by John Larkin
‘I know, I heard him. He threatened to beat up half the hill because nobody would give him any. And then he tried to rip some off a Year 12 guy who was in the next race.’
‘He’s a smooth worker.’
‘Would you wear my bikini pants?’
Brendan looked to where Helen was pointing. She needn’t have pointed—he knew exactly where her bikini pants were located and their dimensions.
Would he wear them? He’d have put them on a Ryvita and called it lunch. But why was she offering to help him?
‘They look a bit like Speedos I suppose,’ said Helen. ‘They tie up round the side.’ She turned sideways to reveal one of the tie-ups. All that protected the side of her body from complete nudity was a thin bit of string. Brendan and Brains almost fainted. ‘You could tuck the tie-ups in. It’s better than nothing.’ Helen kept talking because Brendan was having trouble getting his brain and mouth to co-ordinate.
‘Thanks, Helen,’ said Brains, recovering the quickest.
Helen went to the girls’ change room while Brendan went to the boys’. Brains acted as courier.
‘Here,’ said Brains, tossing Helen’s bikini pants to Brendan. ‘Put them on and hurry up. I’ll go and tell them not to start the race yet.’
A couple of minutes later when Brains returned he was surprised to find Brendan sitting down with a towel wrapped around him.
‘C’mon, Brendan! Mr Lewis is deliberately trying to start the race without you. He’s already fired the starting gun three times, but for some reason it won’t go off.’
‘I can’t move.’
‘Why not?’
‘If you’re so smart, figure it out.’
‘I don’t know what you’re going on about.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you a clue. I’m wearing Helen’s bikini pants.’
‘I know that. I gave them to you.’
‘Yes, but I’m wearing, I mean actually wearing Helen’s bikini pants. She took them off to give them to me.’
Brains looked thoughtful and confused for a moment. He looked like someone trying to recite ‘the sixth sheik’s sixth sheep is sick’ backwards, while trying to fend off an angry pack of wolves in a phone booth. Then the penny finally dropped. ‘Oh, I get it.’
‘So you see why I can’t get up?’
‘Brendan? Is that a freight train in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?’
‘Good one, Brains. C’mon, you’re supposed to be a genius. Think of something!’
The loud speaker crackled to life: ‘BRENDAN STEVENS. REPORT TO THE MARSHALLING AREA IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS YOUR LAST CALL.’
‘C’mon, Brendan, you’ve gotta go now.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Look! Keep the towel wrapped loosely round you and think about stuff like dead dogs and rats and vomit and …’
‘Okay! I get the point.’
Brendan got up and walked out of the change room with the towel round him. He walked down the side of the pool. He could feel every eye trained on his body. If the towel fell down now it’d be death by embarrassment.
Brains walked just behind him chanting in his ear: ‘Smelly wet socks, Mr Lewis’s wig, Calculus’s snot rag drawer, Zervoid’s armpits after sport.’
‘Gross! But keep going, I think it’s working.’
‘Umm, Zervoid’s armpits before sport, Derryn Hinch’s beard brush …’
‘Good one.’
‘Daryl Somers’ nose hair clippers.’
‘Thanks, Brains. I think you’ve done it.’
Brains veered away and went to sit on the hill near Zervoid and Helen. His job was done.
‘What took you so long?’ asked Zervoid.
‘I had to help deflate something.’
‘What? You let the air out of Blow-wave’s bike tyres?’
‘Something like that.’
Brendan walked behind the other competitors until he reached his starting block.
‘I thought you’d wimped out, Fluoro-man.’
‘You wish, Blow-wave. You should have brought your surfboard and come for a ride on my wake.’ Brendan was trying to remember the conversation they’d had last year.
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
Brendan clenched his fist and said a hushed ‘yes’ to himself. He’d conned Mr Lewis, and Blow-wave was too stupid and too conceited to try and keep their plan from him. They thought he was a slow finisher.
He unwrapped the towel and tossed it behind him to reveal Helen’s black bikini pants. He didn’t want to think too much about them in case he got an instant flagpole again.
