by H. S. Valley
When I look up at Sam so we can bond over a blokey sort of eye-roll, he’s glaring at something over my shoulder, which turns out to be Lizzie and the new love of her life. I take a moment to enjoy Sam’s stubborn loyalty – he and Lizzie used to get on fine, but he’s refused to talk to her since we broke up. Nikau’s been slightly less obvious in his loyalty to me, probably so he doesn’t hurt anyone’s feelings, but I still feel like he has my back. I don’t know if their support would ever extend to me indulging my new curiosity about Elliott, though.
For some reason, probably stupidity, Lizzie and Blake are coming to sit at the table right next to ours, when normally Elliott’s presence has been enough to keep at least Blake at bay. There’s one of Lizzie’s Year 12 friends with them, someone I don’t really know but I’m pretty sure is in her extracurricular dance group. She seems to be hanging on Blake’s every word, more even than Lizzie is herself.
‘And so now I’m stuck with a lesbian for a roommate,’ he finishes as they approach, sounding monumentally annoyed about it and loud enough for us all to hear.
I expect our new rooming situation will be over soon. All respect to Manaia, and it’s obviously her choice, but she shouldn’t have to put up with that for three whole weeks. Attitudes like his shouldn’t even exist anymore. It’s amazing she hasn’t punched him. Though I’m betting she might actually do so in the future. Or at least she should. I’d like to. Even Lizzie looks like she might have a go. It’s Silvia, though, who speaks for all of us.
‘What’s wrong with being a lesbian?’ she says, nice and clear, and half of the surrounding tables fall silent, the hush permeating the adjacent Year 11s as well.
‘Nothing wrong with it, I just – well, you know.’ Blake curls his lip in obvious disgust and Liz is looking at him like he’s the gelatinous inside of wētā and I feel a sudden thrill at the thought of what might be about to happen.
‘If there’s nothing the matter with it,’ Lizzie says, her voice a carefully controlled chain of dynamite – it might go off, or you might get away, but the odds are definitely not in your favour – ‘you’ll need to explain your tone, because I’m quite confused.’
‘My room smells like sandalwood and patchouli already and she’s only been moved in for an hour. And everything is plaid,’ Blake whines, foolishly thinking that the truth, and not a simpering apology, is the right course of action. ‘She wears men’s shirts and flannel pyjamas and has all these books about gender politics and feminism and there’s a bloody great locked chest under her bed that I expect isn’t for her diary, if you know what I mean. She’s the worst kind of girl and I hate it.’
‘You mean,’ Sam starts, and I’m all ears, because Sam’s not the most tactful guy but he did hug me for almost an hour when I came out to him last year, so surely – ‘she’s the kind of girl who doesn’t want to go out with you?’
Oh wow. Call the paramedics.
‘No, that’s not what I – I don’t –’ Blake looks dreadfully uncomfortable and I’m drinking in every second of my ex-girlfriend scowling at him in disbelief. Yes, Elizabeth, this is the shithead you left me for.
‘Blake?’ Ana interrupts, as she’s prone to doing. She’s the only girl Defensive, now, and not someone I’d mess with, even if she is kind of skinny. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a personal stake in this. ‘Does the best sort of girl smell of cupcakes or something? Wear frilly, see-through nighties and read magazines about make-up and clothes and how to please a man?’ She slowly rips a piece of garlic bread in half.
Everyone at our table – along with half the people at the adjacent ones – is staring at him now. This is fantastic.
‘That’s not what I said, I don’t actually –’
‘Blake, are you upset that lesbians don’t have any use for you?’ Silvia asks, and this is why she’s one of my best friends. Relentless and righteous.
‘Do you think we don’t all have flannelette pyjamas?’ Ana asks, right on the tail of Silvia’s question, starting everyone in on a barrage of subtle, scathing mockery.
‘You do realise flannelette pyjamas are warm, right? And that we live under a glacier?’
‘Does gay have a smell?’
‘I’m amazed he even knows what gender politics is.’
‘Come on, I –’ Blake starts to look a bit worried, and it’s well past time for that.
