This Is Now

by Maggie Gilbert

  ‘Jess, did you do this homework yourself or did your, er, tutor do it?’

  ‘I did it.’

  ‘You can see how I have trouble believing that?’

  ‘I can now,’ I said. I guess I should have thought of this, that it would look like I’d just gone bugger it, and either copied the answers from somewhere online or got someone else to do it. And I guess it was all the more hard to take because I’d been kinda proud of myself for never giving in to those temptations. If I didn’t do my homework, I didn’t try to hide it. I took the fails and the detentions. I guess I was stupid, that I’d never realised none of the teachers had even noticed, let alone cared that I was trying to do the right thing these days.

  ‘Alright, Jess. I have an appointment so I can’t stay any longer this afternoon to discuss it. But I expect you to stay back after class on Monday to meet with me, and I want you to think about it over the weekend, alright?’

  ‘I have to be at work by five,’ I said hesitantly.

  ‘It won’t take that long,’ he said, and that didn’t make me any less worried.

  I wasn’t even sure what he wanted me to think about, but all I cared about right then was that he wasn’t going to hold me up on a rare free Friday afternoon.

  When he nodded towards the door, I grabbed my stuff and got out of there fast before I could have some of my usual bad luck like someone calling to cancel his appointment.

  As I pounded down the hall, my phone buzzed. I whipped it out and saw a text from Sebastien, to say he was waiting in the car park.

  So much for having some time to think about what to say to him about this whole tutoring thing. I slowed to a walk as I continued out towards the car park, careful not to walk too fast. Maybe the best idea was just to say nothing at all.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I glanced a little wildly at Sebastien as I slid into the front seat. So much for the whole not going there idea.

  ‘Nothing,’ I shrugged. I grabbed the seat belt and pulled it down over my shoulder. I’d already found out that Sebastien wouldn’t start the car unless I was buckled up. Mrs Bell had a lot to answer for.

  Sebastien looked at me. I tugged on my belt and gave him a stupid face.

  ‘Forget the seatbelt, what’s wrong?’

  I let go of the belt and sighed, and glanced at him, away, back again. Why did he always want to know everything about me? He kept prodding and I kept dodging, and it seemed the more I tried to skate over things the more he wanted to dig.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ I said. Bugger. One little word…

  ‘So there is something?’

  I turned in my seat so I could face him. ‘Should I be paying you?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘For helping me with my maths. You know, tutoring me.’ I felt stupid even using the T word, but that’s what Mr Maths had called it.

  ‘Of course not.’

  I peered at him intently.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So what do you get out of it?’

  ‘What? Why do I have to get anything out of it?’

  ‘I asked you first.’

  ‘How old are you again?’

  ‘That was another question. You still haven’t answered my first one.’

  ‘I think I’ve forgotten what it was now,’ he said, and I came close to laughing; he was funny, but I’d spent enough time with him to know he was also clever. He was often funny not at all as accidentally as it seemed. Unlike me, who was only ever funny when I didn’t mean to, least expected it and couldn’t have wanted it less.

  ‘You do so remember.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ I demanded.

  He twisted his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, and looked at me briefly.

  ‘Because I couldn’t stand it that it made you cry.’

  OK, so that was me sitting there with my mouth open, lost for words. What could I say to that? It made me feel like a complete bitch that I’d ever suspected he had some dirty ulterior motive. Well, OK of course I hoped he had at least some dirty ulterior motives where I was concerned. He was a guy, he was apparently into me, he should want to get a bit dirty.

  ‘My maths teacher practically accused me of being a cheat. He thought I’d got someone to do my homework for me.’

  ‘What an arsehole,’ Sebastien said, sounding indignant.

  ‘He is, sure,’ I agreed.

  ‘What kind of teacher says something like that?’

  ‘What, besides being an arsehole?’ I said. I wondered, not for the first time, what planet Sebastien was from. He must have had different types of teachers to me, that’s for sure.

