Gang Girl Page 2

  “Oh no,” her mother cried when she went downstairs. “That is just awful.”

  “Mother, it’s what everyone wears. I don’t want to be singled out. I can choose my own clothes. I’m sixteen.”

  “Your father would not agree. But I won’t tell him if you promise to come with me to the Petrovs’ on Friday night. And wear something pretty.”

  Thinking fast, Sasha said, “There’s a meeting of those popular girls I told you about on Friday night. I think they like me. And I want to get in with the leaders of the school. Maybe I should go.” As her mother compared the benefits of the Petrovs and the student leaders, Sasha ran upstairs to grab her books.

  Sasha kept her head down during that first week. So much was happening so fast. She figured out how to read her schedule. She signed up for an advanced ESL course. She surfed the web for the latest clothes. Jake said “hi’” all the time and started coming around her locker in the morning. The CREW hadn’t said any more about Friday. And her mother was on her about the Petrovs’ party.

  On Friday morning on her way to class, she ran into a wall of CREW. All four girls were waiting outside her classroom. Sasha recognized them, but this was her chance to look at them up close.

  Martha again led the pack. She was tall with sleek dark hair caught loosely at the back. This time her uniform style was a navy blue pencil skirt and blue blazer. Her eyes floated over Sasha. When Sasha stared back, Martha shifted from wide-open curiosity to squinty suspicion. “Somebody’s got money,” she said. “Are those Guess jeans?” Her voice sounded like she’d been smoking for years.

  Sasha passed her eyes quickly across Martha’s outfit. With her mother’s eye for clothing details, she noticed Martha’s jacket was a little frayed at the cuffs.

  Figuring Martha was trying to make friends, Sasha said, “No, they’re Russian knock-offs. I could get you some cheap.”

  “Do you think I need knock-offs?” Martha snapped.

  “No, of course not. I just meant . . .”

  Before it went any further, Anzuela cut in, “Hi, Sasha. Remember me?”

  Martha said, “More to the point. Do you remember us?” She was definitely the leader.

  Sasha nodded.

  “Okay, Zorro, you’re her control, so give her the details. Tonight, seven o’clock.” Then she turned to Sasha. “Oh, a reminder,” she said. “I don’t think Jake is available. You wouldn’t want to step on someone’s toes.”

  They all walked away except Anzuela. The tiny girl said, “We’re having a meeting tonight to discuss ways we can volunteer and raise money for good causes. Can you come? The seniors’ computer thing is a real opportunity for us — to help, of course.”

  Good! It would get Sasha out of going to the Petrovs’. And Sasha could check out the CREW more closely.

  “Sure,” she said. “Where? And who’s Zorro?”

  “Oh, that’s me.” Anzuela said. “I’ll explain later when I pick you up. I’ve got a car. What’s your address and phone number?” She pointed to Sasha’s cell. “I’ll text when I’m out front.” Sasha wrote down her information and Anzuela put it into her phone.

  “I should take yours too,” Sasha said.

  “Uh, not right now. I have a couple of phones, one for CREW business and one for everything else. Everyone in the CREW does. This is my business phone. I’ll put your information into my private one too. See you later.”

  Sasha went through the rest of the day in a daze. Both her parents would be impressed if she made powerful friends in the first week. She couldn’t wait until tonight.

  Chapter 4

  Stepping Up

  Sasha headed to her Political Thinking class, wondering how different it would be from the politics classes at home. Did she miss Moscow? She wasn’t sure. She liked the free way the kids acted and talked to the teachers here. It was a little disrespectful but more equal. In Russia, the teachers were always making fun of kids in front of everyone. They never talked to them as adults.

  Everyone here seemed to have more fun. Sasha actually looked forward to going to school every day.

  She kind of missed her father, although she’d never seen him much. They had promised to Skype on the weekend, so she would talk to him the next day. Sasha didn’t know exactly what her father did in his office as a minister of justice. But sometimes he could be a little scary with his loud voice and threats to “remove” this person and that one. Sasha knew to stay out of his way when a scandal in the government came up. It usually meant his position was in question.

  Social media criticism from outside Russia was the worst. One tweet from an American said: The story is that he can get you anything for a big enough payoff.

  Another story that had swirled around was a controversy from the Russian Consulate here in Toronto. Somehow it involved her father. But that had been months ago, long before she’d even known she’d be moving here.

  Her friends in Russia believed her father was evil. They thought everyone in government was evil. They talked all the time about how they could be the ones to topple the corrupt government. But they hung around her because of her father’s money and influence. And because, with her talent, they were able to find out all kinds of things. They (Sasha, really) hacked the computers of rich and famous Russians and used the information to damage reputations and make up scandal — anything to embarrass celebrities.

  Sasha’s one true friend was Kristina. She was another minister’s daughter and understood the pressure Sasha was under. But unlike Sasha, Kristina didn’t get herself into trouble.

  Sasha had never gotten into really bad trouble until two months ago. What had finally her sent away was hacking into the personal files of the prime minister of Russia. Sasha had found out the old guy was messing around with a young woman — definitely not his sixty-year-old wife. In fact, the up-and-coming ballet star was only eighteen years old.

