by Andrew Daddo
In the second after his father asked the question, Hendrix’s mind did cartwheels. His first thought was to lie, because he knew if he said he was running backward his father would want to know the reason. If Hendrix said it was to see if a girl was looking at him, he knew his dad would think he was being led around by the dick and not taking his training seriously. Instead, Hendrix looked his father straight in the eye and offered what he hoped would be an acceptable version of the truth.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘One second I was upright, running hard up Anderson Street, and it was great. I felt great. I turned, checked on Ethan, and then I was on the ground. Must have been a tree root, or something.’
‘So how far back was he?’
‘Who?’
‘Ethan? You said you turned to see how far behind he was. How far in front were you?’ He grabbed Hendrix’s hands and looked at them. ‘I mean, you haven’t got a mark on your hands. Normally if you fall over, you get your hands down, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but I was going backward. I said that. To see how far behind me he was. I was running up the hill backward.’
‘Tell me this is not true,’ said his dad. ‘How far was he?’
Hendrix looked at his hands. There wasn’t a mark on them. ‘I didn’t have a tape measure, Dad. Ten metres, maybe twenty.’
His father had a face on. Hendrix braced for the fury.
‘What do we say about winning, Hendrix? It’s just win. Same for training. Just win. Just lead. It’s not even real training, it’s pretend. You’re just pretending for him, right? Or are you trying to coach him. Be careful, boyo. You don’t know what he’s capable of.’ He dropped Hendrix’s hands and motioned at the watch. ‘You recorded everything, right?’ Hendrix nodded. ‘Go shower, get some antiseptic on the wound. And the one on your knee, the mystery scab.’
‘That was kick-to-kick,’ said Hendrix. ‘I told you that. It was at lunch, the other day.’
His father rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t even want to know you’re playing kick-to-kick.’
Emily’s mum told her she had to be more careful with Lucky. ‘You need to look after her. She was lucky today, but she won’t be lucky for long, if you follow, Em? Unlucky Lucky could be Dead Lucky.’
‘Got it, Mum.’ She’d also worked out that, short of dying, there was no way to get around going to school. Her mum was full on about her getting started and assimilated into the community.
‘If we’re going to live here you have to be part of it. You need friends. The dog’s not going to cut it. Cute as she is.’
Lucky was in the middle of the living room floor, at war with a manky stuffed toy Emily’d scragged off someone else’s rubbish pile. The little lion had leaked stuffing from lots of Lucky teeth holes.
‘Tomorrow,’ said her mum, ‘you start school.’
Awake at five, again. Feeling sick, again. Wishing she’d got hold of her new school uniform a month ago and washed it every day and left it out in the sun so it looked more worn.
Emily took Lucky for a walk out to the end of the Kerferd Road pier as the sun cracked the low-slung clouds. She reminded herself how good the idea of moving had been from a distance, that it was what she really wanted. But now she was in the middle of it, the courage and excitement had seeped out of her.
She was more worried about starting school than the growth, which had done literally nothing since they’d been in Melbourne. Emily’s current problems were more practical. Not just how to make friends, but how to make the right friends. What if the kids she wanted to know had no interest in knowing her?
What about the boys?
What about the Dog Stomper? Emily was annoyed he’d stepped on Lucky, and more so that he kept creeping into her thoughts. What a dick. Did he always run backward? Was he there at the same time on the same day every week? What school did he go to? And why didn’t he catch up to her afterward and apologise properly?
She tried to remember what he was wearing, and if it was part of a school sports uniform. With a mixture of horror and delight she worked out that there was some chance he might go to Albert Park College.
Emily got home from the walk with just enough time to inhale a bowl of cereal before walking to school with her mum. The bell went as they crossed the threshold. Emily turned and told her mum she’d be okay.
‘Call me if you need me, Em. Or yell really loud. We’re only two blocks away. I’ll hear you.’
They traded the dog lead for a schoolbag and Emily trudged in, wishing she was just about anywhere else.
