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Chapter 1 SLAM! Vicky Parker cringed as the door crashed shut behind her. She paused for a moment. No angry shouts from her mother. Relieved, she kicked off her shoes and hung her red-and-black Kerrisdale Dragons soccer jacket on a hook. "Hi, Vicky!" called her mother from the living room. "Do we still have a front door?" Vicky rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom. Hey, guess what? We beat Richmond 4 0!" And what a game it had been for the Dragons a 4 0 win in Richmond against the league-leading Rockets! Vicky's best friend Parminder Johal had set up all four goals with four perfect passes. In the first ten minutes, when it had still been 0 0, Vicky had smothered two breakaways and blocked two close-range headers, one with her face. It hadn't felt great at the time, and her nose still hurt a bit, but victory meant that the pain didn't matter. "No way!" her mother exclaimed. "Did someone pay the ref?" "Good one, Mom," replied Vicky. She walked to the fridge and opened the door. "Hey, is there anything to eat in this house?" "You'll have to wait. It's too close to dinnertime. Have some juice or something. Then come here a minute I want to talk to you." Vicky poured herself some orange juice and downed it in one gulp, then poured another and did the same. She put the glass down, then walked into the living room, where she stopped and stared in disbelief. A man was sitting on the couch. A very tall man. So tall that, when he stood up, Vicky worried for a moment that his head might punch right through the ceiling. "Vicky," said her mother, smiling. "This is Dave. I'm so happy that you two can finally meet." Dave stepped forward and nearly tripped over the coffee table. He regained his balance and shook his head, extending a massive right hand toward Vicky. "Nice to meet you," he said, turning a little red. Not quite sure what to say, Vicky shook his hand and tried to smile. He smiled back. Then Vicky's mother smiled and the three of them stood in the living room like happy smiling statues, with absolutely nothing to say to each other. "Anyway, Vicky," said her mother at last. "Why don't you go have a shower? Dave's going to stay for dinner." Vicky nodded quickly and picked up her soccer bag. She looked back. Everyone smiled at everyone again. Vicky hurried down the hallway to her bedroom and quickly shut the door behind her. She glanced around the room frantically, then spied the black cordless phone on the table next to her bed. She scooped it up and punched in Parm's number. Her hands were shaking so hard that she made a mistake and had to dial again. There were two rings before someone picked up. "Parm!" Vicky hissed into the phone, before her friend could even say hello. "You need to get over here. Right. Now." "Get over there?" exclaimed Parm. "But I just got home from soccer and my ankle's still bugging me. Besides, Mom's just made dinner. Vicky, what's wrong with you?" Vicky took a deep breath. "Parm, there's a . . . a man in our living room. A really tall man!" "Well, what's he doing there?" Parm giggled. "Is he wearing some kind of uniform? Is he there to fix something?" "No, no. I came home and he was just there! Standing in the living room, shaking my hand! Mom just said she's really happy that the two of us can finally meet." "Vicky " "I mean, what the " "Vicky," Parm repeated in a firm voice, as if speaking to a small child. "I think your mom has a boyfriend." Vicky gasped. Deep down, she'd known. But hearing Parm actually say it out loud had driven home the reality. The man in the living room was her mother's boyfriend! "Look, Parm, can you please just come over? Pleeease? He's staying for dinner!" "What makes you think I want to be involved in this?" asked Parm, chuckling. "Sounds pretty awkward!" "That's why I need you! Parm, stop kidding around. Please, really . . ." "Okay, okay, I guess I can see if " "Thank you so, so, so much. But don't tell your mom about this. Not yet, okay?" "How in the world am I supposed to get out of the house at dinnertime without telling her?" "Just try. Please?" "Okay, okay. Just a second." There was a pause, followed by a few muffled words. Then Vicky heard an avalanche of loud and angry-sounding Punjabi. She cringed. Mrs. Johal may have been all bark and no bite, but, wow, what a bark! "You owe me big time, Vicky," Parm said, returning to the phone. She sounded like she'd just run a marathon. "Mom is taking this as a personal insult to her cooking. I may never get dinner again." "Thanks, Parm. Really." "No worries," her friend replied. "I'll see you in about half an hour." Thirty minutes, thought Vicky. Better make it a long shower. "Mom!" she called on her way to the bathroom. "Parm's coming for dinner, okay?" "Oh?" Her mother hesitated a moment. "Well, the more the merrier, I guess." In the shower, Vicky relaxed under the warm water. Her legs were still caked with dirt and grass from the game. She soaped up and then scrubbed them, wincing slightly with pain. She looked down at her knees, covered in bright red scrapes, and shrugged. The badges of a goalkeeper, she thought to herself. The tall man strolled back into her mind. Or rather, he tripped over the coffee table again and landed in her thoughts. A boyfriend? That was something that girls at school had. Not her mother. For almost as long as Vicky could remember, it had been just the two of them her and her mom. Her father had left when she was three. Vicky's memory of him had faded until it was less like a photograph and more of a blurry outline: dark brown hair, a gentle laugh, ears that stuck out a little. If he'd passed her on the street, she wouldn't have recognized him. She wasn't sure she'd want to meet him anyway. This was a man, after all, who'd abandoned her mother, a woman who at that time had barely been able to speak a word of English but had moved all