front, the regular one that he looked at in the mirror, and another, forgotten one on the back of his head. And the one on the back wasn’t a face at all, just blankness.
“Could you come with me for a minute?” Lewin said.
The sentence hung together all wrong, it sounded corporate and suspicious and formal all at once. Micah went with him and they entered a broom closet near the washrooms, Micah going in first while Lewin held the door. There was a bottle of white wine on the shelf. Lewin unscrewed it and offered Micah the first sip. It was warm and slightly oily, almost carbonated in its sweetness. Micah could feel her tongue all the way around her mouth, more than usual. Usually it just sat there. She had never had a drink before.
Lewin said, “I really didn’t want to leave my old school,” and Micah said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Because she was trying to be polite, Micah hadn’t told Lewin she was the top-ranked player in Bible Challenge, certainly at John Huss and sometimes in the whole region. When he was assigned to her team, she was conciliatory and patient. She explained that instead of hand-held buzzers, the teams sat on chairs that had sensors on them, and to attempt an answer, they had to spring to their feet to release the sensor. They spent some hours practising this, leaping forward and giving answers, over and over.
“So basically, we have to move our asses?” said Lewin.
All the Joys and Staceys and Matthews in the room stared at him.
“Basically,” said Micah.
—
By the time the winter tournament arrived, Lewin and Micah were neck and neck in the region. They both had excellent short-term memories and they would sit together in the drama room before practice, cramming. They leaned up against one another, back to back, and Micah could feel the knobs of Lewin’s spine pressing against her.
There was a minister’s son from Wiarton who had a photographic memory. His finger would trace along in the air while he read words only he could see. They were determined one of them would beat him at the spring competition. All of the tournaments were held in small towns or sad suburbs, places like Mississauga or Stoney Creek or North Bay, with cinder-block basements where the paint was an inch thick on the walls. There were dusty tins of Orange Crush and Dodge minivans. For the weekends away, Lewin would dress up in a green mechanic’s jumpsuit or plaid pants and tuxedo shirts. He bleached his black hair and Micah helped him spray it so it stuck straight up from his head.
Back at home on Sunday nights, they loafed together in his room, and Lewin would carefully make his face up with cosmetics from the drugstore, his hands steady and light. His skin was bad then, and the medication he was on made it flake off, even from his lips. He looked raw all the time. With the makeup it was both less and more noticeable. Lining his lips in warm sienna, he told her, “It’s important to line the mouth you have, not the mouth you want. Everyone can tell the difference.” Then he went into the bathroom alone to wash up, and Micah waited, the house quiet, and she thought about what might happen if someone broke in with an axe, with long whispery coils of white rope. With a gun. When Lewin cameback, the skin on his face was damp and angry-looking, but his expression was serene.
Micah’s ex-boyfriend had been on the Bible Challenge team before he graduated. He had a guitar and cracked his knuckles, and his handwriting was scattered with pinpricks because he pushed too hard with the pen. He wrote in capitals. Lewin said only serial killers wrote in capitals. After Micah took top honours at the Alliston tournament in April, Lewin convinced her to burn all the love letters her ex-boyfriend had written her.
They went to the park near Lewin’s house and burned the letters at dusk near home plate. Micah pushed the ashes into the gravel with the toe of her sneaker and hated Lewin for making her do it.
“Could you come with me for a minute?” Lewin said.
The sentence hung together all wrong, it sounded corporate and suspicious and formal all at once. Micah went with him and they entered a broom closet near the washrooms, Micah going in first while Lewin held the door. There was a bottle of white wine on the shelf. Lewin unscrewed it and offered Micah the first sip. It was warm and slightly oily, almost carbonated in its sweetness. Micah could feel her tongue all the way around her mouth, more than usual. Usually it just sat there. She had never had a drink before.
Lewin said, “I really didn’t want to leave my old school,” and Micah said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Because she was trying to be polite, Micah hadn’t told Lewin she was the top-ranked player in Bible Challenge, certainly at John Huss and sometimes in the whole region. When he was assigned to her team, she was conciliatory and patient. She explained that instead of hand-held buzzers, the teams sat on chairs that had sensors on them, and to attempt an answer, they had to spring to their feet to release the sensor. They spent some hours practising this, leaping forward and giving answers, over and over.
“So basically, we have to move our asses?” said Lewin.
All the Joys and Staceys and Matthews in the room stared at him.
“Basically,” said Micah.
—
By the time the winter tournament arrived, Lewin and Micah were neck and neck in the region. They both had excellent short-term memories and they would sit together in the drama room before practice, cramming. They leaned up against one another, back to back, and Micah could feel the knobs of Lewin’s spine pressing against her.
There was a minister’s son from Wiarton who had a photographic memory. His finger would trace along in the air while he read words only he could see. They were determined one of them would beat him at the spring competition. All of the tournaments were held in small towns or sad suburbs, places like Mississauga or Stoney Creek or North Bay, with cinder-block basements where the paint was an inch thick on the walls. There were dusty tins of Orange Crush and Dodge minivans. For the weekends away, Lewin would dress up in a green mechanic’s jumpsuit or plaid pants and tuxedo shirts. He bleached his black hair and Micah helped him spray it so it stuck straight up from his head.
Back at home on Sunday nights, they loafed together in his room, and Lewin would carefully make his face up with cosmetics from the drugstore, his hands steady and light. His skin was bad then, and the medication he was on made it flake off, even from his lips. He looked raw all the time. With the makeup it was both less and more noticeable. Lining his lips in warm sienna, he told her, “It’s important to line the mouth you have, not the mouth you want. Everyone can tell the difference.” Then he went into the bathroom alone to wash up, and Micah waited, the house quiet, and she thought about what might happen if someone broke in with an axe, with long whispery coils of white rope. With a gun. When Lewin cameback, the skin on his face was damp and angry-looking, but his expression was serene.
Micah’s ex-boyfriend had been on the Bible Challenge team before he graduated. He had a guitar and cracked his knuckles, and his handwriting was scattered with pinpricks because he pushed too hard with the pen. He wrote in capitals. Lewin said only serial killers wrote in capitals. After Micah took top honours at the Alliston tournament in April, Lewin convinced her to burn all the love letters her ex-boyfriend had written her.
They went to the park near Lewin’s house and burned the letters at dusk near home plate. Micah pushed the ashes into the gravel with the toe of her sneaker and hated Lewin for making her do it.
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