The Boy/Friend

by R. M. Corbet

  ‘Before I get bat shit in my hair!’

  ‘Or rabies,’ Andy added.

  ‘Ohmigod! Ohmigod!’ Shauna shrieked.

  Alison’s boat was already turning. There wasn’t much choice but to follow.

  Rowing with the current was easier than rowing against it. Heading back to the Boathouse, we picked up the pace. Simon was a strong rower and I was determined to keep up with him.

  ‘Need a break yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No way,’ I puffed.

  Pretty soon we were way out in front of the others. I was feeling the heat now. The palms of my hands were burning. My clothes were crumpled and falling way short of the dress standard.

  ‘You’re pretty fit,’ said Simon approvingly.

  ‘Need a break, yet?’ I teased.

  As the footbridge came into view, we slowed down the pace. Simon looked as hot as I did. His muscles were pumped and his T-shirt was stained with sweat.

  ‘Are you going . . . to the dance?’ he said unexpectedly.

  ‘What dance?’ I said, between breaths.

  Shauna had been lying back sunbaking, but she sat up suddenly.

  ‘Are you asking me to the dance?’

  ‘Actually, I was asking Maude.’

  Shauna’s mouth fell open. ‘I’m not sure she can make it.’

  ‘How about it, Maude?’ said Simon.

  They were both staring at me now.

  Our boat had slowed almost to a stop. The sun was hot and my clothes were all stuck to my skin. I looked at Simon, looked at Shauna . . . let go of my oar . . . and tumbled over the side into the cool, murky water.

  While the boys were returning the life jackets, we girls had an emergency meeting. Shauna did her best to stay quiet while Bianca and Alison took turns to tear me to shreds.

  ‘What is it with you, Maude?’

  ‘Simon was meant to ask Shauna!’

  ‘No one told me.’

  ‘You can read between the lines.’

  ‘What lines? I never expected to be asked out.’

  ‘In that case, it won’t be a problem to fix it.’

  ‘Tell him it was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Tell him you’re sorry, but you can’t make it.’

  ‘Tell him you already have a boyfriend.’

  ‘But I don’t have a boyfriend.’

  ‘He doesn’t know that. Just do it!’

  There was no point in trying to argue. Still in my wet clothes, I walked back to where Simon was standing.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll live.’

  He noticed the other girls frowning at us. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘There might be.’

  ‘Don’t you want to come with me?’

  ‘I’m not sure . . . Would we have to row there?’

  Simon grinned. ‘We could take a speedboat.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Sounds like fun.’

  I didn’t know what had made me so reckless. All I knew was that I was going my own way from there. I was making my own plans. I was reading between my own lines.

  ‘It’s a date, then?’ said Simon.

  ‘I don’t have your number, that’s all.’

  He had a pen but no paper, so with the others all watching, he wrote it down on my arm. Normally, I’m not very ticklish, but I just couldn’t stop myself laughing.

  That night it was like World War II.

  Bianca messaged me with some friendly advice about fixing things before they got out of hand. I messaged her back to say thanks for being a friend and that things would blow over in time. Then Alison messaged me with some not-so-friendly advice about it being my duty to apologise to Shauna and make it right OR ELSE. I messaged Bianca: Tell Alison I don’t respond to threats. I messaged Shauna to say I hoped she and I could still be friends. Then Bianca messaged me to say Shauna wasn’t reading my messages. She needs space and doesn’t want to talk at the moment. So I messaged Bianca: If Shauna won’t talk now, that suits me just fine. Then Alison messaged me to say: Who do you think you are? So I messaged Alison to say: At least I’m not Shauna’s mindless stooge. Then Bianca messaged me to say how hurt Alison was: She feels like you’re angry with all of us. So I messaged Bianca to explain that it wasn’t me who was angry, and that my fight with Shauna had nothing to do with her and Alison. Then Alison messaged me to say how hurt Bianca was: You were really mean, under the circumstances. Then I messaged Alison: Under WHAT circumstances? Then Alison sent me a very long message, about how I needed a REALITY CHECK. Then Bianca messaged me to say: Maybe just leave it. But before I could do that, Shauna messaged me to say she and I weren’t friends anymore. So I messaged Shauna back to say: We were never friends in the first place and I thought you’d stopped sending me messages. Then Alison messaged me to say I was cold and heartless and evil, and I messaged her back to say: Look in the mirror! Bianca messaged me to say I was acting recklessly. So I messaged Bianca to say I was sick of being told how to think by people who didn’t care about me anyway.

  There were no more messages after that.

  complications

  MAGNETISM IS A FORCE OF NATURE. It’s powerful, yet it’s invisible. It can create electricity. It can change the direction of a compass. It can help to detect bombs or buried riches. It can attract or repulse.

  That next week at school confirmed my worst fears: that I had been de-magnetised. There were no marching orders. No final farewells. After World War II came the Cold War . . .

  Alison, Bianca and Shauna ate lunch on our old bench seat. Just the three of them, spaced out at regular intervals, with comfortable gaps in between. There wasn’t any room left for me.

