Everything is Changed

by Nova Weetman

  ‘So I need to know what I’ve missed. Can I read your notes for maths?’

  Tien sighs like it’s all a drag. ‘Yeah. I guess. But stop cutting classes. I have no one to compete with in science if you aren’t around.’

  ‘Okay. Deal,’ I say, holding out my hand to shake Tien’s. ‘You going to show me what you’re watching now?’

  Lucas smiles and opens his laptop. He hits a button and a flash of bodies appears on the screen. Porn? I look closer, realising it’s two bulked-up men in skimpy satin costumes.

  ‘Wrestling?’ I say incredulously.

  They both laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. If only Alex was still here. I’d have someone to save me from this crap.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with Mr Cap. I’ll see you clowns later.’

  I can hear them yelling at the screen as I walk away.

  The science lab is in the new part of the school built a few years ago. It’s clean and white and impressive. Most of the other classes are in rooms in the old red brick building that has a smell no amount of cleaning products will ever remove. The science lab is my favourite part of our school. And Mr Cap is my favourite teacher. He’s taught me science for the last two years and I think it’s because of him I love science so much. He’s not interested in small talk or working out why you’re in a bad mood one day. He’s not one of those teachers who intrude in the name of wellbeing. He just teaches you stuff.

  The first class I had with him he asked if anyone knew any scientific principles that we thought would stand up to rigorous testing. Everyone was looking at their books, shuffling papers, and trying not to catch his eye. Normally I wouldn’t be the first to speak in a class, but that day, I think I had something to prove and I put my hand up. I told him I thought the law of cause and effect was a pretty robust principle. Alex had nudged me with his elbow, impressed.

  Mr Cap smiled. Apparently my answer had just proven why science was so important. He went on to explain that some scientists do indeed believe that whatever you send into the universe comes back, and that every cause has its effect; and every effect, its cause. But that particular principle leaves no room for a thing called chance. And there is every possibility that the evolution of the planet was just one big magnificent accident.

  Mr Cap then wrote on the whiteboard in a red marker: ‘It is impossible to establish complete causality. That nobody can guarantee the particular manipulation of a variable is the sole reason for the perceived outcome.’

  There were sighs around the classroom, like science had just gotten hard. But Mr Cap didn’t seem to notice.

  My ears went red first. I felt stupid. Like the only time I put myself out there, I got it wrong. But instead of trying to humiliate me, Mr Cap explained how impressed he was that I’d know any of this at all. He said if we all came here to learn each week and left our prior beliefs at the door, we’d all make great scientists one day, because we’d be able to prove things for ourselves. That’s what science was. The chance to test out a theory and find a definitive answer. Alex walked out of the class underwhelmed, but I was sold from that very moment.

  I can see Mr Cap through the window. He’s reading at one of the desks and I knock lightly on the door. He takes ages to look up, but when he does he gets up straightaway and walks over to unlock the door.

  ‘Jake,’ he says, like he hasn’t seen me in a really long time.

  ‘Hey, Mr Cap,’ I say, heading to the desk where he’s sitting and feeling like I belong here.

  ‘How are you?’

  Sitting down, I go to answer, but stop myself. I can’t just lie to Mr Cap. It’s not right. ‘I’m okay. You know.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I can make an educated guess,’ he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Is there anything wrong?’

  I shuffle my feet, and lean back in my chair, wanting some space from the conversation. I wonder what Mr Cap’s take on cause and effect would be if I told him what we did. Would he revise his scientific theory?

  ‘Nah,’ I say finally.

  He nods. ‘Well, I wanted to see you, Jake.’

  ‘Is it about the science program?’

  He nods slowly and my stomach shifts. This is what I need. Something to look forward to.

  ‘Unfortunately, due to your poor attendance lately, the principal’s decided to send someone else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake. You’re the best student here but you’ve missed days of school. And without any real explanation.’

  ‘Not that many days,’ I say, my mind running backwards trying to count them all.