Surprisingly, nobody made much comment about his new swimmers. A couple of the guys to his left were impressed that Brendan had somehow managed to get hold of the new type of racing swimmers that had been used at the last Olympics.
The racers were called to their blocks and a deathly silence fell over the whole swimming complex. Everybody was interested in this race. This was Brendan Stevens against Barry Hunter.
It was not a race about good versus bad, right versus wrong, or weak versus strong. No. This was about cash. There was at least five hundred dollars resting on the outcome of the race. Some of it even belonged to the teachers, and most of it was on Barry Hunter.
The crack of the starting gun split the silence and the whole of the hill erupted into a screaming frenzy.
Brendan felt the coolness of the water enclose his body. It was great. As much as he liked it, he didn’t want to spend too much time down there following their dive in. The real speed came when you broke the surface and started powering the strokes.
As soon as he surfaced he heard the noise of the crowd. It was a powerful motivator, even if most of it was yelling for Blow-wave.
Brendan stroked out to a lead but with Blow-wave just off his shoulder. They flew down the first fifty, with Brendan first, Blow-wave second and Bull’s roar third. With only about fifteen metres to go before they turned, Brendan slowed down his stroke rate. This appeared to surprise Blow-wave, who just about had to tread water to avoid going past him. Mr Lewis wouldn’t want that, would he?
They turned practically level and started to head for home. Blow-wave appeared to slow again and Brendan took a slight lead.
With only twenty-five metres to go, Brendan could see that Blow-wave had moved off his shoulder and was starting to power it home.
Brendan could feel himself being hauled in.
They were going stroke for stroke and looking at each other when they breathed.
Brendan waited for Blow-wave to draw level and then he surged. He lifted his head just out of the water and said, ‘Later, buttlick!’ Unfortunately this didn’t come out as cool as he would have liked because his mouth was half full of water. What came out was a very gurgled, ‘Lagger, buggligg.’ He increased his stroke and kick rate, left Blow-wave floundering in his wash, and won by almost a body length. The hill was not pleased and Mr Lewis had to be physically restrained from eating the starting pistol.
Chapter 20
Helen, Zervoid and Brains ran down the hill and encircled Brendan. There were a lot of ‘good on you mate’s’, backslapping and a kiss on the cheek. Unfortunately the kiss was from Zervoid, but what the heck: he’d won.
Later that afternoon, Brendan took off Helen’s bikini bottoms. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.
Helen met him outside.
‘I’ll wash these,’ said Brendan.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘No, I’ll wash them.’
‘It’s okay, Brendan, you don’t have to.’ Fortunately Brains wasn’t around to give them a lecture on personal hygiene.
‘Helen, I’d like to. It’s only fair. Please let me. He could already picture them dangling on the clothesline and swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze.
‘Okay.’
‘Thanks. I don’t understand something, though. Why’d you help me?’
‘I thought you’d suffered enough.’
&nbs
p; A million thoughts came pouring into Brendan’s head. Suffered enough? What did she mean by that? Maybe when they were going out he’d missed her great aunt’s birthday or something, or maybe he’d forgotten one of their monthly anniversaries. What had he done wrong?
‘I don’t get it.’
‘I’ll explain some other time.’
Women! He’d never understand them. Maybe that’s what made them so great. Then again, the two most important men in his life had bogged off to York, and he’d never understand that, either.
Brendan gazed into Helen’s eyes. They were gorgeous eyes. Eyes that could drive a guy crazy. He wanted to swim in them, dive in them, surf …
‘Brendan?’ said Helen just when he was thinking about a career as an optometrist.
‘Yeah?’
‘Would you like to go and see a movie tomorrow night? My shout.’
Brendan thought for a moment. ‘You’re asking me out?’
‘Yeah. Are you busy?’
He paused. ‘I’ll think about it.’
He wanted to spontaneously combust and explode with delight. He’d got her right where he wanted her. She wanted him back for sure. But she’d hurt him once, cut him loose when he hadn’t been expecting it, and never told him why. That had hurt really bad. But now things would be different. She wanted him back. He had the upper hand this time. That’s why he’d said he’d think about it.