‘No, mate.’ Nikau shakes his head, a pitying smile on his face. ‘Just let it go.’
‘But I –’
‘Best you shut up, really,’ Liz says, and pats him on the arm. He looks at her like he doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly turned on him.
‘Fine,’ he says, and wanders off, bewildered, towards the Minders’ table.
Everyone starts talking at once and there’s a general consensus of not quite knowing how he’s made it this far in life without being cellotaped up in a pride flag and rolled into a volcano.
After the noise dies down, Ana asks, ‘So is Manaia single, then?’
Several interested pairs of eyes flick to Elliott and wait. ‘I wouldn’t ever, in a million years, speak for her,’ he says. ‘She is her own woman and all enquiries regarding her personal life should go through her.’ He takes another bite of garlic bread and fixes his eyes on his plate ’til everyone goes back to their own food.
Only Ana is left distracted, staring across the room at Manaia and tearing her garlic bread into smaller and smaller pieces.
CHAPTER 11
INTO TEMPTATION
The rest of the day passes in a tired blur. Meggan grizzles almost constantly and it’s probably my fault. I want nothing but to sink back into bed, but every time I think of it, I remember I’ll be there next to Elliott and I’m assaulted with mental images of him flushed and messy and gasping and I feel immediately more aware of my own body. Skittish. The underlying knowledge that it’s not so far-fetched makes it all the more dangerous to think about. It’s not theoretical, it’s an actual choice I can make, and I don’t know if it’s a path we should go down. I don’t know if that’s something I want. I’ve never really had anything casual, and finding out I don’t like it while we’re rooming together would be awkward.
That said … Finding out it’s good while we’re secretly rooming together and guaranteed some privacy would be awesome …
‘What are you thinking about, Other Tim? You look confused.’ Manaia says. We’re sitting with her this evening, at Elliott’s request. She’s stopped eating her dinner to stare at me, fork held loosely in her hand. As much as I’m starting to like her, hanging around her is like swimming with stingrays. She’s too sharp for my own good. And she’s still calling me Other Tim. ‘Are you not sleeping?’ she asks.
‘Not a lot,’ I admit, hoping she’s just fishing. She’s an Elemental so I’m pretty sure she’s not quietly fossicking through my thoughts.
Elementals have cool powers, but Dad and I always reckoned they were too specialised. Until their magic has fully matured, they’re a bit useless if they’re not near any actual elements. Air can only do so much. (Naturals are the same – cool powers, but pretty limited in a city, unless they’re really into pigeons.) I’ve seen one of the Elemental tutors turn a jug of Raro back into powder, but that sort of thing takes years to master, and so far they’re just really annoying to share a bathroom with. Maybe one day they’ll manage something more useful than dicking around with the water in my shower cubicle, or making wobbly little orbs from whatever they’re drinking, but not before they’re apprenticed.
That said, if ever there was an Elemental to be afraid of, it’d be Manaia. She hasn’t orbed my tea yet, so maybe she’s found better things to do with her capabilities.
‘What about you?’ I ask.
‘I dropped my egg-child for a reason,’ she says. ‘I sleep peacefully.’
‘Will you, though, in the same room as Blake?’ Elliott asks. ‘Or will you have to drop him head-first onto concrete too?’
‘I think I’ll enjoy antagonisi
ng him far more than anything else,’ she says, and lets us in on her plans to annoy the living hell out of him. The excessive patchouli, it turns out, is a torture device and not a personal preference. She’s magicked it so she can’t smell it herself. It’s just another stereotype, she says, and weaponising all of those is giving her ‘a very deep, very gay, sense of satisfaction’. She’s so organised and I’m so impressed, I forget about my own problems for a moment. Even the confirmation she isn’t straight comes second to the realisation of how much Blake is going to suffer at her hands. It’s the mention of ‘leaving lube lying around just to confuse him’ that reminds me of my own rooming arrangements and, like a punch to the gut, that underlying skittishness comes back.
