one half black. “So what exactly are you doing?” Robin said.

She listened, impressed, while April explained her idea. In the black side of the box, she was constructing a miniature garbage dump. She had cut out tiny pictures of clothes, a refrigerator, a TV, cereal boxes and toys and had glued them onto a sheet of poster board. Then she had cut them out again carefully. “I’m going to stick them all together so they look like a pile of garbage,” she finished.

“Neat,” said Robin. She thought of the local dump where Dad took their garbage every two weeks. There was always lots of old stuff piled up. “Maybe you could find a picture of a couch,” she suggested.
“I saw a couch that looked practically brand new at the dump once.”

“That’s a good idea,” said April. She tossed a pile of magazines on the bed. “You can look through these for sad faces. That’s what I’m putting on the blue side. Get it? That’s what
down in the dumps
means. Feeling sad.”

Robin wondered if this was the best thing for April to be doing. Wouldn’t a bunch of sad faces make her feel even worse? But April was humming as she worked on her pile of garbage. Robin stretched out on the bed and thumbed through the pages.

There were a lot more happy faces than sad faces in a magazine, she quickly discovered. But it was fun looking. Every time she found a sad face, she shouted, “Got one!” and cut it out.

After a while, she stood up and peered over April’s shoulder. The miniature garbage dump looked perfect. She wondered glumly if there was any chance Mr. Nordoff would let her switch partners.

April leaned back and stretched. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Robin had used up her pile of magazines. She started rummaging through the stack on the edge of
the desk, looking for one that looked like it had lots of people in it. A piece of paper stuck between two magazines slid onto the floor.

She picked it up and examined it. Her heart gave a funny little jump. It was a letter to Stephanie.

Robin glanced at the door and then turned back to the paper. She scanned it quickly, her heart racing.

Dear Stephanie,

I have to write to you because there’s no Internet here. It sucks. Everything about this place sucks. The school is tiny and boring. There’s nothing to do. No after-school clubs or anything because everyone goes home on the bus. Robin is acting weird. I MISS YOU. All I want to do is come home. Did you ever get a chance to ask your parents if I could stay with you while Mom’s in the hospital? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE beg them
—

“I promised Molly we’d both play Madeline and— what are you doing?”

Robin dropped the letter on the desk and spun around. She felt like she had been kicked hard in the stomach.

April stared at the piece of paper. Recognition flashed through her eyes and the color drained from her face.

“How dare you—” Robin swallowed. The words threatened to choke her. “How
dare
you say those things!”

For a second, April hesitated. Then she blazed, “How dare you read my letter! It’s none of your business!”

“You practically left it in plain sight.” Robin’s hands started to shake. “I can’t believe you would say all that.”

“That’s because you don’t believe anything you don’t want to!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This. Everything. You act like this is supposed to be some big holiday. Like nothing has changed.”

Robin’s legs felt like jelly. “That’s not fair! I don’t think that!”

April’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe everything I said in the letter isn’t true, but most of it is! I hate being here. Do you get that? I
hate
being here. I want to be in Vancouver with my mother!”

Robin felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“And you can stop pretending that I don’t know about Kim’s stupid party tomorrow night. Don’t stay home for my sake!”

Fighting with April was way worse than fighting with Kim. Kim would go all silent and cold, but she never said cruel things. Robin drew herself up. “Don’t worry,” she said icily. “I have no intention of missing it!”

She stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter Nine

The next morning, Robin lugged a garbage bag containing a sleeping bag, a pillow and pajamas onto the school bus. For one breathless moment, Kim’s face registered complete shock, and then she grinned and said, “Mom rented four movies yesterday!”

Robin sank gratefully into her seat. That was another reason it was easier to fight with Kim. She forgave quickly. April was still furious. She had ignored Robin all morning and had been coldly polite to Dad. She was sitting in an empty seat at the back of the bus now, reading a book.

“Did you ask if you could stay two nights?” said Kim.

