Then something breaks, something in the centre of me unlocks. And I’m crying. Fat tears running down my face.
‘Oh shit.’ Evan hugs me. ‘It’s all right. Hey.’
My breathing is ragged and I can’t hold it in. I’m standing on the edge of something black and deep.
Tears and snot saturate Evan’s shirt. I can’t be here, I can’t cry in front of him, I can’t lose it. Too much, too much, too much. I push away from him.
He says my name and keeps saying it but it all fades into the distance because I’m running. Running far far away.
14
On Monday I catch the bus instead of waiting to see if Evan will pick me up.
I don’t want to be at school today; I don’t want to see him. Just thinking about last night makes my insides all uneven.
He saw too much and I can’t face him.
I don’t go out to the back fence at recess, and at lunchtime I hide in detention. Then comes the last period of the day: English.
I take my time heading to the demountables, hoping I’ll get there after him and not have to watch him choose to sit far away from me. But I’ve overcompensated and I end up being the last to arrive. And of course, of course, the remaining desk is directly in front of him.
Mr Matthews shuts the door behind me. My head swims as I walk to the desk. Evan is writing in his folder. He looks up as I sit down and I don’t take in anything for forty minutes because all I can feel is the thick weight of his presence behind me.
When the final bell rings I can’t get out of there fast enough.
I manage to avoid him the rest of the week, along with everyone else. I keep my head down and only speak if someone talks to me first. Alix doesn’t even notice I’ve been disappearing, she’s too wrapped up in Jeremy Haines.
On Friday Steffi corners me near the admin building after I spot her and Evan in the quad and turn the other way.
‘All right,’ she pulls an apple from her bag and sits on the concrete, ‘what’s going on?’
I sit next to her on the warm ground and drop my chin in my hands. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’ve been avoiding us all week.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Something happened with Evan, didn’t it?’ She bites into her apple and juice drips down her wrist.
‘No—I . . . what? Why do you think that?’
‘Because I have eyes. You guys were all moony a few days ago and now you take off whenever he’s around.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘Not very subtle.’
I pull my face away from my hands and gawk at her. I didn’t think anyone was paying us any attention. I look back towards the quad then at her. ‘We kissed.’
‘Lucy!’ She shoves me in the shoulder, making me smile. ‘When were you going to tell me?’
I suck my teeth. ‘I’m not telling anybody.’
‘Why? Was it bad?’
‘No.’ I flick at an ant crawling on my knee. ‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
I shake my head, unable to form the words.
‘Do you like him?’
‘I dunno.’ Butterflies flick in my stomach. ‘Maybe. He probably doesn’t like me now anyway.’
She shoves me again. ‘You should just corner him and launch yourself onto his face.’
I laugh. ‘So, your plan is to just make out with him until I get used to the idea?’
‘Have you got a better plan?’
‘Yep, it involves never talking to him again.’
‘Mine’s better. There’s more kissing in mine.’ She finishes her apple and smiles at me.
Dear Steffi,
I am a bluebottle. You can’t swim here.
I’m still trying to decide if her advice is something I even want when we’re interrupted.
Jeremy drops down next to me with his usual illicit odour. I look around for Alix but she’s not there.
‘Hey, loser,’ Steffi says.
He grins at her.
I grab my bag and get up. ‘I’ll see you later,’ I say and walk around the admin building, heading for my next class.
‘Hey Lucy, hey.’ Jeremy jogs up behind me.
I stop and fold my arms instinctively, then drop them to my sides. Try to be nice. ‘Hey, Jeremy.’
He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. ‘How are you?’
‘Um, okay. How are you?’
He pushes his hair out of his eyes. ‘Fine, great.’ He studies me and I readjust my backpack.
‘Is, ah, everything all right?’
‘Yeah. It’s just . . . what are you doing now?’
I step back. ‘Going to class.’
‘I think you’re really strong, you know?’ He steps forward. ‘I just can’t stop thinking about what you’re going through. And I wanted to tell you that I’m stoked you’re hanging out with us.’
Something tugs loose in my chest. I glance at the ground, then at Jeremy. ‘I, ah, thanks. Me too.’
Then he hugs me.
‘What are you doing, Lucy?’ Auntie Deb leans over me as I shove dirty clothes into the washing machine.
‘Laundry,’ I say, going through the basket for any missing socks.
‘I can do that,’ she says.
I dump in the powder. ‘It’s already done.’ She leans over my shoulder as I program the machine and hit Start. I glance up to find her face all lined with worry. ‘Um, you can hang it out if you want?’
I walk out of the garage and she follows me. ‘Have you got a sec?’
‘Uh, sure.’ I slow down.
Auntie Deb sits at the bottom of the front steps. She gestures for me to join her but I stay on the path. She tucks her hair behind her ears and clears her throat.
‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s nothing bad,’ she says, although it doesn’t seem like it. She twists a ring on her finger, then spreads her palms flat on her knees and makes an obvious effort to meet my eyes. ‘Your mum has started seeing someone: a counsellor.’
‘What? Since when?’
‘She went for her first session the other day—’
‘And you’re telling me now?’ I can’t keep the piercing surprise from my voice. Why isn’t Dad the one telling me?
