‘I’ve done it,’ she smiles. ‘It’s a bit of fun.’ I scroll the screen and find Lambert’s message.
‘Hey, here’s one for Angela.’
‘Let me see.’ Sophie slides closer and we share the screen. I read it aloud.
‘It’s from Secret Admirer. Gee, he’s keen. I like what I see. Wow!’
‘Angela gets stuff like that all the time.’ Sophie dismisses the message. ‘Sometimes three in one day. Secret Admirer, Sad Eyes, Lonely Heart, all the mournful guys are at it. Angela just laughs.’
Well, there you are, Lambert, I hear myself saying. There’s a queue of unfortunates after her. She can take her pick.
Well, there you are, Fergus, I hear Lambert replying. There’s a queue of guys after my soccer gear so bring it back! The equation is simple. Soccer kit gets me close to Sophie. No soccer kit, no Sophie. It is time for some serious wangling on the match-making scene.
Just then, Richmond enters CCC and I see Angelo sharing a word with him, man-to-man. No axiomatic lemons for Richmond. He’s straight into the coffee. Sophie sees him too.
‘Look, Fergus,’ she apologises, ‘I need a word with Richmond. I’ll be back.’ She goes and soon they are locked in conversation.
I sip my water, making it last, then over the rim of the glass, I spot Lambert, nose to the window. He makes meaningful eye movements towards the computer in front of me. I take the hint and type Angela’s name on the screen then the message. Forget all the others. I have more to offer. Give me a chance to prove it.
As Sophie returns, I innocently sip my water.
‘Got that cleared up,’ she says. ‘Now, tell me what it’s like living in Queensland?’ This is better. I start sharing some of the secrets of my northern past and how much I miss it. Before long, Sophie is laughing with me and I think, she’s really nice. I talk for five minutes, the words tumbling out non-stop and I could go on for hours but then Angela arrives at our table.
‘Hi, Soph.’ She sits, anxiety written all over her face.
‘What’s up, Angela?’ Sophie asks. Angela spins the computer around on its swivel base. She points to Secret Admirer’s second message.
‘Some drop-out, misfit, no-hoper of a girl’s been leaving messages for Angelo!’
‘You sure?’ Sophie frowns at the message. I sneak a look too. Yup! You guessed it - I put ‘o’ instead of ‘a’. Bummer!
‘Sure as sure.’ Angela bites her lip and looks across the room to Angelo who is placing a slice of cheesecake in front of a girl, another blonde. He smiles and the blonde girl laughs. ‘Bet it’s her!’ Angela goes on. ‘I mean, it’s the last message on the screen so she must still be here! Now! Right, I’ll go and garrotte her!’ Angela rises and stalks away.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Sophie snaps.
‘Me?’
‘Well, it was you, wasn’t it? All that obvious garbage about drawing my attention to the first message, that was you too.’
‘Let me explain -’
‘Look, if you fancy Angela, why don’t you just tell her instead of playing silly games?’ Sophie shakes her head and goes to cool Angela down before she has the cheesecake girl’s eyes out on the floor. To rub salt into my wound, hovering Lambert comes to join me.
‘Blew that one, Fergus,’ he tells me. ‘Blew it big time.’
‘Look, I did it for the best,’ I explain. But he’s not having any of it.
‘I thought you were experienced. Thought I could trust you.’
‘Does that mean you want the soccer kit back?’ I ask. Lambert looks at me.
‘I’m not that mean,’ he says with a haughty sniff. I feel small. We sit without talking while across the room, the cheesecake blonde protests her innocence. Angela raises her voice. ‘Come outside,’ I hear her say. I didn’t think girls went on like that. Sophie tries to soothe the situation but only gets cheesecake on her. But in all of the sadness there is one bright spot. She has left her doughnut on the plate.
‘Do you want half of that?’ I ask Lambert. ‘Sophie never touched it.’
‘Nope.’ Lambert is not accepting my peace offering. I see Angelo in the distance, clearing tables. Any second now, he’ll whip Sophie’s doughnut away. To forestall him, I cram it into my pocket. And yes, no sooner have I done it than Sophie herself returns.
‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Fergus McPhail,’ she says. ‘You sure know how to stir things up.’
‘Sorry, Soph.’
‘It’s Sophie. Now, I’ll get Angelo to wrap that doughnut for me, then I’m off before there’s any more damage -’ She does a double take at the empty plate. ‘I see.’ If hugging her on the field is infantile, what’s she going to think of a guy who knocks off her doughnut?
‘Fergus put it in his pocket,’ Lambert tells her primly. Sophie looks at me.
‘I was going to bring it to school for you, Sophie.’
Miserably, I put the thing back on the plate and pick a bit of lint off it.
‘In your pocket?’ Sophie’s eyes widen.
‘Sorry,’ is all I can say and at that moment, Angelo comes to clear our table. And well may he have a smug smile on his face. Not only does he have two blondes fighting over him, he’s also got a sideline in slightly toyed-with doughnuts. Bummer!
Solidarity
It is one morning partway through the first semester. We’re in the middle of a lesson on Splitting the Atom.
‘Please sir, I dropped mine,’ a boy confesses. Other kids get down on their knees, searching.
‘You fool!’ the science teacher snarls. ‘Atoms don’t grow on trees!’ It is at that point I hear Sophie and Richmond start flinging tense words at each other. ‘He did!’
‘Didn’t!’
‘Is.’
‘Isn’t!’
The row continues after the lesson as we trudge from the science block to the English room where Richmond falls back on that time-honoured form of attack.
‘Anyway, what would you know about it?’ He sounds like my sisters.
‘As much as you!’ Sophie snaps. ‘I follow the game. I read the papers.’
‘Yeah, beauty hints, fashion, recipes,’ Richmond sneers. Some other spineless guys support him, including Donald Walton, the well-known yes- person who adds a jibe of his own.
‘Bet she reads knitting patterns, eh, Richmond?’
‘Name the goalie for Atletico Madrid.’ Sophie holds her own. ‘He’s visiting Australia right now. Who’s the president of FIFA? And why was Charlie Emerson’s goal disallowed on Saturday?’
‘Huh.’ Richmond dismisses her with a wave.
‘They’re all in the paper this morning,’ Sophie assures him.
‘It’s not facts and figures,’ Richmond comes back. ‘It’s how you play.’
‘Well, in that case, how about we do a penalty shoot-out?’ Sophie challenges. But Richmond only jeers again then he and his up-sucking mates saunter off, laughing more than the situation’s worth. From under the safety of Richmond’s wing, Donald flings a parting comment at Sophie.
‘She’d probably fix the goalie, eh Richmond?’ He laughs. Huk, huk, huk.
Sophie pretends not to be annoyed, but little spurts of steam from the ears are a dead giveaway. I catch her eye.
‘Hi, Sophie.’
‘And you can get lost too!’ she snarls. I retire hurt.
Angela comes to support her and puts an arm about Sophie’s shoulder and they go off together, there, there, now. Tell Auntie Angela. That sort of stuff. I wish I could do that, the way girls can. They always know what to say and the right thing to do. If girls gave lessons there wouldn’t be wars. Lambert catches up with me.
‘What was that about?’
‘Hard to say,’ I tell him. ‘Soccer or blood feud. Take your pick.’
‘Guess what?’ But Lambert doesn’t wait for me to guess. He pulls out a book. ‘Horoscopes, Virgos and Pisces. It was a sale special at the newsagents. A dollar-ninety- five. ’
‘Thought we were saving
for a drum kit.’
‘The thing is,’ Lambert ignores my little dig, ‘Angela’s into horoscopes.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She’s a girl.’
‘Right. So what are you doing with a book of the things?’
‘Research. And to give me something in common with her.’
‘How’s that going to work?’
‘Dunno,’ Lambert responds. ‘Besides, my horoscope says don’t rush into new ventures. Take things one at a time.’ He flicks the pages. ‘What’s your star sign?’
‘Mucus,’ I say. Lambert flicks some more.
‘You’re not in here.’
‘Bummer! That means no predictions for me.’ I leave Lambert looking up the index but he calls after me with a warning.
‘Stay home in January!’
‘It’s already March.’ I enter the English room. It’s my favourite subject. That and multiple choice.