  ‘Yeah, I mean, how is that good teaching? If he’d done his job in the first place you wouldn’t have needed tutoring. Helping. Whatever.’

  I snorted, and tried to turn it into a cough, but maybe I was too close to giggles from Sebastien trying to make me laugh earlier. I snorted again, and then I did laugh.

  ‘What? What’s so funny?’

  ‘You are. All the teachers at your school must have been, like, there to teach or something. Mine are either burn outs or just in it for the pay cheque and the extra holidays every year.’

  ‘They’re not all like that, surely?’

  ‘Most of them,’ I said, thinking of Mr Henderson, who I’d had for the technology classes in DAT back in high school. He hadn’t thought it was odd that I got good marks, he hadn’t thought it was odd that I liked making things. He was awesome, but he was also old. He had a stroke and had to retire. Henders had been the best teacher I’d ever had, by far. It was just typical that he’d had such a shitty thing happen to him. I hoped he was at least still able to build things. Thinking about him made me sad, and left me feeling edgy and black.

  ‘So can we go now? I’m starving.’

  ‘Are you one of these girls that gets cranky when she’s hungry?’ Sebastien said, giving me a wary look.

  ‘I could be,’ I said, returning the look, although I started to blush, which kind of ruined it. I was so crap at flirting.

  ‘Can’t have a cranky Jess,’ Sebastien murmured, and started the car.

  Chapter 15

  Without taking his eyes from the TV, Sebastien reached into the bowl resting on my lap and groped around. Not finding anything, he sat up and peered into it.

  ‘It’s empty,’ he said.

  ‘See, if you keep eating the popcorn, Mr Popcorn Hog, eventually it is all gone.’

  Sebastien looked at me. ‘I seem to remember you dipping your hand in there a time or two.’

  I shrugged, trying for innocent and missing by a mile. I had eaten my share, it was true, getting a jolt every time we happened to put our hands in at the same time and accidentally touch. I wanted him to kiss me so bad, but he seemed totally into this movie.

  Friday night, all his family out as usual, and he really did want to watch DVDs. This was a new experience for me and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Had I lost what pitiful amount of sex appeal I ever had?

  Sebastien heaved himself off the lounge and grabbed the bowl.

  ‘Want some more?’

  I looked up at him, thinking about grabbing the bowl and tossing it over the back of the lounge, then hooking my fingers into his shirt and pulling him back down onto the lounge, on top of me. I could say in a sexy growl, ‘I don’t want more popcorn, I want more of you,’ and then I could start undoing his buttons…

  ‘Jess? Popcorn?’

  ‘Uh, no, I’m good. Thanks.’

  He stared down at me, and I willed him to go into the kitchen, because I could feel the heat crawling up my face, but of course he didn’t do what I wanted, did he?

  ‘Are you too hot? Want me to turn down the heating?’

  ‘No, no, I’ll just take off my jumper,’ I muttered, and started unzipping my jacket and of course I was going to be bloody freezing, especially without the warmth of him sitting on the lounge beside me.<
br />
  ‘OK. Won’t be long.’

  As soon as he was gone I stuffed my arms back into the sleeves of my jumper. Would he notice if I just put it back on? He might. Most guys wouldn’t, but Sebastien had a funny habit of picking up on exactly the thing I expected — not to mention may have counted on — him not noticing.

  He was gone for ages, and if I hadn’t heard him banging around out there, and the hum of the microwave, I would have had to go and check on him, make sure he hadn’t electrocuted himself or something. He was an amazing musician (he didn’t just play cello, he could also play the piano, the violin, the guitar, and of all things, bagpipes) and just as clever at maths as he said he was, but give him a toaster and a piece of bread and he could potentially burn the house down. I had reason to keep half an ear on him, while I flicked through some magazines on the coffee table. I was hoping there might be a Highland Life, which usually had beautiful houses listed, or at least Home and Garden, but apart from sheet music and concert programs all I could find was a GQ. It had good photographs, at least.

