Fifteen Love

by R. M. Corbet

  ‘It would look pretty sus,’ I say. ‘You bending over while I write my name on your bum.’

  ‘I could take them off,’ she suggests.

  Before I have time to object, she takes off her pants and holds them out.

  According to The Encyclopedia of Tennis, a sitter is an easy opportunity – a softly hit ball, close to the net and well within reach.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t do underpants.’

  MIA

  ‘Ohmigod!’ screams Vanessa.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ squeals Renata.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ gasps Vanessa. ‘He’s got groupies!’

  ‘He’s signing their clothes!’ Renata screeches.

  ‘He’s signing their bodies!’ Vanessa shrieks.

  ‘They love it!’ giggles Renata.

  ‘He loves it!’ sniggers Vanessa.

  ‘It’s tragic,’ I say.

  ‘Pathetic,’ says Renata.

  ‘Boys are like that,’ says Vanessa. ‘They love being chased by younger girls.’

  ‘My father’s like that,’ I suddenly blurt out. ‘He’s got a girlfriend half his age!’

  ‘Your father?’ says Renata.

  ‘Since when?’ says Vanessa.

  ‘It’s truly disgusting,’ I say. ‘He thinks it’s a secret. He thinks Mum doesn’t know.’

  ‘Oh, Mia!’ says Renata. ‘You poor thing!’

  ‘My dad’s the same,’ says Vanessa. ‘He goes to those men’s clubs in the city, where the girls dance on the tables.’

  ‘Have you seen those girls?’ says Renata. ‘Have you seen the G-strings they wear!’

  ‘Imagine the bikini wax!’ says Vanessa.

  ‘Some of them wax all over,’ says Renata.

  ‘I know!’ says Vanessa.

  One moment I’m sharing my deepest, darkest secret with my two best friends. The next moment it feels as if I’m in a hair salon, discussing body wax and gossiping about tabletop dancers.

  WILL

  When I tell Dave about the Year 7 girls, he gets that look on his face.

  ‘What about me, Will? I’m in Year 7! Did you tell them about me?’

  ‘I said you were already taken, Dave. Engaged to Maria Sharapova.’

  Dave laughs loudly. ‘You did not, Will!’

  ‘But Maria wants to break it off. She’s heard about you and Venus Williams.’

  Dave shakes his head. ‘You did not say that, Will!’

  ‘Venus and Serena!’

  ‘Tell the truth, Will!’

  ‘And Rafael Nadal. It was mixed doubles, I told them.’

  ‘Stop it, Will! Not with Raffa, okay?’

  ‘Why not, Dave? He’s a good-looking guy?’

  ‘Will! Raffa’s a man! And I’m not like that, okay?’

  ‘Sorry, Dave. I was just stirring.’

  ‘Then say it. Dave Holland is not gay. Go on. Say it, Will.’

  ‘Dave Holland is not gay.’

  ‘And neither is Rafael Nadal.’

  ‘And neither is Rafael Nadal.’

  I like stirring Dave. That’s what big brothers do. It’s part of our job description. But I also did it to stop the conversation from taking a predictable nosedive. When Dave starts talking about sex, it’s hard to stop him.

  ‘Dave Holland likes girls. Go on. Say it, Will.’

  ‘Dave Holland likes girls.’

  ‘Dave Holland likes kissing and hugging girls.’

  ‘Dave Holland likes kissing and hugging girls.’

  ‘Dave Holland likes grabbing—’

  ‘I think we might stop you right there, Dave.’

  MIA

  Vanessa’s latest boy-craze is the St David’s boys. Most days, after school, we hang around with the St D’s boys up at the shops. They don’t have girls at their school, so they buy us milkshakes and chips and let Vanessa bot their smokes.

  The St D’s boys are okay. They’re pretty harmless. They throw their schoolbags onto the road in front of oncoming cars. They jump off walls and risk their lives, just to get our attention. As far as I can see, the most interesting thing about them is that they’re from another school. I swear Vanessa only raves about them to make the boys at our school jealous.

  We’re outside the milk bar watching the St D’s boys perform on their skateboards when I see Will and Yorick coming. They are walking along the footpath, deep in conversation, when one of the St D’s boys falls off his board and goes tumbling into them. Yorick drops his schoolbag and chess pieces go everywhere. The guy gets up and brushes himself down without an apology – but then Will grabs his board.

