by Sarah Ayoub
‘So who else was there?’ Matty asks, finishing off my crepe.
‘There was a bunch of us. Tammi, Amanda, David, Ryan —’
Charlie’s head snaps up from her milkshake. ‘Ryan?’
‘Yeah, he’s in with that crowd.’
‘Yeah, but he’s such a nerd,’ she says, puzzled. ‘I can’t imagine his father-figure act would go down well during a school prank.’
‘Well, he is the best one out of them,’ I say, turning to Matty, who nods. ‘He can still be snobby, though.’
‘Yeah, but he acts so high and mighty, and it turns out he’s a rebel,’ she says.
‘I think he just went ’cause Lauren made him,’ I tell her. ‘They used to go out.’
‘WHAT?!’
Matty looks up from the doodle he’s drawing on his arm. ‘Why are you so shocked? The hot kids always go out with each other. It’s, like, a law of nature.’
‘Get back to your drawing, Picasso,’ she says, giving him a dark look.
I laugh.
‘Wow,’ she says, exhaling. ‘So she’s a bitch to you because your dad was maybe being followed by someone who wanted the dirty on him, and gave the story to a newspaper. Was it even an important paper?’
‘That’s not the point,’ I tell her. ‘I got them in trouble.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ she says. ‘You didn’t put a gun to her head and force her to go. I bet she kicked up so much of a stink that she didn’t even get in trouble anyway.’
‘Well . . . she did have to miss out on an Ed Sheeran concert because she got grounded. After she had boasted to everyone about getting tickets.’
‘A fate worse than death,’ Matty says, raising his eyebrows. ‘The bloke is the bomb.’
‘Yeah, he’s pretty awesome,’ Charlie says. ‘And he would not tolerate her bullying.’
‘Bullying is a strong word,’ I say, biting my lip.
‘It’s bullying,’ she says authoritatively. ‘Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen Facebook comments, Instagram hashtags on your pictures, and —’
‘— there was that time they put your school bag on the year 7 excursion bus and you got detention for not having your books,’ Matty finishes.
‘You knew about that?’ I ask, thinking of that first prank they’d played on me after the muck-up day. I didn’t say anything then — I thought it was fair payback.
‘See?’ Charlie says, folding her arms. ‘Bullying.’
‘Don’t make me one of your case studies,’ I warn her, looking down at my phone. ‘Oh my God, it’s almost six! Wednesday nights my mum goes out, I’m supposed to be home to watch Sammy.’
We bolt for the train, crashing into people entering bars and restaurants for their after-work catch-ups as we go, and squash ourselves into a packed carriage.
‘She’s going to kill me,’ I say, banging my head against a pole.
‘Relax, just tell her you had a meeting with yearbook people,’ Charlie says, rubbing my back. ‘It’s not technically a lie.’
I look at her, frantic.
‘Stop breathing like that, you’re freaking me out!’ she says. ‘How old is Sammy anyway? Can’t he look after himself for an hour or so?’
‘He’s got Down’s syndrome,’ I tell her. ‘When he looks after himself it’s a bloody disaster. Just ask Matty.’
‘Which is why you shouldn’t be in trouble,’ he says to me. ‘No offence, but I’ve seen how your mum is with him. She has no right to say anything to you.’
‘I can call my mum and ask her to pick us up and drive you home if that will help,’ Charlie suggests.
I nod, thankful for the offer.
We find Charlie’s mum waiting for us across the road from Burwood station in the car that Charlie says was a gift. For some reason she seems to do a double-take when she sees Matty, but he doesn’t notice — he’s too busy checking out the car.
‘You were given this?’ Matty says, circling it. ‘It’s a Lexus hatch. My friend Mo would kill for it.’
Charlie shrugs and looks at her mum, who smiles.
‘Are you sure we haven’t met?’ she asks Matty. ‘You look so familiar to me. Doesn’t he look familiar, Chi?’
Charlie shrugs. ‘You know, I thought the same thing when I first met him,’ she says. ‘But I think it’s just the hoodie.’ She turns to me. ‘When Mum had her psych practice in Melbourne she was always attracting these thug-type teenagers that thought they had problems, but really they just dressed like they did.’
