by R. M. Corbet
‘The one and only.’
‘Now is not a good time.’
‘I thought we could hook up this Friday, Maude. Go see another movie or something.’
‘No way! It’s not going to happen!’
Lou was watching me curiously now.
‘All good,’ said Andy. ‘So how’s about Saturday?’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Who is that?’ Lou whispered.
I covered the phone. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Crazy?’ said Andy. ‘I’d be crazy not to be asking you out.’
‘Go away,’ I whispered to Lou.
‘Come on, Maude. You know that you want to,’ said Andy.
‘Listen Andy, I’ll call you back, okay?’
‘Why? Is your psycho ex-boyfriend around?’
I was eyeballing Lou, but he still wasn’t moving.
‘In fact, yes, he is. He’s right here.’
‘You haven’t told him about me, have you?’
‘Don’t worry, Andy. You’re safe.’
I hung up and Lou frowned suspiciously.
‘Who is this guy Andy anyway?’
‘No one important . . . Hey! How about a tux?’
‘For a junk orchestra?’
‘Why not?’
The tuxedos were along the far wall by the suits. There were three or four to choose from, so Lou tried them all. It was my job to not burst out laughing each time he came out of the change room. The first one was too loose. The second, too tight. But the third was right, more or less.
‘I look like a penguin.’
‘Actually, you look quite dashing.’
‘A dashing penguin.’
He paid for the tux and the doorknocker. I paid for my matching carved elephant. As we were leaving, my phone rang again. I wanted to turn it off without answering, but Lou held out his hand.
‘Is that the same guy? Let me speak to him.’
Lou and Andy were two different species. They had nothing in common, besides knowing me. Lou didn’t know the first thing about Andy. And Andy thought Lou was a psychopath.
I sighed as I handed the phone over.
‘Hello, Andy?’ he said. ‘Yes, it is . . . Maude told you about me? No. I’m not threatening you . . . I’m not angry . . . Can you quit calling? You’re driving her nuts . . . I don’t care what she told you . . . I don’t care about the ball . . . She’s not going with you . . . Why? Because she’s going with me! That’s right. I’ve already bought a tuxedo!’
Lou hung up and gave back my phone.
‘That’s sorted,’ he said. ‘Now, what’s this I’ve got myself into?’
By the time we got home, he was up to speed. Almost.
‘We’ll get your tux fitted, then voila!’ I said.
‘Voila?’
‘It’s French for cool tux.’
‘I think it looks fine how it is.’
‘It’s shabby and baggy. It needs dry-cleaning and taking in.’
‘That’s the whole point, that it doesn’t quite fit.’
‘It might be fine for your gig, but you can’t go to a ball dressed like that.’
‘Because I’ll look cheap?’
‘You’ll look out of place.’
‘You’re just a snob.’ Lou grinned.
‘And you’re just a filthy punk rocker.’
In the end, we consulted a third party. Ella listened carefully to both sides of the story. She nodded and frowned and thought about it. Then she told Lou to go change into his tux.
‘It’s Maude’s ball. You’ll do what she wants you to do.’
She threaded her sewing machine and altered his tux on the spot. She let down the legs and she unpicked the shoulders. She pinned them and sewed them back up. This time, when Lou tried it on, the tux fit him like a glove.
‘Now I look even more like a penguin,’ he sighed.
‘I can see you at the Oscars,’ said Ella.
‘Best penguin in a supporting role.’ I grinned.
So far, so good. But when it came to trying on the bow tie, Lou spat the dummy.
‘Bow ties aren’t punk,’ he said flatly.
‘It’s a formal,’ said Ella. ‘That means you have to dress formally.’
But Lou was defiant. ‘Bow ties aren’t punk.’
In the end we settled for a thin black tie, which made him much happier.
‘Now you look part-punk, part-penguin.’ I smiled.
‘Remember,’ said Ella, ‘don’t itch. Don’t fidget. Keep your mouth shut and do what Maude tells you to do.’