  ‘Better help him pick them up, don’t you think?’ says Will.

  The guy looks at the spilt chessmen, then over at his mates.

  ‘You knocked into me,’ says Yorick, getting down on his knees. ‘You should help me pick them up!’

  The guy looks at Yorick and laughs. Instantly, two of his mates ride over and start circling them. Will and Yorick are surrounded, but instead of looking scared, Will is completely cool. He’s either being very stupid or very brave.

  I am dreading what will happen next, when Vanessa calls out to them.

  ‘Hey, guys! Don’t you know who this is? It’s Will Holland, the famous tennis star!’

  Will looks surprised. The skater boys keep circling. Finally Vanessa has a chance to get even with Will for whatever made her so angry the other day, but instead she says, ‘For your information, Will is a legend at our school. If you want him to sign that board, you should give him a pen. Otherwise, just be good boys and do what he says.’

  With the chessmen safely back in their box, Yorick is satisfied and Will gives back the skateboard. The other boys make a gap for the two of them to come over to us.

  ‘Are they always that obedient?’ Will asks.

  Vanessa smiles. ‘They’ve been well trained.’

  ‘Cyborgs!’ Yorick laughs. ‘Replicants!’

  Vanessa’s smile is hard to pick. It’s not her typical boy-smile by any means – not from her super-vixen repertoire, at least. Vanessa’s smile is simple and matter-of-fact. It’s sweet, like the girl next door. Vanessa is flirting with Will, by not flirting!

  Will looks at me, meaningfully. ‘If you make a mess, you should clean it up.’

  I look away. With Vanessa and Renata there, I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Poor Mia.’ Vanessa shakes her head. ‘She looks like Long John Silver with those crutches. She should walk around with a parrot on her shoulder. Arh! Shiver me timbers!’

  Vanessa does the pirate voice and Will plays the parrot.

  ‘Polly want a cracker?’

  Renata looks puzzled. Yorick looks lost. Then Vanessa does the parrot voice and Will falls about laughing. ‘Polly want a Tim Tam?’ ‘Polly want a Wagon Wheel?’

  If it doesn’t sound very funny, that’s because it isn’t!

  I pick up my schoolbag and limp off up the street. When I look back, Vanessa and Will are still at it, imitating each other like two stupid parrots, laughing uncontrollably.

  WILL

  To relax after training, Dave and I go to the pool. Ken and Lyn thought Dave would never swim again after his accident. He knew how to swim before the accident, but for almost a year after he wouldn’t go anywhere near water. Even having a bath would upset him. But then slowly Dave learned to confront his fears. He started off in the baby pool, then graduated with a lifejacket. Now Dave is nuts about swimming. He’d swim every day if you let him.

  Dave gets into the pool unassisted. He grabs hold of the handrails, pulls himself up out of his wheelchair, lowers himself into the water and away he goes.

  ‘Hey, Will! Look at me! I’m the Thorpedo!’

  With his head up out of the water, his arms splashing wildly and legs trailing limply behind, Dave swims lap after lap without stopping. Dave could swim for hours – he’s amazingly fit and strong in his upper body. Getting him out of the water, though, can be a challenge.

  ‘I don’t want t
o, Will! Just five more minutes! Ten more, at least!’

  ‘But there are chips, Dave. Remember?’

  Afterwards, I sit in the café and watch while Dave studies the vending machine, reading out loud while he tries to make up his mind. ‘A1: plain chips . . . A2: chicken chips . . . A3: salt-and-vinegar . . . A4: Texas barbecue . . . Hey, Will! Are those too spicy for me?’ Dave considers his options carefully, before choosing his trademark packet of Burger Rings instead.

  ‘Would you go on TV, Will? Would you talk to Rove?’

  ‘Only if I’m really famous, Dave.’

  ‘Would you move out of home, Will? Would you have your own swimming pool?’

  ‘I’d live by the beach, Dave. In the Caribbean.’

  ‘You’re not going to live in a caravan, are you, Will?’

  ‘Car-ib-be-an, Dave. We can sit around all day, drinking pineapple juice.’

  ‘Can I come to the Caribbean, Will? Except I don’t like pineapple juice. Would there be other types of juice, Will, in the Caribbean?’

