by Harry Cook
She shifts one of the pencils an infinitesimal amount. “Do you have problems?” she asks.
I smile. “Sure,” I say.
“What are your problems?”
“Parents want to ‘convert’ me. Guy I like kissed his ex. My morning coffee tasted like dirt.”
Candace’s jaw almost hits the floor.
I had no intention of telling her all that, but whatever. I’m done being secretive about the facts of my life.
“Well, my eraser issue looks pretty pathetic right now,” she says.
I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t actually,” I say. “You want your life to not feel like it’s overflowing. I get that.”
“But you have like, legitimate stuff going on,” she says.
“Right, but your eraser thing is your way of trying to avoid stuff falling into chaos, right?” I ask. “Like a preventative?”
Candace smiles in agreement.
I smile back.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to erase out this shit-show situation I’m now in.
The classroom door shuts and the hum of student chitchat quietens down.
“Fin, would you like to kick off class by reading from the top of page ninety-eight please,” Ms Fry says, demanding my attention.
“Thanks, Fin,” Candace says, emphasising my name and blushing – clearly conscious that she got it wrong earlier.
I give her a thumbs-up and start to read.
After class I turn my phone back on because it’s been far too long without checking Instagram for cute dog pics and I’m bombarded with a thousand texts from Rye, Poppy and June.
Poppy has asked me to meet at her locker so I head over there and wait. The throng of students barging past reminds me of the last scene from Braveheart as I stand with my back pressed against the row of lockers.
Poppy arrives with a look on her face I find hard to read. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say.
As Poppy takes out some books and a fruit roll-up from her locker, June arrives. Thankfully Rye is nowhere in sight. I’m not in the right headspace to deal with him just now.
The three of us make our way towards the outside quadrangle as the sun puts in an appearance from behind a cloud.
“So, we heard what happened,” June says, breaking the painful silence between us.
I shrug, not knowing what to say.
Poppy grimaces. “Firstly, I want you to know that neither of us think it’s cool what Rye did,” she says, looking over at me and then making a beeline for an empty table underneath a gum tree.
We throw our bags down and June sits on top of the table cross-legged while Poppy sits next to me.
“Right, but, from what we gathered, Eric kind of ambushed him,” June says.
I look between both of them and don’t really know what to say. This is painfully awkward. I’m the new guy in this friendship circle. Of course, they’re going to take Rye’s side.
“Ambushed or not, he looked pretty set on kissing him back,” I say bitterly.
June glances at Poppy and then to me.
“We weren’t there . . . Obviously,” June says. “But we do know that Rye really likes you.”
I shake my head and snort. I feel like a petulant child but I don’t really care right now what they think of me.
“He does, Fin,” Poppy says. I feel like it’s the most sincere thing she’s ever said to me. Her eyes are completely clear and she’s staring at me like I’m an idiot if I don’t believe her.
I take a breath. I don’t like this situation whatsoever, but I also have a feeling, deep down, that Rye does actually give a damn.
“I think my parents are on to me,” I say, throwing a flaming spanner in the works which I know will send this conversation in another direction.
“How come?” June asks, a crease forming along her forehead.
“Dad . . . He . . . I mean, he knows,” I say.
Poppy looks down at her phone then back up at me. “I think I should talk to him,” she says, which catapults my heart rate into the Milky Way.
“And I think pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner is a smart decision. It’s not,” June says.
Poppy rolls her eyes. “Could you for once not dismiss everything I say as a dumb idea?”
The tension just went up about a thousand notches. Dealing with their bickering is so not what I need.
“Okay, no tantrum required, Poppy,” June says dismissively, which only aggravates Poppy further – but she’s clearly trying her best to keep a lid on her temper.
“I’m going,” Poppy announces, heading back inside. “Sorry, Fin. I’ll text you later.”
June looks up at the ceiling and mouths “fuck sake” before looking back at me.