  ‘Thirteen actually. That’s almost three weeks and we’re only in week six of term.’

  I can feel my face growing hot and the blush starting to spread.

  ‘But I won’t miss another day. I promise. I’m here today.’

  He nods and I see the bald spot on the top of his head and for some reason it really disappoints me.

  ‘It wasn’t my decision to make.’

  ‘This sucks,’ I say, feeling like my body is about to explode.

  ‘I know. But there’s always next year. And there’s the science prize. It’s not done, Jake. This isn’t everything.’

  But it is, Mr Cap. Don’t you get it? This is everything.

  ‘I’ve got class,’ I say, getting up and making the stool leg drag along the floor like I know Mr Cap hates.

  I make it to the door before my eyes flood with tears.

  ‘I’ll see you this afternoon, Jake. We’re doing prac.’

  Not me, Mr Cap. I’m going to the skate park. I let the door slam behind me as I wipe the bottom of my t-shirt across my face, removing any sign of emotion. The corridor is almost empty because everyone is outside having lunch. I make it to my locker without seeing anyone I know. I leave all my schoolbooks and just grab my empty backpack. I’m not planning on coming back for a while.

  ‘Boo,’ says a voice behind my locker.

  I know from the striped socks and the red Converse that it’s Ellie. Not even the thought of talking to her makes me want to stay.

  ‘I got you the last pie. You owe me five bucks,’ she says.

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder as she closes the locker door and hands me a paper bag that feels a bit damp because it’s so hot.

  ‘Hey, you okay?’ she says, inspecting my face.

  ‘Yeah. Headache.’

  ‘Thought we were going to study?’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re going to fail if you keep this up. Come on. Let’s go study. We’ve got a free period next. Then it’s prac. Your favourite.’

  The pie bag is starting to burn my hand. I slide the pie out and bite the stiff-edged pastry. Ellie leans forward and takes a bite too and grins at me. ‘Okay, you only owe me $2.50 if we share.’

  ‘Here. You have it. I’m not hungry anyway,’ I say, handing her the bag. ‘I’m going.’

  I manage four or five steps before she yells after me, ‘I bought you a pie! And you’re leaving? Not cool, Jake. Not cool at all.’

  Yep. Don’t I know it.

  alex

  Nobody else in the team ever catches public transport to the river. The rest get driven, but I like riding the tram before the sun is up and there’s no way I want Mum to drive me to the boatsheds, even though she keeps offering.

  The tram is always quiet at this time of the day. And there is always a seat. Each person seems to naturally take their own section, like they aren’t ready to interact. Me down the back with the old guy who’s snoring whisky fumes into the air, the young business guy in the middle and the woman in the jogging gear right up the front near the driver. I’ve seen them both before, but we never acknowledge each other. I’d like to stay on the tram one time to see where they get off, but my stop is first, so unless I skip rowing training I’ll never know.

  The tram takes the corner too fast and the brakes go on so hard that it feels lik
e the carriage will lean all the way down to the ground. Straightening up, the tram jolts violently enough to bring the old guy out of his nap. He looks around, and his gaze stops on me.

  ‘You going to work?’ he asks, half coughing as he stares at the side of my head like he can’t quite focus on my face.

  ‘Nah. Rowing,’ I say, still impressed that rowing is something I do.

  But it clearly doesn’t impress him because he laughs and spit flies from his yellowing mouth.

  ‘Why’d you want to go and do that then?’

  I feel like I should answer him but I don’t know why. It’s not like I started the conversation and just because I’m sitting here, near him, it doesn’t mean I have to talk. So I find a shrug instead, but I know it won’t be enough to deter him so I turn and look out the window, and decide I’ll get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to the sheds.

  ‘You at one of those fancy schools?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, still staring out the window, tempted to point to the insignia in Latin on my tracksuit top. I’m only wearing it because I like the way it looks. It’s too warm to have it on, but my rowing t-shirt is plain.