  ‘Any juice you want, Dave.’

  ‘Will there be chips, Will?’

  ‘Chips and Burger Rings, Dave.’

  ‘But there won’t be drugs, Will?’

  ‘No drugs, Dave. And no Year 7 girls, either.’

  MIA

  At morning recess, Renata makes her big announcement.

  ‘Guess what!’ she says. ‘I’m going to Europe!’

  Renata starts talking about Europe as if Australia is somehow kitsch now. She uses the words exquisite and sophisticated. She talks about the exchange rate and the euro. The political situation has changed, she says. Her family is going ‘home’ to see their beautiful country. For years, Renata has avoided the subject and now she won’t stop talking about it.

  ‘Europe is the safest place on earth,’ she says. ‘The fashions. The nightlife. It’s much more chic than Australia.’

  By the end of recess, Vanessa and I have had enough. It’s stupid, but I feel betrayed – as if Renata is going away at a time when I really need her.

  ‘Who does she think she is?’ I say, while Renata goes off to get a drink.

  ‘She’s such a leech!’ says Vanessa. ‘Her family came here to make money, then they go back home to spend it.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ I snap. ‘This is Renata’s home, as much as it is ours.’

  For a moment, Vanessa almost looks hurt. Then her face changes.

  ‘You are so predictable, Mia,’ she says. ‘No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend!’

  WILL

  THINGS TO DO

  1) Design website, including a short biography, fan club details and advice for young players. What inspires you? What do you eat? How do you maintain fitness? Hobbies? Interests? Who would you most like to meet?

  2) Phone Mia.

  Approach publishers re autobiography: ‘Will Holland – Tennis Ace’.

  (May need a ghost writer to do this.)

  3) Send Mia some flowers.

  Approach corporate sponsors, i.e. Adidas, Nike, etc. No tobacco companies!

  (May need an agent to do this.)

  4) No more viola jokes!

  Photo for website?

  (May need new roll of film.)

  5) Begin legal proceedings against

  Ricki the barber.

  MIA

  It’s official. Vanessa and I are fighting. It wasn’t the boyfriend comment per se, so much as the lack of concern that followed. What was just a flesh wound had been left to fester. The pus was not squeezed, the rot had set in. Vanessa was my best friend, but now she is my enemy for all eternity.

  The next day, to avoid Vanessa at recess, I sit on the grass in the place where Will used to sit, before the Year 7 girls came and offered their bodies on a plate. Sports stars are notoriously sleazy, but I thought Will Holland was different. I thought he was inspired by soaring eagles. I thought his heart was as clear as the clear blue sky, but I was wrong . . . When I lie back and look up into the sky, the clouds all look like clouds to me. It’s even a challenge trying to make them look like woolly sheep.

  Am I really predictable? Am I boring?

  At lunchtime, in orchestra practice, we work on our bowing. It’s not enough just to know all the notes and when to play them. They have to be played the right way with the right tone, which means all the viola players bowing up and down at same time. Ms S shows the first viola how to play the passage, then the first viola explains to the rest of us how to mark the score. A lot of our time in rehearsal is spent marking the sheet music with little hats and arrows. It’s an important part of playing music, but it can be pretty dull.

  Maybe Vanessa is right. Maybe my whole life is boring.

  I remember back to that day Will came to watch the orchestra – how he made us all laugh, then returned to take a bow. Maybe, just for fun, I should buy Will a conductor’s baton for his birthday. I will have to find out when his birthday is. Knowing Will’s birthday will tell me what his star sign is, and whether we are compatible, not that I really believe in astrology. Does Will believe in astrology, I wonder? Is he much older than me? Would it matter if I was older than him? Maybe Will is an earth sign – practical and good at tennis. Or maybe he is an air sign – always looking up at the sky. Would people of certain zodiac signs be better at kissing, I wonder? Would others expect to have their toes sucked?

  I hear Ms S’s fingernails drumming impatiently on the back of my chair.

  ‘Mia Foley!’ she says. ‘What on earth are you daydreaming about?’

  WILL

  When Dave comes to watch me train, he does the line calls. He yells them loudly, the way people do in the tournaments: ‘Let!’ ‘Fault!’ ‘Out!’ The calls come fast and clear and they’re always right. You’d never want to argue a line call with Dave. He’d run you down!

