by Andrew Daddo
‘S’pose,’ I said. ‘Miss you, Dad.’
‘Miss you, too, Em,’ he said. ‘Good luck tomorrow. You’ll be right.’
‘Love you, Dad.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ His laugh was short and tight. ‘Don’t be too nice to that dog, either. She’s got to know who’s boss, and if you’re too nice she’ll think she is. Gotta go. See ya, Em.’ And he hung up.
It’d be good when they came to Melbourne. Mind you, walking into school with him would be epically embarrassing if he had his work gear on.
I wondered for the first time how many kids around here had dads who got around in hard yakkas and akubras.
I was hours early, way before seven, and I’d been up since five sweating over my first day. The only way I could get the hem of my new school skirt up was to roll the waistband over a couple of times, or hitch it up under my boobs. If I kept my jumper on, that’d be fine.
I didn’t want to go. It was nuts.
I wouldn’t go. I was dressed like an idiot. The skirt was too long, the sleeves on the shirt too short, and the collar was strangling me. It was all too much. I undid the top button and went back to bed, pulling the covers all the way up.
When Mum and Lucky came home from their morning walk, Lucky must have hit the floorboards and started skidding because for sure I heard her go thwack into the wall. Then there was the mad scrabble of her paws and nails on wood as she tried to get purchase on the floor to get going again. It sounded like rain when she got to the carpet on the stairs. Like those first heavy drops of a summer storm. Her feet were so big. Then she was off the carpet and back on the boards of the upstairs landing. She must’ve been flying because when she tried to make the corner around the door of the bedroom she slapped sideways into the doorjamb. She bounced off without a yelp and looked up with this doggish grin, like she was happy to see me. God knows, I was always busting to see her.
‘Lucky, Lucky, Lucky,’ I said, patting the bed next to me. ‘Come here, you little spunk!’
It was as if her tail was wagging her body. She jumped for the bed from too far away and came up short, with just her front paws hitting the top of the mattress, and her back ones clawing away, trying to get herself onto the bed. Then she was up and licking my face, and I know for a fact in her head she was saying, ‘Emmy Emmy Emmy.’
Mum came in. ‘Hey, no dogs on the bed.’
She did her best to sound pissed but sat next to me and gave Lucky’s head a mighty rap.
‘Do you think you better get up, Em? Big day. First day of school. It’s ex-ciiii-tiiing.’ She sang it like a show tune.
‘I don’t feel well,’ I said.
‘Nervous?’ went Mum as she wrestled Lucky off the bed and onto the floor. ‘That’s understandable. First day and all. You’ll be right.’
‘It’s more than that. I’ve got a headache.’
I was such a bitch. There was no headache. There were magpies chasing butterflies in my guts, but no headache. The only reason I said it was because I knew it was a good option if I wanted to get out of school.
‘How long have you had it? Is it bad? Is it a headache, headache, or is it, you know, a headache?’
‘A tumour-ache, you mean?’
Mum made a face. ‘Probably rather not call it that, but yes. Is it a bad one?’
‘It’s not good. It’s not bad, but it’s, you know. I don’t know. It might just be a headache. I get so wound up at the thought of them now. It could be the start of a big one. Maybe.’
Lucky jumped back on the bed. Mum pushed her lips together and breathed hard through her nose.
‘I’m calling the doctor. He said he definitely wanted to see you when something’s happening. If you can, get dressed and we’ll go straight in. Lucky, for God’s sake you stupid dog, get off the bed.’
She was stressed, and pushed the dog off the bed with a lot more oomph than she probably meant to. ‘Up you get, sweety,’ she said to me. ‘Nice and easy. Let’s get you dressed and into the hospital to see what the doctor can see.’ She wasn’t actually looking at me, but at her phone, scrolling through numbers I suppose, looking for Dr Harrington’s.
‘It’s not that bad,’ I said. It’s not as if it’s, like, a big one, it might just be a headache.’
‘But what if it’s not?’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the school, too. You can start tomorrow.’
