Badass(ish)

Jaymie

Heilman

Ronsdale Press

BadAss(ish)

Copyright © 2023 Jaymie Heilman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, or, in Canada, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency).

Ronsdale Press

125A – 1030 Denman Street, Vancouver, B.C. Canada V6G 2M6

www.ronsdalepress.com

Interior design by David Lester. Text set in Goudy 11 pt on 16

Cover illustration and design by David Lester

Ronsdale Press wishes to thank the following for their support of its publishing program: the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada, the British Columbia Arts Council, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Book Publishing Tax Credit program.

Supported by the Government of Canada

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Badass(ish) / Jaymie Heilman.

Other titles: Bad ass (ish)

Names: Heilman, Jaymie Patricia, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20230468136 | Canadiana (ebook) 20230468144 | ISBN 9781553806899 (softcover) | ISBN 9781553806905 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781553806912 (PDF)

Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

Classification: LCC PS8615.E335 B33 2023 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23

At Ronsdale Press we are committed to protecting the environment. To this end we are working with Canopy and printers to phase out our use of paper produced from ancient forests. This book is one step towards that goal.

Printed in Canada

For AC and AC,

badass sobrinas

I can do this.

I most definitely can do this.

Okay, fine. I absolutely cannot do this, but I’ll do it anyway. I take the last few steps toward the roof’s edge. As long as I don’t look down, I’ll be fine. As long as I don’t trip and stumble and fall eight storeys to the ground, crashing to a very messy death, I’ll be fine.

Sirens are shrieking in the distance, and someone is banging on the door and yelling. I don’t know how much longer Renzi will be able to hold it shut.

Jae is down on the sidewalk with the video camera, and there must be a hundred people beside her: protestors holding cardboard tombstones and counter-demonstrators with signs of their own. Izzy is there too. He’s got a megaphone in his hands, and he’s never looked more gorgeous — those wild curls, those massive sideburns and his favourite pink shirt. It’s been two long months since he dumped me. Broke my heart and stomped all over it. If anything is going to prove he was wrong about me, it’s this.

I double-check that the bungee cords connecting the banner to the roof are secure and get my feet into position. I lift the heavy banner up and then hurl it into the air. It flies out and unfurls, showing our demands to the world.

Izzy throws his fist above his head and whoops.

He lifts the megaphone to his mouth and shouts Renzi’s name. And then he hollers three short words that destroy everything.

Two months earlier.

Seven hours and five minutes before Valentine’s Day, Izzy pulls away from our half-hearted kiss. I am giving this embrace everything I have, but Izzy seems lost somewhere south of Antarctica.

This isn’t working, he says, leaning against his kitchen counter. He could mean the location because the kitchen tiles are too cold against our feet. He could mean my breath, or the fact that our noses keep crashing together.

But I know that’s not what he means. I’m losing him. The one person who likes me because of what I did after the Fort Mac fire. The funniest, smartest, most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. The only guy I’ve ever kissed. And I’m losing him.

He looks down at the floor. Davis, I’ve been thinking things through. Trying to be honest with myself about what I feel. And I know that what I need is —

Vietnamese food!

His mom’s shout from the back door catches us both by surprise. His parents aren’t supposed to be home for another few hours. Crap, crap, crap. I have about two seconds to wipe off my smeared lipstick and fix my mussed ponytail.

We decided to get takeout, Izzy’s mom says, coming into the kitchen with Izzy’s dad. Izzy? Set the — oh, hello. Her surprise is obvious. I’m Sandra.

Whoa. She’s way older than I expected. But I guess that makes sense, given that Izzy’s sister is old enough to be a doctor. Still, it’s kind of weird. Her hair is whiter than my grandma’s.

Styrofoam, Mom? And plastic bags? Plastic forks?! Seriously? Izzy pulls white boxes of food out of the bags, sounding like he’s on the verge of tears. But at least his despair over all the plastic spares me from whatever he was going to declare about our relationship.

And you are? Izzy’s mom asks, ignoring her son as she pulls out a chair for me. I guess I’m staying for supper.

Davis, I answer as I sit down, my voice a squeak.

You know none of this can be recycled, right? Izzy continues. It’s just gonna sit in some landfill for six hundred years.

I want to slide off my chair, slink down to the floor and then crawl out the front door. To escape. I lower my hand under the table and pinch the side of my thigh as hard as I can, desperately hoping that the pain will calm me down.

(Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.)

They’re just takeout containers, Izzy’s dad says. He looks at me and rolls his eyes dramatically, like I’m on his side. He waggles his plastic fork at Izzy and says, You sound exactly like your sister, you know. She was on the radio again today, arguing against the new pipeline.