Charlie’s mum gives her an icy look. ‘That’s inappropriate,’ she says. ‘You don’t know what those kids were going through.’
Matty suddenly looks uncomfortable.
‘You know what, I forgot I have to do something. I better go,’ he says.
‘No, you jump in, Matty,’ Charlie’s mum says, smiling. ‘I’ll take you home too.’
But Matty insists that the bus is fine. ‘I catch it every day,’ he says. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘OK, then text Charlie when you get home,’ she resolves. ‘Just so I know you’re safe.’
A little snort of laughter — a reaction to the look on Matty’s face — escapes me and I feel myself reddening with embarrassment.
On the way home, I revel in Charlie’s mum’s company. She’s the opposite of her daughter — bright, bubbly and open.
‘I can’t believe you’re related,’ I whisper to Charlie.
We pull up in front of my house. While my mum would drive away in a hurry after dropping one of my friends off, Charlie’s mum asks if she should come in and meet my parents, and when I politely decline, she waits until I’m safely inside before driving off with a beep of the horn and a wave out the window.
I think about her later as I’m stacking the dishwasher, having cooked and promptly demolished the single-serve frozen lasagne that Mum had left on the bench top. Sammy and I had shared it, even though I knew only one of us was meant to eat it.
When my mum arrives home, I don’t bother apologising for my lateness, and she doesn’t mention it. She probably doesn’t want me to bring up the fact that she left her son with her trainer just so she wouldn’t be late to dinner.
Instead I wipe the benchtop, grab the tub of ice-cream in the freezer and bring it out to the living room where my mum is sprawled on the couch. I hold it out to her, a kind of peace offering.
‘Ice-cream at this hour? Really?’ she asks, her eyes fixed on the TV.
I glance at my phone. It’s 9.04.
‘Come on, Mum,’ I say, sighing. ‘It’s just dessert.’
‘Have a banana,’ she says. ‘It’s better for you. You’re already a size 12.’
‘Size 12 is average in Australia, Mum. Stop making out as if I’m fat.’
‘Yeah, I know it’s average,’ she replies. ‘For people my age. Not yours. And I don’t even look like that.’
‘You have a personal trainer,’ I point out. ‘I don’t have that luxury.’
‘Sweetie, I love you, but you have to understand something,’ she says, patting the couch next to her. ‘I earned that luxury. I worked out and stayed beautiful and skinny and well-kept throughout my twenties, and sometimes I really did just want a Big Mac. But look at what I have now — my life is amazing. Don’t you want that too?’
I look at her for a moment. Then I get up from the couch and shove the ice-cream back in the freezer, biting my lip to prevent myself from tearing up.
‘Good girl,’ she calls from the living room. ‘Some time when I’m not watching The Bachelor, we’ll have a chat with Daddy and see if he can get Greg to organise some sessions with you.’
‘Or I can just train with you,’ I say, stating the obvious. Not that I wanted to.
‘Oh no, darl,’ she says, amused. ‘Those sessions are Mum’s alone-time.’
I head upstairs to my room, feeling starved. If I had known my crepe was going to be a small entree to an even tinier main, I would have got one with a load of marshmallows.
I he
ar Sammy humming to himself in his bedroom and I tiptoe in for a cuddle.
‘Gillie!’ he says, his smile lighting up his face. ‘Tomorrow’s my smoothie day!’
‘It is, it is,’ I tell him, giving him a tickle. He squeals with laughter.
I lie next to him and pull the sheets over the two of us.
‘You’re so lucky, Sammy,’ I whisper, as his eyes start to close. ‘You don’t have to put up with the crap that everyone drags me through.’
Later, I lie awake in my own bed, my mother’s words ringing in my ears. Look at what I have now — my life is amazing. I wonder what it feels like to be so secure, to have everything you ever wanted. To wake up feeling like life is perfect. I was starved of those feelings, and on some level I guess my mum’s ideas about what makes life amazing were part of the problem.
I go to sleep thinking about the future. Would I ever stop feeling like I just don’t measure up?
