Pan’s Whisper

by Sue Lawson

  “What have you done?” I try to sound jokey, but I just come across like a gossip.

  “It’ll be production stuff,” says Hunter. He stands and stretches. “Catch you.”

  Hunter is a no-show for our double maths lesson, but does turn up to the performing arts centre at lunchtime.

  It’s just me and Hunter because Ari has yard duty. We work through the list of things Ari has left us to do, starting with touching up the fire escape.

  At first the silence between us is comfortable, but after a while the air feels thick and heavy.

  “So, was it about the production?” My voice is loud in the still room.

  “What?” asks Hunter.

  “The call over the intercom – you said it was–”

  “Yeah. Production.” He squints at the piece he’s working on. “Damn it.” He leans close, his nose almost touching the landing.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. So that’s what’s going on. Now I know. He’s had time to think about me crying at the creek. He’s talked to his mates about it, about me, and has decided I’m a complete nutter. Disturbed. Mental. A whack job.

  He can’t wait to be away from me.

  The silence continues. My guts wrestle into knots and my hands shake. Each dab of paint and swish of a paintbrush whispers, He hates you. “I need a drink,” I say, trying to sound normal.

  Spine rigid, I walk from the room into the murky afternoon to the bathroom, where I stay in the locked cubicle until the bell sounds the end of lunch.

  The next time I see Hunter, I’m crossing the courtyard on my way to the gym for PE. He’s standing on the balcony outside Welfare Merle’s office. They’re talking. Merle has her hand on his shoulder. Hunter nods and runs his hand through his hair. Welfare Merle hugs him and steps back. Hunter turns to leave.

  People mutter and snarl at me to move out of the way and I realise I have stopped in the middle of the path.

  Hunter sees me.

  At that moment I realise, how could I have been so stupid?

  Instead of continuing to PE, I head back to the locker room, my heart thundering. My thoughts a swirling mess.

  It all makes sense: why Hunter has been a friend to me, why April and Luke have started talking to me. And come to think of it, why Beccy has stayed away. Merle has told them all to be nice to me. Hunter isn’t really my friend. He’s just doing what Merle and probably Holland have told him.

  Hunter is just another person I can’t trust.

  In the locker room I grab my bag and jog to the school gate, my brain screaming, “Do. Not. Trust. Anyone. Ever.”

  I’d have run further and faster if the pain in my leg hadn’t reached screaming point. I slow to a walk, a hobble really.

  By the time I reach the McMinn’s, I’m a bundle of exhaustion, fury, sorrow and pain. I slam the front door and limp down the hall. Nate is lying on the family room sofa, head on a cushion, olive rug over his legs.

  “Hey, Pan.”

  His voice startles me. “Hey,” I mutter, without stopping.

  “Pan.” He sounds unsure and fragile. “Can I ask you something?”

  That stops me. I take a closer look at him. He looks so little lying on the sofa. “What?”

  “You used to live with your family, right?”

  I flop in the armchair opposite him and massage my thigh. “Yeah, with my mum and sister, Morgan.”

  “What was it like? I can’t remember living with my dad, not really. I can only remember how he yelled, and the times he hit me.”

  The image of Mum, her face swollen and distorted, her arm raised, flashes into my head, but is gone just as fast. Where had that come from? I must have imagined Mum treating me like Nate’s dad treated him.

  “I don’t remember the other stuff. Like if he hugged me like Ian does.”

  I search every corner of my brain. Did Mum hug me? She must have – mums hug, right? I realise Nate has stopped talking.

  “Say that again, Nate.”

  “I said, what was better, living with your mum or living with Rose and Ian.”

  “Living here.” It’s out before I’ve thought about it.

  Nate frowns in concentration. “Even though they aren’t your parents.”

  “No. Yeah. Yeah, they … My mum is kind of unpredictable, you know, but Ian and Rose, they’re the same all the time.”

  “Yeah.” Nate sighs. “They only go off if we do something wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “Thanks, Pan.” Nate smiles at me.

  A strange warmth rushes through me. “Any time. So how come you aren’t at school, Nata-boy?”

