Love-shy

by Lili Wilkinson

  I looked at my computer screen. I’d written one hundred and fifty words. But I could finish it later. The principal didn’t really need to see it, and it was only going to layout this afternoon. It wouldn’t actually go the printer for at least another week.

  ‘Sure.’

  We wandered through the school grounds, not speaking. What did he want? Was he mad at me? Was he going to cry again? Was he about to beg me to promise I wouldn’t tell anyone about his crazy family? No fear there – I didn’t even want to think about them. Every time I did, I could see Nick’s mother crying into her dry roast beef, while Nick’s father ignored everyone and listened to the radio. It made me feel sick.

  Nick stopped by the bench where we’d had our first conversation, and sat down abruptly. I did the same. We sat there in silence for a while.

  ‘I wanted to thank you.’

  Thank me? For what, inviting myself over to his house and witnessing his miserable crazy family? I looked across at him, but he was staring at the ground.

  ‘I didn’t … I’d got used to the way things were. It wasn’t until you showed up that I realised … how bad everything is. How wrong.’

  ‘Oh.’ I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t tell him it’d be all right. It wouldn’t. That family wasn’t going to change anytime soon. And it wasn’t as though Nick could leave them. You can’t choose your family, and you can’t make them go away just because they’re insane.

  ‘I thought I’d be in trouble because you came over. After you left I waited in my room for them to come up and tell me I’d done something wrong. But they didn’t come. And, I realised that I’d done something right. Something normal. I’d invited a friend over for dinner – or at least that’s what they thought. And that was something normal people do. And even though I didn’t actually invite you over, it still made me feel … like I could do some other normal things.’

  I nodded encouragingly.

  ‘But it’s hard. And I tried to go to that party you told me about … ’ He shook his head.

  I couldn’t tell him that I knew what had happened – he still didn’t know I was reading his blog. So I just kept nodding.

  ‘And I realised that you have helped me. I can talk to you – I’m doing it now. I’ve never done that before. It’s weird how much it helps to talk about stuff. I thought it’d make everything scarier, more real, but it actually makes things easier. Like, if I can talk about it, then maybe I can do something about it.’

  I’d helped Nick. I’d helped him. The project was working. A vision of a feature article popped into my head, in the New Yorker or the Monthly or Vanity Fair. I’d call it ‘The Loveshy Experiment’.

  ‘But,’ said Nick, ‘you can’t fix me.’

  Why not? It was working so far, wasn’t it? He’d just said it was.

  ‘I think I need … something more intense. More serious.’

  It was as if Nick were breaking up with me. Which was silly, because we weren’t dating – and never would. I wasn’t his type and, anyway, I didn’t want to be dating anyone.

  ‘So I made an appointment to see a counsellor.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. I thought about it for a moment. ‘Good for you.’

  It was good. I couldn’t fix Nick entirely. He needed professional help, and I wasn’t a therapist. But I could still follow his journey, document it, support him. The article was back on!

  ‘It’s tomorrow,’ he said. ‘After school. At the community clinic. And, um … ’

  His cheeks went pink.

  ‘Do you want me to wait for you?’ I asked. ‘Be there when you come out?’

  He nodded, relieved. ‘Yes, please.’

  There was a noise from over near the basketball courts, and Nick’s head popped up like a startled bunny’s. James O’Keefe and Rory Singh were playing one-on-one basketball, yelling some pretty horrific things about each other’s mothers. Nick flinched.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘The Teenage Boy in his natural habitat. What a beautiful thing.’

  ‘It isn’t my natural habitat,’ said Nick.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t like sport much, would you?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it,’ he said, talking very fast all of a sudden. ‘I don’t get the point of running around and sweating and grunting and hitting other boys. It just looks painful. I can’t think of anything worse than all that effort for nothing. I mean, what do you get out of it? The opportunity to rub your sweaty body up against some other guy’s? Gross.’

  I laughed. This was good. He was talking in full sentences. And he certainly had a point regarding the sweaty boys and the grunting. ‘You’re definitely not gay, then.’

  ‘No,’ said Nick. ‘I don’t like boys. Not for anything. Not even to talk to. Boys are loud and violent and scary.’

  ‘Do you ever wish you were a girl?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But when I do I wish I was a lesbian. Because I’d never want to be with a guy. Guys are horrid.’

  ‘A male lesbian,’ I said. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I kind of wish I was attracted to boys,’ said Nick.

  ‘Really?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘At least if I was gay I wouldn’t always have to make the first move. Someone might try hitting on me for a change.’

  I frowned. ‘But Nick, girls hit on you all the time. Girls faint in class so you’ll notice them. Any sane girl would want to go out with you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Um,’ I said, feeling my cheeks flush. ‘No. Of course not. Definitely not. No. But I don’t want to go out with anyone, so don’t take it personally. But whenever one of those girls does come up and talk to you, you act like you’re too good for them. You don’t seem shy. Everyone thinks you have a girlfriend at your old school.’

  Nick went very quiet, and I knew he was thinking about his old school, and why he moved.