Yeah, that was the way to go: play it cool and hard to get. No more jumping at any girl’s beck and call for this happening dude. This was definitely the way to play it. He was cool, he was now. He might even have to consider buying a pair of RayBans and start leaning against walls in shopping centres.
‘Okay, Brendan,’ said Helen, slightly hurt. ‘Think about it.’
‘I’ve thought about it, and I’ve just remembered I’m not busy. In fact as far as you’re concerned I’m not busy for the next seventy years.’
Play it cool? What the hell. He’d played it cool for about three seconds. That was a record.
Helen moved closer to him and put her arms around his waist. The kiss she gave him was passionate to the max. It wasn’t quite a French kiss but it wasn’t an Australian kiss either. Brendan was thinking about calling it a Belgian kiss when he realised half the school must have been watching.
Helen broke away first. ‘I’ve got to go. Mum’s picking me up outside. See you tomorrow.’
As Helen walked away Brendan stood there with his tongue almost dangling on the ground.
They were only about three minutes into their new relationship and already Helen was calling the shots: she’d made the move on him, she’d grabbed him, she’d kissed him and then she’d thrown a bucket of cold water on him when she’d broken away.
Brendan considered himself an expert on women’s assertiveness. He’d once read an article about it in his mother’s Cleo, so he knew what he was talking about. But this was not about the women’s movement or the men’s movement. It was about him and Helen.
‘Hey, Helen! Just a sec.’ He raced over to her just as she reached the exit gates. He put his arms around her and gave a deep, long, half-Belgian, half-French kiss and she responded just as passionately.
‘Wilt thou two stop swapping spit?’
‘Sorry, Mr Williams.’ Helen was the first to speak. She gave Brendan a smile and blew a kiss at him. ‘See you later.’
‘Later, babe,’ said Brendan in such a cool tone of voice it almost gave his throat frostbite. He turned to his English teacher. ‘I’m not.’
‘Not what?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Ah. He speaketh the truth. Tis a pleasant change to hear such veracious utterings.’
Brendan rested his head against the bus window on the ride back to school. He didn’t care about the battering it took whenever they went over a bump. Love is a powerful anaesthetic.
Chapter 21
Brendan burst in through the front door. ‘Mum, guess what?’
‘You won and you got back with Helen.’
‘How’d you know? Did Brains come over or something?’
‘No. I was there.’
‘Really?’ Brendan had banned his mother from the school’s swimming carnivals because she usually went berserk whenever he swam and just about had to be restrained by the prefects.
‘I put on some dark glasses and a floppy hat and I sat well away from you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I saw you kissing Helen.’
‘Mum.’ Brendan was embarrassed. But not for long.
‘I’ve made us something special for dinner to celebrate.’
Oh no! Made something special for dinner? The mind boggled. What could she mean? Lime curry? Chicken heads on toast? Garlic sheep snot? ‘What?’
‘Reservations. I’m taking you out to this nice little Italian restaurant in Manly.’
Phew. That was a relief. ‘I think I’ll leave my walkman at home this time. I might need it again soon though.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh, nothing. Thanks, Mum, that sounds great.’ He turned round and walked off to his bedroom, closed the door and flicked on his computer.
> WELL DONE, BRENDAN.
‘You were there?’
> OF COURSE I WAS. WHO DO YOU THINK STOPPED THE STARTING PISTOL FROM GOING OFF WHILE YOU WERE MUCKING AROUND IN THE CHANGE ROOM? TOOK A LOT OF EFFORT THAT. IT ALMOST DISPERSED ME.
‘Thanks, Nick. I owe you.’
> YOU CERTAINLY DO. YOU WON YOUR RACE. YOU GOT BACK WITH HELEN. THAT’S TWO OUT OF THE THREE THINGS. LOOKS LIKE I’VE LIVED UP TO MY SIDE OF THE BARGAIN.
‘Yeah. You did.’ But something wasn’t right. Brendan knew that Nick had helped him with his training, and he’d obviously held up the start of the race. But what had he done to help him get back with Helen? He couldn’t put spells on her and stuff. And even if he could, Brendan didn’t want her back that way. She had to want him first. That was the deal.