  “I’m sick,” says Nate. “What about you?”

  “I’m sick too.”

  He nods and snuggles back into the sofa. “Your leg, huh?”

  His question makes my throat feel tight. “Need anything, Nate?”

  “I’m okay. Want to watch Toy Story with me? It’s just started.”

  “Cool.” I settle into the seat.

  Rose walks in from the backyard, washing basket perched on her hip. “Pan. What are you doing home?”

  “I feel kind of awful.” It’s not a total lie.

  Rose rests the basket on the back of the chair. “Hope you haven’t caught Nate’s bug.”

  “Her leg’s sore, Rose,” says Nate.

  Rose frowns.

  “I’m fine. Honest.” I turn back to the TV, dismissing her.

  As the credits roll, the phone rings. Neither Nate or I move.

  Rose pokes her head around from the kitchen. “Pan, it’s for you. Hunter.”

  My heart gives a kick. I twist to face her and whisper, “Tell him I’m not here. Please.”

  Rose frowns. “Pan …”

  “I’ll call him back.” I pull my best pleading face. “Please.”

  She sighs. I can hear the one-sided conversation.

  “She’s just stepped out, Hunter. For milk.” She’s the worst liar. “Can I ask her to call you back? Later? Okay, sure. No, she’s fine. Actually, a bit off-colour.” I cringe. “Yes, I’ll tell her. Bye then.” The phone beeps as she ends the call.

  “Well, that was awkward.” Rose perches on the sofa beside Nate’s feet. “Want to tell me why you wouldn’t speak to Hunter?”

  “Nah.” I stare at the credits as though they hold the answer to all of life’s big questions – like why my life is so stuffed.

  “Hunter said he had a DVD he wanted you to watch. And he wanted to know if you were okay.”

  “What DVD? Sucked In? How To Lie?”

  The bitterness in my voice makes Rose grimace. “Pan, what–”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, okay?” I’m moving to my room as I speak.

  Know what, Morgan? I was wrong. I always figured everything was simple – either this or that, black or white. But it turns out nothing in life is simple and there’s no black or white. Everything blurs and blends into a thousand shades of grey. Am I making sense? Probably not. Trying to write this down is doing my head in.

  Here’s the thing …

  1. The plastics are okay.

  That’s a good thing, huh? And kind of unexpected. I’d figured they’d be just like all the other people who have stuck their noses into our lives, especially in the last few months, but they’re not. They’re okay – weird, but okay.

  2. No matter how much you think someone is a friend, you can’t ever, ever, ever, trust them.

  Remember how I said I cried? Well, that worked out well. Turns out the person I trusted isn’t my friend at all and the hippy welfare idiot is even worse than I thought. She has set me up, asked him to be my friend.

  You’d have seen through him, Morgan, I know it.

  That reminds me, today at school, when I opened my locker, this image rushed out at me, just about knocking me over. It happened so fast. Maybe it was a dream I’d forgotten about. At least it seems like the type of dream I’d have.

  I was curled up, somewhere dark and small. And I was scared. That�
�s it. That’s the memory. I don’t even know why I’m telling you about it.

  See you, Morgan.

  Pan

  Morgan and Pan walked down the concrete footpath. Morgan chewed gum and swung the handbag, her current schoolbag, by her side. Pan held a stick in her right hand and scraped a rhythm against the wire fences. Thwack, gap, thwack, gap.

  “Cut it out.” Morgan blew a giant pink bubble.

  Pan’s eyes narrowed. “Teach me how to do that and I’ll stop.”

  “Stop doing that and I’ll teach you how to blow bubbles.”

  “With a piece of your gum?”

  Morgan sighed. “Two if you need it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Pinkie promise. As soon as we are home.”

  Pan dropped the stick over a fence and fell in step with Morgan.

  When they reached the front fence, Morgan noticed the drawn curtains. She’d made Pan open them before they left for school that morning. Morgan picked up her pace and, at the same time, fished in her handbag for the house keys.

  Pan had to jog to keep up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wait out here.” Morgan unlocked the back door and slammed it behind her before Pan could follow.