We had fun after that. We got Lou to stand like a storefront mannequin while we moved his arms and legs into fashionable poses. Ella’s wardrobe was piled high with dress-ups, so we tried him in crazy hats, high heels and jewellery. We put an umbrella in his hand and hung some binoculars around his neck, then we made him say, ‘How now, brown cow?’ and, ‘Jolly good show, what!’ It was the most fun I’d had with Lou since we were kids. Except for the part where he stripped down to his jocks and I didn’t know where to look.
When Lou was all done Ella sent him away, so she could focus on me and my fabulous gown. Besides the red velvet dress from the last dance, there was a black taffeta nightmare with ruffles and sequins; a purple satin evil fairy godmother type number; and a pale-blue smock straight out of Little Bo Peep.
I had given up hope when, at the bottom of her wardrobe, I found a scrunched-up red silk gown embroidered with dragons.
‘What do you think?’ I asked, holding it out.
‘The dragons will be a talking point.’
Ella re-sewed a button and a length of loose hem. She ironed out the wrinkles and handed it back. I stripped off and slipped the gown over my head. With some wriggling and jiggling I got it to fit.
‘Maude! You’ve got curves!’
‘Too tight and slinky?’
Ella adjusted my posture a little: tummy in; shoulders back; hands by my sides.
‘Perfect! Now go and show Louie!’ She beamed.
In my slinky red silk, I slunk off to find Lou. Not like a femme fatale, exactly. I felt slightly tingly and light-headed, though, I admit.
Lou was back in the laundry, between the washing machine and the hot-water system. He had given up trying to make the mop look cute. Now he was on the Funky Junk website, writing a long blog. Something about reusable materials, recycling ideas, and how music was a renewable energy source.
I wondered if now was the right time and place.
I took a deep breath. ‘How do you like my dress?’
He barely glanced at what I was wearing before he went back to typing his blog. ‘So we brush up. We go in. Then what?’
‘We mingle. Meet people. Talk for a bit.’
‘What do your friends like to talk about?’
‘The same thing your friends like to talk about.’
‘How do they like to dance?’
‘The same way your friends like to dance.’
‘Ella said there might be waltzing.’
‘You got a problem with that?’
‘My friends don’t know how to waltz.’
‘Luckily, your friends won’t be there.’
‘The trouble is, I don’t know how either.’
‘I’d better show you, then.’
Lou pushed his chair back and swivelled it round. That’s when he finally noticed my dress. ‘Wow! Nice dragons!’
‘Stand up and come over here, then.’
He cautiously did as I asked.
‘First, put your hand on my hip. Not my bottom! That’s better. Now, take my hand. Firmer. Ow! Not that tight. Now pull me in closer. Closer. Too close. Okay. Are you ready?’
On my count of three, we both moved in opposite directions.
‘Sorry,’ we both said.
Lou let go and stepped away from me. ‘I should let you lead.’
We tried again, both of us slow and uncertain. Our cheeks almost touching. Our lips within reach.
‘So now what?’ he whispered.
‘You’re the boy. You should lead.’
Lou dropped his arms. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look at us, Maude. Learning to waltz. It’s hopeless.’
‘But we were doing so well.’
‘I don’t want to lead and I don’t want to follow. I don’t want to do what the rules say to do. This is not us, Maude. This is not how it’s meant to be.’
‘It’s not about rules, Lou. It’s about tradition. Why not go along with it and see what happens?’
‘It feels like we’re going backwards. Instead of having fun together, we’re acting like an old married couple!’
I glared at him.
‘No one’s making you go to this ball. I didn’t invite you. You invited yourself. If my school dance is such an embarrassment to you, I must be an embarrassment, too.’
‘You’re the one who thinks I’m an embarrassment.’
‘I just want to get that tux dry-cleaned,’ I sighed.
‘I think it’s fine.’
‘It’s smelly. You’ll feel out of place.’
‘It’s my way of saying I’m different.’
He took a step towards me, but I pushed him away.
