Lesley Anne Cowan - Something Wicked

PUFFIN CANADA

SOMETHING WICKED

LESLEY ANNE COWAN was born in Toronto and studied English and education at McGill University in Montreal. She has travelled extensively and works as a secondary school teacher of at-risk youth. Her first novel, As She Grows, first published as adult literary fiction, was shortlisted for the Chapters/ Robertson Davies First Novel Prize. Something Wicked is the second in a series of adolescent novels exploring the lives of todays young, urban women.

Visit the authors website at www.lesleyanne cowan.com.

ALSO BY LESLEY ANNE COWAN

As She Grows

LESLEY ANNE COWAN

PUFFIN CANADA

Published by the Penguin Group

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a cognizant original v5 release october 27 2010

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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published 2010

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (WEB)

Copyright Lesley Anne Cowan, 2010

Author representation: Westwood Creative Artists
94 Harbord Street, Toronto, Ontario M5S 1G6

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Publishers note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Manufactured in Canada.

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Cowan, Lesley Anne
Something wicked / Lesley Anne Cowan.

ISBN 978-0-14-317393-9

I. Title.

PS8555.O85763S66 2010 C813.6 C2010-901982-2

Visit the authors website at www.lesleyannecowan.com
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To those Ive taught,
and those whove taught me

One

I am sexually promiscuous.

The words are written down in my file. I cant escape it. It goes along with all my other labels: ADD, learning disability, irritability, and impulsivity. Once someone writes a label down, its like a big fat bread crumb leading the counsellor down the care and treatment plan. You see, its the person who holds the pen who matters; this is who can ruin your life. The one who takes every mistake youve made and every blurted-out word and etches it into your future with the stroke of a pen. Of course, the past shapes everyones future, but with counsellors, the past is the future. The past is never, ever forgotten. You are forced to live it every day. And soon, it becomes who you are.

Sexually promiscuous, I slowly read aloud, staring at the opened file on the table. Thats a new one. So youre saying Im a slut?

Eric, my counsellor, quickly covers up the papers. No. It means you are perhaps more liberal in your sexual relations than adults feel is appropriate for your age group.

So? I challenge. Does it matter?

It can.

Well. It doesnt make a difference to me. Sex is not a big deal. It doesnt damage me or anything.

Eric shrugs and raises a brow, the way he does when I say something loaded and hes thinking whether or not to get into it with me. He knows, if its the wrong time, Ill just argue and not listen, so he waits, like a predator in the grass, for a vulnerable moment when his attack is more likely to yield a good kill.

I know the difference between fucking around and love, I add, because I dont want him thinking Im a total idiot.

I hope you do, Eric says casually.

I eye him with suspicion. I have slipped up. I shouldnt be telling him about all the guys Im with. Even though hes a good counsellor, hes still from an old generation of people who think sex matters. Its just not a big deal anymore, and so Ive divulged too much, as usual. Old habits die young. Thats why teenagers are so exciting in therapy. We havent yet learned that you arent supposed to confess everything. We dont know that there are two languages: the one you keep in your head and the other you share with everyone else.

If you only knew. If you only really knew the truth about what I really do, I think, moving my gaze to the fishbowl.So you still want me to name it? I ask, trying to change the topic before he uses it as a window to further discussion. Eric has a goldfish that he always offers his clients to name. He pretends its the same one, but from time to time I notice a slight changea different brownish mark on the belly, a slightly thinner fin. Its been almost a year, and Ive refused to do it.

Sure.

I reconsider. But isnt it a little schizophrenic for the little thing, all those names? Its a good thing youre a shrink.

Eric raises his hand to his reddish beard and pulls at the short hairs on his chin. Im not a psychiatrist. Im a counsellor, he corrects me. He is so serious sometimes. So, any ideas?

No. I lie, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But I know exactly what Id call it. And I actually dont think having more than one name is such a bad idea.

I have more than one name for myself. I also call myself Echo. Its sort of like a tag name, but I use it only for adults. I always like to introduce myself to strangers as this. Some of them stare at me like they know Im bullshitting, but most either dont care or are too self-absorbed to care, and just dont question the name.

Eric has a hard time calling me this, though. I dont think hes ever said it, despite my insistence. So Im not about to name his stupid fish. But if I did, Id call her Amphitrite, because she was the goddess queen of the sea.

I am into myths. We study them in English class and my mother gave me a book on them last Christmas. Its the only book shes ever given me, despite the fact I love reading. She says myths contain more wisdom than the Bible, and more insight than a Dr. Phil episode. I just like them because the women sometimes kick ass and theres tons of crazy, heartless jealousy and revenge. Everybody is sleeping with everybody else. Its completely insane.

I liked Echo right away. She was a sleazy, beautiful nymph who tried to steal the goddess Heras husband. Instead of getting mad at her man, the goddess put a stop to the flirting by cursing Echo to just repeat whatever a person said to her. She would have only the power of reply, no power to speak first. No original thought. So after that, her conversations with the guy went something like this: