by Nova Weetman
I remember the day I realised Jake wasn’t like me. Up until then I’d always figured we were the same, because we got on so well. But that afternoon, Mum baked a cake. She’d never bake a cake now, but back then she still liked making things. It was a disgusting cake, but I pretended to like it because that’s just what I did. But Jake took one mouthful and screwed up his face. Mum asked him if he liked it and he told her straight up that it was horrible. I’m sure she thought he was being rude, but he wasn’t. He was just being honest.
I was only about twelve, but I remember Mum watching us on and off all afternoon after that, like she was trying to assess who Jake was, but he didn’t attempt to win her over and after a while she gave up and wandered away. Jake’s always been sort of quiet around adults, but with me, he talked non-stop, about all sorts of things. He knew all the names of the constellations, all the Latin names for dinosaurs, and all about animals and insects and marine life. He knew stuff no kid ever knew, because he collected facts. It was like his whole world played out in his head. He didn’t have toys or books or things, but he had information. And to a kid like me who had grown up with pretty much everything I could want, except a dad who was home in time for dinner, Jake was fascinating.
But now all the things he knows about me are like little bombs waiting to go off. I’m not sure what he’s going to do with them, or when he’ll detonate them, but he will. He’ll get me back. I know it.
Just like he did by telling Ellie.
I try and blink Jake out of my head and fix my hair so that it’s not all wild, and then I mess it up again because she always liked it messy. I know coming here is stupid. But after kissing that girl last night I just have to see Ellie, even if she slams the door in my face.
I knock, remembering the first time I knocked on this wooden door. How nervous I was then. And how I am even more nervous now. I try to find my centre, the way the drama teacher used to show me. If I can find my centre, if I can just nail the role, then I can be whoever Ellie wants me to be. I breathe deeply, feeling my chest fill with air. I know what I have to say. I know who I have to be. I can do this.
It seems to take ages for the door to open. While I wait, I look around for differences. The grass is a bit long in patches, and the red snapdragons have come out. Someone has knocked over the gnome. I make a move towards it, wanting to sit it up so it’s looking out at the world, but just at that moment, the door swings open. Ellie’s cut her hair super short. Maybe Jake’s shaved head was contagious. I have this intense need to touch it with my hand, but I don’t. I wonder how she can tie and untie her tiny ponytails now.
‘Your hair looks great,’ I say, finding a smile.
‘Thanks,’ she says and rubs across it with her long fingers. I see she’s not wearing the silver ring I bought her at Christmas.
‘What are you doing here, Alex?’
She’s standing in the doorway, and I wonder if she’s going to let me in.
I practised on my way here. I know what lines to use. How honest she needs me to be. I drop my voice a little. ‘I just wanted to see you.’
She nods. I’ve never seen her so cold before. Her face is so locked down it’s like there’s no way she’s going to give me anything at all.
‘Ellie …’ I reach out to stroke her arm and she lets me for about three seconds, and then she pulls away and my hand falls down, swinging like it shouldn’t be there.
‘Can we talk?’ I say, my heart breaking.
She smiles and for a millisecond I can pretend we’re back where we were. She walks past me in the spotty shorts Sass always envied. Her legs are browner than I remember. Maybe that’s what happens to memories. The good ones start to fade even when you don’t want them to.
She sits down on the edge of the gutter, her bare feet tucked up under her. I see flashes of red on her toes and remember the time she painted my nails and I had to hide them from Dad until they all chipped off. I’m aware of people watching from windows because it’s a suburban street and that’s what people do. A couple of kids are riding their bikes up and down the driveway opposite. I sit down next to her, almost close enough to feel her warm skin.
She leans back on her elbows and the urge to touch her is so strong. ‘What do you want to talk about, Alex?’
‘How’s school?’
She raises an eyebrow and turns her head, squinting into the fading sun. I could stare at her face forever.
‘Lame. Okay, I miss you,’ I say, trying to find my truth.