As it turned out, that first day was neither good nor bad. It just was. They gave her a nice enough girl called Amelia to show her round and help get her settled. Amelia talked a lot without saying much, but was great at pointing out what happened where and when. At recess she took Emily to the canteen and bought her some chips with her school credit card. Em promised to pay her back, but Amelia said she needn’t bother as the school was covering it anyway. As much as Emily wanted the chips, she wouldn’t eat them.
Amelia was like, ‘One pack of chips won’t hurt you. It’s not as if you’re going on Next Top Model and can’t eat, is it?’
Emily smiled and said nothing but thought, Rude, forget you. She didn’t think she was that out of shape. It should have been a good chance to tell Amelia about the growth, that she was on a health kick for healing. But as the order of the words tried to sort themselves in Emily’s head, something unexpected landed. She felt like a freak. Of course Amelia would ask a bunch of questions she didn’t have answers to, and they’d just lead to more questions. Her mum hadn’t told her not to talk about it, not in so many words, but she did suggest it might be better to keep it quiet for a while. She was worried that talking about it might make the other kids treat her differently, and it was already hard enough being the newbie. So Emily said nothing and concentrated on picking the little sticker off her apple, wishing she’d said yes to the chips.
Class was cool, no one made a fuss. She got the expected once-overs, but Emily gave as good as she got. There was no sign of Dog Stomper.
Amelia and Emily had lunch together, and Amelia barely drew breath.
She asked about Benalla and living in the country. ‘Like, do you have animals? Sheep or cows, that sort of thing. And chickens? Do you eat just their eggs or the chickens as well? What happens to chickens when they don’t lay eggs anymore? Then do you eat them? What if you had a chicken and it stopped laying eggs and you ate it but it’d only stopped laying for a couple of days? That’d be terrible, right?’
She didn’t wait for answers, just blurted question after question. For Emily, it was almost as easy as being in class because she didn’t have to do anything, just sit and listen. She’d wanted to lie, to make it sound as if life in the country was much more interesting than it actually was. Say dumb shit like, ‘Yes, we ate the chickens. If you don’t kill ’em right, they run around with their heads chopped off. They run around the yard. Seriously.’
She knew Amelia’d be like, Wow, do you do that? Really, wow. Like, wow! And Emily could bullshit about doing it all the time, only it was such a lie. They got their meat from Woolies, same as everyone else.
While Amelia talked, Emily watched the playground for options. She recognised some girls from class sitting on what they called the Button, a stage-like disc in the middle of the school quad. One of them had half waved to her in class and she looked pretty cool. When she looked over, Emily made a face she hoped said, ‘I’m dying here, help!’
Amelia looked at her watch and gasped. ‘Crap. The canteen’s going to close. Do you want something? I’ll just die if I don’t get another bag of chips, especially because I’m not paying. Want some?’
‘Nah, I’m right,’ said Emily.
‘You sure? I could get Salt and Vinegar and you could get plain and we could split them and –’
‘Actually,’ said Emily. ‘How about a chocolate milk? That’d be –’
‘Great!’ Amelia finished. ‘
My shout! Wanna come?’
Emily smiled, waving her phone at Amelia. ‘I’ll wait. I want to text my mates back home and tell them what they’re missing.’ Silence, finally.
Emily stuck her face in her phone and started texting, looking up every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. The girl on the Button looked over to her and nodded, but it was obscure enough to have Emily wondering if she was nodding at her. Then the girl pointed and waved properly, before signalling for Emily to come over. The girl smiled, then nudged the other girls she was sitting with. Soon enough, all four of them were eyes up in Emily’s direction, putting her somewhere between horrified and totally stoked.
‘Come here,’ mouthed the first girl. ‘Quick.’ And the motioning with her hand became almost urgent.
‘Hi,’ said Emily, standing before them and hoping it hadn’t looked like she’d run to get there. Her voice sounded really high, like Siss’s when she’d been nailed for something and was trying to get out of it.