‘It’s your way of saying you don’t want to come!’
‘I never said that.’
‘But you thought it.’
Before Lou could answer – before I got angry, before I could tell him how mean and selfish and ignorant he was, and how disappointed I felt that my best friend couldn’t do me the simplest little favour; that he couldn’t see how important it was because all he really cared about was looking cool and being in his precious junk orchestra with his blonde bimbo and his poseur control freak – before I could say things I knew I’d regret, I turned and walked out as fast as my tight dress would allow me.
‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘I’ll find someone else.’
hearts
I SYMPATHISED WITH THE biological specimens, the rodents and reptiles, floating in their glass jars of formaldehyde. I understood their lifelike appearance in death, their strange twisted smiles and their unseeing eyes. I knew how it felt to be trapped in a tight place; to be scrutinised for all silent eternity.
It was biology lab and I had been paired up with Shauna again.
Such is the wisdom of teachers. If Ms Webb had noticed that we were still feuding, apparently it only served to make her more determined.
‘If you two can’t find a way of working together,’ she warned us, ‘I won’t hesitate in giving you a month of detentions. Do I make myself clear?’
Shauna and I exchanged reptilian smiles.
‘Yes, miss.’
Last time it had been looking at brains through a microscope. This time we were given a lamb’s heart to dissect. As Ms Webb came past, I reached into the bucket and scooped out one of those slimy red blobs. I kept my head and told myself not to gross out. A heart was simply a muscle, used to pump blood around the body. It wasn’t a place where emotions were stored. It wasn’t a symbol of vulnerability.
I pulled on my rubber gloves and picked up the scalpel, while Shauna tried hard not to look. All around us, girls were getting down to business, grim smiles on their faces, hands covered in blood. Considering she’d flipped out at the mere thought of bat poo in her hair, it came as no surprise that open-heart surgery was not Shauna’s forte.
She screwed up her nose as I made my first incision. ‘Disgusting!’
‘Just try to draw what you see,’ I explained.
Shauna opened her notebook and sharpened her pencil while I continued my investigation. I pointed out the aorta and other main arteries. The pulmonary valve. The left and right ventricles. The dissection was simple enough, but bloodshed was unavoidable.
‘I heard about you and Andy,’ said Shauna. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’
‘It’s probably all for the best.’
‘I thought you made a cute couple.’
‘He really wasn’t my type.’ I tried to stay focused on what I was doing. ‘Are you getting all this?’
Shauna nodded and continued to sketch. ‘I heard he was scared off by somebody else.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘You mean it’s not true?’
‘There is no one else.’
Shauna was busily drawing now. ‘So you don’t have a date? A cute girl like you, Maude. I thought the boys would be flocking.’
‘I don’t know, Shauna. It might be too late.’
‘It’s never too late, Maude. Don’t ever give up. What is it, eight days to go?’
I wondered if a month of detention was worth it, as I tried hard to steady my scalpel. ‘How’s that sketch coming along?’
‘Almost done.’
Shauna held up her notebook. Instead of a cross-section of the dissected lamb’s heart, she had spent the time doodling a love heart. It was shaded pink, with an arrow through the middle, and it had Simon’s name written across it.
‘What do you think?’
I was dumbstruck.
Phoebe looked up from the table beside us. ‘I’m not sure it’s exactly to scale,’ she said dryly.
‘Who asked you?’ Shauna scowled.
‘Time to clean up,’ said Ms Webb. ‘Make sure you put your used hearts in the bucket. I’m taking them home for my spaniels.’
She came past and dutifully we did as she’d asked us. Our hearts had been poked, prodded, dissected, discarded. They were dead meat. They were good for nothing but dog food.
The boys were all there on the bus going home. The back seats were full of them, yapping and slobbering like puppies in a pet shop. I caught Simon’s eye. Andy ignored me. Several boys got up to offer their seats.
‘No thanks.’