  Her friends had loved it. This was top information. Maybe this was just the bit they needed to embarrass the government.

  Sasha’s father had got wind of the hack just before the scandal went viral. Sasha’s friends had posted it on a Russian gossip news site. But her father told her that all the posts had been removed before they went further. The rumour was that her friends had been taken to a quiet, isolated place. Her father said they would not be seen for a long time. Sasha had never seen him so angry.

  So that was the punishment for them all — except Sasha. Her father’s position made it possible to wipe her record clean and banish her to Canada with her mother for two years. The others were still in jail as far as she knew. Sasha didn’t know much about North American prisons except from American movies. But Russian jails, from what she’d heard, were much, much worse. She was thankful she was here instead of in a small, dirty place, cut off completely from everyone and everything. But when she thought of her former friends, her luck at being her father’s daughter made her feel guilty.

  In laying out the rules before she’d left for Canada, her father had told her she needed to become more serious.

  “You need twenty-four-hour watching and your mother will be in charge. If you act out, I will put bodyguards on you. I don’t care if it’s the custom in Canada or not.” He told her that with better English and experience in international living, maybe — just maybe — she’d be able to make something of herself.

  Sasha had wondered at the time: why Canada? Why not Europe, or even another part of Russia, as long as it was away from her friends? The story about the controversy in the Russian Consulate in Canada flickered through her mind. Whatever it was, Sasha knew that everything her father did had a purpose for his good.

  Kristina had told her there were whispers throughout Moscow’s elite about why Sasha and her mother were going away. But nothing was ever published.

  Her mother never discussed her father’s job. Once, when Sasha asked her about a “corr
uption” comment she’d overheard, her mother had said, “Don’t listen to such garbage. Whatever he does for work is not our concern. He takes care of us. That’s what is important.”

  That didn’t really satisfy Sasha, but she didn’t really care. She lived off her father’s actions and his money. And she’d rather be here than in prison with her friends. It was a constant reminder that if she messed up, she could be there with them.

  Luckily, her mother had her own agenda here: parties, shopping, and other social events. So she wasn’t as attentive as her father thought. Sasha was allowed some freedom, especially when it involved the CREW.

  That morning her mother had told her she wanted to take Sasha shopping. Sasha had plucked the credit card out of her mother’s hand and said she had a friend from school she would go with. Alone at the mall after school, Sasha looked at what the other girls were wearing. Jeans, leggings, tops cut low in the front, or up above the belly button. Hair mostly long and straight, sometimes cut short and shaved on one side. And so many clothes in one place. How could you choose?

  She got home two hours later to find her mother pacing the living room. She grabbed Sasha by the shoulders. “Where were you? Your father called. Who is that friend?” Finally she stepped back and looked at her daughter. “What have you done to your beautiful curls?”

  “Mother, I just had my hair straightened. This is how the other girls have their hair and I want to fit in. And I bought some clothes too. Do you want to see?” She ran with her packages up to her room.

  “I don’t know. You are changing every day. How can I trust you?” her mother called after her.

  When Sasha came down again, her tight black leggings and grey T-shirt that ended at her midriff dropped her mother into a chair. Her mother was speechless, something Sasha had never seen before. Before she could say anything, Sasha ran upstairs again, shouting, “You’ll like this one better!” This time, high leather boots and a leather skirt to mid-thigh showed off Sasha’s long legs.

  “And now something for you, Mother,” she called before descending a third time. She wore a blue floral dress that ended just above her knees. It had short, flowing sleeves and straps crossing her back. Her mother just nodded and went to her own room, probably to complain to her father.

  But now she had clothes and friends. Sasha was sure she would fit in.

  Chapter 5

  Different Names, Different Games

  At 7:00 p.m., Anzuela’s text came. “I’m leaving now,” Sasha called to her mother. Wearing her new leather boots and skirt, she figured she looked perfect for the meeting.

  Outside, a cute little Smart car was pulled up. After getting in and putting on her seat belt, Sasha looked over at her new friend with a smile that quickly faded. Cute little Anzuela was now dressed in very short shorts and tight, layered tank tops. The one on the outside said Bring it on.

  Anzuela stomped on the gas pedal and the tires squealed. “We don’t want to be late,” she said. “Master doesn’t like it when we’re late.”

  They parked in front of a mansion. It was dark except for faint light coming out of the window of the front room. Sasha followed Anzuela and noticed that those shorts revealed shapely and very adult legs. Anzuela knocked on the door with a tap-tap, pause, tap-tap. Beryl opened the door, checked around the neighbourhood, and closed it behind the three of them.

  The house was silent. The only sound was the scrape of lawn chairs on the living room tiles as Martha and Beryl sat down. The light came from dozens of candles. Frances sat in her wheelchair. Anzuela and Sasha sat on the floor.

  When she sat down and looked around, Sasha realized all the girls’ name tags had changed: “Master” for Martha, “Fringe” for Frances, “Zorro” for Anzuela, and “BB” for Beryl.