‘Hi,’ she tried again, closer to normal.
‘We’re not gonna bite,’ said the girl. ‘I’m Flick. Felicity, but everyone calls me Flick. And this is Lola, Kitty and Brandy.’
They looked up and nearly smiled, all going hi without saying it. Then they looked back down at their phones. There must have been something about Emily’s reaction, because Flick said, ‘What’s so funny?’
Em went, ‘Huh?’
‘You just looked like you were about to start laughing.’
Emily shook her head, knowing she could blow things before they got started if she said what she was thinking. It was their names, they sounded like strippers – Lola, Flick, Kitty and Brandy.
Flick said, ‘Whatever. Thought I’d better rescue you from Amelia. She’s a punish. Every time we get a new kid, Amelia’s the tour guide. She’s nice, but God can she talk! Where you from?’
‘Benalla,’ said Emily, but it didn’t seem to register. ‘The country. About two hours north-west.’
‘What are you doing here?’ It was Lola. ‘Sit, sit, you’re making me feel uncomfortable.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. So?’
‘Oh, just. You know. A bit of a change. Something new.’
Again she thought it might be good to tell them what was really going on. But again she pushed the thought away.
Amelia was back with her chips and Emily’s chocolate milk. She’d come out of the canteen in a bit of a hurry, a smile all over her face. Emily felt terrible as she watched the smile fall away.
‘Amelia, over –’ she started, but then Kitty or Brandy got hold of her arm and shushed her.
‘That’s my drink,’ Emily tried to explain. ‘She got it for me so I should, you know –’
‘She’ll drink it.’
‘You know she will,’ said Flick. It was as if Amelia heard her say it. She looked over, saw Emily with the girls and pulled out her phone. Emily went to get up, but Brandy put a hand on hers, stopping her.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Brandy said.
‘Yeah, but –’
‘Seriously. She’ll be fine,’ went Kitty.
Emily felt awful. ‘I’ll just say thanks,’ she said, going to get up again.
‘She says thanks,’ went Kitty toward Amelia through a big, fake smile.
Emily laughed, got up, crossed the quad and thanked Amelia for the drink.
‘You’re welcome,’ Amelia blushed, looking at the other girls more than Emily.
It made Emily look at them as well, but they were all face down in their phones. ‘I owe you, eh?’
‘No, you don’t. So, you’ve met dem bitches, already.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Emily laughed. Amelia had finally said something interesting and pretty funny.
‘Oh yeah!’
‘They seem alright,’ Emily offered.
‘So far.’ She brightened slightly. ‘Did they ask if you have an older brother, yet?’
Hendrix found himself looking forward to Tuesdays with Ethan more than any other training. Ethan was onto him when he suggested they’d be better off sticking to Anderson Street rather than running long boring laps of the Tan for training.
‘You want to see Steph, don’t ya?’ he’d said. And whilst Hendrix really did think the hills would be the best option for increasing stamina, he couldn’t dodge the thought that Steph might want to see him, too.
She wasn’t there that next Tuesday, or the one after.
But Hendrix could see from her socials she had been to the movies, at least two parties, on trams, a train, and in a car with leather seats. She’d had a crack at a steak bigger than her head and had barely managed to make a dent in it before posting a second picture saying she was ‘chockas’. It was a selfie from the side angle, and about the only thing that wasn’t sticking out was her guts.
Hendrix and Ethan kept running on Tuesdays while watching and hoping. The boys would warm up with a lap of the Tan, then do two or three Anderson Streets. Four was the record for Ethan, who was definitely getting stronger. After, it was back to school where Ethan would change while Hendrix loitered through his warm-down. It was really so he could get back to the Tan to finish his workout properly and get on with the business of bumping into Steph, or maybe the girl with the dog.
The training was working out for his dad, as well, who remained diligent with the numbers and how they were stacking up.