‘This is a good thing, Lucy.’
My head spins. ‘Yeah but seriously, why didn’t you tell me before she went? I could’ve . . . I don’t know. I could’ve done something.’ Been there for her.
‘I’m sorry, love, there just hasn’t been a good time.’ She sighs. ‘They’ve started her on some antidepressants.’
The image of Mum standing among the shards of broken glass flashes in my mind.
‘But she’s just grieving right? It’s normal.’
‘Some of it is normal, yes, but . . . your mum has a history of depression.’
‘What?’ Her words revolve in my mind and I step back, wishing there was something to lean on, because I’d know that right? That is something I should know.
‘She’s been fine for a long time,’ Deb continues, ‘but this is a big trigger for her. We discussed it after the funeral, but Norah wanted to face it on her own.’
‘Oh God.’ I push my hands through my hair. ‘Why don’t I know this?’
‘You’d have to ask your parents, sweetie, but I think, because it hasn’t been an issue for a while, it’s not something they talk about.’
I nod. Deb walks over to me, placing her hand on my arm.
‘You can go to counselling too, if you like.’ She gives me a small smile. ‘Might help to talk to someone.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say and shake her off.
‘Just something to think about.’
I swallow. ‘Will this bring her back, do you think?’
‘It should help, but they’ll need to trial the medication, maybe adjust it later. It all takes time.’ She moves to touch me again then drops her hand. ‘I’m gonna make some tea. You want one?’
I nod and try to smile.
I t
ry to imagine telling someone, a counsellor, a stranger, about how I feel. But the grief is such a tangled knot inside me I wouldn’t even know where to start.
I climb the front steps and sit at the top. From inside, Deb says good morning to Mum and offers her a cuppa. I want to go in there and hold Mum, make her breakfast and I don’t even know what—I don’t know what she needs. So I stay where I am and let Deb take care of her.
Dad walks into the driveway, board under his arm and thongs slapping the concrete. He disappears under the house, the pipes banging as he uses the outside shower.
Was he even going to tell me about Mum? He emerges, rubbing his head with a towel, and walks up the front steps, nodding at me as he passes.
‘How’s the swell, Dad?’
He stops at the door. ‘Yeah, fine.’
‘Get some good ones?’
‘Did all right.’
Auntie Deb opens the screen door. ‘I’m making pancakes. Be ready soon.’ The door shuts after her and Dad looks at me.
‘You should go in,’ I say, ‘bet you worked up a hell of an appetite.’
He leaves. I hug my knees and stay on the step until my eyes stop stinging and the hard sticking in my throat eases.
A while later a car pulls into the driveway: a Sunbird. I lean over the railing. Evan looks up at me through the windshield and opens his door.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘Hi.’
Behind me the deck creaks and shakes as Dad stomps down the back stairs. His thongs slap on the side path and he disappears into the garage.
Evan clears his throat. ‘So, I wanted to show you something.’ He flicks the rubber band bracelet on his wrist. ‘But it means you gotta get in the car.’
‘Um . . .’ I say.
‘Time’s also an issue,’ he says, ‘so if you could just . . .’ He gestures towards his car.
I rub at my shoulder, my chest burning, I need more time to stitch up the wounds he saw the other night. But I also want to know what he wants to show me, what made him come here. I swallow and cross my arms. ‘Okay,’ I say, not meeting his eye.
Evan holds the car door open for me as I get in and he smacks it shut. He’s fidgeting and edgy, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his keys as he tries to start the car.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
We drive up the hill and I see what he wants to show me before we reach the bluff. I crane my neck to see more of the sky—the crowded sky. There are hang gliders everywhere.
Evan pulls into a car park. I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, trying not to break eye contact with the sky.
‘Guess conditions are kinda perfect today,’ Evan says, standing beside me.
‘How many do you think there are?’
‘I counted almost thirty.’
We look up and down the coast, where the gliders are spread wide in the clear sky. There are more next to us, strapping in and launching off the bluff.
Evan clears his throat. ‘I, um, heard about your brother.’
Slowly, I drag my eyes from the sky and meet his.
‘Steffi told me,’ he says. ‘I’m really sorry, Lu.’
He’s doing it: looking at me like I didn’t want him to, a face that doesn’t know what to say but feels like he has to say something and say it quick. I take a step back.
‘I kinda get why you didn’t tell me,’ he says. ‘And some stuff makes more sense now.’
I fold my arms. ‘If you didn’t know . . . would you be here? Talking to me?’
He shrugs. ‘I dunno. When I looked outside this morning all I could think was how much you’d love this. So, probably.’
‘But now my craziness makes sense?’ I turn back to the perfect wall of blue. ‘I don’t want a free pass.’ I glance at him. ‘If you’re pissed at me then be pissed. I don’t want it to be an excuse.’
He steps towards me. ‘I haven’t been pissed at you. Just’—he sighs—‘confused. I mean, I like you . . . and I think you like me.’
One of the pilots walks over and claps Evan on the back. ‘You heading out, mate? Day’s a beauty.’
Evan smiles. ‘Nah. Have fun though.’ The guy heads back to his glider and Evan gives me a sheepish look. ‘I kinda . . . might sometimes do this.’ He waves a hand at the sky.
