She read it in silence. When she was finished she put it down. ‘Sorry, Nelson,’ she said. Her voice was gentle but not pitying. There was no sign she’d noticed anything amiss.
‘I’m wondering …’ I said. ‘It’s really formal, right? Like, weirdly formal. What if … I mean, she mentions her parents and it sounds like they’re the ones who don’t want this. So like, what if the letter isn’t what it seems?’
Even saying it out loud sounded stupid. But Robbie wasn’t looking at me as if I was stupid. She seemed to be considering something.
I went on. ‘It could be … I mean, it’s strange, right?’
‘Nelson …’ Robbie’s smile was sad. ‘It’s formal because she’s saying no. She’s saying no and she doesn’t want to hurt you, so she’s trying to be gentle but firm at the same time. That’s all.’
She handed me back the letter.
I took it without meeting her eyes.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Robbie said. ‘I know it sucks.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Right. I just …’
But I had nothing else to say. I turned and left the lounge.
I walked back the way I had come, down the stairs, past the reception and out into the cold night.
From up here, the village looked beautiful: many different-coloured lights sprouting from a white that shone against the clear, starry sky. I took a deep breath of that bracing mountain air and wondered just what the hell I was supposed to do now.
6
Returning to school had never been a grimmer prospect. Seeing Madison, which had been scary before, was now going to be a case of pure humiliation. She would have told her friends, somebody would let something slip, and by the end of the day everyone in the school would know I had asked her out and been rejected.
I’d said all of this to Robbie before I left the Gallagher.
‘Why would you be embarrassed?’ she asked. ‘You were brave. You took a swing and you missed. It won’t be the last time. Go in there with your head held high and know that at least you tried.’
Standing outside the school on a cold Monday morning, the sky overcast and the gusts of wind doing their best to let everyone know that winter had officially arrived, I tried to remind myself of that advice. I tried to remind myself that I was brave, even if I’d put my big question in an email and hit send more by accident than anything. At least I’d done it. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I could hold my head high.
I managed about three steps towards the main door of the school with my head held high before I saw one of Madison’s friends, Tamara, ahead of me. She glanced back, I looked at my shoes, and then my shoulders hunched and my eyes became glued to the floor as I walked into school. I thought about Schrödinger’s Cat again, as much as that theory hadn’t worked out for me in the case of Madison’s letter. If I couldn’t see anyone laughing at me then, as far as I would know, nobody was laughing at me.
I managed to get through the first classes of the morning that way, give or take a few painful trips in PE, which resulted in shrieks of laughter. But I was used to being laughed at in PE so that wasn’t really an issue. Overall, keeping my eyes off anyone else’s worked a treat – until recess came and I collided hard with someone in the hall, sending them sprawling.
I was apologising and helping them up when our eyes met and I saw it was Madison. I immediately let go.
She hit the ground again and I babbled another apology but could feel my face going red. And when her stunned expression slowly shifted into one of pity, I just ran.
I spent the rest of recess in the library, trying to read about the vicious crimes of the killer known as the Red Dragon. But my eyes kept glazing over and my thoughts returned to that change on Madison’s face. If she’d laughed at me it would have been better. I was too sad to even be a joke.
The next couple of days passed in that weird way where everything seems to slow down and speed up at the same time. I floated through it all, doing homework, reading in the library, going to class, watching movies and just sort of … existing. By Wednesday I wasn’t even trying to hide from Madison any more. I mean, I wasn’t going to look at her or acknowledge her existence or anything, but there was no point in shielding myself from a humiliation that had seeped into my very bones.
The smallest mercy was that Madison didn’t seem to have told anyone. But in a weird way, that didn’t help. It just added to the idea that in her eyes I was so pathetic that she didn’t think I could handle the whole school knowing. Which realistically was true, but still. Madison feeling sorry for me just underlined how stupid I was to ask her out in the first place. I never had a chance but I’d been so desperate to believe I did that I had just made everything worse.
I hadn’t told Pat about any of this. Partly because I didn’t want to say out loud how garbage it felt, and partly because he hadn’t asked. But towards the end of the week I sent him a message simply stating ‘She said no.’ I waited in Mum’s office for a reply. An hour passed without one. Finally, I called him. Nothing. I called again. And again until finally he picked up.
‘Hey Nel.’ He sounded like I’d caught him mid-laugh. I could hear voices in the background.
‘Did you get my message?’
‘Yeah, sorry, I’m at Kyle’s place and we’re all watching a movie.’
Somebody whispered something and I heard Pat stifle a chuckle.
‘Right.’ My hand tightened around the phone. ‘And you didn’t think that maybe this was a good reason for you to, I dunno, step outside?’
‘Sorry, I was just distracted. Do you … I mean, what happened?’
The high-pitched note of fake interest in his voice made me want to throw my phone through the wall. Instead, as calmly as I could, I told him to enjoy his movie and hung up. I slammed the phone down on the desk and waited for him to call me back. He didn’t. I shifted the computer mouse slightly. The screen came to life. I deleted the Escape 2 file then left the room, eyes hot and prickling.