  As I wandered the school grounds at lunchtime, it felt like there were walls of glass blocking my way. There were places to avoid for fear of reprisal. Corners where I might be ambushed. Wide open spaces where I felt exposed. Booby traps. Razor wire. Minefields. The fighting was over, but the war would continue.

  Out of sight. Silent. Invisible.

  By midweek I had retreated. I sat down under a tree by the fence to eat lunch and mind my own business, but when I looked up my heart sank: Shauna and Alison were headed my way. Fifty metres and closing. No Bianca to shield me from them. I was a sitting duck.

  With a kind of numb dread, I watched them approach, bracing myself for a direct hit: Selfish, sadistic, evil, double-crossing traitor . . .

  Sticks and stones could break my bones, but names could be even more hurtful.

  Then, from the opposite direction, Phoebe appeared. She waved and called out as she started towards me, walking fast, happy to see me. When Shauna and Alison saw her, they slowed down and then veered away.

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  Phoebe was carrying a bucket of chips. ‘Do you like sauce on your chips, Maude? They put sauce on my chips. I don’t like sauce. It makes the chips go all soggy and red.’

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t allowed to buy chips.’

  ‘They’re not for me. They’re for you!’

  She gave me the chips, then she sat down beside me. Had she even noticed the Magnets?

  ‘How was your weekend? Did you have a fab time?’

  ‘A fab time? At the Boathouse? Oh, sure. It was fab. I mean, as far as fab goes. It was okay. It wasn’t too bad, I guess.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound very fab, Maude.’

  When and where Phoebe had started using the word fab was immaterial. Whether she had just seen Austin Powers for the first time was beside the point. A part of me wanted to recount what had happened, making a strong case for my innocence and explaining how I was a victim in Shauna’s strange game. But the more I thought about what I had done, the more sad and uncertain it made me.

  ‘I stole Shauna’s boy,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Shauna’s boy? I thought she had plenty to spare.’

  ‘It’s not really stealing. More like borrowing,’ I said. ‘Besides, it was his idea, not mine.’

&n
bsp; Phoebe’s eyes shone behind her blue sparkly glasses. ‘Nobody ever did that to Shauna before.’

  ‘He asked me out, so I said yes.’ I shrugged. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘Stealing the cute boy from the sexiest girl?’

  ‘Saving the boy from the wicked witch, maybe. I never said he was cute, did I?’

  ‘If he’s not cute, then what’s Shauna’s problem?’

  ‘This is not about logic,’ I laughed.

  ‘So why did you say yes?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy?’

  Phoebe looked at me curiously. ‘Did you say yes to get back at your boyfriend?’

  The chip I was eating got caught in my throat. ‘I told you. I don’t have a boyfriend,’ I coughed.

  ‘It’s okay if it’s a secret.’

  ‘Lou is an old friend. A good friend. A close friend. At least, he used to be. I’m really not sure anymore.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Phoebe. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’

  I looked at her smiling behind her blue glasses. Maybe she was mad, like everyone thought. Either that or she knew something I didn’t know, because so far as I could see, this was no smiling matter.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I said.

  I’ve always been a good listener. I listened while Mum and Dad talked about work – the pay claims, the tea bags, the broken photocopier. I listened while Mum explained how to make risotto – the trick was to get the right stock cubes, she said. I listened to Dad’s plans to buy a new lawnmower – the rotary model with the grass bag and leaf blower. I listened to the chinking of forks, knives and plates. I listened to the kitchen clock ticking away.

  I listened and nodded and made the right noises while I waited for the inevitable question:

  ‘How was your day, Maude? What’s all your news?’

  ‘I’ve been asked out to a dance.’

  Dad’s lump of steak stuck in his throat. Mum started slapping him hard on the back while I poured him a fresh glass of water. It wasn’t a life-threatening situation, though.

  Not for Dad, at least.

  The questions that followed were more than just nosy. Who was this boy? How did I meet him? How old was he? What school did he go to? Where did he live? Had I met his parents? What did his parents do? Were they married? Divorced? It felt like I was being asked about a crime I hadn’t committed yet. A crime I wasn’t even planning to commit.

  But these questions were just their way of warming up to the one they were itching to ask.

  ‘What about Lou?’ said Mum.

  ‘What about him!’ I snapped.

  ‘Are you planning to tell him?’ Dad said.

  ‘Tell Lou? Why should I?’

  ‘He’s a good friend,’ said Mum.

  ‘An old and a dear friend,’ added Dad.

  ‘I don’t need his permission,’ I groaned.

  ‘But how would you feel if . . .’

  ‘How would I feel? I’d feel like it’s none of my business!’

  I was done listening.

  Gritting my teeth, I excused myself from the table and stomped upstairs to my bedroom. What right did they have to pry into my life? What did it matter if I told Lou or not? We hadn’t spoken since that disastrous day at the mall. It wasn’t like I was avoiding him. It wasn’t like he would care, either way . . .

  I picked up my iPod and put it back down. There were six hundred and eighty-five songs to choose from, but nothing I wanted to hear just right then.

  I deleted Shauna’s and Alison’s names from my phone address book, then found Simon’s number and started a message.

  Hey there sounded too cool.

  Hi sounded a bit lame.

  Hello sounded too stuffy.