Ryan
Ryan Fleming Friends: Holy Family is having their annual dance-a-thon soon! It’s open to students in years 11 + 12 at all Catholic schools in Sydney. Come along for good food, great music and a great cause — raising money for the Cancer Council. DM for ticket info.
It’s Monday of the third week back of term two, and I’ve been called to Mrs H’s office. I eat my sandwich on the way, even though it’s still another hour until lunch.
I knock on the partially open door and she motions for me to come in. I take the seat opposite her desk and try not to listen in on the phone conversation she’s having as she hovers by her window. A minute or so later, she hangs up and sits down, folding her hands in front of her.
‘How are you, Ryan?’ she asks. ‘Keeping well at home?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ I say.
‘I’ll keep it short, Ryan,’ she says, shuffling some things around on her desk. ‘Just want an update on how your yearbook project is coming along.’
‘It’s going OK,’ I tell her. ‘Slow, but OK.’
‘Everyone is doing their fair share?’
‘Um, I guess so,’ I say. ‘We’re still mostly in planning stages, but so far no one has missed a meeting.’
‘Good to hear,’ she says, nodding. ‘I’ve just looked over the list of names and I was a little surprised by it, I must admit. I knew Mr Broderick had chosen Charlie Scanlon and Matthew Fullerton, and Gillian Cummings seems to be that way inclined, but Tammi Kapsalis surprised me. I kind of picked her for the events committee. Is she doing OK with you?’
‘Yeah, she is,’ I say to her. ‘She chose yearbook because Lauren Pappas was on events, so I guess she thought she’d do something different.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’ she asks, smiling.
‘Speaking of people on the committee, Mrs H, I was a little surprised about the decision to put Charlie there,’ I say. ‘I don’t know how well it’s going to work. Isn’t it going to be hard for her to compile a book about memories of events she’s never been involved with?’
‘Not if she starts making headway on some new memories,’ she points out. ‘Plus you have the charity dance-a-thon coming up, and the school retreat next term. It’s a good way for her to connect with you all, so she doesn’t feel left out when the year wraps up.’
I shrug. ‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ I admit.
‘Ryan,’ she says, looking at me like my grandmother does when she’s trying to teach me something, ‘are you perhaps a little concerned because you’ve noticed that Charlie is — how should I put this — a bit of a threat to you, academically speaking? She certainly is very bright and that can be intimidating.’
I look on in disbelief. How does she know? My lack of a response says everything.
She smiles at me. It’s a smile that’s a mix of amusement and reassurance, and I can’t help but go bright red.
‘Not being on a field any more doesn’t mean you need to give up on a little healthy competition, OK?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ I say, nodding.
I head back to the quad and find Lauren, David, Tammi, Amanda and a few others from our large group sitting around one of the tables, whispering excitedly.
‘All right, what are you guys plotting?’ I ask, plonking myself next to Amanda.
‘We’re not plotting,’ Lauren says, smiling at me innocently.
‘You plot so often you don’t even know you’re plotting,’ I say.
‘Why did we ever break up?’ she asks. ‘You know me so well.’
I shake my head. ‘I asked my question first.’
‘We’re just looking at Gillian’s latest Instagram posts,’ she says, smirking. ‘They’re very . . . sophisticated. She probably thinks her new hair makes her look like some kind of fashion blogger.’
‘And?’
‘We were just discussing what to comment on some of them.’
Tammi gives me a worried look.
‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, I think maybe we should —’ starts Tammi.
‘No one asked you, Tammi,’ David says, cutting her off.
Her face reddens as the rest of them laugh.
‘Seriously, you guys need to relax and take a joke,’ Lauren says.
‘Yeah, but your jokes tend to be pretty mean,’ I say.
‘Pfft,’ she snorts. ‘When did you get so sensitive? That accident knock your sense of humour out of you?’
‘Really?’ I ask, agitated. ‘You went there?’
‘Don’t be so uptight, man, it’s harmless fun,’ David says, nudging Tammi, who gives a fake smile. ‘Even Tammi’s loosening up to the idea.’