the way from China to Canada for him. Still, until now, Vicky had never considered that her mother might one day want to be with someone else. She shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel from the top shelf. She picked up her watch from the edge of the sink where she'd left it. Six-fifteen. Parm would be there any minute. Vicky dried off quickly, then wrapped herself in a towel and crossed the hall to her bedroom. Minutes later, she emerged wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt. She heard the man's deep voice as she walked down the hall to the living room. "So, what position do you play?" he said. Vicky heard someone answer, "Umm . . . midfield. Usually left or centre." It was Parm. Oh no! thought Vicky. She's going to kill me! "So, does that mean trying to protect the goal or trying to score?" Vicky rolled her eyes. He obviously didn't know much about soccer. "Well, a bit of both. Sometimes we shoot, sometimes we have to . . ." Parm broke off as Vicky entered the room. "To tackle people really hard," she concluded, flashing a meaningful glance at Vicky. "Perfect timing, Vicky," exclaimed her mother, entering from the kitchen. "Dinner's on the table, everyone." The two girls sat on one side of the small kitchen table, the adults on the other. Vicky had to move her feet to one side to make room for Dave's long legs under the table. "Would you like some chicken, Dave?" asked Parm, passing a dish across the table. Dave? thought Vicky. He's "Dave" already? How could her friend manage to be so calm and relaxed at a time like this? Parm was famous in the Parker house for her love of Vicky's mother's cooking. As usual, she attacked the chicken, rice, and cauliflower as soon as they landed on her plate. For once, however, it was Vicky who finished first, scraping her plate clean with her fork. "Seconds, girls?" asked her mother, reaching for the serving spoon. "Actually, Mom, may we be excu " said Vicky, half-standing up from the table. "Yes, please, Mrs. Parker!" Parm interrupted, grinning cheekily at her friend. Vicky kicked her under the table but Parm just kept on smiling. "So, girls, Dave runs the Kitsilano Pool. Did you know that?" asked Vicky's mother, spooning rice onto Parm's plate. "He used to be an Olympic swimmer!" Vicky eased back into her chair. "Really?" she said, trying not to sound too impressed. "Now, Chin-ji, that's not quite true," said Dave, touching her mother lightly on the elbow. "It was only the Olympic trials. I never quite made it to the Olympics. And it was twenty years ago." "Still, that's pretty cool!" said Parm. "Did you do the one where you swing your arms like a windmill or the one where you make huge boob-shapes underneath the water?" She made several exaggerated loops in front of her chest with her arms and everyone laughed. "Parm thinks swimming's just to save her from drowning if she ever falls off a boat," Vicky added, daring for the first time to look closely at the man across from her. He had short dark hair speckled with silver and his eyes were bright blue. There was a small scar above his left eyebrow. "Well," he said, raising an eyebrow. "She's not completely wrong about that. Though, if there are any sharks, I'd recommend the windmill style. It's quicker than the boob-shaped one." Parm laughed loudly and Vicky, to her own surprise, giggled a little. "And, as Parm has found out, I don't know too much about your sport either," continued Dave. "But I'm sure glad she taught me a little bit tonight. I might at least have some idea what's going on this Saturday." "Don't worry," said Vicky's mother. "It's simple. Just clap each time I put the ball in the other team's net." She beamed at him. "Dave's coming to watch my next game," she explained to the girls. Vicky's mom had once played for the Chinese National team and had just recently taken up the sport again after many years away from soccer. Now she played for a team in the local women's league. "Okay, girls, you may be excused," said Vicky's mother, standing and picking up some of the dishes. Before she could stop him, Dave stood up to help her, and the pair of them disappeared into the kitchen. In Vicky's bedroom, Parm flopped onto the bed and rolled onto her back. Vicky switched on her computer and put on some music. She lay back on the carpet, her feet up on the bed next to her friend. "He's really nice," said Parm, almost sounding surprised. "And funny." "I know," said Vicky, shaking her head. "It's still weird though." "Do you think being as tall as him makes you a faster swimmer?" "Wouldn't it just make you sink faster?" "Hmm," said Parm. "Hmm," said Vicky. She looked over at her friend. It didn't matter what they talked about right now. She was just grateful Parm was there. Talk turned to Parm's new boyfriend, Paul. Parm and Paul had been dating just over three weeks. It was a new record for her, but Vicky knew that Parm was thinking of dumping him. With two separate schools to gossip about and plenty of tunes on Vicky's computer to flick through, it was eight-thirty before they knew it. There was a knock on the door. The girls groaned. "Time for us to take Parm home," called Vicky's mother. "Ugh, Monday tomorrow," moaned Parm, dragging herself up from Vicky's bed. "Why can't weekends last forever?" "Tell me about it," replied Vicky. "Math test tomorrow." At the front door of the apartment, Vicky said goodnight to Parm and Dave. She retrieved her school bag from deep in the closet and pulled out her math books. It was going to be a long night. "See you in a bit, Vicky," chirped her mother, grabbing the car keys off the kitchen counter on her way out the door. "See you," replied Vicky. Sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a page full of quadratic equations, Vicky replayed the night in her head. She wasn't sure what to think about Dave, or the smile that hadn't left her mother's face all evening.