  He sounds just like Jake when he’s giving me a hard time about my fancy school. Don’t they get that there’s really nothing fancy about trying to fit in? A uniform doesn’t make it any easier.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see the old guy lean forward and I know he’s going to keep hassling me about this, and even though I’m twice his size and he’d go down in a second, I don’t feel like dealing with this today. Before he can reach me with his bony, cigarette-stained finger, I stand up and move down the corridor to the middle of the tram.

  ‘Enjoy your rowing,’ he yells from the back. The businessman looks up at me and half smiles, and I’m not sure if it’s a conspiratorial half smile about the old drunk guy or an amused smile aimed at me for being intimidated, so instead of responding, I jab at the button and wait for the tram to slow and stop. Maybe tomorrow I’ll grab a lift with Tone or one of the others.

  Jumping down from the tram platform, I notice it’s already warm even though the sun isn’t up yet. But once I reach the river, the air will drop just enough to make it pleasant and by the time I’m out on the water, the spray will flick across me and I’ll forget about summer and how much I hate wearing my fancy blazer to school when it’s 40 degrees.

  I start to walk. As I pass under a streetlight, the yellow glow dims and goes out. And my little patch turns black. I really am the devil.

  I jog down to the bend where the river surges towards the city. It’s dirty and brown from up here, but down there, once you’re on it, it’s like nothing else. We had a river in the borough too. But it was still and bushy, and it wouldn’t have held up to rowing practice.

  I’ve only been rowing for five weeks but, because of all the footy I used to play, I’m strong enough to power through the water; it’s just my technique that needs practice. Dad wanted me to play rugby but I convinced him that rowing was more impressive and part of an even longer tradition, and finally he gave in. As long as I’m doing something that involves a bunch of boys from good families he can network with, then he doesn’t really care.

  ‘You’re early, Alex,’ the coach calls out from the sheds.

  I walk over and drop my stuff. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You can help me get the boats out, then,’ he says with a smile as he heads down the back to where the boats are resting.

  I know what Jake would say if he could see me now. Lifting down boats so I can spend two hours out on the water rowing in my school colours? He’d bypass laughing and go straight to being an asshole. He’s always hated private school kids, particularly the ones who left the public high school in the borough for a fancy school in the city. Those were high on his list of kids to ridicule.

  What he doesn’t get though is if he tried this, if he sat behind me in a boat and rowed, found the rhythm and the pace to glide down the river, he might stop thinking about rowing as something only rich kids do and actually enjoy it. Out here I can escape what we did, because I have to concentrate so hard on my body. I have to move in time with the others and if I don’t, if I miss just a single stroke because I’m still thinking about the man, the other rowers give me a hard time and Coach yells and I might even get dropped from the team.

  I hear Tone and Macka come in, drop their stuff and then head outside, obviously trying to avoid carrying any of the boats down. Tone thinks the world should do everything for him, unless it involves skating or chatting up some girl. Beyond that he believes he should have servants. In fact, I think he does have a servant or two at home. They have a different name for them, but essentially that’s what they are.

  ‘Perfect water this morning, Alex,’ says the coach as he helps me get the firsts’ boat down.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, sounding like I have nothing else to add. And I don’t. Not really. As much as I love rowing, this world is still so foreign that I’m not really sure how to be. I help Coach carry the boat to the water’s edge and see the rest of the rowers arriving. Tone’s laugh is so loud I can hear him but can’t see him, and I bet he’s round the back of the shed, talking to one of the rowing girls. He keeps trying to set me up with one of them because he reckons Ellie’s not really good enough for me and I should move up in the world. If only he knew Ellie dumped me ages ago.

  ‘Oi, Zander,’ shouts Tone, as he runs over with a crazy look on his face.

  ‘Hey, Tone.’

  ‘Just saw Laura. She said to say hi.’ He winks and it makes me think of my dad when he’s trying to be all blokey and friendly.