I was in it now. ‘Mum, it’s fine. I think you’re right, it’s nerves.’
‘So what if the nerves turn into a headache, Emily? What if that’s the trigger?’
I couldn’t stand it. ‘I just don’t want to go,’ I blurted, sitting up so the covers rolled down, revealing my uniform. ‘I’m not ready. It’s not fun, yet. I just don’t want to go to school, Mum, not today.’ I could see the penny drop for her. ‘What if it’s shit? And the uniform’s awful.’
Mum closed her eyes and let out a huge breath. ‘So, it’s definitely not a headache?’
I shook my head, which raised the corners of her mouth to the hint of a smile.
‘Fine. Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘But don’t think you’re going to sit around all day watching TV.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Somehow, Dad agreed to Tuesdays training with Ethan. Our first session, Ethan was late to the sheds and didn’t bother stretching before we took off.
‘Start slow, and use that as a warm up, eh?’ he said. ‘And if we see those girls again, I’ll give them something to look at.’
The first half of the Tan was a doddle, but it gave us a chance to talk about stuff. Sports mainly, teachers, other kids, girls, homework – we covered a fair amount of ground as we worked our way down the hill and along the flat by the Yarra. I was excited as we rounded the bottom turn, fully expecting to see a posse of Glammer Girls halfway up the hill. Hopefully Stephanie Alba’d be front and centre. I’d had a fair look at her Insta account since Ethan put me onto it.
I was puffed up and ready, but sadly disappointed to see an empty Anderson Street.
‘Go,’ went Ethan, hitting the gas. He was pretty quick for the first part, but gravity got him soon enough and the brakes came on. It was fine by me. The more time we spent on Anderson Street, the better. I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was coming around the corner, but not this time. Maybe I misheard, and the Grammar Girls didn’t do the Tan every Tuesday, or maybe they’d been full of shit. But then, a couple of girls rounded the corner at the top of the hill, and more followed.
‘Year Eights,’ puffed Ethan after watching them come down the hill. ‘No good for us.’ But I was thinking, If there’s Year Eights out here, there might be older kids, too. I’d already worked out that I’d do the Tan with Ethan first, then some proper runs up Anderson Street once he’d gone. It had been Dad’s idea.
At the top of the hill, Ethan stopped and folded in half. ‘I’m stuffed,’ he groaned. ‘And you’re barely puffing.’
I dragged up a couple of big breaths. ‘Yeah, nah. I’m pretty stuffed. I might do another one, though. Saw a video online, something about doing a bit extra each time you train. Wanna?’
‘No!’ He looked and sounded incredulous. ‘Next time, I will. Work up to it, you know? I’m starving. See yers tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see yers,’ I said, trying to sound like him.
Ethan headed back to school and I coasted back down Anderson Street, preparing for a proper assault. I would do five laps, each faster than the last. It was good. Hard. And the longer I was there, the more Grammar girls came and went. No Stephanie Alba, though.
Then, on the last go up the hill, a big group came out of the school and were halfway up Anderson Street, but on the other side of the road, waiting to cross. The age looked about right.
I watched them as I ran, hoping the traffic would break so they could get across to my side of the road, but I was past them before they got a chance to cross. I ran backwards, like a boundary umpire, hoping to see if Steph was there.
Then there was a scream. And a ‘Watch it, fu
ckwit!’ Suddenly I was on the ground, flat on my arse, trying to figure out what just happened.
Mum stuck to her word and banned me from watching TV. At least she helped me raise the hem on my school skirt. Then we put everything in the wash with double fabric softener to make it nicer to wear. By the middle of the afternoon I was so bored I wished I’d gone to school. After moping a bit, Mum pointed me to the door with the dog lead and told me to come back with a story to tell.
We walked for ages. At the beginning, Lucky bounced about like a superball, but the further we went the slower she got until she eventually stopped.