“I’m not allowed. Mom’s gone back to Vancouver, and Dad said it would look like I’m ignoring April.” The misery that had been sitting in Robin’s stomach all morning welled up. “Not that it makes any difference if I’m there or not.”

“What do you mean?” Kim looked eager for information.

“She just stays in her room anyway, working on her stupid project or playing her saxophone.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Robin wished she could take back what she had just said. It made her feel disloyal. For a moment, she thought about the old plan to spend Saturday night at the cabin. She was surprised to realize that she didn’t even feel mad at Mom anymore for wrecking things. Besides, it would never have worked anyway. Dad had pointed out this morning that there was supposed to be frigid Arctic air and a blizzard coming in on Saturday afternoon.

Robin tried to put together a new plan. “You could come over to my place on Sunday, and we could work on our project then.”

“Will April be there?”

“Of course.” Robin could hear the stiffness in her own voice.

“I guess so.”

Robin took a big breath and said, “So, tell me what movies you got.”

As far as parties went, Kim’s birthday was a success. It revolved around junk food, talking and movies, which is exactly how parties should be, Robin thought. The problem was her. She just wasn’t in the mood.

She drifted through the evening, laughing when the others laughed, pretending to be interested when Jenna described the new boy who had joined her Highland dancing class, and even stuffing down a slice of pizza and half a Coke, though she wasn’t one bit hungry.

When they had enough energy left for only one more movie, Robin slid gratefully into her sleeping bag. It was easier to be quiet, not to have to pretend, to lie there and let the movie float over her.

“Great,” she agreed with the others when it was finally over and everyone was sleepy-eyed and fighting yawns. “Excellent.” Though she couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened.

She slipped upstairs to ask Kim’s mother, Audrey, for a Tylenol. “It’s just a little headache,” she explained. “It’s really not that bad, I just thought...”

She heard April’s name as she stumbled back down the stairs, and then Kim’s loud voice trying to cover up, “I get first dibs on the bathroom!”

Robin’s headache was raging now, and she crawled back into her sleeping bag. It was almost three o’clock in the morning. Everyone at home would have gone to bed a long time ago. Tears burned behind her eyes, and she had a sudden longing to be curled up in her own bed with Jellybean purring at her feet.

Jellybean sleeps with April now, she reminded herself.

For the first time that night, she let thoughts of her cousin come in without pushing them away.

I hate being here! Do you get that? I hate being here. I want to be in Vancouver with my mother!

Robin felt sick. And then the other words that she had shoved to the back of her mind slammed into her.

You have to come, Aunty Liz. Please, please, please. I’ll never ever forgive you.

Shuddering, Robin pushed her face into her pillow. A sudden, deep exhaustion washed over her like a
wave, and she fell asleep in the middle of one of Bryn’s long involved jokes.

When she woke up, the taste of old chips was in her mouth. Her headache was still there, though the pounding was gone. She slid out of her sleeping bag and stepped across sleeping girls to the window. The sky looked heavy and gray. Kim’s father was in the driveway, bent over his truck, the hood up.

Robin glanced at her watch. It was almost noon. She stared at the girls for a moment. They were half-buried in their bags and under pillows. Without a sound, Robin pulled on her jeans and sweater. She rolled up her sleeping bag and stuffed everything in her garbage bag. Then she tiptoed upstairs.

Kim’s mom was settled in front of the TV in the living room with a cup of coffee. Robin stood in the doorway for a moment. Her legs felt wobbly and her head fuzzy. “Audrey...?”

Audrey set down her cup. “Oh hi, honey. You startled me. Is everyone else up?”

“No, just me.”

“I’m going to make waffles with strawberries—”

“I want to go home.” Robin’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away. She swallowed hard.

Audrey looked at her sharply. Then she stood up. “You don’t look at all well. I’ll tell Kim’s dad to run you home right now if you like.”

“Thank you.” Robin felt dizzy with relief.

“You do your coat up. It’s freezing out there today. It’s dropped ten degrees in the last hour to minus fifteen. There’s going to be a blizzard this afternoon.”