  ‘You know, I’ve been thinking, and I reckon you should challenge your maths teacher,’ Sebastien said, as he came back in, popcorn spilling from the overflowing bowl. He sat down next to me and I sniffed experimentally. He grinned.

  ‘Yeah, I burnt a few. No, no, don’t worry, I just chucked the black bits in the bin, it’s fine.’ He held the bowl towards me and I picked through the singed popped corn for some nice fluffy bits. He’d put plenty of butter and salt on, yum. I munched a handful and tried not to think about my arse getting any bigger. I had to watch that, even though the rest of me tended to be skinny.

  ‘Anyway, I think you should prove you can do it.’

  ‘What, in a test or something?’

  ‘No, right then, on Monday afternoon. Ask him to give you a question, and then you sit down and solve it.’

  Popcorn clogged my throat and I swallowed it painfully. Eyes watering, I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ I said, hating the way I sounded so panicky but unable to help it.

  ‘Sure you could.’

  ‘I couldn’t, not with him watching, I’d be way too nervous, and besides, he could ask me a really hard question.’

  ‘You’ve been doing hard questions.’

  ‘And getting them wrong!’

  ‘Jess, you got a couple wrong, because you made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.’

  ‘Yeah, and if I made a mistake like that on Monday he’d be sure I was a cheat.’

  Sebastien chewed popcorn for a bit, and I thought maybe he was done. I picked up the TV remote and tried to work out which button to press, hoping he’d get the hint.

  ‘Here,’ he said, reaching out and taking it from me. He pointed it at the TV, but then he put his hand back down and turned his head towards me.

  ‘Jess, if this guy is such an arsehole that he’d deliberately give you a question designed to be too hard, then you should put in a complaint.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘You’re deluded.’ I tried to get the remote off him. ‘Can we just watch the movie? It’s supposed to be my night off.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like this movie.’

  ‘I’m watching it, aren’t I?’

  ‘Do you want to work on some equations instead?’

  ‘Do you want to shut up and watch the movie?’ I said, knowing he was just teasing me, but getting stirred up anyway.

  ‘Do you want to do some equations tomorrow?’

  ‘I have to work tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, some of us have to work. Will you press play, for God’s sakes?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Play. So we can watch the movie.’

  ‘No, the comment about having to work. Was that a dig?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes it was,’ Sebastien said, sitting up and putting the bowl on the coffee table. He wiped his buttery fingers on his jeans, and I winced. Those Levi’s had to cost nearly $200.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said, and the part about not meaning it was true, at least. I certainly had not meant to say it, it had just sort of slipped out because I was annoyed with him for pestering me about maths. I could hardly tell him that Mr Maths obviously knew of the several years I’d been failing, which justified him being suspicious, and that nearly every other teacher I’d ever had might have done exactly the same. But despite my mind going back to what Mr Maths had said, about, oh, once every five minutes or so all bloody night, I’d been trying to forget about it and enjoy my night off. And Sebastien had to stuff it up.

  ‘How did you mean it?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Yes you did. Are you angry that I don’t have to work?’

  ‘No, of course not. I mean, I wish I was as lucky, sure.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’ I shrugged.

  ‘I suppose you think it’s just lucky I play the cello as well as I do, then.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ I’d seen him practice til he dripped sweat. Seen him have to wait before he stood up, to make sure his legs had stopped shaking.

  ‘It’s not luck, Jess. It’s got nothing to do with luck. My parents pay me an allowance so I can have enough time to practice cello to be good enough to pass my exams, and get invited to play at concerts, and have time to do my musical theory, and still be able to afford to run my car and stuff. You’re not the only one who has to juggle to fit everything in.’

  I opened my mouth to argue, and shut it again, in a hurry. How could I have a go at him for thinking my life was like his, that it was just a matter of making sure you had enough money to fill your car up and tick all the other boxes that led to your guaranteed spectacular future, when I’d made absolutely sure he had no clue it was any different. I’d wanted him to think I was just like him, and Anna.

