The True Colour of a Little White Lie

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  Dedication

  To Oma and Opa

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  Can you skip the moment that’s going to change your life? Because looking down the barrel of that moment, I really wanted to.

  I’d been going over what I would say all day, arranging the words until I knew them off by heart, until I’d approached them from every angle and was sure there was no way they could make me look like an idiot. I’d written different versions inside my English books during class, and rehearsed them to the bathroom mirror until Dale Dickson came out of a cubicle, laughed at me, then told everyone I was trying to date my reflection. As if that’s funny. Or even makes sense.

  So I was as prepared as I was ever going to be, but sitting on my bed, staring down at my shaking hands, I was starting to realise that prepared was a very different thing to ready.

  Half sure my knees were going to give way, and slightly more than half hoping they would, I got to my feet.

  I looked around my room at the lopsided horror movie posters, as if they’d give me advice and not just a stark reminder of what a loser I was. Then I closed my eyes, nodded, and walked out of the room. I could hear the buzz of two TVs: Dad watching the footy in the living room; Mum watching whatever mums watch in the adjacent bedroom. I could never understand why the clashing noises didn’t drive them both insane.

  I hurried down the hallway, knowing that if Mum or Dad saw me they’d ask what I was up to and I’d take that as a sign that maybe I should turn around, watch the rest of Jaws 2 in my room and forget I’d ever been stupid enough to think I could do this. But no-one stopped me and I reached the staircase just about ready to collapse in a shaking heap. I was pretty sure I could hear my heartbeat, louder with each step I took.

  As always on a Monday, the restaurant was still and silent. It was my parents’ night off and also the one night of the week I could be sure I wasn’t going to be called in to help do the dishes because Dad had fired his latest kitchen hand. Mum’s office was at the very front of the building: a cluttered, messy room where she did all the apparently complicated things that went into running the restaurant and bed and breakfast business, both of which were located in our home.

  The office, at the opposite end of the building from our tiny apartment, was a regular escape for me from my parents and their constant harping on about work. I didn’t mind the mess or the slow internet. Lately, however, Mum had needed the space more than usual because she and Dad had recently agreed to take over the kitchen of a ski lodge up on nearby Mount Doon – a name that was both hilarious and awesome to anyone who liked The Lord of the Rings – which apparently meant a tonne of planning, with Dad’s trusted apprentice Michael running the restaurant down here while Mum and Dad moved back and forth, often alternating who would be on the mountain at any given time. I hadn’t paid too much attention to the specifics of the arrangement though.

  Right then, an escape was the last thing the room looked like. Even the usually welcoming computer screen seemed a lot like the gaping mouth of a monster. Or maybe I was just seeing it that way to slow my progress.

  I walked over, sat in the lopsided office chair, and took out my phone. Time to be a man.

  My finger hovered above the first button. I knew the number off by heart, of course. I’d been miming dialling it all day. But now, at this moment, my finger seemed to have lost the ability to move. That was strange and unfortunate. Maybe I should go upstairs, sleep it off and try again tomorrow.

  I put down the phone and stared at the outline of my reflection on the dusty computer screen. I could barely see myself, but what I could see told me I was wide-eyed and terrified. Exactly how did I expect I’d sound on the phone? My voice would be shaky and my mouth would be dry, and Madison would think she was talking to a water-deprived fish instead of the man of her dreams.

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Why was I being so stupid? I knew Madison liked me. It had been weeks now of lingering glances and shared giggles in class, of stolen smiles and the growing sense of holy crap, something could actually happen here. Even my best – only – friend Pat had said it was obvious.

  I was walking home every day with a smile. I was even getting better at ignoring Dale Dickson calling me all the things he loved calling me. None of it mattered, because if I finally had a girlfriend I would enter that elite club everybody wanted to be a part of – that special group of people who were wanted. And if that girlfriend was Madison Matthews …

  Maybe I was crazy to hope, but I didn’t think so. I might have been a skinny, weird loser but it wasn’t as though Madison was that different. For the most part she could be found hunched over her books in the library, muttering furiously and telling everyone how devoted to her studies she was – even though nobody had said ‘studies’ in years, and if they did they were probably a fair bit older than fourteen.

  Of course, because Madison was a girl and kind of cute everyone left her alone, but nobody was exactly lining up to date her either. Even Pat, who’d had a brief crush on her, eventually decided she was too much. But not me. No way. Madison was beautiful. I’d felt that way ever since she first came to our school earlier this year. I loved how focused she was. I loved how she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. I’d never met anyone like her and I couldn’t think of anyone more perfect for me.

  Now I just had to call her.

  My phone sat on the desk, taunting me. Every time I got close to reaching out for it, the image of a flailing fish trying to speak to the love of its fishy life kept popping into my head. And the fishier I thought I was, the fishier I was going to sound. That was just basic psychology. Or something.

