Just Breathe

by Andrew Daddo

  ‘You could just call him awful.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Politically Correct, you need to harden up. So how would the training work? What, is he going to come around here and get on the hypoxic mask? Is that what you reckon?’

  Dad fixed me with the look that used to make me cry when I was younger.

  ‘Nah, not that. Just run after school, maybe? A few short ones round the Tan. It’d be kind of fun to run with someone else. He’s a good guy.’

  ‘I’m just not sure how that’s going to fit, Hendrix. You don’t think your training’s been worked out well enough? Besides, the Tan’s a goat track, have you seen it?’ Dad was chasing a pea around his plate with a fork while he talked.

  ‘Yeah. We’ve run round it for school. It’s no big deal.’ Today, I thought. I did it today.

  ‘What is it, three k’s? Four maybe?’

  ‘It’s about four, I think. Maybe a little under.’ I knew it was 3.8 k’s exactly because the distance was on my watch. I’d logged the run, like always.

  Dad left the pea in peace and stared at me. ‘A little under four, you say. How about, 3.8?’ His mood had definitely switched. ‘And Anderson Street’s maybe 500 metres? So if someone did two laps and, say, four sprints up and jogged back down. Walked back down even. Let’s see, that would be getting close to a twelve-kilometre afternoon, wouldn’t it.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said, but I was dying inside. He had me cold.

  ‘And you did that today while you were studying in the library, did you?’

  How could he know? I could feel myself heating up, turning red.

  ‘Nah, I was going to, but then I –’

  Dad shook his head. He stabbed the pea with his fork, making the sides split. Everything seemed to slow down.

  ‘Yes, you did.’ He nodded while I shook my head. ‘You did. After school. Your watch syncs to my phone, remember? You walk within ten metres of me and your stats download, remember? So why don’t you tell me what you’re up to.’

  I was trapped. My heart pounded in my ears and I needed to shit. There had to be a way out. I could say someone took my watch. Or, I lent it to Ethan to try out while I was at the library, while I was studying. That could work.

  ‘I lent it to Ethan,’ I said evenly.

  ‘Did ya?’ said Dad, pulling out his phone. He would have gone straight to the Garmin app and pulled up the run from this afternoon. ‘He’s shit, isn’t he? Slow runner. Maybe he was foxing because his heart rate’s amazing. He’s fit, right? Wow.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded. ‘Pretty fit.’

  ‘He sure is. He barely gets into the moderate range. It’s like he’s walking up there. What a slug. But then, later, on another run. What’s this?’ And he swiped his thumb across his phone, from one screen to another, with a massive frown dividing his forehead. ‘It’s like he was sprinting up there. Wow. And not once, but four times. Bizarre. He’s messing with you I think, Hendrix. I think your mate Ethan’s taking the piss, and we’d better take him seriously.’

  Was Dad taking the piss? He had to know it was me. As if I’d let someone use my watch. It’s like letting someone use your toothbrush.

  ‘Nah, I don’t reckon he’s foxing,’ I said. ‘He plays footy, he’s fit. You saw him. He’s just got a crappy running style.’

  ‘Yep, but you can fix a spazwit, for sure. And you want to train with him? To help him? Are you sure you want to do that?’ Dad’s voice was up. He actually thought it was Ethan. That would put me in the clear.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind running with him. Not all the time, but sometimes, you know? It’d be fun.’

  ‘Yeah, fun. I remember that.’ He looked so serious.

  ‘Do you?’ I said, smiling, trying to lighten the vibe.

  ‘Yeah, of course I do. And it should be fun. I tell you what, you can run with him, but be smart about it. And log everything. Every single thing. So at least I know what you’ve been doing, how hard you’re going. In fact, maybe we should set a plan in place for when you run with Ethan. Warm-ups, running, sprints. And we can work that into your overall program.’

  I was like, ‘Great.’ And how good was it? I could run with Ethan a day a week, maybe two. We could do the Tan, and maybe we’d see those girls again, especially if we kept it to Tuesdays. That would actually be really, really good. I relaxed. I felt the heat falling like a tide from my head to my chest and beyond. My heart backed off to an excited patter, but it wasn’t the fearful thump that’d been there moments before.