‘I miss you too,’ she says, bumping against my shoulder and making me hope. ‘But you’re different now. And it’s not because of the school thing. It’s you.’
‘I won’t be. I’ll be me. I promise.’
She shakes her head and sits up, finding a piece of grass to pluck and roll between her fingers. Doesn’t she know she’s killing me?
‘It’s not Jake’s fault, you know. I already felt the distance. Like you were vanishing, before he said anything.’
I try to breathe normally, knowing it is Jake’s fault. It’s all Jake’s fault. ‘What if I told you what happened last year?’ I’m sounding desperate now and my script has vanished. I’m in dangerous territory.
But then a car toots, breaking whatever moment we were having. As the little red Holden turns into the short driveway out the front of Ellie’s brown brick house, she jumps up and waves at the driver. I know without looking that it’s her mum. Ellie seems torn between her home and me, and she stands in the front garden, stuck in the middle ground between us. And as I watch her I realise I can never tell her what happened last year. If I did, then I’d be admitting it to myself and I can’t. Ellie knows it too. She turns around and smiles.
‘I’ve got homework, Alex …’
I nod. ‘Sure. Okay.’
She wants me gone. But before she skips away from me forever, she walks back with that steady stride, until she looks straight up into my eyes. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ I can see that she still has feelings for me. She has to.
‘I can’t, El. I just can’t.’
The thing I love about Ellie more than anything else is that I never know what she’s going to do next. And what she does will mess up my head for a long time. She grabs me, slides her arms around my neck and pulls my head down and kisses me long and hard on the lips. And I sink into her with everything I have. The skateboard drops from my hand and hits the ground hard. I can feel my heart racing, my chest threatening to explode. I’ve missed this. Her.
Then she breaks off the kiss and pushes me away.
‘See ya round, Alex.’
I’m too stunned to do anything. I let her walk into the house and shut the front door. And I’m still standing there like it’s all been a big mistake and she’ll be back any minute with a Sunnyboy and a sticky, sweet orange kiss.
Of course she won’t. Of course she’s gone inside to do her homework and if she’s eating a Sunnyboy she’s certainly not bringing one out for me. Why did I come?
Before I leave I straighten up the gnome and brush the dirt from his face. I swivel him deep into the soil so he won’t fall over again. He seems to be smiling at me.
As I skate away, I pass our old park. Jake and I were both eight when our parents agreed to let us come to this park on our own. It was a monumental day. He had a bag of chips and I had two bananas. It was enough to keep us going for about three hours, until his mum turned up worried that something had happened because we were supposed to be home after 40 minutes, but we didn’t have a watch between us and time meant nothing back then.
It was our park. First time we ever drank alcohol was in this park. I stole one of Dad’s beers and we shared it, before Jake vomited it up again near the bottom of the slide. We both felt so bad that we came back the next morning and covered over the vomit with tanbark just in case some poor little kid ended up landing in it. It was where we made our plans. Our promises.
But I haven’t been here alone in a long time. It’s early evening, still light
, and the graffiti is clearly visible, and the rubbish from the day blows across the ground. There’s hardly anything here, just a concrete tunnel and a short slide, a couple of swings, one of the old metal roundabouts and a park bench. It’s fenced off, like it’s trying to stop the kids who come here from running away, or the kids who might want to come from getting in. Jake and I always figured nobody ever came here. That it was ours, this neutral place where we could be proper friends, where nothing from his world or from mine could interrupt.
But today there are a couple of boys, who look about four, being pushed on the swings by their mums. One boy is yelling about being Superman and the other is quiet, observing, just being. The mums are chatting too. And I stop at the gate and look in, watching them for a second. I see the bin overflowing and graffiti scrawled inside the tunnel. I see the way the metal bars rock as the swings pull and push at their anchors. And then I drop my board onto the road and skate away. Leaving behind a place I don’t belong to anymore.
jake
Mum’s up even though it’s only 7.30 and she’s on nights. I’m trying to avoid her, hoping she’ll disappear back to bed if I stay in my room long enough. I was sure she’d forget about today. But she clearly hasn’t.