Towards the end of dessert, Manaia spots Blake and Lizzie heading for the door and leaps out of her seat, scampering away to ruin their chances of being alone in his room. I find myself liking her more and more. Maybe I should ask her what she thinks of Ana. They’d be a formidable team.
‘Meggan’s been in a bit of a mood today,’ Elliott says, just as I’m wondering what lesbians get up to in their own time. ‘Did you notice?’ I get the feeling he was waiting until we were alone to mention it.
‘Oh. Yeah, I –’
He puts his fork down but keeps his eyes on his plate. ‘I think it’s because you’re being weird, and I think that’s maybe my fault, and I should apologise.’
‘Oh.’
‘I realise I might be more comfortable with … things … than you’re ready for. Considering. You know. Your level of experience.’
‘Right.’
‘So. I’m sorry. I’ve resolved to be a little more discreet about my … ideas.’
‘OK.’
‘But I want something from you, too.’ He turns his head and looks at me. ‘Could you just tell me next time if I’ve pissed you off? So we can deal with it and not have our daughter be a cranky little madam all day?’ He turns his attention back to her, sitting in his lap wrapped in her little green blanket.
‘I’m not pissed off.’
‘You seem pissed off.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Care to explain, then, why you’re so quiet and you won’t look at me? And why every time I look at you, you seem to be trying to scowl your own eyebrows off?’
I’d obviously rather not. Not in the dining hall, anyway, where we could be overheard, or seen, or anything. ‘Not here,’ I say.
‘But you admit there is something bothering you?’
I sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘That explains the pained expression.’
‘Can we just’ – I wave my hand towards the large double doors – ‘like, go?’
‘Fine,’ he says, and stands, tucking Meggan into his side. ‘Where are we going?’
I haven’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t thought I’d have to say anything. I honestly didn’t think he knew me well enough to notice if I was a bit off. It makes choosing somewhere to go all the more difficult, because anywhere we can be alone is going to look like I’m taking him somewhere we can ‘be alone’. We can’t go to the lounge or library because they’ll be full of people soon, and we can’t go back to my room because seven o’clock is a bit early to be turning in and that’ll draw far too much attention. We can’t go outside, it’s freezing, and I don’t want to take him to my dad’s. That leaves a bunch of old tunnels I’m not setting foot in at night, some empty classrooms, or the photocopy room, which doesn’t exactly set a mood. ‘I don’t know. Where do you go when you want a private conversation?’
‘Your mother has a whole apartment down here and you’re asking me for ideas?’
‘Yes, since my mother is in that apartment and she’s capable of hearing through walls and also wondering what I’m doing behind them with you. So, no. Bad idea.’
‘And there’s nowhere else you’ve discovered in however many years you’ve lived in this place? Really?’
‘Nowhere that I’d go without a torch and a blanket.’
‘Well, that sounds romantic,’ he mutters. ‘Fine. I have an idea. But you’re not allowed to tell anyone.’
Elliott leads us along dim corridors towards the admin area, then past it, through the little atrium that leads to the shuttle bus that goes into town. Just beyond that, he takes a narrow corridor on the right, and if he hadn’t disappeared down it I might not have seen there was a corridor there at all; I’ve always thought it was a dead end. As, it seems, I was meant to, if there’s something else back here. An impressive piece of magic.
‘I came here a bit at the beginning of the year,’ he says as we reach a heavy wooden door at the end of the dimly lit passage.
I’m intrigued as to what warrants being hidden from the entire student body, but he pushes the door open to reveal what looks like nothing more than a small mechanic’s workshop, complete with a familiar-looking Toyota Camry up on blocks. It’s somewhat anticlimactic and hopefully not a sign of how this conversation is going to go.
We must trigger a sensor because the overheads come on with the eerie, clicking flicker of fluorescents, and I flinch. I’m glad Elliott’s in front of me and doesn’t see. I probably look like enough of a dick being moody and weird all day.