‘Yeah, loosening up to everything except you,’ Lauren says, sneering.
David’s face turns red. He snatches up his bag and leaves.
‘Why’d you have to say that?’ Tammi asks, her Greek side coming out in the expressions of her hands.
‘Sorry,’ Lauren says, rolling her eyes and looking anything but.
Tammi sighs and rubs her forehead. ‘Now I have to go after him, which will just lead to another fight.’
‘Then just break up already,’ Lauren tells her. Everyone else looks on awkwardly.
‘You just don’t get it,’ Tammi says, picking up her bag.
‘It’s OK, Tams,’ I say. ‘I’ll go.’
I find David behind the school building, kicking a ball hard at the wall, catching it, then repeating the movements. Everything he does is so predictable, I think. An opposing team who studied his plays would smash him every time. But I don’t tell him that. He has a hot-headed Sicilian temper, and if he goes off, it won’t be pretty.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘So it’s OK for you to troll someone you barely even know, but your friends can’t tell you the truth?’
‘I don’t need a lecture,’ he mumbles.
‘And you don’t need to listen to Lauren either,’ I point out. ‘How many times have you told me she’s just a bored shit-stirrer?’
‘She hit a soft spot.’
‘She knows how to manipulate people and you know it,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t give her ammo and she’ll back off.’
‘I’m not,’ he says. ‘I just came to practise.’
‘OK,’ I say, raising my eyebrows.
‘I bet Tammi’s pleased with herself,’ he says after a moment.
‘She’s actually not,’ I tell him. ‘You know her.’
‘Of course I know her. I know her better than you.’
I take a deep breath, reminding myself of that temper.
The bell rings and I give him a look that says it’s time to go to class. He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head.
‘I think I’m just gonna go home,’ he tells me. ‘I have a double study period anyway, so no difference. Can you take Tammi home? She sooks if she has to take the bus.’
I give him a half-smile. ‘Girls, eh?’ I say, trying to mend the awkwardness.
He grins. ‘All so effing precious.’
In the car on the way home, Tammi’s quiet. She won’t s
top fidgeting with the zips on her bag.
‘Everything’s different,’ she tells me.
‘What — you and David?’
‘Everything, everything,’ she says, looking at me. ‘Me and David, you and David, me and Lauren, the whole yearbook thing, Gillian. Like, she’s nice.’
I shrug. ‘You didn’t think she was?’
She shakes her head, as if that’s not what she meant. ‘Maybe I just see things differently now; putting other people down to stay popular feels dirty. It’s turning me off Lauren — but I still love her.’
‘Well, she has been your best friend for ages. You’re probably just growing up a bit. She will too.’
‘Maybe,’ she mumbles, looking out the window.
‘Tammi, I’ve gotta ask, are you stringing him along?’
‘Oh, come on, Ryan,’ she says, exasperated. ‘Not you too. Since when do I have to explain my choices to everyone?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say. ‘He’s cut up about it.’
‘Well, then, he should break it off with me,’ she says. ‘I still feel something for him, but I’m just so sick of being pushed into something I’m not ready for. Sex is everywhere. When my friends talk about it, it’s like it’s some big competition. It’s on every TV show, in every RnB song lyric. It’s so much pressure.’
‘Did you ever think that maybe David’s pressuring you because he feels the same way?’ I ask. ‘I mean, there’s a lot of pressure for us guys too.’
‘This is such an awkward conversation to have . . . with you of all people,’ she says, sighing.
‘I’m still your friend, Tammi,’ I tell her. ‘No matter what happens with David or Lauren or in yearbook meetings. And if you need someone to talk to and your other friends don’t get it — well, I might not get it either, but I’ll try.’
I turn off the car engine. Tammi moves to get out, but then she puts her bag back down in front of her and turns to face me.
‘I saw on some TV programme one night that boys who are, like, twelve and thirteen are making their girlfriends who are the same age as them do it, because it’s, you know, trendy. But, like, they don’t actually know what they’re doing. So they watch porn and stuff on the internet — and they think “Oh, that’s what you’re supposed to do”.’