  James bellowed and tackled Rory to the ground, although not in a particularly aggressive way. It looked like standard boy-silliness to me, but it seemed to be upsetting Nick, who winced every time they swore or did something violent.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s keep walking.’

  Nick and I headed across the oval towards the creek that ran along its furthest edge. We weren’t technically allowed down there as it was out of school bounds, but there weren’t any teachers around, and Nick seemed pretty comfortable – he wagged school all the time. We walked in silence, but it didn’t feel particularly awkward. I decided to wait until he said something. Let him make the next move, as it were.

  It took ten minutes. The branches and undergrowth opened up suddenly into a pretty green patch of grass, fringed with yellow buttercups that went right down to the edge of the creek, where two ducks circled lazily in the sluggish current of the creek.

  ‘Oh,’ said Nick softly. ‘How lovely.’

  ‘Do you want to sit?’ I asked, indicating the green patch. It looked soft and comfortable.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘On the grass.’

  Nick made an incredulous noise. ‘On the ground? You must be crazy. There could be syringes, or dog mess, or anything.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Dog mess?’

  ‘Just think of the germs!’ He stopped, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m doing it, aren’t I? Being ridiculous and melodramatic.’

  ‘A little bit.’

  Nick took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to be more normal.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘You’re doing a good job.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to pretend that.’ He smiled in his fluttery, nervous way. ‘But I’m still not sitting on the grass.’

  ‘Why are you so afraid of sitting on the ground?’ I asked, as we turned and headed back towards school.

  ‘Mysophobia.’

  ‘Fear of germs?’ I guessed. ‘How many phobias do you have, exactly?’

  ‘I’m trying to collect a fu
ll set.’ I could see he was trying to be funny, but his face drooped miserably.

  ‘Is that why your house is covered in plastic?’ I asked. ‘Is your mum a germ-freak too?’

  He nodded. ‘She never let me play outside when I was little, and always sprayed her hands with hand sanitiser after picking me up or touching me.’

  Yikes.

  ‘But what about gardening?’ I asked. ‘You like making your little terrariums, but you won’t sit on the grass because there might be dog poo?’

  Nick looked uncomfortable. ‘I use potting-mix for the terrariums,’ he explained. ‘It comes in a sealed plastic packet, so I know it doesn’t have any bugs or dog … mess. And I wear gloves and wash my hands with antibacterial soap and then have a shower.’

  For a moment panic rose inside me, the way it had at Nick’s house. I wanted to run away from him and all his crazy problems. It was too much to fix. He’d never get better.

  ‘Did you ever read The Secret Garden?’ Nick asked suddenly. ‘When you were a kid?’

  ‘Um,’ I said. ‘Yes, I think so. With that horrible bossy girl and the boy in the wheelchair?’

  ‘The girl kind of reminds me of you,’ said Nick.

  I felt stung. ‘I’m not horrible and bossy.’

  Nick gave a little huffing chuckle. ‘Well, you’re not horrible,’ he said. ‘But neither is Mary. Not really.’ He gave me a sly smile. ‘Not once you get to know her.’

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I love the way they talk about nature in that book. Like it’s something wild and beautiful and powerful. I love the descriptions of Mary and Colin lying in the grass and meeting animals and getting dirt under their fingernails and really growing things. Bringing life into the world.’

  Nick’s eyes were bright, and he had a faraway, peaceful expression on his face. ‘I want that,’ he said. ‘I want to feel the dirt under my fingernails. I want to be outside in a garden, with the sun on my face and the smell of things growing all around me. I want to do that and be happy, instead of worrying about clostridium perfringens and listeria monocytogenes and vibro cholerae. I want to get better.’

  ‘You will,’ I told him. ‘You will get better.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nick. ‘You’re like my Mary, bossing me around to make me be less pathetic, and I’m like Colin, all weak and afraid of the world at first, but growing stronger and braver every day.’

  I frowned. ‘Can’t I be the other one? The other boy who has the magic nature power and talks to robins?’

  Nick gave me a long look paired with an almost sarcastic smile. ‘No,’ he said with another chuckle. ‘You’re definitely Mary.’

  When I read Nick’s latest post that afternoon after school, I wanted to squeal with happiness. Progress! I was making progress. It was working!

  17:58

  I’m not sure if today was the worst day of my life, or the beginning of something that might be good.

  It started to rain as I walked home. I love the way the world smells when it rains, like everything is new again. I love the way raindrops gather on nasturtium petals like beads of mercury.

  I don’t know. Can she help me? She says she can. The thing is, I don’t know if I can even imagine it. The idea of it, having a real girlfriend, being able to hold a girl and talk to her and even maybe one day have sex with a girl that I truly love. I’ve spent so much time daydreaming about it, but it’s kind of like daydreaming about flying or having superpowers. It seems something that is totally outside the realm of possibility.

  I see other people doing it all the time. People walking together and holding hands and looking happy and comfortable. And I just can’t imagine it ever happening to me, other than in my dreams.

  But maybe. Just maybe.

  13

  ON TUESDAY, I BARELY HEARD a word any of my teachers said all day. I was sure I was more nervous than Nick was about his counselling appointment. Mr Gerakis called me back as I left English, and asked if I was okay.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘You’ve seemed very distracted lately.’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s a busy time of year. The Debating final is coming up, and SRC’s organising the social.’