  But as I watched the screen, I realised the phone might not be necessary. I mean, Madison probably knew I liked her. Asking her out was just a technicality, right? Did there really need to be this big song and dance about it? The same words would sound just as good in text. Maybe even better, because it wouldn’t be a fish saying them.

  The more I thought about it the more it made sense. I could screw up a phone call, but it was pretty hard to screw up an email.

  I turned the computer on and waited for it to come to life. Again, I found myself going over the words in my head. Maybe they wouldn’t sound as good in text. Maybe a missing inflection would make me seem arrogant or sleazy or something. Maybe …

  Screw it. I typed the first thing that came into my head. The only thing I wanted to ask.

  Hi Madison,

  Will you go out with me?

  Regards,

  Nelson

  I went to press send, then stopped myself. ‘Regards’ sounded too formal. I changed it to ‘love’, but thought that was probably moving too fast.

  I tried signing off without anything between the question and my name, but that came off as a bit careless.

  Finally, I settled on ‘yours sincerely’. Perfect. No more overthinking.

 
I went to press send. But …

  What if Madison wasn’t interested? She had more friends than me – what if she told them all that weird Nelson had tried to ask her out? I’d be a laughing stock. Well, more of one than I already was.

  Quickly, I added: P.S. Please don’t tell anyone about this.

  Perfect. She’d have to respect that.

  But … would she think I was embarrassed of her?

  I added another line: P.P.S. But only if you say no. If you say yes, tell everyone.

  Hang on. What if she was embarrassed by me?

  P.P.P.S. But only if you want to tell people. I’m cool with secrecy.

  I leaned back in the chair and nodded. That would do it.

  I reached out to press send.

  My hand hovered.

  I clicked.

  The email was gone.

  I jumped to my feet, feeling hot and cold all at once. It was sent. There was no going back now. Madison knew how I felt, and I had asked her, and that was that.

  But all the doubts, all the ways this could blow up in my face, circled through my head. What the hell had I been thinking? How could I have believed for a second that this was a good idea?

  And what if she didn’t reply tonight? What if she dragged it out? How was I supposed to walk into school tomorrow?

  With fumbling hands I called Pat.

  ‘Hey Nel.’

  I imagined him slumped on his bed, round face and wide eyes locked on the TV.

  ‘I did it,’ I said.

  Silence. Then: ‘Did what?’

  ‘I asked her.’

  ‘Madison? You called her?’

  ‘Ah … yeah. Kind of. I mean, no, I sent her an email. But like … man, I did it!’

  ‘You sent her an email? Dude, even calling her was a bit sad. Remember when Jackson Riley asked out Hannah Yang?’

  Like everything Jackson did, it was the kind of thing anybody else would make look ridiculous but he somehow turned cool. A solo guitar performance at assembly had turned into a declaration of love that pretty much had the whole school swooning. Needless to say, I was no Jackson Riley.

  ‘You didn’t see this email,’ I said. ‘It was super suave.’

  ‘Has she replied?’

  ‘Not yet.’ I refreshed the browser again. ‘But she will soon, right? She does like me. We’re sure of that.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’

  ‘Well, like … there’s no proof.’

  I blinked several times. ‘No … no proof? What about the looks? The … the joke I told that time that she laughed at? Dude, you said it was a sure thing!’

  ‘It probably is! I think. I dunno, man. I haven’t seen her since I moved.’

  That was a subject I wanted to avoid. ‘Well, nothing’s changed,’ I snapped. ‘She’s still acting like she was when you were here. So it’s all good. It’s gonna happen.’

  For a moment neither of us spoke. I refreshed the browser again.

  ‘How are you doing, man?’ Pat asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like, in general. You haven’t called in a while. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ I went to hit refresh again and as I did I heard a burst of faint, distant laughter from the phone. Pat muttered something I didn’t catch – he’d clearly taken the phone away from his ear.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, just some, um, some friends from school. They’re staying tonight.’

  Some. Multiple. The image I’d had of Pat alone and bored watching TV vanished, replaced by him hanging out with a gaggle of people, telling him to get a move on so they could get back to whatever it was they were doing without having to worry about his loser friend back home. If he even still thought of Snow Point as home.

  ‘What friends?’ I asked, without knowing why.

  ‘Well like, you wouldn’t know them, so …’

  Of course I wouldn’t. Pat hadn’t mentioned them. I’d pictured him somewhere drab and colourless, moping alone through halls full of sneering jerks who wanted nothing to do with him. Basically, I’d pictured Snow Point Secondary and myself. And for whatever reason, being this wrong made me feel stupid and like someone had kicked me in the stomach.

  I said bye, hung up and waited, staring at the screen.

  I checked my watch. Almost nine. Not that late. Madison would still be awake, surely. She would have seen it. She had to have seen it.

  Then it was ten and still nothing.

  I had school the next day. I couldn’t stay here all night, even if I wasn’t about to get any sleep. I got to my feet, then quickly refreshed one more time.