  Usually, Dave and I have a hit together after training. Sometimes we even play a set. Dave is surprisingly fast around the court and he can hit these mighty ground shots – hard and deep. Dave plays on the baseline, a lot like Bjorn Borg – he never comes up to the net. According to the rules of wheelchair tennis, he’s allowed two bounces and I’m allowed one. Dave wants to win, of course, but he doesn’t want charity. He’s deadly serious and he never shows any sign of how he’s feeling. The Ice Borg on Wheels, I call him.

  It’s deuce – forty all. Dave’s shot hits the net and topples over. His advantage. He serves the next ball straight and hard down the middle of the court. It’s just outside the line, but both of us see it go in.

  ‘Ace!’ I shout. ‘That’s your game, Dave!’ Dave goes insane. He spins around in circles, punching the air and whispering, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

  ‘You beat me, Dave!’

  ‘I whipped you, Will!’

  ‘You creamed me, Dave!’

  Dave laughs loudly. ‘You know who I am, Will? I’m Federer!’

  I act dumb. ‘Who’s that, Dave?’

  ‘Roger Federer The greatest. Fifteen Grand Slams. Six Wimbledons. Slam, dunk, smash! And you know who you are, don’t you, Will?’

  ‘Andre Agassi?’

  ‘That’s right, Will! The Bald Badger! The Choker! Remember what Dad said?’

  ‘Once a choker, always a choker.’

  Dave spins his wheelchair in circles again.

  ‘Once a choker, always a choker! Once a choker, always a choker!’

  Andre Agassi was one of those tennis players with a near-perfect technique. His ground shots were brilliant, both forehand and backhand. His volleys and serve could do with some work, maybe, but according to Ken, his main weakness was in his head. A choker is someone who can’t perform under pressure. When the going gets tough, he falls apart.

  ‘But you’re not really a choker, are you, Will?’

  ‘No, Dave. And neither was Andre Agassi.’

  ‘But I am Roger Federer, aren’t I!’

  MIA

  Will Holland is standing by the gate after school, talking to the Year 7 girls. Doesn�
�t he have anything better to do? Hasn’t his felt-tipped pen run out of ink yet?

  ‘Hey there!’ he says as I limp through the gate. ‘How’s your ankle?’

  ‘Getting better,’ I say curtly.

  ‘What’s the difference between a viola and an onion?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Nobody cries when they chop up a viola.’

  ‘Is that supposed to cheer me up?’

  ‘Sorry, I just thought . . . ’ ‘You could have told me, you know.’

  ‘About the tennis game? I tried to tell you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before the game?’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘You wanted to impress me, you mean. You’re just like all the other boys, Will Holland. If you want a girlfriend who sits in the crowd and cheers for you, then lets you write your name all over her body, good luck! Girls are like cattle to you, aren’t they, Will? You think if you see your name on them, you must own them. Maybe you should start using a branding iron, to save time!’

  WILL

  Dave loves me taking him to the park. He loves it almost as much as going to the pool. It’s not the grass and the trees that Dave loves. It’s not the playground or the little lake with the children feeding the ducks. It’s not the winding gravel path where he can race ahead of me or the girls jogging past in their skin-tight pants. What Dave really loves about the park are the chin-up bars. And the reason Dave loves them so much is that he can do more chin-ups than me.

  After pushing a wheelchair for four years, Dave’s arms and shoulders have beefed right up. He positions the wheelchair under the lowest bar, pulls himself up off his seat and away he goes: ‘Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . ’

  Dave insists that I stand by and watch him. He has a terrifying look of determination on his face and his tongue sticks out slightly from the side of his mouth.

  ‘ . . . Fifty-five . . . sixty . . . ’

  As Dave gets closer to one hundred he breaks out in a sweat and slows right down. It’s like watching a champion weightlifter psych himself between lifts.

  ‘Ninety-two . . . ninety-three . . . ninety-four . . . ’

  Mostly, when Dave gets to a hundred, he quits. More important to Dave than a new personal best is to see me on the chin-up bar, trying to make forty. As anyone will tell you, doing forty chin-ups is no mean effort, but that doesn’t stop Dave from laughing at me.