  Before I can answer, the coach starts yelling instructions and Tone and Macka head off with the rest of the firsts. My lot are the seconds. We’re like the old fruit that’s going cheap. Not that I mind. I’m a learner and I’m lucky to be on the water at all. The first time I climbed into the boat I thought I was going to fall out. There’s a wobble when you first get in that’s weirdly uncomfortable, but once you sit with that for a second, and everyone’s in, then the boat goes and it feels like the sturdiest ride possible.

  The sun is struggling to come up and the water is still and ready, like it’s waiting just for us. I’m a beat behind the others to climb into the boat. I’m the second from the front. I like it here, wedged between two rowers, facing the back of one. All I can see are his arms and the city waking up around me. I don’t really know the others very well. My so-called friends all row for the firsts and think it’s hilarious I’m slumming it down here. But it means I just get to be. Not talk. Not even really listen to what my team mates are going on about. Instead I can just row and feel the water pulling against the oars. And on a day like this, it seems like the only thing I’ve ever been supposed to do.

  The guy in front of me is talking about some movie he saw on the weekend. I could join in. I’ve seen the film too, but then it would mean being friendly, and I quite like that they treat me differently. Like I’m a stranger blowing through.

  I watch a hungry bird swoop the dirty brown river, head breaking the surface before it catches something and then takes off again. The river is always bubbling along with little moments of action. There are lots of boats out most days, because all the private schools have boatsheds down here. But there are other people too. Joggers. Cyclists. It’s a tiny slice of a world that all starts before dawn.

  The firsts have pulled away and are almost out of sight. Our cox starts yelling for us to speed up. I’m the back-up stroke. I know it’s a bit of an honour to row down this end because our blades catch the water first so I have to be really sharp about timing and rhythm. For me it’s perfect because as soon as we start, I just switch off. My arms move. My muscles work. My head goes to sleep. All those thoughts that I spend hours with every day seem to stop when I’m in the boat. For these few hours, on the brown Yarra, I’m free.

  jake

  I’ve only seen her face in the paper in black and white. Huddled next to
her mother, their eyes pleading. Now I’m here. Outside her school, waiting. I scan faces as the students leave their buildings, getting ready to go home. Flick from one to the next. Their hair and their uniforms are exactly the same. I have to find her eyes. I don’t know what colour they are. In the paper they looked dark, but they could be anything. They’re probably red. Sad and weepy.

  I wonder what these girls see when they look up. A skinny boy. Shaved head. No smile. Nothing light. Just dark jeans, black Vans and a t-shirt three sizes bigger than he needs. Do they notice anything else about me? Do they see the pimple I picked this morning because I wasn’t ready to leave the bathroom and face the day? Or the skateboard at my feet that needs a new back wheel? Do they see the terror in my eyes?

  It’s a whole other world out here. I can see the city just down the hill, like it’s a promise of where you might go if you keep your head down and pay attention. The streets are wide and lined with trees. Those big, ancient green trees that drop their leaves on cars that cost almost as much as my mum’s two-bedroom flat did when she first got her divorce. But it’s still the ’burbs. The shit-boring burbs that me and Alex were always going to escape when we finished school.

  Three girls walk past me. One of them, her hair as golden as the sun, looks over and gives me a slight smile, like she’s amused I’m standing here, waiting for something. A year ago I would have gone weird at that smile, but now I just glare back, like I’m shutting her down and telling her she’s nothing, and I don’t care. She flicks her head away like I burnt her, and maybe I did, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to find her, that girl with the eyes, that girl I broke without even touching.

  The bell rings, and more of them rush from their buildings like ants sensing rain. They laugh, giggle, and chatter their way through the yard, bags draped over shoulders, hats on. And it’s then that I see her. Dawdling. Flanked by friends like they are making sure she makes it, just in case. I want her to see me. I want her to look over. Take me in. Understand. But she moves past and out the gate, to the tram stop. And my only choice is to follow her.