‘Two sugars?’ Mum asks pushing my door open with her elbow and walking in with two cups.
‘Yeah,’ I say and turn away to face the wall.
I hear the cup go down on the side table and then the room is flooded with light. I can’t help but groan.
‘You need to get up. We have to be there at 8.30,’ she says, sitting on the edge of my bed.
‘Where?’
‘Jake,’ she says sharply.
Of course I know what today is. And of course she’s cross. I just don’t want to go.
I can smell the medical smell she gets when she’s on nights. Even after she showers, she still reeks of hand sanitiser. I give up and roll over. Mum’s staring out, dazed, into the other room. If I’m quiet, she’ll be asleep again soon.
I sneak my arm past her and reach for my coffee.
‘Your fingernails are filthy, Jake. Don’t you ever wash?’
She has a point. They are.
I look up and see she’s watching me. I try to smile but it comes out wrong.
‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’
I slurp as loudly as I can and the hot coffee burns the back of my throat.
‘Jake …’ Her voice is full of something I don’t want to hear.
‘Mum, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.’
She snorts a sarcastic laugh and says, ‘You can’t try that with me.’
‘Well, it is.’
‘So why are we being called in to see Mrs Boyce?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘I have a fair idea. It’s because you’re wagging school all the time.’
‘I’m not. I’ve missed a few days. It’s nothing.’
‘It’s something.’
I sip more coffee, trying to find the sugar. ‘Did you stir this?’
‘You’ve got a shot, Jake. You’re smart. Don’t screw it up,’ she says, standing up. I pretend to focus on my cup, scratching at the edge with my dirty nail, but she’s right. I know she is.
‘Okay. I’ll stop wagging.’
‘Really? You promise?’
I see how tired she is. The relief is all over her face. She just wants to go to bed; instead she’s playing babysitter to her teenage son.
‘I promise.’
‘Today? You’ll go today?’
‘Yep.’
‘After the meeting? You’ll stay until the end?’
I force a laugh. The questions are crazy. She’s trying to box me in.
‘It’s not funny. Mr Capuano is worried about you. I’m worried about you.’
I like thinking Mr Cap is worried. He doesn’t seem to worry about much. It’s nice he’s reserving it for me. Even if there’s no point in him worrying about me anymore. It’s not like it’ll change anything.
‘Okay,’ I say, dodging, agreeing to anything.
I see her smile. Just a little one, because she’s pretending she’s still cross with me. But I know better. Mum never stays cross. She can’t. It’s just the two of us, so if she stays cross at me she has nobody to talk to.
‘And grow your hair out again. Please,’ she says, staring at my shaved head.
I shrug. ‘Why? I like it.’ And I do. I like that I’ve shaved the old me away.
She frowns. ‘You look like your father.’
It’s like a slap in the face. I don’t want to look like him.
‘No you don’t, honey. Sorry,’ she says quickly. ‘It’s just the shaved head …’ Then she smiles properly and leans down to kiss my head and I hear her sniff it.
‘Shower now. Wash your fingernails and shampoo your … head,’ she says.
‘Yes, Mum,’ I say, watching her walk out slowly.
I wish I could talk to Mr Cap about genetics. I tried researching it, but nothing answered my question. How do I escape my inheritance?
I roll out of my bed and consider the shower, but decide that showering and turning up to school on the same day is a little ambitious, so I’ll start small with going to school. We don’t have an actual uniform; we have an unofficial one. Mine is black jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes they are old band t-shirts and sometimes they are just plain black. Today I find a clean plain one and smother my pits in deodorant. There’s no point going to the meeting. I know what Mrs Boyce is going to say. She’s going to point out to Mum how many days I’ve wagged, and Mum is going to be shocked and embarrassed that she had no idea. Then she’ll blame herself for working nights and not being around more and I’ll feel like a complete arse.