  Inside was dark and airless. The kitchen sink, benches and table were clear and clean. Dread bloomed in the pit of Morgan’s belly.

  That morning she and Pan had eaten breakfast in the lounge room because of the empty cans, cold pizza slices and cigarette butts littering the kitchen and the snow-like ash covering the lino.

  Morgan forced herself to go down the hall to the only shut door – Kylie’s. Morgan knocked and turned the handle. The door opened a fraction, but hit something heavy.

  “Kylie. Mum!” No answer. Morgan called out again, louder. “Kylie? It’s Morgan. There’s something blocking the door.” Still no answer.

  Heart hammering against her chest, Morgan slammed on the door with her fist, yelling her mother’s name.

  There was a tug on her school jumper. “Morgan, let her sleep. She’ll get cranky.”

  “I told you to wait outside.” Morgan pushed Pan aside. “Come on, Kylie, open the door. You’re scaring Pan.” She twisted the handle and slammed the door with her shoulder, again and again. A gap opened.

  “I can fit through there,” said Pan.

  “No!”

  “What’s the big deal, Morgs? She’ll be asleep, that’s all.”

  “You don’t go in there, understand?” Morgan pressed her body against the door, braced her legs and heaved. She grunted with the effort. Beside her, Pan placed both hands on the door and shoved too.

  The gap widened. Before Morgan could stop her, Pan slipped inside Kylie’s room. Morgan followed. They stood side by side in the heavy darkness. The room smelled of dirty clothes and something bitter, neither girl could name.

  When Morgan’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she realised the lump on the bed was Kylie, curled on her side, knees tucked to her chest. A pill bottle lay next to her knee. Morgan shook Kylie’s shoulder. “Wake up.” She dragged Kylie by the arm to the edge of the bed. “Come on, Kylie. Stand.”

  Pan whimpered. “Let her sleep, Morgs.”

  Morgan ignored her sister and shook Kylie again. Kylie flopped back to the bed with a moan.

  Morgan swore and grabbed Pan’s arm. She pulled her close. “Listen to me, Panda. You need to phone for help. Use my phone – it’s in my handbag. Dial triple zero. Give them our address. Okay?”

  Pan, her eyes filling with tears, nodded.

  “Good girl. Once you’ve done that, open the front door then go into your room and wait. Okay? Keep your door shut until I call you.”

  “But Morgs–”

  Morgan yelled in her face. “Do it, Panda.”

  Pan ran from the room.

  Morgan turned back to Kylie, pinching her arms until her eye lids fluttered. She draped Kylie’s arm around her shoulders and wrenched her to her feet, dragging her around the room, just like she’d seen Kylie do to Jason that time.

  After the ambulance left, taking Kylie with it, Morgan searched the house for Pan. She found her crammed in her wardrobe, asleep, head resting against that ugly cat, Smocker.

  Twenty-Nine

  When the bus arrives at Cranbrooke College, the hairs on my arms stick up as though an icy breeze has slithered around me and seeped through my clothes. I wish I’d tried harder for a day off, but when Rose and Ian weren’t buying my whole “think I’m coming down with gastro” story, I didn’t have the energy to argue.

  As I climb down the bus steps, I scan the students huddled in tight bunches around the yard. They laugh and chat as though there is nothing wrong in their world. There probably isn’t.

  Even though I try to tell myself I’m not, I know I’m looking for Hunter.

  But why? So I can confront him about Welfare Merle, or so I can avoid him?

  It’s not until after recess that I see him, leaning against the brick wall outside our English class. My skin prickles and my hands shake. I decide to act as though I haven’t seen him, but he speaks before I reach him.

  “You didn’t ring me back.”

  “Don’t have a phone, remember? It got smashed up …” Why am I telling him this?

  “What did you do? Chuck it at a wall or something?”

  I grind to a halt. “Yeah. Because I’m so mentally unhinged?”

  “Hey,” says Hunter, both hands in front of him. “Joking.”

  “Yeah, hilarious.” I storm into class, whole body shaking.