  All good.

  Dad punished me in the morning.

  It was a brutal training, as if we were starting back from a long break and there were miles he wanted to get into my legs. It could have been the Anderson Street hills I’d done last night, a lactic residue from not warming down properly. But it felt like more, like Dad knew I’d done the hill training, because those were the muscles he was after. He kept me on the mask the whole time. I knew the idea was to restrict the oxygen and make everything more difficult, but it was one of those training sessions where I actually needed air.

  And the gear he’d put out, it was exactly the same gear I’d worn yesterday. Same shorts, same top, socks, everything. Out of my cupboard.

  He knew, but wasn’t letting on.

  At school, Ethan loped up to my locker and whined about how his legs hurt. I was able to look him in the eye and say mine did, too.

  ‘It was fun, yesterday,’ he said. ‘Kind of. Running’s not really that much fun.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, swapping books from my bag to my locker. ‘But how about those girls?’

  ‘Which girls?’ He was kidding, of course. He knew what I was talking about. Even though he played footy and was pretty popular, he wasn’t so popular he wouldn’t remember what had happened.

  ‘So, do you know who that girl was? What was her name? Stephanie? Who do you reckon she is?’ It was meant to sound off-hand, like it didn’t mean anything. I made sure not to look at him, not that he was taking much notice of me. There was some rumbling going on up the hall but a teacher had hold of it, ruining it for everyone.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘Who’s who?’

  ‘That girl Steph? Was it Stephanie? The one yesterday. The one you told I was gay.’ I was meaning to ask why he’d done that. ‘What if she thinks I am gay?’

  Ethan had his back to the lockers and was bouncing off them. ‘Oh my God, you are, aren’t ya?’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘You want to meet her?’

  I stuck my lip out. ‘Hmmm, wouldn’t mind, I s’pose. She looked alright, didn’t she?’

  ‘You know who she is, right?’ He was in front of me with his arms folded across his chest. Challenging me.

  ‘Nup,’ I said, trying to look like I wasn’t really fussed.

  ‘Give us your phone.’ His hand was out.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll show you who she is.’ I handed over my phone. ‘She’s kind of famous, though. She’s got, like, sixteen thousand followers. Oh, shit. Let me check something.’ Then he tapped and scrolled and swiped without telling me what he was up to. I tried to look, but he carried on like a smart kid in a test who wouldn’t share his answers. ‘And,’ he said. ‘Holy shit, I cannot believe this. Hang on. Oh, wow. You are gonna thank me!’

  ‘What?’ I said, my hand out for my phone.

  ‘You’re following her. And …’

  ‘What?’ I got my phone back.

  ‘You’ve liked her last thirty or so photos. Stalk-errrr!’

  ‘You fucker!’ I lashed out at him. ‘Why would you do that?’ I was properly pissed off.

  ‘It’s alright, mate. Now she’ll know you’re alive.’

  ‘She already thinks I’m gay,’ I wailed.

  It was way too loud a thing to be saying in a crowded hallway at school.

  ‘You gay?’ said some Year Twelve with a heavy growth busting out across his chin. ‘Good one,’ he nodded.

  It gets better, I thought. ‘Undo it,’ I said to Ethan
, ignoring the other bloke.

  ‘You can’t. Once you like, you can’t unlike. Or you can, but they still get the push that you liked, and then unliked, which is worse. You might as well just like her photos. Besides, what’s not to like?’

  He was right about that. Stephanie Abay definitely had shit going on.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. She’s got sixteen thousand followers. Like she goes through her photos and sees who likes them. Who does that?’

  I knew I did.

  Ethan brought me out of the funk. ‘You’ll be right, mate. It’s not like you’re her speed, anyway.’

  He walked off, laughing, I looked dumbly at my phone. Stephanie Abay was on the same angle in just about every photo. Hips at a quarter turn, shoulders squared, chin down. She smiled. She pouted. She thrust her chest forward. There were a couple of butt photos, too, where she was faced the other way with her bum sticking out – all liked by me, of course. The other photos were her with friends, almost always pouting or with their tongues out. There was a funny one with her and her dog. But mostly they were posey ‘love me’ bikini shots or mirror selfies.

