The Falls Read Free Page B

side, Timmy on the other. I sank my teeth into the donut. I was hungry, and the taste of the chocolate was still slightly stronger than that of the cigarette smoke.
    Timmy had set down his coffee and pushed the last little bit of the donut into his mouth. He then pulled out a small pocketknife, opened it up, and started carving something in the table.
    â€œCan I ask you a question?”
    Timmy shrugged. “Ask away.”
    â€œDo you think . . . do you think I’m a loser?”
    â€œYou?” Timmy asked, sounding surprised.
    That made me feel better. “Yeah, do you?”
    â€œNo way.” He kept carving away at the table. “I
used
to think you were, though.”
    â€œUsed to? What does that mean?”
    â€œA long time ago. Like back in Grade 7.”
    â€œI’d just moved back here in Grade 7 . . . I didn’t even
know
you,” I said.
    â€œI didn’t know you either . . . not really.”
    â€œBut if you didn’t know me, how could you think I was a loser?”
    â€œWell . . . I don’t know,” Timmy said. He kept cutting into the top of the table. It looked like he was carving his initials.
    â€œWell, if you don’t
know
, and you didn’t even really
know
me, I don’t know how you could think
anything
about me.”
    â€œIt’s just some of the things you said.”
    â€œI don’t remember saying anything to you. We didn’t start hanging out until Grade 8.”
    â€œIt wasn’t something you said to me, it was . . . it’s nothing,” he mumbled.
    â€œIt’s got to be something. Just spit it out.”
    He didn’t answer. He just kept digging the knife into the wood. He almost had the “T” completed.
    â€œWhat did I say?” I asked.
    Timmy looked up at me. “Do you remember Career Day?”
    â€œCareer Day? What are you talking about?”
    â€œIn Grade 7 they had a Career Day. People came in to talk to everybody about what they did for a living, and all the kids went and heard different people speak.”
    â€œYeah . . . I guess I remember that . . . so what?”
    â€œYou and me were in one of the sessions together,” Timmy said.
    â€œYeah, if you say so.”
    â€œAnd we each had to say what we wanted to be when we grew up. Do you remember?”
    â€œI remember that—sort of—but I don’t remember you being there. There were lots of kids in the group.”
    â€œI think there were like twenty or thirty,” Timmy said. “Kids from all different classes.”
    â€œWell, obviously you remember me. What did I say?”
    â€œYou mostly just sat and listened while everybody talked about how they wanted to be a professional hockey player or a hairdresser or a rock star. When it was your turn you said you wanted to be an engineer,”Timmy explained. “And I remember thinking, ‘What sort of a goof would want to drive a train?’”
    â€œNot a train driver, you idiot!” I snapped.
    â€œI know that now. I found out later that it had to do with building things.”
    â€œThat’s a structural engineer,” I said. “There’s lots of different types. Chemical, medical, aerospace, mechanical—”
    â€œYeah, whatever,” Timmy interrupted. “That’s when I started thinking you were a loser. At least driving a train made
some
sense.”
    â€œAnd what doesn’t make sense about being an engineer?” I asked.
    â€œHow long you got to go to school to be one of those?” Timmy asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Five, maybe six or seven years of university, I guess.”
    â€œAnd how much does it cost to go to university for a year?”
    â€œI don’t know exactly. A lot of money.”
    â€œAnd to even get into one of those schools don’t you have to have, like, really, really high marks?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œSo to