“Sorry. I just . . . Ugh. Okay. Back to the situation at hand. We have a few options here. Your family aren’t about to change overnight. But I do think there could be something to be gained from a discussion with them.” June seems sincere, but I immediately shut her idea down.
“No. Absolutely not,” I say. “I’m sorry, June. You mean well but that just won’t cut it. I know my family. Trying for a rational discussion about my sexuality would be like chopping off a leg and walking into a lions’ den. Not gonna work.”
June tilts her head. I think she’s about to say something else but she goes quiet, staring down at her shoes and shuffling from side to side.
I’m about to ask what the hell is going on but, before I can speak, Rye is standing next to me.
“Not now, okay?” I say, wanting to crawl into one of the lockers behind me and hide there for a while. “I’m having a tough enough time as it is.”
Rye looks between me and June for an explanation.
“Fin’s dad is being . . . difficult about his sexuality and –”
“June, please, it’s not a QSA meeting,” I interrupt. The last thing I feel like doing is taking part in an analysis of my “sexuality” in front of Rye.
“Fin, I really want to talk,” Rye pleads, and I can’t help but be touched by how genuine he sounds. But I still don’t know what to say so instead I stare at the floor.
June shuffles some more and just when I’m about to walk off and spend the afternoon overthinking, Rye takes my hand in his. I look up at him and he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in this universe.
But I have to pull away. I can’t handle him touching me right now. June gives me a questioning look and I nod at her to let her know I’m okay.
“Please,” Rye says softly. “Come with me.”
So I follow him as he heads away from the quadrangle to a secluded spot on the edge of the playing fields.
The air is fresh, but the sun is warm on our backs and the smell of salt air and frangipanis is a nice change from the stale stink that fills the school.
We find a patch of grass and sit. Rye has reached for my hand again and this time I let him take it. But my fingers are loose in his. It’s all too much. I want to take a nap. Or cry. Or cry while napping. I don’t know.
“Fin, I need you to know that I had no idea Eric was going to turn up last night.”
I extract my hand from his and pull up some grass, scrunching it up to distract myself from this less-than-fun conversation. “Okay,” I say.
Rye’s eyes find mine and they’re painfully genuine. Annoyingly so.
“I would never deliberately hurt you, Fin,” he says. “Never.”
I want to believe him, but the image of him kissing Eric keeps flashing in my mind.
“So, what was that kiss about then?” I snap, not caring one bit how harsh my words sound out in the open. “I bet it wasn’t a one-off either, was it? Did you ever even finish with him?”
“Steady on.” Rye flinches. “He kissed me, Fin . . .”
“Pretty sure you were kissing him back,” I spit, my stomach churning. I’m ashamed to show him this side of me, but somehow can’t help it.
“Maybe I was . . .” he says. “Maybe I needed
to be sure,” and his honesty gives me a kick in the gut.
I know I need to keep quiet and we sit for a moment, both of us scrunching the grass up now.
“But I stopped . . . Because I know he’s really not good for me,” he continues. “And I think he knows that, too.”
I throw the grass I’ve excavated behind me and pull another handful from the patch in front of us.
“I like you, Fin,” Rye says and one of the layers of ice that has coated my heart since last night melts. “It scares me a bit how much I like you . . . Things with Eric actually really kind of screwed me up.”
I look up at him and gently take his hand. I don’t know why because I’m still kinda mad, but I want to hold his hand. I want him to know I get that he’s trying.
“Look, I like you, too,” I say. “It doesn’t mean none of this hurts, but I understand.” I run my fingers over his knuckles. “After what Jesse did to me in Pittford, I was a complete wreck.”
Rye looks down at our entwined hands, then he looks up at me and smiles. I want nothing more than to kiss him, but my ego is making me hold back. I feel betrayed and I don’t want him thinking I’m not still a little bit pissed at him. Even though, deep down, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t get back with Eric. Not now.
“Do you want to come to mine tonight?” Rye asks tentatively. “Get away from your family for a bit? Mum’s boyfriend Carl is coming over and I need you to hold my hair when I’m vomiting in the toilet from their grossly inappropriate PDAs that they make me witness.”