Phoebe and I were content to keep standing, but Shauna had no hesitation. She squeezed her way into that kennel of boys and sat down on the seat beside Simon. With the boys strangely hushed now and hanging on her every word, Shauna was in her element.
‘Simon! You naughty boy. Why didn’t you text me?’
The boys cheered and hooted as Simon’s face reddened. I wanted to save him, but what could I do?
‘I am so looking forward to Saturday!’
More cheers and hollers. Shauna was clearly enjoying herself as she placed one hand on his knee.
‘I’m planning on having a very good time.’
It made me feel angry and strangely protective. It was clear now that Simon had been trapped by Shauna. He didn’t want to be her date for the ball. But with all his friends looking on, how could he tell her?
‘What can we do?’ I asked Phoebe.
‘Give me your mobile,’ she said.
I watched with a frown while she typed in a text.
Next thing I knew, Shauna’s phone buzzed.
Shauna’s face froze as she read Phoebe’s text.
‘Is this true?’ She showed Simon.
‘It is.’
‘Really? Well, I think you’re pathetic!’
There was a loud cheer as Shauna got up from her seat. She pulled the cord hard and got off at the next stop. As the bus pulled away, she gave Simon the finger, to more loud applause from the boys.
Phoebe handed my phone back, with the message deleted.
‘What did you say?’
‘Just the truth.’
Simon got out of his seat and came over.
‘That was unfortunate,’ he sighed.
I introduced Phoebe to Simon as my friend, not the true sender of the text. It had come from my phone, after all. I didn’t know yet what it had said, and I didn’t want to embarrass her.
‘Looks like you might be free for the ball after all?’
‘Could be,’ said Simon. ‘If
one of you wants to make me an offer?’
He smiled at Phoebe, who didn’t smile back. I hoped she wouldn’t think he was flirting.
‘I get off here,’ she said curtly.
The bus pulled up outside the train station. The door hissed and opened and people began to get off. When Phoebe was gone, I turned to Simon, but I never got the chance to say anything. As the last of the long queue exited the bus, he suddenly slipped out the door. He jumped from the step and he moved through the crowd, towards where Phoebe was standing.
Had Simon gone mad? Had he fallen for Phoebe? Did he really think he had a chance with her? In horror, I watched him march up to her. Phoebe was shy, but brutally honest. She would tear him apart.
It was unbearable to watch.
Simon spoke briefly while Phoebe listened. It was impossible to tell from her face what he’d said. Then she smiled and he smiled. They both smiled. She nodded.
Then they threw their arms around one another!
My brain did a backflip at the sight of it. Here were Simon and Phoebe, two total strangers, embracing on a street corner for all of the world to see? In school uniform? In the middle of the afternoon? It was too fast, even for speed-dating.
I was shocked. Stunned. Then, finally, I understood.
Simon and Phoebe. Phoebe and Simon. He was her secret boy. She was his long-lost girl. It didn’t add up, but it made perfect sense. She was quiet and brainy. He was strong and hunky. Whatever the biological facts about valves and ventricles, there was no questioning the mysterious workings of the human heart.
the big gig
ON THE DAY OF THE Funky Junk Orkestra’s gig, I went round to Lou’s place to help. All the band members were there, plus some mates of Miles’ acting as roadies. All the junk instruments, the microphones and the PA had been packed into boxes and crates. There was no truck, though. The band didn’t need one. The plan was to play in the park by the creek, over Lou’s back fence.
In a long chain like ants, we transported the gear to a small hill overlooking the parkland. Some extra-long cables were joined end to end, stretching from Lou’s place to power the PA. There was a feeling of nervous expectation in the air. There was room for a thousand people out there.
The gig had been well promoted. There were stencils on factory walls, outside schools, libraries and shopping centres. I imagined a big crowd of ferals and punks, bohemians, greenies and poets. I imagined stalls selling badges and flags. Hemp handicrafts, fair-trade coffee and tasty vegan treats. Promotions for wind power, solar panels and water tanks. I imagined a Happening. A Gathering of the Tribes. The problem was, there were no people yet.