  Master handed a name tag to Sasha that said “Sage.”

  “These are just the quirky names we use for each other,” Master explained. “You’re Sage because you are wise with the computer. So from now on, when we’re together we call each other by these names. It’s kind of like a secret club.”

  “What is this place?” Sasha asked putting the name tag around her neck. “And where are the other volunteers?”

  Master waved her hand around the room. “Oh, this place? My father’s in real estate — expensive real estate. Whenever there’s an empty house around, he lets us use it for a meeting. Nice, isn’t it?”

  “And we wanted to talk to you about a particular job,” added Zorro. “You know, take the time to fill you in personally. So we didn’t invite anyone else. Does that make sense?”

  “I guess,” Sasha answered. It was a little weird, but kind of exciting too. She definitely wanted to know more about the CREW.

  All the girls looked different than they did at school. Unlike Sasha, their clothes were more attention-grabbing than stylish. Master’s long hair was on top of her head in a tower of black. Her slashed jeans ended in black cowboy boots. Zorro’s shorts were even shorter than Sasha had first realized, and showed off the cheeks of her bum. Fringe looked ten years older than a high school girl. Her white silk shirt was open almost to her navel and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her black wide-legged pants draped her legs. It was BB’s hair and English accent, rather than clothes, that set her apart. Her curly red hair was an aura around her face. Like Sasha had worn earlier in the day, BB was in black jeans and a sweater.

  “Let me tell you about our little CREW, Sasha,” Master said in her smoky voice. “I know we look different from how we do at school. But that’s just our style. At school and with our volunteer gigs, we have to look the part of leaders. We go a little wild when we’re alone. So next time, you might want to dress down a bit.”

  “Sure,” Sasha said. She could take a hint. Her new, perfect leather outfit was over the top.

  “Now,” Master said as she turned to the rest of the girls. “Work before pleasure. What are the jobs on our list?”

  BB pulled out her phone and faced the others. “We have three dog-walking jobs. The money we get will go toward the fencing in of the dog park.” Her eager smile was rewarded by Master’s nod. “And I collected seventy-two dollars from a nice guy I met on the bus. That will go to kids’ transportation.”

  BB pulled her hair up, tying it back with an elastic from her pocket. Then she got up from her chair and handed a wallet to Master, turning her back to Sasha and the others.

  That’s odd, Sasha thought. Was it BB’s hair pulled back? Her jeans? The sight triggered a memory of the scene she witnessed on the bus. Of course she couldn’t be sure because she never did see the girl’s face, but . . .

  Sasha decided to forget it. She did not want to stir up trouble now for no reason.

  “Now the job for you, Sage,” Master was saying, “is to visit the Garden Seniors’ Residence. You will help the old people set up bank accounts on their computers. We’ve already volunteered there lots of times, reading to the residents, playing games with them, taking them out for walks. But with your talent we can really help them become more independent. That’s what they really want.”

  Sasha asked, “When?”

  “Zorro and you will go over there after school on Monday, okay?” Master told her. Sasha nodded. “You’ll need police clearance to work with seniors, but we have several forms already signed by the head of the residence. She knows we send volunteers there. As long as it’s filled in and sent, and you have a passport and immigration papers, you’re good to go.”

  “I have them,” said Sasha.

  “Bring them with you on Monday,” Zorro added.

  “So, Sage,” Master drawled. She leaned back into her lawn chair. “What’s your story? Other than that you’re good with computers.”

  Sasha felt a bit uneasy being the centre of attention. “You know I come from Russia,” she started. “My father is with the government there. My mother and I live in a house in Rose
dale. We came so I can learn English.” New friends didn’t need to know about old friends.

  “Whoa, Rosedale,” said Fringe. “That’s big money.” As Zorro nudged her, she added, “But you speak very good English.”

  “I learned in school. But it’s not good enough. My father says it must be perfect. But I like it here, so it’s okay.”

  “That’s all the good stuff. What about the bad stuff?” Master peered into Sasha’s face. “Isn’t your father a minister of justice in Russia? At least that’s what I read — that the minister’s daughter and wife were making a sudden move to Canada. Would that be you? Why did you really move to Canada, Sasha?”

  Where would Master have read that? Sasha knew that the story of the hacking was posted for about a day on a Russian social media site. But it had been quickly taken down. Sasha’s alarm at the question must have shown on her face.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Sage,” said Master. “It was probably just fake news. There seems to be a lot of misinformation that comes out of Russia.

  “Anyway let’s celebrate your new family, the CREW,” Master went on. She pulled a bottle of vodka and plastic glasses from her bag. “I figured you’d like vodka, since you’re from Russia and all. We all love it.” She opened the bottle, poured some of the liquor into each of the glasses, and passed them around. “What do you say in Russia for cheers, Sage?”

  Chapter 6

  A Crack in the CREW

  Sasha had never expected that after less than one week at her new school she’d be drinking vodka with a group of girls.

  “We say na zdorovie to toast,” said Sasha. “It means ‘To your health.’” And she raised her glass to her new friends.