And my favourite sport is soccer. So after school, I get into my borrowed kit and take my place on the field of play. Well, watching on, actually, because they are still not ready for players of my calibre. This is only a seven-a-side practice session, hoofing the ball about, waiting for the coach to show up. Sophie’s out there but there’s also an undercurrent.
Some of the guys have smug, knowing looks, they exchange winks and within seconds, a couple of them tackle Sophie and bring her down. The only thing is, Sophie didn’t have the ball.
‘Hey, ref!’ I call.
‘Sorry, didn’t see a thing,’ the ref answers. It is Donald Walton, making all the right decisions. Sophie picks herself up and it’s not long before she’s in the thick of the action once more. With the ball at her feet, she makes a run at the goal but the goalie sees her coming and stands aside and ushers the ball past him into the net. The other guys laugh and clap their hands. Sophie looks at the ref but he’s clapping too.
The session is nothing but a piece of nonsense but Sophie stays, maybe hoping it will get serious. She gets tackled again but this time when she rises, there are muddy handprints all over her shorts and shirt. Without a word, she stalks off.
‘What, can’t take it?’ a boy taunts. Sophie doesn’t answer and as she passes me, I am wise enough not to say anything. Another boy grins and runs to take Sophie’s place on the field.
‘Right,’ Richmond calls to the other players. ‘Now, let’s have a proper game.’ But Sophie doesn’t hear this. She has gone to the pavilion for a shower.
After the game, the coach comes on the scene.
‘Where’s Sophie?’ he asks Richmond.
‘Shot through,’ Richmond says. ‘I reckon she couldn’t hack it.’
‘Not like her,’ the coach muses.
‘The thing is,’ Richmond goes on, ‘some of the guys think she’s a liability. They’re scared to tackle in case they’re accused of groping her.’ My ears flap like the doors of a tent. What’s this? Sinking the boot?
‘Sophie can take it,’ the coach insists. ‘And dish it out too.’ Richmond tries to sound reasonable.
‘Only telling you what the guys say.’
‘And you’re one of them?’ the coach asks.
‘Me, no.’ Richmond looks shocked at the idea.
‘Well, let’s wait till the guys complain. Okay?’
I see Richmond having an angry conference with some of the other players then he stalks off for a shower. Donald joins him as they head for the boys’ change room in the pavilion.
‘Fancy coming round to my place?’ I hear Donald say. ‘I got a new computer game.’
‘Oh, kids’ stuff,’ Richmond sneers.
‘Last week you played for hours.’
‘Yeah, well this is this week.’ I don’t hear any more because Lambert comes to join me, carefully marking the place in his dollar-ninety-five special.
‘For today,’ he tells me, ‘my horoscope says, watch where you put your feet.’
‘Huh,’ I become lofty and superior. ‘That’s what it says in the supermarket when they mop the floor.’
‘Don’t mock the unseen powers,’ Lambert tells me mysteriously.
We find a ball and spend several minutes booting it about, then it happens. Lambert trips on his shoelace and falls over. He sits up with a faraway look in his eye.
‘My horoscope just came true,’ he says. ‘That book’s dynamite.’ I help him up and then, from a distance, we watch Richmond and Donald come out of the boys’ change room and head off.
‘Richmond, wait!’ I hear Donald call. He runs to catch up but Richmond strides ahead.
We kick the ball around for another ten minutes or so, then it’s time to go home. Lambert gathers the ball and we head for the pavilion. They give it that grand-sounding name, but it’s really a low building with the girls’ change room on the left, the boys’ on the right and separating them, a store room where they keep balls, nets, white paint and stuff. Pavilion makes it sound posh, like a private school.
‘Watch this,’ Lambert says. ‘Bet I get it in one.’ Then from only twenty metres, he kicks the ball towards the open store room door. You guessed it; it sails right into the girls’ change room.
‘Nice one,’ I tell him. The ball doesn’t come out again. At the entrance, we dither.
‘The rule is, all balls must be returned to the store room,’ Lambert reminds me primly.
‘Yep,’ I agree. ‘Rules are rules.’
‘Looks like we got to go in there. But first we call out, okay?’
