The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

Chapter Thirty-Two Maya wins an argument with her mother

The lyricist Chuck Berry famously wrote that “you never can tell”. He was talking about teenagers. Teenagers, Mr Berry suggested, can really surprise you. Mr Berry never met Sicilee Kewe, but if he had he would have been tempted to point to her in her puffy, hooded coat and the sensible, flat-soled boots she’s been wearing to school lately and say, “See? That’s exactly what I meant!”

Previously walking no further than the length of the mall, Sicilee has amazed everyone. No matter how cold and blustery the day, Sicilee – cheeks rosy from more than her usual blusher – has been seen striding onto the campus, looking as though she was born on the hoof and has no memory of ever sitting in a plush and heated Cadillac, plugged into her iPod, a café latte in the cup holder beside her. And no one has been more amazed by this new development than Maya Baraberra. To make it even worse, Sicilee sometimes arrives with Cody Lightfoot (and Clemens, Waneeda and Joy Marie, but Maya, of course, barely notices them), gliding up the drive like a swan up a river.

“Look at her!” Maya raged. “Acting like she’s the first primate to climb down from the trees and walk around on her hind legs! It’s not just sickening, it’s physically impossible. That girl wouldn’t walk to the bathroom if she could drive there. She must be getting a ride from her mother to somewhere nearby.”

But Alice, who (to be honest) is as tired of hearing about Sicilee Kewe as she is of hearing about tofu and Cody Lightfoot, is less emotionally involved and therefore able to be more objective. “I don’t think so,” said Alice. “Haven’t you noticed her coat or the state of her boots? If she’s getting a ride, it’s in the back of a pick-up.”

Which, of course, left Maya with no choice. If she had to endure even one more day of watching Sicilee sashay up the drive – with Cody or without him – or one more meeting in which Sicilee says, loudly, “Well, those of us who walk…” or “Well, when you walk like I do…” Maya might have to move in with her aunt in Spokane or risk losing her mind.

It took Maya several days to find her abandoned bicycle, buried at the back of the cellar, flat on the floor with an old toy chest and several boxes on top of it, and even longer to clean it and pump up the tyres, but today is the day of its maiden voyage.

Maya’s mother glances nervously out of the kitchen window at the dark, cloud-crowded sky and the backyard trees bending in the icy wind. “Why don’t you let me drive you?” she asks. “I don’t think this is very good weather for cycling to school. It looks to me like it’s going to snow again.”

“That’s one of the big problems with our society,” says Maya. “We fear nature when we should embrace it. We want to control everything … to manipulate the moon and stars … to have things all our own way.”

Mrs Baraberra sighs. “I’m not trying to manipulate anything, Maya. I just don’t want you to get caught in a storm.”

“Um, duh… In case you haven’t noticed, Mom, snow is a natural phenomenon. We should celebrate it, not hide from it. It’s cars that aren’t natural. Why aren’t you worried about all the carbon dioxide we’re pouring into the air and my lungs?”

Rather than get into long explanations about why she shows so little concern about the degradation of the atmosphere and her daughter’s lungs by the burning of fossil fuels, Mrs Baraberra says, “Fine. You take the bike.”

It’s a testament to the strength and depth of female friendship that Alice, hunkered into a plaid hunting jacket and matching bomber hat, is actually waiting for Maya at the end of the street, her mittened hands gripped so tightly around the handlebars of her own bicycle that it’s difficult to tell if she’s holding it up or if it’s holding up her.

Alice squints into the morning glare as Maya walks towards her, pushing her bike. “What is that?”

“It’s a portable missile launcher. What does it look like?”

“But it has a fringe and it’s pink and, like, pizza-parlour blue,” says Alice, whose own bike is a mature and tasteful silver. She narrows her eyes even more. “What’s that on the handlebars? Is it a cow?”

“It’s the horn.”

“When was the last time you rode this thing?” Alice looks as though she thinks the bike may bite her.

Maya stamps her feet with impatience as much as cold. “I told you. A couple of years ago?”

Alice is less than reassured by this information. “But you’ve given it a test drive, right?” She leans her head to one side, judging. “It looks a little small.”

“Of course I tested it.” It didn’t occur to Maya even to ride it up and down the driveway. And then, because lies like company as much as people do, adds, “The size is fine.” It’s at least two inches too small.

“You know, it’s not too late to change our minds,” says Alice. “My mom said she’ll take us.” She shivers to emphasize how cold she feels already. “She thinks we’re totally nuts cycling to school in weather like this. She says we could get really sick.”

“She’s wrong.” Maya watches her breath float in front of her like tiny clouds. “This is the sane and healthy thing to do. I even read that scientific research has proved that the car culture not only contributes significantly to climate change, but also to obesity, heart disease, alienation and crime.”

“My mom is wrong,” says Alice. “Only one of us is totally nuts.” There are no points for guessing which one she means.

Maya laughs.

“I’m not kidding. I think all that tofu’s affecting your brain.”