At least, I had the mountain to look forward to on the weekend. I wouldn’t be any less alone there, but I also wouldn’t be at school, in my room or in-between, and that felt like an improvement. So I made a silent deal with myself: on Monday I could go back to feeling like a deflated tyre. But for the next couple of days, I could take a holiday.
Upon arrival I dumped my bags on my bed, then grabbed Red Dragon and made my way upstairs to the games room. I was about halfway through the book now and really enjoying it. It had this weird way of making the villains – like the charming, always-in-control cannibal, Hannibal (get it?) – somehow likeable.
As I opened the door to the games room, I was surprised to see someone else already there. She was sitting on one of the couches, phone in hand, looking bored. Her hair was brown, she was wearing a jumper and ski pants, and she was very pretty.
I stood frozen where I was, not wanting to bother her, and briefly considered running. Or maybe ducking into the Governor’s Lounge.
She looked up. Our eyes met.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You coming in?’
Before we go any further, I feel like I need to explain some stuff. Like why I was frozen in the doorway of the games room, staring blankly at a girl, and not smiling, walking in and introducing myself like a normal person. To understand that, you need to know three things: (1) this girl was pretty; (2) I was me; and (3) this girl was really pretty.
Pretty girls do not talk to guys like me. It’s just a fact. And if they do, it’s never friendly.
I’d had more than my fair share of run-ins with the Dale Dicksons of the world, but I’d had just as many with the pretty girls who populated the halls of my school. And let me tell you, those encounters sucked more, because it was hard to get defensive or think of a decent comeback when you were preoccupied with the colour of a girl’s eyes, or how good her close-fitting shirt looked, or all sorts of other stuff that’s probably best left unsaid.
And the girl sitting in front of me was unquestionably
pretty, from her raised eyebrow to her slight smile and the way she seemed to dominate the room.
And she was talking to me.
‘I’m coming in, I guess,’ I said, taking a tentative step forward and bracing for the punchline.
‘You either are or you aren’t,’ she said. ‘Is there some reason you don’t want to?’
‘No. I just thought … well, I mean …’
Stop. Stop, Nelson.
I smiled. ‘I didn’t want to bother you.’
‘What are you reading?’ she asked.
I held the book up.
‘Oh wow, now I know everything about it,’ she said.
Maybe I should have shut up there. Maybe she didn’t need to know what kinds of books I liked to read.
‘It’s about a serial killer,’ I said, ‘and this FBI agent who’s trying to stop him. To do that he has to work with this other killer who’s in an asylum and it gets all twisted and crazy.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sounds creepy.’
‘It is. Doesn’t stop it being good though.’
‘You read a lot of books about serial killers?’
‘Yeah, I’m just sussing out every career option, y’know?’
For a terrible second I thought she was about to run screaming.
She laughed. ‘You’re weird.’
‘I’ve been told that.’
What the hell was I doing? And why the hell was it working?
‘I’m Juliet.’ She extended a hand.
I took it. ‘Nelson. You up here with your family?’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘We come up every year. The skiing’s fun, but two days with my parents is enough to drive anyone insane. I might end up needing some advice from your book by the end of the season.’
‘You’re coming up again?’
‘Every second weekend. Mum and Dad have a membership here so they figure we should take advantage of it. Even if, like, we don’t all always want to come.’
‘Why wouldn’t you want to come up the mountain?’ I asked.
‘Well, skiing isn’t quite as fun when you’re doing it with your parents.’
‘So don’t. Come out with me.’
Why had I said that? I’d lost my mind. That had to be it. Madison’s rejection had me chasing a death wish.
She snorted. ‘Oh yeah, sure thing. Go skiing with the dude I just met who likes serial killer books.’
‘Gotta be more interesting than your family.’
‘There is that.’ She watched me with a thoughtful expression. ‘There definitely is that.’
‘Tomorrow then?’ I suggested. ‘I’ll be going out anyway.’
‘By yourself?’
‘Well, I begged my parents to come along but they just didn’t want to.’
She looked away with a slight blush. ‘Okay, fair enough. Yeah. I guess that could be cool.’
‘You guess? It either could or it couldn’t. Is there some reason you don’t want to?’
‘Okay, smartarse,’ she said. ‘Yeah, I’d like to come. Although you still haven’t proved you’re not a serial killer.’
Were we flirting? Was this what flirting was?
‘Where are you from?’ I asked.
‘Melbourne,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘Snow Point.’
‘Oh well, no wonder you’re a serial killer. Have you guys discovered the wheel yet?’
I gave her the finger and immediately wished I hadn’t. But she was laughing and my middle finger was suddenly my favourite finger.
‘Okay, so you’re a smartarse and maybe a serial killer,’ she said. ‘What else?’
As Juliet looked at me expectantly and I tried to figure out what to say, it hit me that the reason talking to her was so easy was because I could tell her anything. She didn’t know that at school I was a loser who’d been shut down by a girl I asked out via email, who’d just lost his best friend, and for whom the word ‘thinking’ was particularly painful. As far as she knew, I was just another bored kid up here for the winter trying to stay away from my parents. And that bored kid, cut off from the world he belonged in, could be anyone.