As Districts loomed, Hendrix was hitting the right targets and his father relaxed the tiniest bit. There was no less training, though, despite the Tan sessions. In fact, Hendrix spent even more time in the hypoxic mask to force his lungs to work harder. And there was extra time in the high-altitude tent, giving him a chance to tune out completely, or get into some reading for school.
The week before Districts, Ethan missed school on the Tuesday. Hendrix texted him to see if he was alright but got nothing back. It was weird. Ethan was usually pretty active on text, but his Instagram feed was corpse quiet and there was nothing on Snapchat. Ethan was either away or actually ill.
Hendrix did the Tan, anyway. It was a chance to run it the way he liked to, as opposed to the relative doddle of running with Ethan. From school to the Yarra, Hendrix pushed hard, enjoying the jarring in his thigh muscles all the way down the hill. There was something about the slight slip and slide of his foot in the gravel, the possible uncertainty of what might happen, that made it more exciting than running the way he normally would. He was almost a minute ahead of where he’d be with Ethan by the time he reached Anderson Street, feeling good and breathing hard. As he rounded the bottom corner, he steeled himself for the ascent, checked his progress and set the lap timer on his watch.
He sensed something in his way more than saw it. Swerving would have been as easy as jumping, but he was in the zone and the fastest path was the only option. So he jumped.
‘Shit!’ came the cry from below him. ‘Yer right?’
And he was. All clear ahead, over the obstacle, Anderson Street beckoned. Crisis avoided, everything was fine and it should have been okay to motor up the hill as planned. In fact, he would have, had he not been called a fuckin’ wanker.
Emily had pretty much given up on seeing Dog Stomper again. It’d been ages. Once school started and she’d settled, he was more of a shadow lurking in her thoughts than anything else.
Life had taken on a fairly normal hue.
It took a while, but the Strippers seemed to have taken her in. As long as the conversation was around them, they were fine. There wasn’t much interest in Benalla or Emily’s life before she came to town, something she completely understood. Apart from that first day, they barely asked about her past.
There didn’t seem much point in telling them about the growth, and she couldn’t find a way to bring it up that didn’t sound weird or ridiculous.
It wasn’t as if she could wait for a gap in the yap and blurt out, Hey, yo bitches. Did you hear the one about the new girl with the rare tumour in her head? It’s a ki
ller! Moments like that just didn’t come up.
They didn’t talk about personal stuff with her and didn’t spend any time together outside of school. Emily’s grades were the best they’d ever been.
Amelia always seemed to turn up when the Strippers were too busy for Emily. And they’d been wrong about her not having any friends. Amelia had loads of them, but most were characters in books she’d read or was going to write. Emily liked talking up ideas with Amelia; she was as interesting as she was mad, and it didn’t seem fair that no one seemed to like her.
She stayed in touch with her besties from Benalla by text or Snapchat, but the lag between messages was growing. Em noticed the girls always said the same sorts of things. Late night messages on the weekends sounded a bit pissy with lots of love yas. The Sunday afternoon texts were about who got with who and why the same people were still dickheads for the same reasons.
For the first time, she realised she didn’t need to be there to see what she was missing, but missed it all the same. There were moments, mostly late at night, when she couldn’t think of anything better than going home, getting trollied and hooking up with someone for the fun of it.
Nothing had happened with the tumor, which was basically good news. Emily had thought the doctors would swarm and prod and poke the thing until it blew up or went away. But it was more like that manky pond near the back of the house that had to get sprayed every springtime for mossies: stagnant and annoying and a part of life no one knew what to do with.
Emily went for the fortnightly checks and started trying to conjure up killer headaches to give the doctor a chance to investigate it. There were other times Emily hoped nothing would ever happen, but they’d stay in Melbourne anyway.
And there was always the chance she might meet someone new. The boys at school were alright, but the Strippers managed to colour Emily’s opinions with their own experiences or stories. If a boy wasn’t a total dick-weed, one of the girls had dibs on him.