  I didn’t unlike them in case Ethan had been right. I’d have to google to see if I could do it without looking like a super-stalker. Besides, it might be a way to get her attention.

  The bell went, ushering me to class.

  Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie.

  I texted my besties Tess and Raney in Benalla to say there was a chance I’d be coming home soon. I said they should let everyone know it was almost time for a welcome home party, even though I’d barely left.

  A flurry of texts came back. God I loved it when that happened. You just got lost in the moment, unable to keep up with what was coming in, let alone match it with the texts you sent out. You’d be reading and laughing and sending and giggling, imagining them reading and laughing, too.

  There was even one from Toby. Something about not being able to wait to give me a welcome back kiss. I could wait for that. No, I couldn’t.

  Mum came into our room and asked what was so funny.

  ‘It’s gross,’ I giggled. ‘Usual stuff. Toby reckons his tongue is lonely. He’s rank. Says he can’t wait for me to get back.’

  Mum kind of laughed. ‘That is pretty disgusting. He’s the one who sends photos of himself? That Toby?’

  ‘The one and only. It’s just jokes, Mum. Don’t worry, I don’t send photos back.’

  Mum tried to sneak a look at my phone and shook her head like she didn’t care.

  She dumped a bunch of brochures on the bed for different schools, like we were shopping for shoes or bras.

  Now it felt real. I was out of Benalla and into the city with the chance of a completely new start. New friends who were interesting and different and comfortable in their own skin. New boys. Stuff to do.

  The next week was a blur of organisational stuff.

  We went to see Dr Harrington, again. Mum confirmed we’d be in Melbourne for a while which seemed to please him, even though he hadn’t really given us an option.

  ‘Lots of tests,’ he said, and gave Mum the smallest of nods. ‘We’ll find a way to get rid of this thing. We just have to find the right way at the right time.’

  In spite of all the fancy brochures, it turned out that the best school was the one around the corner from Astrid’s place. Albert Park College was an alternative, arty, selective school, and almost impossible to get into. You either lived in the catchment area or had to be some kind of genius.

  We went to meet Jennifer, the admissions lady, who was pretty suss. She’s like, ‘Well, you know this isn’t your average high school. It’s selective, you have to be, you know –’

  But then Mum explained what was going on, that we’d moved from the country for medical treatment.

  ‘I understand,’ Jennifer said, and wanted to know all about it.

  Mum kept her at bay, said it was personal, that it wouldn’t or shouldn’t affect my ability to learn or be part of the school community. She warned there could be times I’d have to be off school for medical reasons.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Jennifer nodded as Mum spoke, looking from her to me in a way that said she really just wanted to know what the problem was. She asked lots of questions Mum couldn’t, or wouldn’t answer. ‘Is it serious? But you’ll be okay? But you look so well.’

  When Mum let the word ‘growth’ slip, Jennifer came way forward in her seat, her eyes wandering all over me.

  ‘Can you see it? In terms of the kids, do we need to tell them? Just to be safe? What about sports?’

  We hadn’t thought about sport, but Mum said probably not. Jennifer nodded again, resting her chin on her fists. ‘It all sounds very challenging. You’re clearly very brave. Of course we’d be happy to help out, but there’s one other question we should have started with. Do you live in the school zone? Like, have you moved here? I’ll be honest, Jesus couldn’t come to Albert Park College if he was out of zone, know what I mean?’

  ‘We’re living right there,’ Mum said, pointing out the window. ‘Two whole streets that way. You know Merton Street? That’s us.’

  And that was it, pretty much. With a puckered smile, Jennifer pointed us to the uniform shop.

  I was in.

  Mum made me have an afternoon sleep on the couch, without my phone. When I woke up, she disappeared into the laundry and after a while said, ‘I’ve got something for you. It’s special. You’ll love it.’

  I knew she was going to walk out with the school uniform as if it was the coolest thing ever, all ironed and set up like it was a person on a coat hanger. Knowing Mum, she might even be wearing it.

  Instead, she came out holding a box with a gaudy red bow stuck to the top of it.

  ‘Mum?’

  She was beaming, ‘Something for a long time. Like you.’ When Mum gave me the box, the weight of it surprised me. ‘Careful,’ she said.