  Madison Matthews. Subject: RE: Hi.

  It took me three goes to open the email.

  Hello Nelson,

  Thank you for your email. I will write you a letter responding soon.

  Madison

  I had to read it several times to understand what it said. But it wasn’t a no.

  I didn’t know how to feel. An emailed yes would have been nice. Ideal, really. And definitely easier and less expensive than a letter.

  That part was as weird as it was annoying. Why a letter?

  2

  Before we go any further, I want to make one thing clear: I have never wanked in health class. If you’ve got the slightest bit of intelligence – which, to be fair, most people in my year didn’t – that much should be obvious. You’d have to be a whole other level of weird to even consider doing that and, for all my less than cool traits, I’m just not that kind of guy.

  My parents aren’t super well-off and so a hole in one of the pockets of my school pants wasn’t a good enough reason to get new ones. And besides, a tiny hole didn’t seem like that big a deal. I hadn’t even thought of it during the time-honoured tradition of tuning out Mr Holmes droning on while sneaking a Skittle every couple of minutes and pretending it was a yawn. At the back of the class, I was hardly going to get caught. But sometimes things don’t go smoothly. Like, say a couple of Skittles escape your grasp and go through the hole in your pocket. And suddenly they’re rattling around where they shouldn’t be, and nobody needs that so you figure, hey, I’m at the back of the class, easily done. So your hand comes out of your pocket and goes down your pants, and your eyes are on the ceiling looking kind of glazed because it’s health class, and then next thing Dale Dickson is yelling, ‘That’s disgusting, Nelson!’ And all eyes are on you: at the back of the room with your hand down your pants.

  Any reasonable person would have listened to my version of events, but mob mentality does not make for reasonable people. Dale kept yelling over me about wanking while I tried to explain myself. He asked why I was going red – which anybody would do in that situation – and I began to tell him it was because I was thinking about what he was saying I was doing, but he cut me off.

  From then on, people I passed in the halls would ask me if I was off to have a ‘think’ while making … Well, you can imagine the gestures.

  Have you ever played a game of Monopoly and found that you just never land on the right squares? That basically summed up my high school life so far. During roll call on the first day of Year Seven, someone had apparently screwed up in admin because instead of ‘Nelson’ the teacher read out ‘Florian’ – a god-awful middle name that my dad had felt it appropriate to give me. I’d explained that my name was Nelson, but for the next few weeks all I got was Florian.

  Eventually Dale Dickson pushed me too far and I ended up tipping his pencil case over his head before sitting down and bursting into tears, which did a whole bunch to send my popularity through the roof. People did stop calling me Florian though.

  In short, school was never fun, especially since Pat had left, and there was always a slight feeling of dread that came with walking through those doors in the mornings. But that kind of dread was easier to deal with because I knew what was going to happen. What I didn’t know on this day, standing in the middle of the path that
led up to the double glass front doors of Snow Point Secondary College, was what the aftermath of asking a girl out would be like. Especially an aftermath with no actual answer.

  Walking to my locker, I felt that every look thrown my way seemed either pitying or mocking. Although to be fair, that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

  ‘Better hurry up if you want to get a think in before class,’ Dale Dickson yelled as he passed. He was shorter than me by about a head, with beady eyes, hair so gelled up it looked like a clay sculpture and a mouth that was always a bit agape.

  I didn’t bother to reply. I had much bigger worries than Dale Dickson.

  I moved fast and kept my head down, my heart picking up every time I thought I saw Madison. This was one instance when not having any friends was kind of handy. I didn’t have to make excuses to leave a group, or field questions about how weird I was acting every time Madison walked past. I could just dive into the nearest bathroom and wait until the danger had passed. By the end of the day, I was pretty much an expert in evasive manoeuvres.

  I checked the mailbox as soon as I got home. I knew it was way too early for the letter to have arrived but that didn’t stop the plunge of disappointment in my stomach. I avoided Mum and Dad and any questions about how my day had been and went straight to the office. Nobody else was using the computer and I sat down, planning to Google random things to distract myself from the niggling worry of Madison’s reply.

  The moment the computer came to life my gaze was drawn by a single folder in the corner of the desktop. At the end of every year our school had something called Activities Week, when we got to do a whole lot of fun things instead of attend classes. Last year Pat and I had chosen filmmaking and, with a couple of others, we’d made a short film called Escape about a kid sneaking out of school, trying to get past his evil teacher.

  We’d managed to rope in some Year Sevens to star in its sequel, Escape 2, but the film was unfinished and had been sitting on the computer for weeks now. Pat had said we could edit it the next time he came to town for a visit. So far there hadn’t been a first time.

  I moved the mouse to delete the file but didn’t click. The cursor hovered over the thumbnail. I moved it away and leaned back. Pat would visit. It didn’t matter how many cool new friends he’d made. He wasn’t going to forget about me.