‘Hello,’ I whisper at the door. ‘Anyone in there?’
‘Especially girls,’ Lambert adds hopefully. Our voices make hollow echoing sounds. There is no answer from inside.
‘Okay, if anyone’s in there, close your eyes,’ I call. ‘We’re coming for our ball.’
Inside, there are shower cubicles with no doors and the floor is still wet. We look around with a sense of awe. As well as the showers, there are lockers and a row of toilets.
‘They get pink toilet paper,’ I observe. Well, you have to say something.
‘In here, they are naked,’ Lambert tells me in the hushed voice that boys use in such circumstances, but I’ve already worked that out for myself. I will have rampant dreams about this place, like the one I had some mornings ago when Mum came into my room and could tell what was holding up the blankets.
‘Hello, you’ve taken up pole vaulting,’ she said, ‘draining for the next Olympics, are we?’ I died of blushing mortification, turned over in bed. Snap! That’s all I needed! Watering eyes and bruises a boy can’t discuss with his GP.
In the girls’ change room, Lambert sees a towel hanging from a hook. He presses it to his cheek. ‘Lucky towel,’ he adds then sniffs. ‘M-mm, Vicks VapoRub.’
We remember our mission but the ball is nowhere in sight. After a search, we find it. Somehow it rolled under a toilet door so I pick it up and after another look around, we are about to leave when there comes the sound of someone outside! Coming in!
It is only a soft footfall but when you are in forbidden territory, your hearing is all the keener. Our eyes go wide, which is another thing that happens when you are where you’re not supposed to be. Imagine being caught in a place like this! With nowhere to hide? The shower cubicles have neither doors nor curtains.
‘Quick, in here!’ We cram into a toilet and shut the door.
‘She’ll see our feet,’ Lambert hisses.
‘Okay, up on the seat,’ I hiss back. We drop the ball into the toilet and clamber up. The plastic creaks a bit but it will hold our weight. It is a hi-impact toilet seat. These girls have the best.
‘I should have listened to my horoscope,’ Lambert hisses. We do so much hissing between us, anyone walking past the place will reckon somebody’s left a shower running. But whoever it is comes in, moving slowly. I imagine the horror of being found out. Lambert imagines something else.
‘What if she gets her gear off?’ he whispers. As we stand together, we start to teeter and have to hold each other
up. How would you be, being found like that? Two boys, in a girls’ toilet, standing on the seat, hugging each other.
Oh yes, I can visualise tomorrow’s conference in the principal’s office.
‘Do you two make a habit of this?’
‘No sir, it was a spur of the moment thing.’
‘We needed the height,’ Lambert will add.
Sunks-ville! But it is not a girl out there, it is a boy. Two boys, in fact. This place must be really popular after school. Bet they come for the ambience.
One of the voices belongs to Richmond.
‘Anyone in here?’ he calls. After a second or two, Donald chimes in.
‘They’ve all gone,’ he says. ‘Coast’s clear.’
‘Okay, give it to me,’ Richmond demands.
‘Yeah, here, Richmond,’ Donald responds. ‘It’s got an applicator. A sort of squirty thing.’
‘You’re a sort of squirty thing,’ Richmond says kindly.
Having some male company in here makes me feel a bit better. Tomorrow, after the principal’s done with me and Lambert, these two will be next in the firing line.
‘And tell me, what exactly does one do with the squirty thing?’
cYou squirt with it,’ ever helpful Donald will tell the principal.
But old Donald has his mind on other things. I hear him step into the shower area, which is just outside the toilets.
‘In here, they’re naked,’ I hear him say. Lambert catches my eye and nods in wise agreement. That’s what he said.
‘Never mind them being naked,’ Richmond raises his voice. ‘Come and do this.’ He laughs. ‘Help give them a hard time.’
‘Urgh, urgh,’ Donald makes throaty, grunting noises. ‘I’ll be in that.’
I can hear them at the lockers, but wish I could risk a peep to see what they’re up to. It must be some sort of sabotage because Richmond is amused about what he’s doing. There’s nothing we can do to stop them. Lambert gives me a look and shrugs his shoulders helplessly.
Fergus McPhail Page 6