The thing is I don’t want to wag. I don’t even mean to wag. Some days I head off to school, bag packed, Vegemite sandwich in plastic wrap, but as I walk along the path near the overpass, I feel in my pocket for the stub of broken plastic from his headlight that I carry around with me and I can’t go any further. I just keep thinking about what we did. About him. And Alex. And me. And the whole catastrophe and then it stops me doing anything. And now that Tien has replaced me in Mr Cap’s summer science program, I really don’t seem to belong.
Of course I can’t tell Mum any of that because that would mean telling her things I don’t want to admit.
As I lace up my sneakers as loosely as possible, a high-pitched beeping noise cuts across the morning and I smell the smoke. I grab my pillow off the bed and dash to the smoke alarm outside my bedroom door. Our flat is so small we only have one alarm. I counted the ones in Alex’s new house. There were five.
I wave the pillow furiously under the screaming noise.
‘Mum,’ I yell. ‘The griller.’
It’s happened before when Mum’s been on nights. She’s put the bread under the grill and sat down at the table and drifted off. I see her sit up, and then realise what’s going on. She dashes to the kitchen, pulling out the slices of blackened bread and tossing them into the sink just as the smoke alarm stops.
‘That was the last of the bread. Sorry,’ she says from the kitchen.
‘I’m not hungry anyway.’
‘I am,’ she says with a sigh, leaning against the bench like everything is just too hard.
‘Go back to bed, Mum. I can go on my own,’ I say quietly.
She looks over, shaking her head. ‘What, and have the principal think I don’t care? No way. I’m coming.’
‘Okay. Okay. Just trying to save you the trip.’
She walks over to me. ‘You’re just trying to get out of going.’
I smile.
‘It’s not funny, Jake. I’ll just get my shoes. You ready?’
‘Yep.’
She turns as she reaches her door. ‘Did you even shower?’
The burnt toast means she fell asleep, even if it was for only twenty seconds. ‘Yeah. I did.’
She shrugs like she maybe believes me but probably doe
sn’t. And then she’s back, pulling on her good shoes. I realise she’s dressed up. Skirt. Nice top. No stains. She’s making an effort and it makes me feel even worse.
‘Come on. If we go now, I can get some takeaway from that milk bar on the way,’ she says.
We walk out of the block of flats into sunshine. Mum puts her sunnies on and I have to hurry to keep up with her. Neither of us is talking. And that’s fine by me. I’m running answers through my head, preparing for the attack by Mrs Boyce.
We pass Alex’s house. The ‘Sold’ sign has been graffitied by someone with a spray can. Seeing all the illegible tags is reassuring somehow. Like him leaving has made other people angry too.
‘Have you seen Alex?’ Mum asks as we cross the road.
I consider lying but settle for vague. ‘Not for a while.’
‘Is that the problem?’
‘No, Mum. I told you, there’s no problem.’
Mum grabs my hand and holds it tight as we reach the little park. I try not to pull away even though the feel of her fingers is strange. It’s been a long time since we’ve held hands. As we approach the milk bar, Mum releases me, like she’s realised it’s strange too.
‘Want something?’
‘Chocolate Big M,’ I say.
She nods and goes to open the door. But it’s locked.
‘Oh, come on!’ she says loudly, sounding more like a teenager than a woman in her thirties.
‘They’re always closed these days,’ I say, remembering the last time I tried to buy a pie at lunchtime.
‘No wonder milk bars are going out of business if they aren’t open at eight in the morning.’
I can’t help but laugh.
‘I’ve had two hours’ sleep, Jake.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
We keep going. Mum in front. It’s not far to school and I wonder if we’ll see Ellie. I’d like Mum to meet her. I think they’d get along.
‘Any idea why we’re being called in?’
‘No,’ I say.
Mum turns and gives me a look of frustration before striding in through the gate. My heart is bouncing wildly in my chest. I really don’t want to be here. I wish Mum would walk next to me. I feel like I’m being led to my end.