There’s another door on the left-hand wall, possibly leading to a storeroom or a bathroom or something. Beyond the Camry there’s a fridge, an old, tired-looking lounge suite and a bench covered in grubby tools. The entire right-hand wall is a roller door, which explains how the cars get in and out of here. It also explains why this is all hidden. The temptation of a midnight joyride would be too much for some people. Exactly the sort of people Elliott was friends with last year, and I expect that’s how he knows about this place. A whirl of doubt tickles in my gut.
‘So what is it, Te Maro?’ Elliott says.
He walks over to the corner and sets about making a nest out of limp, grey cushions on the armchair for Meggan. She’s still grizzly, but far quieter than she has been today. Am I calmer already, just from him apologising for coming on to me and making things awkward? Even though I’m kind of OK with that now? Or is it just because I’m staring at his arse as he’s bent over the chair?
A particularly impulsive part of me wants to pin him down on the car bonnet and do what I’ve been thinking about all day. The image of it springs readily into my head, the heat and the sound of his panting breath in my ear and the thrill of another male body under mine. Except … well. How’s it going to happen? How will I even suggest it? Hey, former nemesis, about what you said last night – wanna hook up? That’d go down well. I bet he’d go down well. No. Stop. I’m getting ahead of myself.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been in a mood,’ I say to his back, because that’s probably easier.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘I am genuinely sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’ He turns from the chair, Meggan settled in a mound of sad, drab velvet. ‘And – I also wanted to apologise for something else. I remember being where you are now, and it was shitty of me to question your sexuality for my own amusement.’
Oh. Oh. He thought I was pissed off about that as well? About accusing me of not being bi?
‘I wasn’t upset about that, I kind of got the impression you were just trying to goad me into … you know.’
‘OK. Good. What was the bit you were actually annoyed about?’
‘I told you, I wasn’t annoyed.’ I eye the couch, wondering if it’s too much to have this conversation sitting side by side in a secret room. It might almost seem romantic, except for the mess and the smell and the horrible lighting. ‘It was just a lot to deal with, having you … suggest things when I haven’t really … entertained the idea of someone else, yet, after Lizzie.’
‘But I’m guessing you did today? Entertain the idea?’ He looks smug, the bastard.
‘I … thought about it a bit.’
‘And?’ He cocks his head to the side.
‘It’s a bit risky, considering. I mean. We’re roomed together, we’re doing this
assignment. It could get awkward and we’d still be stuck together all the time.’
‘I think you’re missing the point, Te Maro. If there’s no feelings involved, it doesn’t get awkward. And when you’re stuck rooming together, it’s kind of perfect.’ Yeah, OK, I had actually suspected that, hadn’t I? ‘No-one questions you spending the night in the same place. How do you think me and Blake started off?’
‘You and Blake ended disastrously. You hate him.’ Another thought occurs to me. ‘And didn’t he give you some sort of sex-disease? Or did I completely misinterpret what you were doing in the sick bay that night?’
‘Oh my god, Te Maro, I don’t have an STI. That stuff is an antidepressant. Blake violated the out clause, not my physical health. We had an agreement and he ruined it.’
‘Out clause?’
‘For you and me, it’d be simple.’ He takes a step closer and I have to look away. ‘Once the assignment’s over and we go back to our own rooms, we stop doing whatever it is you’ve been thinking about all day.’ He takes another step. ‘Are you going to tell me what that was?’
‘Nope.’
‘What if I agree to it anyway? Whatever you want and no more? I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want to, just –’ He sighs, takes another step, so close I can see the exact colour of his eyes, the cool grey separating into a collision of blue and silver with deep black pupils so wide I could drown in them. ‘Whatever you want.’
He thinks I’m timid. Innocent. Inexperienced. Like I don’t know what I’m doing at all. Maybe I don’t. Maybe there’s a huge difference between girls and boys and I’m too new to know what it is. I’ve kissed both before, though; it shouldn’t feel this difficult. But it does.
I nod anyway.
Maybe there’s just something about Elliott – I can’t even look at him right now without my gut twisting. Maybe it’s being this close to someone and knowing he doesn’t actually like me like that – knowing that everything I do, every move, is going to be judged without even the rose-tinted haze of a crush. Am I afraid that Lizzie was right and I’m just inherently unsatisfying?