by Lucy Cuthew
a piggyback home,
how much more momentum
would we have
than if we were walking alone—
“Frankie?” says Mr B.
I look up.
“Yes, sir?” I say
with desperation,
hoping he’ll
repeat the question.
But he just points at the board
and waits,
and time ticks by
as I try to calculate
the answer to the equation.
“How about you, Marie?”
asks Mr B.
“Is it sixty?” she tries,
glancing at me.
But just in time,
I get there.
“Actually, it’s sixty-nine,”
I say to the class
and everyone laughs.
(But Mr B doesn’t like
that I can get the answer right
without even listening.)
(And neither does Marie.)
“Concentrate, Frankie,”
is all he says.
AFTER
I wait outside for Marie
with a dull ache
in my belly,
but she passes by
and blanks me.
“What’s up with you?”
I ask.
She stops and gives me a filthy look,
like I’m scum of the earth.
“Er … Harriet?” she says,
like that’s enough.
“What about her?”
I ask, wondering if
anything new
has happened
that I don’t know.
“Wow. Really?
Frankie, she’s meant to be,
like, your best mate.
And yesterday she had
the worst day,
and when she really needed you,
you were too busy judging
to listen to her.”
I blink slowly.
So that’s Harriet’s story?
Nothing about her
trying to get me
into trouble?
“What happened with
Mr Adamson?” I ask.
“Ask her yourself.”
“Marie!” I plead. “Just tell me.
I saw her this morning.
Did he call the police?”
Marie sighs, and faces me.
“She got detention,
like, every day
after school.
And you
didn’t
even
message
last night.
Don’t you care
about her?”
“Of course I do.”
“You’ve got a funny way
of showing it.”
“I … I was…
I didn’t know
what to say.”
“Anything would have been
better than nothing.”
“They didn’t call
the police though.
That’s good.”
But Marie just
shakes her head
and walks off.
THE CHANGING ROOM
Harriet has successfully
spread the word
that we had a fight
and I’m the baddie.
At lunch I grab a baguette
and eat it behind the trees,
where I can see
the boys doing rugby.
I watch Benjamin(’s thighs)
and compose my reply
to his question
about carrying me home.
I try to write something sexy,
but that’s Harriet’s style,
so in the end
I just put OK.
Immediately after trials,
he replies to me, saying,
Great! Meet you at the gate.
I go to PE, feeling
(for the first time
since mine and Harriet’s fight)
happy.
In the changing room
Harriet and the girls ignore me.
Instead they
comb over and over
Harriet’s drama
and how shit it is
that everyone is sharing
the photo Jackson took of it.
It’s the talk of the school.
We all know there’ll be
something new tomorrow.
But anyway, I don’t want to speak.
I’m too excited, wondering
whether Benjamin might
actually try to carry me.
So I just put on my leggings,
T-shirt and trainers
in silence, with my
inappropriate thoughts
safely sealed behind my lips.
“Whatever
you’re smiling about,”
Harriet says, pushing past me,
“I’m not asking,
so get out of my face.”
I didn’t even know
I was smiling.
This thing between
Benjamin and me
is making me feel giddy.
It’s like air.
You can’t see it,
but it’s comprised
of a myriad of
infinitesimally
small particles
of unimaginable
complexity and beauty.
Not even Harriet
being snarky
bothers me.
In the gym
we form a circle
for warm-up,
Harriet opposite me,
scowling.
And when we play basketball,
I go on the opposite team
to mark Harriet.
I’m so bouncy,
I absolutely kill it.
AFTER GYM
After gym
I’m sticky
and sweating.
I sniff myself.
I stink and
I’m walking home
with Benjamin.
Hardly anyone ever
has a shower
(they’re open-plan)
but I decide to do it anyway.
I strip and grab a towel
and with as much dignity
as I can, say,
“I need a shower today,
so look away.”
And to my amazement,
Leylah, Marie, Bethany
and the others
do what I say.
And I realize that I can be
pretty brave.
CHANGING-ROOM TALK
While I’m in the shower,
Harriet says, “Wow, she’s brave.”
And Leylah says, “Yeah.
I would never
have a shower in school.”
Then Bethany says,
“Me neither. For a start I can’t
wash my hair, cos of the dye.
But anyway, I hate these bits,
and these bits here.”
Leylah says, “You’ve got
a beautiful body, Beth.”
And Bethany says,
“Aw, thanks, babe.”
“You’re so gay, Leylah,”
Harriet chips in.
“And?” says Leylah.
“All right, Ley.
Keep your tits on,”
Harriet replies.
“Anyway, I meant Frankie is
brave sending Mr B
this picture of herself…”
She holds up my phone.
I hear the sound
of a message sending
and I’m already running,
slipping on wet tiles
as I hear Marie shout,
“HARRY! YOU
DID
NOT
SEND
THAT?!”
BETRAYAL
I grab
my phone
out of her hand.
Harriet has taken
a picture of me.
In the shower.
Naked.
“Tell me you have not
sent this to Mr B,” I gasp,
frantically swiping
to find my sent items.
I can feel tears coming.
“Calm down,” Harriet says.
“Of course I haven’t.
I only sent it to the girls.
I’m just having a laugh.
Lighten up, won’t you?”
The girls get out their phones
and Bethany says,
“We’ll all delete it,
won’t we?”
Leylah nods and looks shocked.
“It’s gone,” she says.
“Jesus, Harriet,”
Marie says.