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. Want to watch the movie now?’

  ‘What? No! Jess, you can’t just give in like that.’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘But, why? How can you just suddenly change your mind?’

  ‘Oh what, so now I’m in trouble for agreeing with you? Wish you’d make up your mind.’

  ‘You’re not in trouble, don’t be stupid.’

  I blinked. ‘Don’t say I’m stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ I crossed my arms and pressed my lips together, to hide the way my mouth wanted to turn down with the effort not to cry. Had I thought I’d be cold in here without my jumper? I was burning now, practically sweating with anxiety, sick with fear that this was us breaking up before we’d even really been together, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself sniping at him, or stop this disaster from happening.

  ‘Can’t we just watch the movie, please?’ I said, making another attempt to head it off.

  ‘Forget about the stupid movie.’

  ‘So everything’s stupid now,’ I muttered. Shut up, shut up, shut up. If you can’t say something sensible or sweet or smart just shut the fuck up before you ruin this.

  ‘Jess, this isn’t like you. What’s wrong?’

  I wanted to yell at him: you don’t have a clue what’s like me and what isn’t, but if I started I was afraid I’d never stop. I was just afraid and jealous, and that made me feel like I was a horrible person. But I’d cut my tongue out before I’d say any of that to him. I wanted him to think I was a nice person. I wanted him to like me. He was going to find out what I was like eventually, I supposed, if he stuck around, but I wanted to put that day off as long as possible.

  ‘Jess?’

  ‘I’m just freaked out about what will happen with my maths teacher, that’s all. I’m sorry it’s making me such a bitch.’

  ‘Hey, no, I’m sorry. I should have realised.’ He reached out awkwardly and sort of stroked my arm, and I put my other hand on his and managed to find a s
mile. Inside I felt hollow and bitter, for lying to him. Again. I could justify it by telling myself I was just scared, and that I bet he was hiding plenty of secrets and things he was ashamed of, but I was starting to doubt that. I was pretty sure, now, that he wasn’t a serial killer, he wasn’t trying to use maths to bribe me into sex. He was exactly what he seemed; wealthy, gorgeous, incredibly gifted and incredibly sheltered.

  I didn’t understand what he saw in me now, and I couldn’t imagine why he’d bother with me if he knew the truth. And I didn’t want the countdown clock to have already started.

  I had to think of some way to keep him interested. I was a girl, he was a guy. I knew what to do, and I just needed a plan and some courage.

  This solution, at least, was one I did understand.

  Chapter 16

  Only one problem with that solution, and that was a sudden lack of the person necessary to balance the equation. Sebastien had to play at a concert series in Melbourne, and he’d be away for over a week.

  On the Saturday night, feeling lost and restless without him, I made the mistake of letting Michelle talk me into going to a neighbourhood party.

  I used to love neighbourhood parties, a couple of forty four gallon drums making instant mini bonfires, a keg or two, and a truly random assortment of food, anything from fruitcake to Cheezels. Occasionally somebody got a bit more organised and planned ahead, and then there might be a pig on a spit and salads. Not the leafy rabbit-food stuff, just potato salad and pasta salad and maybe coleslaw.

  That night was one of the last minute kind, and the table shoved up against the back fence held an astonishing quantity of stuff you could eat, but not much of it was really food in the strictest sense. My stomach grumbled and I realised I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

  I’d been in my room working on my maths; on the Monday I’d put on my big-girl pants and approached Mr Maths like Sebastien had suggested, about proving I was actually learning how to do the work and not getting someone to do it for me. My teacher wasn’t the arsehole about it I expected, and he gave me a question I could do with only a little bit of swearing and pencil chewing. But although Mr Maths seemed to accept I wasn’t getting Sebastien to do my homework, he’d made it pretty clear I was on probation. I had to pass this subject or I was just wasting my time at TAFE; maths was a prerequisite for entry into all the best Architecture degree courses.