Yeah, that new pipeline. The one my parents are designing. I cannot let Izzy find that out.

Izzy’s dad shakes his head, scooping a bunch of lemongrass beef onto his plate and then passing me the container. Tar sands this, tar sands that. We spent all that money putting her through med school, and she still hasn’t figured out that they’re called the oil sands?

Okay. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I can make myself invisible and sneak out, and no one will even notice. I reach into my pocket to get my phone so I can text Mom and ask her to come and get me immediately.

But then a hand on mine. Izzy’s. The warm current of electricity lightens me, fills me. Maybe he wasn’t about to break up with me. Maybe when he said, I need . . . all he needed was to go pee. Or study. Or floss. Maybe. Izzy squeezes my hand and looks into my eyes, his gaze so warm, so soft. He smiles, the gentle smile that always melts me. I’ve been crazily in love with him since I met him in the fall, and the almost two months that we’ve been together have been amazing. I’d do anything for this guy. Anything at all.

Davis, here, can tell you all about the Fort Mac tar sands.

Anything at all, except for that.

Everyone’s eyes turn to me. Izzy’s dad lowers his fork from his mouth. Izzy’s mom folds her hands, her lips pressed tightly together.

I know exactly what Izzy wants me to say, the statistics and facts he wants me to rattle off. It’s all environmental stuff I feel super passionate about. But I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t know Izzy’s parents at all. What if they’re like all those angry Albertans who accused me of kicking Fort Mac when it was down? Angry Albertans like my very favourite cousin. It was hard enough enduring that kind of stuff when I was alone with my phone — there’s no way I can face that kind of rage in the middle of this already super-awkward dinner. I shove a huge forkful of lemongrass beef into my mouth, even though I’ve been a vegetarian since I was ten and learned that cow burps heat up our planet. I chew and chew until it’s a liquefied mess that will ooze out the sides of my mouth if I don’t gulp it down this instant.

I swallow. Sadly, I don’t immediately choke and pass out. Everyone is still looking at me, waiting. I give them the shortest possible answer. My parents and I had to leave Fort McMurray because of the fire, I say quietly. It killed Porkchop, our golden lab. And this food is delicious, by the way. Super yummy. Where did you get it?

Way to go, Davis. Way. To. Go. Izzy gave you a test, a last chance. And you blew it. Big time.

When the world’s cringiest dinner finally ends, Izzy follows me out to the front porch to wait for my mom. Izzy plops himself down on the porch swing, taking up the entire seat. Should I try to sit there too? Keep standing? I move to sit down and then take a step back, cross my arms and then uncross them.

I’m sorry, Davis, he says, putting his face in his hands. I can’t do this. It’s not you, it’s me. I keep wanting you to be someone you’re not and — he lets out a long, shaky sigh — I love that you wrote that tweet blaming climate change for killing your dog, shaming oil companies and the tar sands, and that you faced down all that rage and hate. I mean, the stuff that happened to you at school last year? That was hardcore. All because of your badass tweet. I love the Davis who wrote that, but you —

My mom pulls up in our SUV and honks.

Saved by a honk. I run down the steps before Izzy can say anything else. I still have a chance to get him back. I mean, he used the words I, love, you and Davis in a sentence about me. Me. Right? Technically.

But this is not the time for technicalities. This is the time for complete emotional collapse.

And GO.

Renzi really wants to ignore the banging on her door, to just remain locked inside the elegant world of linear functions, tangents and secant lines where all the answers are either right or wrong. But the longer she stays silent, the louder her older brother knocks.

"Renzita! Some papito brought something for you, Lino yells. He’s on the steps outside. Renzi slams her math book shut and stomps across her bedroom to open her door. Her brother grins and hands her a thick red envelope. He didn’t want to come in, but I told him to wait five minutes while I delivered his very early valentine. That one is too cute to send away."

Renzi groans. It must be the Zángano — the fool. Lino crosses his arms and taps his foot, waiting for Renzi to open the envelope. The instant she does, a thick stack of twenties pops out. There’s a note too. For the generator. This is all I have right now, but I can get you more as soon as I get paid. And then a heart with his name.

Caramba. This is all her fault. Renzi had blocked the Zángano’s number over Christmas, but she hadn’t removed him from her Instagram account. He must have seen the picture of the solar-powered generator she’d posted. Her grandparents have been relying on a stinky diesel generator since the twin hurricanes hit Puerto Rico in September, but this solar one costs $2,500 more than Renzi has.