I was in the middle of sending Raney and Tess a text. I said I wanted to come home, that Melbourne was a hole and everyone was up themselves and impossible to talk to. It was total crap because I hadn’t even tried to speak to anyone. Before that I’d been taking photos of Lucky, who was sitting in the sun on the edge of the path being ridiculously gorgeous. She had her head to one side, like she was listening, only she was staring straight at me as if I was the only other dog in the world. She just lay there on her guts with her back legs stretched behind, her paws out front and her tongue dropping goobers onto the footpath. The photo was to go with the text saying at least I’d found someone almost as nice as them to hang out with.
Then this foot came down right in the middle of her back.
Lucky screamed. Like, not a yelp, but a dog scream. As if she’d been stabbed and the life was about to eek right out of her.
That made me cry out and yell, ‘Watch it, fuckwit!’
The dickhead attached to the foot took a tumble. He landed butt first, made this oomph! on impact. Then his head cracked onto the pavement.
Hendrix literally had no idea what’d happened.
He’d tripped on something soft. From the sound of it, he’d stepped on a small child who’d screamed first and then yelled, ‘Watch it, fuckwit!’
He’d gone over backward so quickly he’d barely had time to get his hands down behind him. He’d landed butt first, then rolled back. When his head hit the ground, he got a white flash that seemed to splash the back of his eyeballs. And whilst it all happened quickly, to Hendrix the fall seemed to unfold in slow motion.
It hurt.
Emily couldn’t believe it. This idiot had basically jumped on Lucky. Whether he’d managed to get his foot onto her whole back, or just her bum and tail, was anyone’s guess.
Emily swore at the boy mid-fall. Then she heard the sickening noise as his head collided with the pavement.
She winced. He’d have an egg, she thought, a headache at the very least. But it would pass, she knew that better than anyone. As she untangled the lead from his feet, Emily tried to see if he was seriously hurt, but his face was covered with one hand while he rubbed the back of his head with the other.
‘You right?’ she said. Lucky jumped into her lap, looking spooked more than anything else. Emily ran her hands over her back, gently at first, then slightly firmer to see if it brought up a yelp. She got hold of the tail at the base and ran it through her fingers all the way to the end, searching for lumps or breaks the way her dad might with the farm dogs.
‘Are you okay, baby, are you okay?’ she cooed into Lucky’s ear once the inspection was over. ‘Why did that stupid boy jump on you?’
It was her first mention of the boy and she used it as a chance to get a better look at him.
He was sitting up now, looking at Emily and Lucky whilst puffing hard and rubbing the back of his head. She was surprised to see he was nice looking. A bit skinny, maybe. And sweaty. He had foppish hair, like a mop, that hadn’t been styled properly. He needed a haircut. And the bits of hair closest to his face were curled and moist with sweat. What a mess, she thought.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he finally said. ‘Is he okay? The dog. Is the dog okay?’
‘I think so,’ said Emily. ‘What the hell were you doing?’
‘What was I doing? What were you doing?’ the boy snapped as he stood up. He patted himself down, swiping the leaves and pebbles from his butt and legs, shaking his head incredulously. He found a smear of blood on his hand after wiping his elbow and ended up in a ridiculous pantomime trying to find the wound, which was on the one part of his elbow he couldn’t see. ‘And I’m bleeding. Jesus. What were you doing?’
Hendrix hadn’t really looked at her until then, more concerned with his own inventory. The first thing he noticed was her colour: the rich, red glow that spread from her chest up her neck and took hold of her cheeks.
He realised she was furious.
‘I was walking my dog and minding my own business,’ she said. ‘What were you doing? How could you not see us?’
Hendrix had to think for a moment, distracted by the wispy bits of hair escaping from her ponytail and framing her face in a kind of mousey-brown fuzz. And by the freckles that had escaped the mob on her nose and leapt across her cheeks, onto her forehead. She tilted her face up toward him, eyebrows dancing, and her deep brown eyes closed slightly as the sun hit them. There was a wrinkle across the bridge of her nose as she squinted, and her mouth tightened. For a moment she looked kind of toothy, her front teeth just visible between her lips, but then she got her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun and everything relaxed. She was nice looking.