  I knew it had to be a cat. The second Mum had said ‘careful’, the weight in the box moved. It could have been the whimper or smell or the excited little mmmph. I put the box on the kitchen bench and opened it.

  Looking up at me, with ears and eyes too big for its head, was a puppy. The eyes had black lines around them, like blurry eyeliner, giving the pup the slightest, mad-clown look. It was beautiful, maybe the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  ‘Mum?’ I said. ‘Oooh, Mum, he’s beautiful! Oh my God, I thought it was a cat.’ Happy tears threatened. I pulled the pup out of the box and held it to my chest, rubbing its face against mine. ‘He smells so beautiful. Wait, is it a he?’

  ‘He’s a she,’ laughed Mum. ‘A friend of Astrid’s dog had puppies, part Staffie, part Collie, they think. She’s got the Collie markings, but the head’s all Staffie. She’s gorgeous, eh? As soon as Astrid told me, I knew it was a sign, I just knew she was for you. Something to live for, eh?’

  I called her Lucky. It was Astrid’s idea and I loved it. She answered to it almost straightaway, so we knew it was perfect. With the puppy for distraction, I barely noticed the start of school creep up on me over the next week.

  There was no single worst thing about starting a new school – just stacks of them.

  When I’d finally tried on the uniform the day before school started, I nearly hurled. It was so long. And new. It was like the shirt was made of cardboard. It didn’t drape but stuck out, regardless of how I stood. I looked fat, and it was worse with the jumper on. Mum refused to take up the hem, even though it was past the top of my knees. And the blazer with the big stupid ‘A’ on the pocket was just a lame attempt at looking like an American college jacket, but with shoulder pads. The kicker was the new shoes Mum bought: a buckle instead of laces. I couldn’t believe the dork who stared back at me from the mirror.

  Mum was like, ‘Oh, you look gorgeous,’ but really, what did she know? She took a photo of me, then me and her, then me, her and Astrid, and sent them to Dad.

  He rang straightaway and said he was a bit sad his
daughter was growing up so quick. He must have been looking at a different photo – I looked like a twelve-year-old.

  Dad and I talked for a while, about school and Lucky and Siss. She was firing, he said. They were smashing all opposition in the netball comp and would definitely make it to Districts. There was even talk she might have a boyfriend. Though later, after talking to Siss, it was more friends with a boy at this stage. Dad asked about the doctor visits and sounded surprised we hadn’t been back since that first one. I reminded him it hadn’t been a fortnight yet. He said it already felt like forever, and maybe the visits should be weekly.

  ‘Not that I’m worried,’ he said. ‘Well, maybe a little.’

  When Dad asked how I was feeling about everything, I said, ‘Fine.’

  ‘Is that fine, fine? Fine, good? Or fine, shitting myself?’

  Dad never swore, not to me, anyway. I’ve heard him do it, of course. He’s called the tractor all sorts of things, and the sheep are generally referred to as furry dumb fucks, but he’s rarely dropped a swear word to me.

  ‘Okay, want me to be honest?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, drawing the word out. ‘Always.’

  ‘Shitting myself. I’ve watched the kids going there. Me and Lucky. We’ve sat across the road from the school and scoped them. They look so old. And they’re clean and together, you know? Like, it’s this stream of perfect ponytails and side parts walking through the gate every morning, and the same on the way out. It’s nothing like home. There’s no way I’m going to fit in with kids like that.’

  Dad was silent for a bit. He didn’t jump to answers the way Mum did. He generally took his time getting the words right, which could be infuriating.

  ‘They’re still kids though, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but. Not like kids I know.’

  ‘But still kids, Em. There’s tall ones and short ones?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Fat and skinny?’ he said.

  ‘More skinny than fat, but yeah.’

  ‘Got any rangers?’

  I laughed. ‘Dad.’

  ‘There are, aren’t there. Every school’s got a bloodnut, just like the Geelong footy club. So, it’s normal. There’s a bit of everything. There’ll be kids with zits and lice and bad breath and all sorts of stuff. They’re just kids, Em. But they’ll be nothing like you, and they’ll be exactly like you. Know what I mean?’