> LOOK UNDER YOUR BED.
It was as if Nick had read his thoughts.
Brendan knelt down and stuck his head under the bed and pulled out something that was black and crumpled.
> LOOK FAMILIAR?
‘My speedos! You took them?’
>
‘But how did you know that Helen …?’
> I DIDN’T.
‘But … then … how … did you … get … Helen to?’ Brendan’s mouth and brain weren’t on speaking terms again.
> I DIDN’T.
> DID IT WORK?
‘Yeah. I suppose.’
> SUPPOSE NOTHING. IT WORKED BRILLIANTLY. LET’S JUST LEAVE IT AT THAT.
‘You’re the best, Nick.’
> I KNOW. I’VE DONE ALL I CAN HERE. I’M OFF TO YORK NOW. I’LL BE LYING LOW FOR A FEW WEEKS TO TRY AND GET SOME STRENGTH BACK. SEE YOU THERE IN ABOUT THREE WEEKS.
‘Okay. Have a nice flight or whatever it is you do.’
Brendan thought for a couple of seconds. Something wasn’t quite right. ‘Hang on, Nick! How will I communicate with you when I get there?’
> BRING YOUR FATHER’S LAPTOP.
And with that Brendan felt a rush of cold air blast past him and out the window.
Ten minutes later Brendan burst out through the back door in his wetsuit. He thought he’d have a surf to celebrate his win.
His mother was reading on the back patio. ‘Where are you going, Brendan?’ She didn’t look up from her book once.
Brendan stopped, turned around and looked at her in awe. He nearly took out the clothesline with his surfboard as he did. ‘I’m going to play tennis, Mum.’
‘That’s nice, dear. Be back by about six. We’re leaving at six-thirty.’
Brendan ran down to the water completely dumbfounded. His mother worked in a library, surrounded by great works of literature, but only Mills and Boon seemed to have that type of brain shutdown effect on her.
He paddled out and waited for a set.
Most of the other surfers hung out up at the northern
end of the beach, near the rocks. The south side, near Brendan’s house, was usually pretty deserted.
An old couple walked along the beach with a Rottweiler on a leash or, to be more accurate, a Rottweiler trotted along the beach dragging a couple of old people behind him. Brendan could see Susie barking at them from the relative safety of the gate.
He didn’t think life could get much better than this. Brendan Stevens: school swimming champion, lover of Helen Wong, surf hero, and all-round cool dude. He was just about to ask himself for an autograph when a huge wave came and caught him by surprise.
He quickly paddled down its face and leapt into life. It was breaking slowly from right to left, so he cut to the right to get closer to the break. Just before the huge wall of wet death crashed on top of him he cut back to the left and slid along it until it surrounded him. He went screaming along its face, cutting the wall next to him with his hand. He emerged out of the barrel and cut back across it as it was breaking up. He rode it all the way in, right up to the shoreline. He stepped off his board and practically onto dry sand.
‘I AM A LEGEND,’ Brendan yelled out. The couple with the Rottweiler laughed. It must have been good for them to have something to take their minds off the pain in their arms.
Chapter 22
Brendan didn’t do a great deal for the couple of weeks leading up to the school holidays. He and Helen had gone to see a few movies, and had been out for a pizza or five in Manly. He had also, without smashing Helen’s eardrums to pieces this time, got them dancing cheek to cheek on the beach to an ultra-gooey Janet Jackson number.
It was the best of times.
On the Friday night before he was meant to set off for York, Brendan jumped onto his bike, stuffed the industrial-sized box of chocolates down his shirt and pedalled off. It was Helen’s birthday.
He found it a bit tricky steering the old BMX while he was carrying a huge bunch of flowers, but somehow he managed it.
He was forced to go the long way round to Helen’s place. There was a total bogan house at the start of her street, full of engine parts and flannelette-clad idiots with greasy hands and matching hair. So Brendan pedalled about half a kilometre out of his way in order to avoid any abuse or rocks that might be hurled at him.