Robin nodded. “I will. And do you think you could tell Kim I’m sorry for leaving?”

Hurly jumped all over Robin when he saw her. She put her garbage bag down on the kitchen floor and hugged him. Then she noticed the big puddle in front of the fridge. “What’s going on? How come no one let you outside?”

April appeared in the doorway, her hair mussed and her face flushed. “You’re back pretty early,” she said, yawning.

“Hurly peed on the floor,” said Robin. “And where’s Dad and Molly?”

“Your dad got called to work, and I think Molly’s watching TV. I went back to bed.” April looked at the
clock on the wall above the sink. “Wow, I’ve been asleep for hours! I told Molly to wake me if she needed anything.”

“And she let you sleep?” Robin’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. Molly never gave you a second’s rest when you were babysitting her. “Molly!” she shouted.

There was no answer.

Robin stuck her head into the living room. “I thought you said she was watching TV. She’s not here.”

“She
was
watching tv,” said April behind her.

“Like when, three hours ago? Molly! Where are you? If you’re hiding, this isn’t funny!”

A quick search of the house threw Robin into a complete panic. “She must be outside somewhere,” she muttered. “But I don’t know why she wouldn’t take Hurly with her.”

“You’re probably getting upset over nothing,” said April, but she sounded unsure. “I bet she’s visiting the horses or something.”

But she wasn’t. While April checked the horse corrals and the barn, Robin ran through the snow to the hayshed. An icy wind had started to blow, and small hard snowflakes stung her cheeks. They met
back on the porch. April was shivering, and she looked frightened. “Has she ever done this before? Just disappeared?”

“Never.” And then Robin remembered. “Well, once. She was mad at everybody and said she was going to go and live in the woods. Hurly found her. She was just over where Dad was cutting firewood. But that was in the fall. She wouldn’t just walk through the snow. It’s too deep. And it’s freezing out here.”

“Would she go skiing by herself?”

“She doesn’t like being cold, and besides, she’s not allowed—”

“She was really upset,” confessed April, her voice shaking. “She kept going on and on about why couldn’t she come to the cabin with us. She said it wasn’t fair.”

“She never thinks anything’s fair,” said Robin automatically. But she felt something cold and hard in the pit of her stomach. She turned and stared at the rack of cross-country skis at the end of the porch.

Molly’s skis were missing.

Chapter Ten

“It’s all my fault,” whispered April.

“Please stop saying that,” snapped Robin. “It doesn’t help.” She stared out the kitchen window. It was snowing much harder now, and the branches on the trees were whipping back and forth. She peered at the thermometer through the glass. It had dipped to minus twenty.

Molly was out there somewhere. Robin’s heart hammered against her ribs. “I’m going to go and look for her,” she said.

“Shouldn’t we try to get your dad?” said April. “He said to phone the Highways department if there was an emergency.”

Robin hesitated. Dad could be miles away on his snowplow. By the time he got the message and got home, anything could have happened to Molly. “I’ll phone,” she said, “but I’m not going to wait until he gets here. I can’t.”

“I’m going with you,” said April instantly.

Robin stiffened. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.” April’s voice wavered. “Molly’s a good skier. She made it all the way to the cabin last year. She’s probably there right now.”

“She’ll be freezing. And terrified.” Robin found it hard to think. She gazed around wildly. What did you need to do when you went out in a blizzard?

“We’ll leave a note for your dad,” said April. “In case he doesn’t get the message. And we should take some food. And the walkie-talkie.”

Making plans. Robin felt suddenly grateful that April was here. She got the telephone number for the Highways department off the fridge and asked the man who answered to contact Dad and tell him that Molly was missing. Then she scribbled a note on a piece of paper, hesitating over the words before deciding to write:
We’ve gone to the cabin to get Molly. It’s 1:30. We’ve got the radio. DON’T WORRY.

Of course, he would worry. He’d be frantic. She stuck the note in the middle of the table. April had rummaged in the snack drawer and come up with three power bars and a bag of trail mix. Robin found the radio and slipped it in her fanny pack with the food.