  I dump my stuff on the desk at the front of the room. Hunter slides into the seat beside me. “I called last night to see if you wanted to watch the West Side Story DVD.”

  “Merle ask you to?”

  “Hey?” He’s not just a good musician, but a good actor too. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah right, you have no idea.” I shake my head and rummage through my pencil case.

  “That’s right. I have no idea, so how about you explain.” The expression on his face has gone from hurt to furious in seconds. The anger simmers between us.

  Grint bustles into the room, pale pink scarf around her neck. “Your attention, thank you. Today we’ll spend the first part of this lesson reading Romeo and Juliet. Act III, Scene V – where Romeo and Juliet have spent the night together. Pan, Hunter and Beccy, you read the roles of Juliet, Romeo and Nurse so well last time, you can read again. Thank you.”

  Grint’s thank you means don’t bother arguing, get up here now.

  With a groan, I trudge to the corner. Hunter stands by the door, as far away from me as possible. Beccy is in the middle, unaware of anything strained.

  “Begin,” says Grint, settling into her seat.

  Romeo and Juliet doesn’t feel or sound anything like it did last time. Well, Beccy sounds the same – bored – but anger snakes through the gaps between Hunter’s words. What does he have to be angry about? He isn’t the one who has been set up and made feel like a complete idiot.

  The urge to run is so strong that my knees twitch. I clench my fists. I am not giving him the satisfaction. I race through my lines and jump when Grint reads Lady Capulet’s line.

  “Ho, daughter! Are you up?”

  The class erupts in laughter. At first I think they are laughing at me. Then I hear Luke snigger, “Who calls their daughter a ho?” and I understand. My shoulders relax.

  “That will do.” Grint stands and claps her hands. “Thank you, Hunter, Pan and Beccy. Hardly what I’d call a love-filled reading.” Grint continues, ignoring the sniggers. “Let’s take a closer look at that scene. Heath, tell me the significance of the lark and nightingale, please.”

  I slump back in my seat and stare at the whiteboard, careful not to glance at Hunter beside me.

  Thirty

  At lunchtime I skip hanging out with Ari in the performing arts centre, not because I don’t want to be with him, but because I’m too furious to face Hunter.

  Instead, I go to the l
ibrary, grab the first Harry Potter book from the shelf and settle in a carrel to read. Sure I’ve read the book about a thousand times, but there’s something comforting about the familiarity of the characters. The librarian isn’t all that pleased to see me back. He treks past me every few minutes, wringing his hands, as though I might morph into a book-destroying monster.

  That afternoon when I arrive for detention, Hunter is helping Ari assemble the sets the woodwork class have made. Even though they are unpainted plywood, I can work out which will be Doc’s store, inside the bridal shop and the actual fire-escape where Maria and Tony talk.

  Ari smiles when he sees me. “Pan. Just in time to undercoat this lot.”

  I dump my bag by the door. “Yeah.”

  “Your enthusiasm is heartening.” He pauses. “I just need to check in with a student. I’ll be back in five. Can you pour the paint while I’m gone, Pan?”

  “Sure.” I walk across the room to the paint. Ari has already poured it into tubs and laid out brushes.

  “So why are you pissed with me?” asks Hunter.

  I scoff. “Like you don’t know.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” His arms are folded.

  “I saw you and Merle Romeril yesterday.”

  Hunter frowns. “You’re mad with me because I was talking to Merle? You’re out of your head.”

  The hurt sprays from me. “Yeah, poor old Pan is off her head, so Merle asked you to be my friend, and she told Luke and April to be nice to me too. Hey, you hit the jackpot when I cried, didn’t you? Bet you rushed straight back to Merle with that bit of news.” I nod at his wrist. “Courage? Should read coward.”

  “Stop it, Pan, before you say something–”

  “Say something I’ll regret more than I regret trusting you? Impossible.”

  Hunter walks away, shoulders hunched.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Run away and tell Merle she and Holland need a new spy,” I yell after him. “So who do you reckon would be good? Luke?”

  Hunter’s laugh is deep and slow. “Do you really believe the crap you’re talking?”