Lino lets out a low whistle. He’s gorgeous and rich, Renzi Chan Cruz. Go!

Renzi hurries to pull on her parka and boots, hating how conflicted she feels. Good thing Jae has gone home already. If she’d been here when the Zángano showed up, things would have turned awkward, fast. But still, the money for the generator is amazing. It will finally let Renzi help her grandparents — her abuelos — for real. Renzi knows her mom is doing everything she can to send as much money as possible to them each month. Mami hasn’t called an electrician to fix the broken outlet upstairs, she’s been taking the train to her office at the university instead of driving, and she hasn’t bought a single pair of new shoes in ages. That last one alone is overwhelming proof that her mom is making major financial sacrifices to help their family in Puerto Rico.

Renzi opens the door and steps outside. She sits down beside Izzy on her front steps and takes his hand in hers, in a totally just friends kind of way. It’s freezing out, but she doesn’t invite him into her townhouse. She’s told him over and over that she really just wants to be single. She can’t let him inside, even though he is a hottie. Even though he’s the only person who sees the connection between this stupid new pipeline project and the hurricanes that decimated Puerto Rico. Letting him inside the house would be too confusing for him — and maybe even for her.

Gracias, she says, kissing him on the cheek. Because that’s what Islanders do. They kiss on the cheek — to say hello, to say goodbye, to say thank you — and that is all this kiss means. And if the Zángano misunderstands, misreads what she’s doing, that isn’t really her fault. Letting him kiss her on the mouth and pull her body tightly against his: that is her fault.

The guilt comes crashing in, and Renzi pulls away. She knows Izzy has a girlfriend, just like she knows kissing Izzy is a betrayal of her very best friend, Jae, who makes barfing noises every time she even sees Izzy. Still, it isn’t easy to break away from Izzy’s embrace. Renzi hasn’t kissed anyone since she broke up with Camilo in the summer, and making out with the Zángano is even nicer, sweeter, than she had imagined it would be. A bit sloppier too. Izzy, I know you’re with that Davis girl, she says. She stands up, knowing that she has to make Izzy leave before this goes any further.

Who? the Zángano replies. He stands up, too, and leans in for another kiss. Renzi steps back and Izzy stumbles forward, but Renzi chooses not to catch him. You have a girlfriend. I’m not —

I mostly broke up with her, Izzy rushes to say.

Mostly? Renzi raises both eyebrows. What the actual hell does that even mean?

You know how I feel about you, and Davis is just way too nee— Renzi puts out her hands, fingers stretched to the pitch-black sky. Stop. Stop right there. The temperature outside plummets. It might be the cold wind picking up. Or it might be the ice daggers shooting from her eyeballs because Izzy almost called his girlfriend needy.

Too needing of time and space. And the chance to be on her own, Izzy continues. He smiles sadly and sighs. Davis has gone through so much, and I think she needs to take the time to see how strong she really is. To see that she can stand on her own without a guy complicating things, you know?

Right. But Renzi did know. She’d told Izzy essentially the same thing about herself when he asked her out at Halloween, and again in November and again right after the Christmas break. She completely hates that she’s so attracted to him, so drawn to him, but at least his persistence never quite crosses the line from frustrating to creepy.

I don’t want to pressure you, Izzy says, shoving his hands in his pockets. I respect you way too much to do that. But when you’re ready, Renz, I’m here.

Oh, God. Not these same lines again. Sometimes Renzi wonders if Izzy has convinced himself he is in love with her solely because she refuses to date him. She walks to her front door to let herself back inside, but the Zángano doesn’t take the hint. He’s too busy texting.

There. Done, he says, holding out his phone for Renzi to see. There is a long string of texts from Davis, followed by three that the Zángano just sent.

Izzy: I need some time alone

Izzy: I need to end things between us

Izzy: You’re better off without me

Renzi doesn’t bother to stifle her groan. She’s reminded again of why she calls Izzy the Zángano. The fool.

The night air is brutally cold and Jae’s belly is uncomfortably full, but the pain is worth it. Renzi’s mom had made a vegan sancocho just for her, Puerto Rican beef stew without the beef. The food was amazing, but it wasn’t even close to the best part of eating at Renzi’s house. The bright orange tablecloth and the fuchsia walls, the salsa music playing while they laughed and talked, and the questions and hugs and genuine interest in Jae’s thoughts and ideas — all of that was so radically unlike the sterile silence of Jae’s McMansion. And her hermetically sealed mother. Jae eats with Renzi, Lino and their mom, Marisol, at least once a week. She wishes it were more often.

But she doesn’t want to