I blink. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. You see that glider out there, the red one with the black triangle?’ He points and I follow his gaze.
‘Yeah?’ It’s the glider I watched the afternoon of the cove party.
‘That’s my dad.’
But his dad was away that night. ‘I’ve seen you,’ I whisper.
His cheeks redden and he rubs his neck. ‘I’ve been up a couple of times since I’ve been here. It’s kinda the one thing Dad and I have in common.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t believe you know how to do this.’
‘I could take you up . . . if you want.’
‘I . . . I—’ My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Ryan.
We’re leaving in 30.
I look from my phone to Evan, my lips pressed together. ‘What are you doing tonight?’ I ask.
15
The Sunbird hits the freeway and it’s just us and the road for the next four hours. The day is hot and we drive with the windows down, the wind whipping in at us and the stereo up. Despite the heat, Evan’s wearing jeans—black jeans and a dark green T-shirt—but he’s kicked off his shoes, bare feet on the pedals.
I stick my feet on the dash and lean back in my seat. I get a surge of something: freedom, independence, growing up—it sings in my bones.
This wasn’t how my year was supposed to go: hurtling down the freeway with a boy I’ve really only just met, who says he likes me. I should be flogging myself in the water, eyes fixed on the roof, watching for the flags and counting my strokes to the wall.
The tape groans to a stop and I eject it without thinking. Evan smiles at me.
‘What?’ I say, smirking. He shrugs. I rifle through my bag and pull out the tape I made the other day. After I gave him a tour of the Bay I bought a three-pack of cassettes, hooked my laptop up to Cam’s stereo and made my first ever mixtape.
‘What’s that?’ Evan asks.
‘This,’ I say, slotting it in and turning up the sawing guitars of Jeff Buckley, ‘is the perfect music for your car.’
Evan starts to say something but stops, mouth still open, and grins.
I lean towards him so he can hear me over the music and the wind. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you hang glide?’
His eyes flick to me then back to the road. ‘I dunno. I was going to and then you pointed out how that guy died and I was wondering if maybe you’d known him, maybe it meant something to you. So I didn’t bring it up.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe you made me a mixtape.’
I smile, crossing out thoughts about a sport that has a death rate. ‘Who says I made it for you?’
‘So, whereabouts in Sydney did you live?’ We’re back on the road after pulling over for McDonald’s just outside of Newcastle. The burger taste clings to my mouth and I grab a mint from my bag.
‘Pennant Hills,’ he says, holding his hand out for a mint. ‘Most of my mates live more in the city though.’
My stomach tenses. ‘Do you wanna catch up with them?’ I’m so not prepared to meet Evan’s friends.
‘Nah. Most of ’em are down in Melbourne this weekend. Cook’s band have a couple of shows lined up.’
‘Oh. Cool.’
‘Yeah. They’re getting a bit of a following. I can’t stand Pete’s vocals though.’
‘Very American,’ I say.
‘Exactly! Cook won’t say anything cos it’s technically Pete’s band but it’s like, come on, you don’t sound like that when you talk.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah.’
‘We’ll drive down one weekend when everyone’s around and ambush Pete about his vocals. Kidding!’ he says when he sees my face. ‘But ma
ybe we could go to a show and hang out.’
My heart stutters at this boy who wants to make vague-future plans with me.
The gallery is in one of the back streets of Newtown. Evan parks somewhere I’m sure is illegal but he insists it’s fine. I wait while he does up his Vans, not bothering with socks.
‘Ready to go?’ He grabs his wallet, keys and phone.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ I follow Evan out of the car. He shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his tight, low-slung jeans. He sticks his phone in the other pocket then turns back and takes my hand, sending a wave of tingles up my arm.
‘Should be just over here,’ he says.
The sun has just about sunk, the last of the orange light fading to grey. We walk past graffiti-covered walls and terrace houses with red, blue and yellow doors.
‘So, who is it you know in the exhibition?’
‘Oh. His name’s Ryan Coffey. He’s a surf photographer, but he does some fashion and lifestyle stuff too.’ I get this heightened feeling, like I’m not attached to my body, which always happens when I talk about Ryan. I let go of Evan’s hand and rub my arms as if I’m cold. ‘He was my brother’s best friend.’
Evan doesn’t say anything but I feel his eyes on me. I don’t want it to be like this, the awkward pause, whenever I mention Cam. He takes out his phone and checks where we are. ‘And you guys are close?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Well, you must be, cos this was a heck of a long way to come.’
We cross the street to avoid construction scaffolding.
‘We’re friends. He’s like part of the family and this is his first major show, so I’m pumped to be here for him.’ My heart is beating hard and I don’t know why I feel like I have to defend what I’m doing.
Evan smiles. ‘I think it’s very cool of you to come so far. That’s it there.’
We cross the road again to a white building where a stack of people are milling about outside. Everyone looks so cool: girls in boots and jeans and baggy tops and guys in shirts buttoned high, some wearing vests. Almost everyone has some kind of ink. I glance down at my black T-shirt, denim shorts and Havaianas and feel very small town.
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