“Get some bloody
boundaries.”
I delete it,
then shove my phone
back in the front pocket
of my bag.
“Calm down,” says Harriet.
“I’m just
joking.”
As I return to the shower
I feel her eyes
like a knife in my back.
REVENGE
I turn off the tap.
Dry myself.
Pull on my uniform.
Take deep breaths.
There is total silence.
No one knows
what to say.
And I know
it’s a low blow
but I really want to
get Harriet back.
My mind goes to the
Silent Ladies’ Agreement
to NOT bring up how
in primary school,
year two,
Harriet pooed
in the middle of assembly.
She’s crossed a line.
I will too.
I shake out my wet hair,
then pause in front of her.
“See ya later,
Harriet Plopper.”
The others gasp,
but they also laugh.
And that’s good enough
for me.
I leave the changing room,
stepping outside,
my still-damp skin
tingling in the wind,
feeling
like
a warrior,
to meet Benjamin.
NIGHTCLUB THIGHS
On my way across the playground,
Mrs Lovelie, who takes PSHE
(and is not at all lovely),
shouts across the yard at me.
“Frankie Young!
Roll your skirt down!
You’re in a school playground,
not on a nightclub podium!”
Then she walks out of the gate,
right past Benjamin,
who is wearing
tiny
little
rugby shorts
over his
rugby-tight thighs.
His are the legs
that should be
on a podium.
BIOLOGY
Benjamin is leaning
against the school wall.
I watch his shoulders riSe and fall
as though the air inside him
is riding him
from within.
The late spring wind
sweeps the clouds aside
and in the sudden sun
his white rugby top glows bright.
I blink against his blinding light.
I step a little closer,
my arm muscles stiffening
with a nervously tense,
trembly feeling
as I tap his shoulder.
He’s waiting for me
and
oh my life,
I can’t NOT see his thighs.
Benjamin turns and gives me
a grin with dimples
– a thing of beauty,
a gift from the gods –
and I find my mind
s
l
i
p
s
to the word
bite.
God, I want to
bite his thighs.
“Hop on,” he says
with a nod to his back.
I want to ride him
all the way home
but I’m not sure
if it’s rude,
considering what I’m thinking
is not what he’s offering.
“No, really, it’s fine,” I say.
“OK,” says Benjamin,
with a shrug of his shoulders,
which makes
the blood rush
to my cheeks
and down below
I feel a tingle.
“Can I still walk you
home?” he asks.
I nod,
my heart in my mouth,
my mind in my pants.
As we leave,
I see Harriet
through the window.
She’s sitting in the corridor
outside the head’s office.
She looks worried,
and I feel guilty,
which is annoying
because her drama
is nothing to do with me.
Or not any more
anyway.
She made it that way.
THE SPACE BETWEEN US
On the way home,
the space between
Benjamin and me
seems to shrink
as we chat
until gradually
our shoulders are bumping.
“Have you seen that photo?”
he asks,
and I think for a moment
he means the naked one of me,
then I wonder if he means
the picture from Harriet
to Mr B.
But then he adds,
“Of the black hole?”
And I’m so relieved.
It’s cool he’s into
the same stuff as me.
Talking to him is so easy.
I nod.
“It blows my mind.
Do you ever think
how we’re so lucky?
Like, witnessing
so many things that
the human eye
has never seen before.
We’re living through history.”
“I’ve never thought about it
like that,” he says.
“You’re right.
It’s so easy
to take for granted
all the amazing things
we’ve seen
because of photography.”
And briefly,
I think about Harriet
and the things people have seen
because of her photography.
EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM
I like how
when Benjamin talks
his voice goes soft,
like he’s singing.
I like how
when he walks
his curly hair bounces,
like he’s on the
sprung floor
of the gymnasium.
I like how
even though they’re mates,
he knows
Jackson hasn’t grown up
at all since primary school.
I like how
he asks what I think about things
that are actually interesting.
I like how
as we walk home
his ideas seem to change
and wrap around mine
so that what we are saying
seems to be creating
some kind of new meaning
in the shrinking space
between us.
I like
how
he stops beside
the railings of the park again
to kiss me,
just like this morning.
I like
where this is going.
I like everything about him.
FINGERS
As we near my house,
I find
that my mind
wanders from
our conversation
so I’m not
thinking about
anything much
because all
I want to do
is touch
Benjamin
and it’s strangely
peaceful to find
my mind
is mostly
in my fingers.
HOW DO YOU GET THERE?
We reach my house.
There’s no one home,
and in the doorway
Benjamin stands
teetering on the threshold
with his dimpled grin
and his shoulders
rising and falling.
I want to
grab him
and pull him in.
Our mouths say goodbye
but our bodies linger
because
(I think)
our fingers
have other ideas.
“Do you want to come in?
There’s nobody home.”
He shrugs. “OK.”
And just like that
he steps in.
He puts down his bag
and takes off his trainers.
He’s not wearing socks
so it’s weird for a second
because Benjamin’s
naked feet
are touching my carpet.
I’ve seen bare feet
a million times before,
but now they seem
completely obscene.
I stare at his feet
and start to feel hot
so I take off my shoes
and I take off my socks
and I take off my tie.
And my shirt falls open
and Benjamin’s eyes
fall on my bra.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask.
Benjamin nods
and swallows so loudly
I actually hear it.
I go to the kitchen
but all I’m thinking is:
how do we get from
here