“No it isn’t. It—” Maya breaks off and, like Alice, looks up at the sky. Tiny crystals of frozen water are suddenly hurtling towards them so thickly that it looks as if someone’s dropping a curtain over their heads.

Alice looks over at Maya. “Did you know it was going to snow today or are we just really lucky?”

Maya sighs. Obviously, the only luck she’s having this morning is that the snow isn’t accompanied by gale-force winds. “It’s no big deal,” she declares with a confidence she doesn’t feel. “We’ll be there before it starts to stick.”

“Well, I definitely will.” Alice pulls her phone from her pocket. The strength and depth of female friendship only goes so far. “I’m calling my mom.”

“Alice, please,” pleads Maya. “It’s not like we’re crossing the Alps. We’re just riding to school. And I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Anything. My original ’77 Led Zep T-shirt. My firstborn. Anything. If you need someone to ride down the Mississippi with you on a raft, all you have to do is ask.”

Alice hits the number for Home on her phone. “All I want is a ride to school in a car.”

“What happened to the pioneer spirit that made this country great?” asks Maya.

“My ancestors never left Manhattan,” says Alice.

“Well, mine did!” cries Maya, and she sets off into the falling snow.

As a matter of fact, Maya’s ancestors, though they did leave Manhattan, didn’t go any further than Brooklyn. Which is a lot further than Maya is ever likely to get. The road is wet and slippery and filled with large vehicles that drive too fast and far too close, so Maya rides on the sidewalk, pedalling slowly and cautiously. Maybe she should have listened to Alice. She hasn’t gone more than a couple of blocks when she realizes how incorrect the phrase “just riding to school” is – making it sound as easy as strolling into the kitchen for a snack as opposed to, for example, crossing a significant mountain range on an old bicycle that is two inches too small for you. The bike is even more difficult to manoeuvre than she remembers. It wobbles and emits strange sounds that make her worry that something is about to fall off. Her legs ache after only a block or two. She is afraid to go too fast in case she skids. Maybe, besides listening to Alice, Maya should have listened to her mother, and waited for a day when it isn’t snowing for her first ride. Maybe she should have taken a spin around the block once or twice for practice. Perhaps she should have worn ski goggles so she could actually see where she’s going.

Maya would be happy to get off and walk, but of course she can’t. This is a popular road, used by a lot of people she knows. Cars pass, beeping their horns; familiar faces, laughing and shouting things she would be happy not to be able to hear. Someone throws an empty styrofoam cup at her as they hurtle by. Someone else shouts out, “Oy! Maya! Get a husky!” Ms Kimodo waves. For Maya, to be seen pushing her pink and blue bike through the snow would be even more humiliating.

She may have frostbite. Her lungs hurt. She’s lost all feeling in her toes. She’s lost all sense of time. But still Maya pedals on. It will be worth it when she sees the looks on the faces of her friends. It’ll be worth it to see the look on Sicilee’s face as she glides onto campus, gloating, calling out, “You see, I told you I’d fix the flat!” And with any luck she will pass Cody, slouching along with Clemens, and shout out, “Hi!” and toot her cow horn.

Maya pedals up Schuyler, the last road before the school, gasping but triumphant. Usually Schuyler is full of students who live nearby, but today there is not one single person trudging through the snow, hood up, head down. Maya doesn’t wonder why. Nor does she wonder why it’s been some time since the last car honked at her as it passed. She thinks it just shows you how soft everyone is. Mollycoddled. Spoiled. So afraid of a little weather that they beg their parents to drive them just a couple of blocks because of the snow.

When she reaches the top of the hill, she stops to catch her breath. She gazes down the other side. The dark shapes of cars move steadily if slowly along the road that runs along the bottom of Schuyler like bison through a winter storm. The sidewalk should also be teeming with students, but except for two figures huddled into their parkas just stepping off the curb, it too is empty. Maya pushes off.

Maya is fortunate in three things this morning, and unfortunate in one. Her first piece of luck is that the hill is not a steep one. The second is that the two figures huddled into their parkas are Clemens and Waneeda, who are late because they’ve been standing at the gas station half a mile away with their petitions for the last hour. The unfortunate thing is that, halfway down Schuyler, her brakes fail.

“Look out!” screams Maya, sounding her horn. “Get out of the way!” And she tries not to look as the pink and blue bike freewheels her straight into traffic.

The two figures turn, but only one of them steps out of the way. The other one runs towards her.

“Jump! Jump!” shouts Clemens, lunging for her and pulling her free from the bike, which – and this is Maya’s third piece of good fortune – clatters to a stop before it reaches the end of Schuyler and is ground under the wheels of someone’s car.

“Are you all right?” Clemens helps her up.

Maya nods.

“Are you crazy?” asks Clemens. “You could’ve been killed.”

“I know.” Maya smiles at Clemens with no hint of mockery for the very first time. “You probably saved my life.”

The three of them walk the rest of the way together, Maya pushing the bike. As they turn into the school, Cody passes them in his father’s car. He turns in his seat and waves.