LITMIR.BIZ

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Can’t you just leave me alone?!”

      The grade nine girls back up a little. Balls bounce slowly to stillness and the class gets quiet. The girls know what’s coming. They’ve all seen my bad temper leak out before, and they’re smart enough to be wary. One of them even says, “It’s okay, Gwen, just calm down. We were just kidding around….”

      But it’s too late. I’m yelling at the top of my lungs and I can’t turn it off. It’s like a light switch got stuck on. Mr. Short finally starts to pay attention and blows his whistle, and Jez takes the opportunity to start running me out of the gym and down the school hallway. She has her arms locked around my shoulders as we run. I’m yelling my head off, and scared students are jumping out of our way.

      I must look pretty crazy. Crazier than normal.

      Jez runs with me into the staff washroom, clinging onto me like a vice. I’ve never noticed how strong she is in the arms. As soon as she slams the door behind us and locks it, she lets me go. I bob gently up to the ceiling, all the fight gone out of me. I stop yelling and just float there, swirling around in the current like a lost balloon. Jez reaches up and grabs my shoelace then gently tugs me back down to Earth. I float slowly toward her, and she looks exactly like a little kid pulling a balloon down from the ceiling on a string.

      When I bob eye-to-eye in front of her, she puts her arms around me and I whisper, “Don’t let me go, Jez. Just don’t let me go.”

      “I won’t,” she whispers back. “I promise.”

      THIRTEEN

      But after a while, Jez’s arms get tired and she has to let me go. I bob back up to the ceiling.

      It takes about half an hour for me to stop floating, so Jez and I just stay in the staff washroom chatting. It gets kind of normal having my best friend sitting on the floor of the teachers’ washroom with me up on the ceiling, talking about old times. It’s sort of like when you’re sick and miss a lot of school, and your friend comes over when you’re getting better, to talk and bring you back into the world.

      We both notice that no one ever seems to use the staff washroom, because no one comes knocking. We also notice it’s a lot cleaner than the girls’ bathroom. We hear people walking around in the hallway outside, but no one seems to be looking for me. Maybe after yesterday’s experience in English, the teachers have decided to leave me alone if I start acting all crazy. Maybe they think it might be better that way, since no one wants to deal with crazy Gwennie Golden when she’s having one of her screaming fits.

      No one except Jez.

      I float around for a bit, then as we laugh and talk and Jez gets kind of used to me up on the ceiling, I slowly float back down to Earth.

      After that little episode in gym class, though, I notice people avoid me more than usual. All afternoon, kids dart little glances at me, then look away. They all think I have anger issues, anyway. I’m not exactly the most level-headed kid in the school at the best of times. Now and then I do blow up at someone for no real reason. So even without me flying around the room, people usually say things like “It’s about her dad” when they’re talking about me.

      But they’re way off on that.

      It’s not about him.

      It’s really about the fact that I’m flying around and I don’t know how to stop. That’s really what’s going on here.

      When I am firmly on the ground again, Jez and I leave the washroom and go back to the principal’s office. We have to sign ourselves back into our next class, which is math. As we are getting our late slips, Mrs. Abernathy comes out of her office and calls to us. We walk over to her and she says, “Gwendolyn, Jez, I hear there was some excitement in gym class.”

      That’s what she always calls trouble, “excitement.” We both look at her. If only she knew how truly exciting it was, or could have been if I’d broken free of Jez’s vice grip and floated to the ceiling of the gym in front of everyone.

      I have a sudden image of myself bobbing against the light fixtures, way up on the gym ceiling, with all the kids down below me, laughing and pointing. The custodians would have to get the big outdoor ladder, the one they use to get soccer balls off the roof, to try to get me down. Maybe that wouldn’t be big enough, though, and they’d have to get the lifesaving extendable hooks from the pool to try to grapple me back down.

      I suddenly imagine the school custodian and his assistant lassoing my arms and legs with ropes. They’d say useful things like, “Easy with her now, don’t let her head bounce too much.” Or, “Watch her legs don’t hit the window, we don’t want to break it.” And other helpful things like that.

      And maybe even that wouldn’t work, and they’d finally have to call the fire department, like when a cat gets stuck in a tree. I suddenly imagine firemen in their suits with masks on, breathing loudly like Darth Vader and edging slowly toward me on their special electric ladder, gloves out, ready to pluck me from my perch.

      It’s a funny image. It’s so funny that unfortunately I start to giggle. Mrs. Abernathy is kind, though, and has a motherly look on her face.

      “It’s not terribly funny, Gwendolyn. If you need to leave the classroom again, please ask permission before running from the room. You may both get changed and go back to class now.”

      Oh, I think it’s funny. It’s hilarious.

      I’m going to grow up to be a Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon.

      FOURTEEN

      I make it through the rest of the day without so much as a hover. I decide it’s good that someone else knows what’s happening to me. Knowing that Jez knows really helps. She can be my anchor. If I start taking off, she can pull me back to the ground.

      I make it through the rest of the day without so much as a hover. I decide it’s good that someone else knows what’s happening to me. Knowing that Jez knows really helps. She can be my anchor. If I start taking off, she can pull me back to the ground.

      It’s kind of like that, anyway. She’s always the sensible one. Like I said, she’s the motherly type, making sure everyone has a sweater and a snack on school trips. Or putting us all to sleep with night-night songs at sleepovers when we were little. Or being the one to call home if one of us is sick or hurt or worried.

      I can definitely count on Jez. It makes whatever is happening to me just a little easier to handle.

      After school, Jez and I wander along our main street. She doesn’t seem to want to talk much; besides, the Chrissies are with us. I have to walk them home and make their dinner on Fridays, since Mom works late. Mom always gives me a little extra money so I can buy us all a treat (Jez included) on Fridays. We head to The Float Boat, which is the name of the candy store in our town. They make ice cream floats in glasses shaped like boats. Which I guess explains the name.

      It’s a great place, and you get hit with a sugar smell as soon as you walk in, like every single candy that was ever in there left a little bit of itself behind. Just to tempt you and remind you how delicious it was.

      As I stand in front of the store, I get this weird feeling. Float Boat. That’s me. I’m a float boat. That’s me exactly. Except I’m hardly candy-filled and delicious. I decide then and there that I will think of myself as the “float boat” from now on. It makes me smile.

      We walk in. The Chrissies run to the jars filled with jelly beans, like they always do. They never vary much, those two.

      There is a whole wall filled with jars of different

       flavoured jelly beans. Mandarin, lemon, licorice, mint, chocolate, watermelon, vanilla, all the standard flavours. Then all the weird ones that don’t associate with any flavour exactly, like midnight sky and winter dream.

      What does a “midnight sky” jelly bean taste like, I wonder? But I’ve never been curious enough to try one. I don’t really like jelly beans. I’m

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