New Series…are you as excited as I am??? Uh uh? lmao, so my good friend recommended[forced] me to read this book,
‘Janey’s Girl’ by Gayle Friesen.
)
Selena Gomez is Clarissa
Joe Jonas is Jack
-Clarissa-
“This is a bad idea,”Mom says, pulling the car onto the shoulder of the highway. A big semi-trailer roars past, sending a
rock cracking againt the windshield.
“What was I thinking?”She mutters.
I look over at her profile. She has less makeup on than usual, her weekend face instead of work face. Her dark brown hair
is pulled back into a neat ponytail with just the right number of wisps softening the angel of her determined chin.
“Gran’s counting on us,”I say.
She doesn’t answer.
We left Toronto five days ago and we’ve been driving across the country ever since, just me and my mom in a compact car.
We had blistering heat for the first two days (no air conditioning), blinding dust followed by thunderstorms on the prairies,
and torrential rain through the Coquihalla. Greasy fast food throughout.
Still, driving through Ontario and Manitoba was fun. Mom seemed relaxed, relieved even, to be taking a break from
selling real estate in Saskatchewan, she was talking less and rubbing her neck more. By the time we reached Alberta, she
was saying things like,”Is it reallly necessary to have three prairie provinces?” and I knew that she was getting tired.
But now, only an hour away from Smallwood, British Columbia, she’s having second thoughts? You’d think we were
flying over the Bermuda Triangle instead of going to spend August with her mother.
Mom drums her polished nails on the steering wheel, then arches her back in a long strech. A breeze lifts a stray strand of
hair across her face, but she tucks it back firmly behind her ear.
“There’s something about this place,”she says, her lips pressed into a narrow line.
“What, Mom? What is the big mystery surrounding Smallwood Manor?”
She shrugs her shoulders,”Don’t be silly, Clair. I just have so much work to do. The McPherson house isn’t sold yet, and you
have music exams to study for.”she repeats again,”What was I thinking?”
“Uh, maybe that you haven’t been on a holiday for a gazillion years,I respond. To myself, I add,”That you haven’t been
back home for sixsteen years … even when your father died last september.”
But I can’t say any of these things, discuss, avoid? Avoid. Family is a topic, that is avoided.
My best friend, Julia, has opinions on this. The other day she said,”Your mother is in denial, Claire. Not to mention
obsessive-compulsive with some serious anxiety issues.”Julia wants to be a physchologist, what better than to practice on
the messed up kid?
“Holidays are ovverated, Claire.”Mom says now.
“YOu’re right, Mom. I think there’s an exit coming up. Let’s just turn around and go back. I know I am dying to treck
across the prairies again!”
“Smart ass,”she mutters, but there’s a faint smile at the corner of her mouth, and i feel a small sense of accomplishment.
“It’ll be good, Mom. Relaxing even.”
She presses her fingers to the side of her head and rubs in slow, small circles.
“Another headache?”I ask.”Maybe we should take a break?”I offer this, even though it’s the last thing I want. I can’t wait
to get to Gran’s.
“No, No. I want to keep on schedule,”she answers.
“This is a holiday, remember?”
“Right.”She shounds like she’ts trying to convince herself, but she’s still rubbing her head.
“Maybe I could drive?”
She smiles at this,”Let’s see. You’re fourteen so, hmm, that would make driving…whats the word for it?Oh yes. Illegal.”
“lmost fifteen,”I remeind her; atleast she’s still smiling.
“So you are. And still illegal,”She turns the key in ignition, the engine grinds loudly.
“I may only be fourteen, but even I know you don’t start a car when it’s already running.”
She grimaces and eases back onto the road,”Next stop, a town called Hope and then on to Smallwood.” Determination.
“I take out the crumpled map and stretch it over my knees. Using felt pen, I trace over the red line of the highway. The
long crooked path shows the distance travelled. So close.
“We’re almost there,”I say quietly.
“Yup, she says driving well below the speed limit,”We’re almost there.”
“So, smallwood’s beyond Hope?”I attempt a jab at humor.
“Yup,”She says again; not noticing the pun, or if she has, ignoring it.
I watch the brilliant green meadows filled with buttercups and foxgloves, black and white cows dotting the landscape. In the distance, pale mauve mountains framt the valley where my mother was born. This is where it all started for me too
Duration : 0:0:3
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