‘Oh, God. I didn’t even see you. Um, I was running backward.’
‘What?’ said Emily.
‘Backward, you know?’ He mimed it. ‘Is your dog okay?’ As he said it, he looked back down the hill to the gaggle of Grammar girls. Emily followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything until she stood up. Then she saw them. About twenty girls, about the same age as her. It was hard to tell from that far away. A couple of them were looking up the hill in their direction. One waved.
Hendrix raised an eyebrow and tried not to smile.
‘I see why he was running backward,’ she said, directing the words at the dog.
The girl smiled at the dog and it lingered there for a moment as she looked up at Hendrix. It was the first chance he’d had to notice her dimples. They were deep enough to swim in.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ said Hendrix, smiling for the first time, too. He looked back down the hill and waved. It was subtle, not a big ahoy-there, more embarrassed than anything else. But it was enough to make the girl who waved first cover her mouth with her hand and turn back to the others. Then she looked back to Hendrix and waved again.
‘See ya,’ said the girl with the dog, eyebrows up, sarcastic smile planted on her face and making her dimples even deeper.
Dickhead, Emily wanted to add.
She carried Lucky instead of putting her on the ground, cuddling her close to her chest and cooing in her ear. She wanted to turn back and look, but didn’t. She walked in the same direction the boy had been going. He’d eventually catch up and go past and if he was still running backward she’d get a better look at his face. If he was going forward, that might be alright, too. But she wouldn’t look back.
Hendrix checked for more blood on his elbow. This place was like a minefield for him. First his knee, now his elbow. He dusted himself off a second time and swivelled his head from uphill to down and then back again. The girl with the dog was walking quickly, there was a jauntiness to her step that gave her ponytail a life of its own. It was hard to get a bead on her – she was in jeans and desert boots and one of those oilskin jackets that went to halfway down her thighs.
Hendrix liked her bounce. Instead of protesting, he should have said sorry straightaway and made sure the pup was alright. He thought the best thing to do would be to run and catch up and say sorry properly, maybe introduce himself.
‘Byyyyyye!’ he heard from somewhere else. ‘Seeee yaaaa!’ He looked around but couldn’t see anyone. And then, from between two parked cars, right down near the crossing that went to Powell Street and the grammar school, he spotted one of the girls doing a bad job of hiding behind a big Range Rover. Then Stephanie Alba stepped out from behind the same car and waved again. Hendrix
looked around to make sure it was for him. Nothing worse than waving to someone who wasn’t waving to you. He waved back. They laughed. He guffawed and instantly regretted overplaying it. The two girls crossed the road and disappeared behind a house on the corner. He waited for a moment to see if they’d come back for one last wave.
They didn’t.
Hendrix turned his attention back up the hill to see if the girl with the dog was still there, but she’d moved on as well. After a final check of his injuries, he took off for the school change rooms, expecting to catch up with the dog girl.
But Emily was long gone, and kind of pissed because she’d walked as slowly as possible and he hadn’t caught up with her.
Hendrix’s father was waiting for him.
He barely managed a hello before cursing the time it took for the data to sync from Hendrix’s phone to his ipad. For him, it was more than measuring just distance and time. Exertion levels showed everything, so heart rate was crucial. Hendrix figured his father would have some algorithm to work out the impact the hill training would have on the rest of his preparation.
‘Good run? Worthwhile? You like training with the Spazwit?’
‘Yeah, it was good, Dad. And it’s Ethan, not Spazwit,’ Hendrix said.
His dad nodded. ‘What happened to your elbow?’
Hendrix feigned ignorance and snuck a look in the hall mirror. There was a line of dried blood down the back of his forearm making it look worse than it probably was. ‘Oh, tripped. Such an idiot. It’s fine.’
Dad shook his head. ‘Jesus. You see the problem when you’re out on your own, don’t you? You’ll injure yourself if you’re not careful. I don’t know about running around that goat track. Maybe we just stick to the flat and the plan as it stands, eh? How’d you trip over?’