  ‘How many extracurricular activities do you do, Penny?’

  I counted. ‘Swimming, Band, Debating, SRC and the Gazette. Five.’

  Mr Gerakis raised his eyebrows. ‘Five is a lot. Perhaps you should consider dropping one or two to make more time for your studies.’

  Was he crazy? ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t paying attention today, Mr Gerakis. I didn’t sleep well last night. But I assure you, I’m excellent at managing my time. There really isn’t a problem.’

  He didn’t seem convinced, but I had to get to Italian, so I gave him a reassuring smile and left.

  I perched on a swing in the playground outside the community centre and took some halfhearted notes for the loveshy article. I hated waiting. I wondered what Nick was talking about in there. Would he talk about me?

  My phone chirped. It was a text message from Rin, asking if I wanted to come to her house for dinner. She probably wanted to talk to me about Hamish. I tapped out a quick reply to tell her I was busy. I had to support Nick – I didn’t have time for matchmaking. I’d introduced her to Hamish, given them an opportunity to get to know each other, and the rest was up to them.

  Nick reappeared after an hour and came to sit on the swing next to mine. He shut his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

  ‘How did it go?’ I asked after a few moments had passed.

  ‘Okay. Very hard, but okay.’

  He kicked his heels against the tanbark and leaned back in the swing, letting the sunshine melt into his face.

  ‘Do you … want to talk about it?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘There’s just so much … stuff. That I always thought was normal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He swung in silence for a moment. ‘When I was eight, I told my parents I wanted a Lego pirate ship for Christmas. I’d seen it advertised on TV and I wanted it more than anything. My father said I could have it if I played sport every Saturday for the rest of the year.’

  ‘And did you?’

  Nick nodded. ‘I chose Little Athletics, because there were no balls and I didn’t have to be in a team. I still hated it, though. The other kids all laughed when they had to delay a race because I hadn’t finished the previous one yet. The only time I ever got a ribbon was when all the kids except me and two others got disqualified for not staying inside their lanes. And I still came third.’

  I’d done Little Aths too. I don’t think I’d ever not got a ribbon. ‘But you got your Lego pirate ship, right?’

  Nick dug his feet into the tanbark, halting himself mid-swing. ‘Oh, I got it. On Christmas Day.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Every single brick in place.’

  ‘Wait, what? They put it together?’

  ‘They stayed up on Christmas Eve and put the pirate ship together, so I wouldn’t make a mess.’

  ‘That’s just wrong.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ said Nick. ‘They superglued it together.’

  I stared at him in horror. ‘Your parents superglued together a Lego pirate ship before they gave it to you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you thought this was normal.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I thought it was mean at the time. I just didn’t realise other people would find it so shocking.’

  ‘So what did she say? The therapist, I mean.’

  ‘Um.’ Nick’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his knees. ‘She thinks I should … ’ He took a deep breath. ‘She wants us to have counselling together as a family. And that maybe if that doesn’t work I could go and live in a residential care facility until I finish school and can either live on campus at university or get a job where I can support myself. She says I need cognitive behavioural therapy. I don’t really know what tha
t is. She also says I could try anti-anxiety medication, but she wants to see if I can get better without it first.’

  He drew another deep, shuddery breath.

  ‘Wow,’ I said, aware that as a reaction it was rather lacking.

  ‘Wow,’ repeated Nick. ‘Yeah. Wow.’

  ‘Do you think your parents will do it? Have counselling?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think they’ll be angry with me when they find out I went to see her.’

  Nick sat for a moment, looking like a lost little boy.

  ‘So,’ I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Terrified. I always thought I knew what my life would be like. I’d always live with my parents, because I’d never be able to get a job. I’d always be shy and useless. Nothing would ever change. But now … now it’s all wide open. I don’t know what’s going to happen, who I’m going to be.’

  ‘Who do you want to be?’

  Nick’s eyes grew distant and a flicker of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Anyone but me.’

  ‘Rin stopped by,’ said Dad, looking up from Dostoyevsky. ‘I said you’d call her when you got home.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it later.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ He put down the book and stood up to give me a hug. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, breathing in his Dad-smell and closing my eyes for a moment. ‘Had a long day.’

  ‘What was it tonight?’ Dad pulled back from the hug and studied me. ‘No wet hair, so it wasn’t swimming. Debating? SRC?’

  ‘Working on an assignment for the paper.’ It wasn’t quite a lie, but I still felt bad for not telling Dad everything.

  ‘You work too hard,’ he said, ruffling my hair.

  ‘So do you,’ I retorted. ‘What are you doing home so early? Isn’t it Tuesday?’

  ‘Meeting was cancelled. I made pasta. Yours is in the oven.’

  ‘You cooked?’ I reached up to feel his forehead. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Dad shrugged. ‘I wanted bolognese, and La Cucina isn’t open on Tuesdays.’

  I gave him a suspicious look, but pulled my plate out of the oven and took it to my room. It was surprisingly good.