‘I’m a massive film nerd who lives in a boring country town, likes skiing, and whose parents happen to be running the kitchen up here for the season,’ I said. ‘Outside of that I’m not very interesting. What about you?’
‘Way to put the hard sell on there,’ she said. ‘I’m Juliet.’
‘I know that.’
‘Not really. You don’t know anything about me.’
‘That’s why I’m asking.’
‘You might be able to explain yourself in a sentence, but we’re not all so boring.’
‘Oh, you’re interesting then?’ I leaned back and crossed my arms. ‘Prove it.’
Her eyes widened, as if she was taken aback, but before I could freak out her smile was back.
‘To do that, you’ll have to talk to me,’ she said. ‘Reckon you can handle that?’
I glanced down at my book. ‘Well, I was really hoping to read about serial killers, but I guess …’
She stood. ‘Okay, that’s cool. I can go.’
She went for the door, and I scurried after her and managed to catch her by the arm.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Joke. I’d love to hang out. Really.’
She turned, her smile in full force, walked back to the couch and sat down.
‘So your parents work here?’ she asked.
‘That’s what they’re doing now. In the kitchen. What about yours?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Now that dinner’s done, Dad’s probably at the bar while Mum’s in the room swigging a bottle of wine and watching the door in case I walk in and she has to hide it.’
I looked blankly at her, mind racing to think of an appropriate response.
She didn’t seem too concerned about that though. She was looking over my shoulder, towards the door, with a slight frown.
‘You know what?’ she continued. ‘I wouldn’t mind going for a walk.’
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere that isn’t here.’ She stood. ‘You in?’
There was a tiny voice in my head reminding me at every turn what exactly was happening. That a pretty girl had not only flirted with me, but was now asking me to take a walk with her. Literally minutes ago, this would not have entered the realm of possibility. And yet, the louder that voice got, the more a cold, grasping terror was closing around my insides, telling me that I was going to screw this up if I kept flying so close to the sun, and my safest option was to politely decline and spend the rest of the night discovering whether Hannibal would help the FBI capture the Red Dragon.
I stood, leaving the book on the couch. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’
We walked past the still-busy restaurant, down the stairs and into the cold night. I could see the lights on in several different bars, but beyond that the night seemed still. I looked up at the clear sky. Birds were circling above us, maybe drawn by the streetlights.
As we walked, I was hyper aware of how close our shoulders were; almost touching. Girls back home wouldn’t have walked with me like this. It would never happen. Somehow, I almost believed I should tell her that, that I was being dishonest somehow. And yet I hadn’t lied to Juliet. Nothing I told her wasn’t true.
It was cold, but I didn’t complain as we made our way down towards the village, neither of us speaking, neither suggesting a direction. We just continued, in my case trying not to slip in the snow and ice. Occasionally we passed people on the road having a cigarette or deep in conversation, but they might as well have not been there. All I was aware of was the night, the lights, the stars, the snow and Juliet. It was that old feeling the mountain always gave me, but with a new and insane layer: I was not alone.
We reached the village square. The fire was still going and we sat together in front of it, looking out over the snow of the courtyard, the stone and wood buildings beyond, and, further still, the dark shapes of mountains, shrouded in night bu
t marked out by snow caps.
‘It’s beautiful up here,’ I said.
Juliet didn’t reply or look at me.
‘I mean, it just feels … like another planet,’ I went on. ‘Like nothing works the same as it works back down there. Like anything can happen. I don’t know why, but it does. And staying up here like this is kind of exciting. Because if anything can happen here and I’m here for a while, then anything seems a lot more possible.’
‘That’s a weird thing to say.’
I glanced sideways at her. ‘Is it?’
She frowned slightly. ‘Maybe. I reckon my friends back home would say it was. Like, if they heard that they’d be teasing you like crazy.’
I thought briefly about saying that’d be fair enough. But then, looking out at the mountains and the snow and all the things I couldn’t see in the night, I didn’t feel like agreeing at all.
‘Why?’ I asked.
She looked at me. ‘I don’t know. If I was down there, I’d be hanging crap on you with the best of them.’
‘You’re not down there though.’
‘And I guess that’s saved you.’ She laughed. ‘I dunno. I hate it, really. The … meanness. Like, I get by, but I’m sick of just trying to be unhappy, you know? Like, trying to hate everything. Why is that cool? I feel like I’d be crucified if I was ever …’
‘Excited by anything?’ I offered.
‘Exactly. And that’s just it – I am excited about stuff. There’s so much I want to do and be, but I can’t talk to any of my friends about it because then I’d be a loser or whatever. And I hate it.’ She looked at me again. ‘Do you ever feel that way?’
‘I just let myself be excited,’ I said. ‘Because I don’t care what anyone thinks, really.’
One half of that was a lie.
‘And how does it work for you?’ she asked.
‘People can’t argue with you being really into something. Like, they can try and bring you down and treat you like dirt and whatever, but they can’t take away what you love … and eventually they have to realise that’s the case and back off. They have to realise that you are the person you are and they can’t change that, and all the reasons that they want to are stupid.’
The True Colour of a Little White Lie Page 4