Who am I fooling? I let my guard down and snigger, which makes him smile too.
“You don’t have to . . . I get it if you’re still mad at me. I can leave you alone if you wa–”
Is he crazy?
“Talking of grossly inappropriate PDAs . . .” I say and with that I sneak a kiss and all my anger and hurt dissolve on his lips.
*
When we arrive at his house, Rye’s dog, Thelma, greets us and Rye rolls on the porch with her and gives her more attention than any dog has ever been given. It’s pretty adorable.
Thelma rests her head on Rye’s chest, and I sit on the steps next to them as his mum Karen opens the fly screen door.
“FIN!” Karen says, throwing her arms around me and giving me what I can only describe as the biggest hug I have ever received. “It’s SO nice to meet you! How’ve you been, darl’?” she asks, scooting in next to me and giving Rye a kiss on the cheek.
“Great,” I say, which is somewhat the truth.
Rye sits up as Thelma trots over to Karen who happily rubs behind her ears.
“Liar,” Rye says, staring at me with a hint of a smile.
I shrug and shake my head, trying desperately not to let on that anything is out of the ordinary. When adults get involved, stuff gets real and I don’t feel up for that. I just want some dust to settle before I kick it up some more.
Karen seems to notice my discomfort because she takes my hand. “You okay, honey?” she asks, stroking my palm with her thumb. I only met her two seconds ago, but already feel so relaxed around her. I feel a rush of jealousy – what I wouldn’t give right now for my mum to actually ask me if I’m okay.
I nod. Rye sits to my left and puts his arm around me, and Karen strokes my hair. There’s no judgement or questions. We just sit for a while.
When I’m finally able to break the silence, I explain to Karen the abridged version of events going on at home.
When I’m done, the only noise for what seems like miles is Thelma’s snoring. I reckon that dog could sleep through a Monsters of Rock gig.
Karen looks at me and then at Rye and then back to me again.
“You know, sweetheart, I’m really good with words,” Karen says, which sends Rye’s eyebrows to the top of his forehead.
“Mum, this isn’t something you need to involve yourself in,” he says.
“I’m just saying sometimes adults have a way of getting through to other adults and –”
“I really appreciate it, Mrs Hendrix,” I say.
“Karen,” she corrects me.
“Karen,” I repeat. “But I think my family are past the talking stage . . .”
I feel completely choked up, but not because of the shit show I’m living through. I feel choked up because I’ve never had anyone listen to me so intently. Not just Rye, but his mum, too. They’re both so sincere; there’s not a bad bone between them. If they weren’t so genuinely lovely it’d be unnerving.
Karen strokes my hair back from my face, before she stands and claps her hands together.
“Okay, enough with the hangdog vibe,” she declares. “We’ll all end up looking like this little crumpet.” She beckons at Thelma who springs to life and wiggles her butt at Karen’s feet. “Carl’s inside making satay tofu noodles and so I suggest we dig into that deliciousness and then play some Guess Who,” Karen says, looking between Rye and me.
I smile and Rye gives a double thumbs-up.
“Oh, and Rye?” Karen says as she turns back from the front door. “Please know that I expect your Guess Who game to be strong. I have no issues with whooping your behind in front of your boyfriend.” She laughs as the fly screen cranks shut and I feel my tummy burst into firecrackers at the fact that Rye’s mum just called me his boyfriend.
*
Dinner is uh-may-zing and Carl keeps the conversation going with talk about his new yoga teacher in town.
“He’s wonderful,” he says, spearing a piece of tofu with a chopstick. “His energy is just so . . . ya know?”
Karen squeezes his shoulder indulgently, and Rye looks over at me and smiles.
It hasn’t gone unnoticed by either of us that Carl isn’t wearing any pants. No jeans or joggers. Just a T-shirt and undies. I concealed my giggle pretty well when we first noticed, but Rye has had a look of horror plastered on his face since Carl leaned across the table to grab the salt and his budgie smuggler package knocked over the soy sauce.