  The implications seemed so complex, in the end it was easier just to call him.

  ‘Simon? It’s Maude.’

  ‘Maude! Hey! You called!’

  There was a brief silence which I knew that I should have filled, except that my mind went a bit blank right then.

  ‘Maude? Are you still there?’

  ‘You’re not in the bath, are you?’

  ‘In the bath?’

  ‘I mean, I haven’t called at a bad time, have I?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I didn’t really mean Are you in the bath? Not in the way that it sounded.’

  ‘I’m not in the bath.’

  ‘I’m not either.’

  Have you gone mad, Maude McNaughton?

  ‘Are you still coming to the dance?’ asked Simon.

  ‘To the dance? No sweat! I just told my parents, so I thought I’d confirm.’

  I had never said No sweat before in my life. And confirm made it sound like a dental appointment.

  ‘So your parents are cool?’

  ‘My parents are not cool, believe me. My parents are the opposite of cool.’

  ‘They said you can’t go?’

  ‘They said I can go.’

  ‘You CAN go?’

  ‘I CAN go.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The silence that followed was crushingly long: four or five seconds at least. I was tempted to hang up and leave it at that, only Simon got in just in time.

  ‘I hope you don’t think I was pushy,’ he said. ‘Seeing as how we only just met.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like you were pushy.’

  ‘I didn’t ask if you had a boyfriend or anything.’

  For some reason, Lou’s face flashed into my mind.

  ‘I don’t have a boyfriend, if it makes any difference.’

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference. Don’t worry.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference. What I mean is . . . I don’t have a boyfriend.’

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ said Simon. ‘I didn’t mean it the way that it sounded.’

  Lou’s face again. This was crazy.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I spluttered. ‘I’m not even sure what a boyfriend is.’

  I’m not even sure what a boyfriend is?

  I could not believe that I’d said that.

  ‘All I meant was, going out on a date doesn’t have to imply—’

  ‘No. No,’ said Simon. ‘I agree. It’s so stupid.’

  ‘Anyway . . .’

  ‘I should let you go.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Gotta go.’

  I hung up and screamed into my pillow.

  onions

  MY STOMACH WAS CHURNING. My guts were in knots. I’d visited Lou’s place every day for the past ten years (until recently), but today was not like all those other days. Today was not about me and Lou and the past. I’d decided today was the start of our future.

  I opened his gate and I crept up the path. There were cats on the front lawn and cats on the porch. I could hear him practising his sax in his bedroom. A cascade of tumbling notes, up and down, down and up, getting wilder and louder and faster.

  Musicians.

  The cats started rubbing themselves against my legs, hoping for a saucer of milk, no doubt. I told them to be patient. They would just have to wait.

  ‘I’m here on important girl business,’ I said.

  When the sax-playing finally stopped, I knocked gently on Lou’s window. There was no answer, so I knocked again, until he finally pulled back the curtain.

  ‘Maude?’

  ‘Hope I’m not . . .’

  ‘. . . interrupting, no. I was just . . .’

  ‘. . . warming up . . .’

  ‘. . . playing some scales.’

  ‘It sounded like fun.’

  ‘Fun? No. It’s not fun. It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Serious, fun, whatever . . . Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. About you and me. About us. I know things are changing. I know we can’t stop them, even if we want to. I’ve been holding on, trying not to lose what we’ve got, when we need to let go to
move forward.’

  Lou looked perplexed. ‘Can this wait until later?’

  My little speech hadn’t turned out quite right, so I took a deep breath: ‘Do you want to go see another movie?’

  Lou looked at me in an odd kind of way. Not the way I had hoped he might look.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ I continued. ‘Or you can pay. I don’t care who pays.’

  ‘We should talk tonight, when I’m not busy.’

  ‘With your sax practice?’

  ‘Actually, I’m giving a lesson right now.’

  Lou pulled back the curtain and Jill waved at me. She was sitting cross-legged on his bed.

  ‘Hey there, Maude.’ She smiled.

  She was in his room, with the curtains closed, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

  ‘We’ll be done in ten minutes,’ said Lou.

  I was too stunned to even reply.

  I spun round and took off as fast as I could, but at the front gate I collided with Ella. She was just back from the market with a big box of organic vegies.

  ‘Maude! You minx! What’s with the crazy?’

  ‘I’m leaving!’ I stammered.

  But Ella had a sixth sense for these things.

  ‘Come in and help me make soup!’ she insisted.

  We went down the side of the house to the kitchen. Ella dug around in the shopping box and produced a bag of potatoes, a bunch of carrots, celery, pumpkin, green beans, a clove of garlic and three large onions. She plonked them all down on a chopping board and handed me a vegetable knife.

  ‘Start with the onions.’ She grinned. ‘Not my brother.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me!’

  ‘Because he’s a boy.’

  ‘But why would he do that, with her, in his room?’

  ‘Because he’s a boy.’

  ‘But she’s so . . . blonde and pretty.’

  ‘Because boys are hopeless.’

  I stared at the knife through a blur of wet tears. I felt angry with Lou, but even angrier with myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Did I really expect him to wait?

  I felt the tears fall down my cheeks.