We wrap up dinner with a few rounds of Guess Who?, then Rye and I wash up.
From somewhere in the living room we hear a racket that sounds like tapes toppling and eject buttons being pressed. Rye looks about ready to go and suss it out when Van Morrison’s Bright Side of the Road blasts from a stereo.
Thelma barks as Karen and Carl come dancing through the kitchen. They’re technically a little inept, but are strutting their stuff with an abandon that’s more infectious than the flu.
Before I realise it, we’re literally all dancing.
“We’re heading out in a sec,” Karen says, still dancing while feeding Thelma a green bean.
“I’ll just put some pants on, and we can get going,” Carl says, placing his plate and cutlery on the sink for us to wash.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to put some pants on regardless,” Rye says as he scrubs the plate and places it on the drying rack.
Carl either didn’t hear or doesn’t care and, while I stifle my laugh, Karen gives us both a peck on the cheek and, before I know it, we’re alone.
Rye finishes off the last of the dishes and then looks across at me. His eyes hold mine for a beat longer than usual and then takes two steps towards me, his eyes still on mine and his body unmoving.
I stare back and my heartbeat speeds up. In my peripheral vision I see his hands and just as I’m about to close my eyes he taps my nose with his dishwasher hand and then paints a bubble beard on me with his other.
“Ohhh you’re gonna regret tha–” I start, but he’s already added another layer of bubbles and I’m chasing him through the kitchen and out on to the front porch, Thelma tumbling along behind us.
We collapse on the grass out front as I use the remnants of bubbles from my face to cover his head as best I can.
We’re laughing and, as I’m about to splash some more foam on his chin, he takes my hand softly and laces my fingers with his.
Then he leans in and kisses me.
“We good?” he asks, clearing some bubbles of
f of my forehead.
I smile. “We’re good.”
*
It’s about eight o’clock when I turn on to my street. It’s pitch black; the moon is nowhere to be seen and only a sprinkle of stars are out on an otherwise charcoal sky.
It takes me a few beats for the image unfolding in front of me to take shape and register in my mind.
Karen is at my front door. Carl is in the driver’s seat of their car playing Candy Crush. My mum and dad are on the porch with Elliot off to the side.
I’m rooted to the spot just out of earshot of what they’re saying.
This. Cannot. Be. Happening.
My breathing intensifies and my legs take on a life of their own as they propel me forwards. I have no idea what I’m going to say but I know I need to stop whatever the hell is happening immediately.
As I near the front door I hear Karen’s voice and my parents’ silence.
“– and I’m just so glad because Rye hasn’t been very lucky on the friend front. Well, not friend I suppose, more like a b–”
“Karen,” I say in my best chirpy voice.
Karen turns to face me and beams like I’m her favourite person. “FIN!” she says, grabbing my arm and drawing me beside her. “I was just talking about you and Rye and how wonderf–”
“Have you met my brother Elliot?” I say, desperately trying to cut her off.
Dad is looking between me and Karen, and Mum looks like Karen may as well be standing butt naked in front of her. Elliot weirdly enough seems to be enjoying watching Mum and Dad squirm. For me this is about as fun as walking on hot coals.
“I have met Elliot,” Karen says with a wink. “He’s quite the stud muffin.”
“You’re too kind, Mrs Hendrix,” Elliot says, grinning.
Karen waves him away playfully and just as I feel I’m about to spontaneously combust, Carl honks and gestures for Karen to hurry up.
Karen rolls her eyes and takes her leave, letting my heart rate settle and my trembling subside.
*
When we’re inside I don’t bother waiting to talk to anyone, even though I can sense Mum and Dad staring at me, probably wondering why Karen felt the need to come over and tell them how delighted she is that I’m friends with Rye. To be honest, I’d be confused, too. I wonder how long it’ll take them to put two and two together.