The True Colour of a Little White Lie

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  All of that was a lie. I just wished it wasn’t.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ I asked. ‘With your life?’

  She didn’t reply straight away. She just watched the night, and for a few moments I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me.

  ‘There’s so much,’ she said finally. ‘That’s the problem. I could be an awesome journalist. But then part of me thinks working with animals would be great. Or teaching. Or, like, just travelling for ages. I don’t really know. What about you?’

  ‘I think I just …’ I trailed off.

  I knew the answer, more or less. But what I didn’t know was how to tell her. It seemed kind of private, the fact that the thing I loved more than anything else was movies, and that the only path I could see for myself was making them, because then I would be always living in the world of stories, which was the only world I ever felt properly comfortable in. But it was tough to think of any way I could say that without sounding stupid. So I said the very next thing I thought of.

  ‘I’m gonna be a top skier. I mean, I’m already pretty good – I’ve worked hard at it. But my plan is to enter the Whitt this year. I’m, like, spending every weekend training, you know?’

  That was the biggest lie I had told yet tonight; so big and so stupid that I was already opening my mouth to take it back when she replied.

  ‘We watch the Whitt every year. It’d be awesome to know someone in it.’

  Now was the time to tell the truth.

  ‘This year you will,’ I said. ‘That’s what I want to do.’

  Something in my head was poking me, trying to get my attention and remind me of exactly what I’d just gotten myself into. I pushed it away. That was a problem for later.

  ‘Well, you’ve got more of an idea than me,’ she said. ‘I figured I’d work it out later.’

  ‘Plenty of time,’ I said, thinking that sounded very wise or knowledgeable, then quickly realising I was sounding a lot like the condescending adults I couldn’t stand.

  Juliet, however, didn’t make the connection.

  We sat there for a while, watching the night, neither of us speaking, until Juliet checked her watch and realised it was probably time to get back before her parents lost their minds.

  We walked back together, telling dumb jokes and laughing and occasionally bumping each other. At the Gallagher, we briefly paused in the foyer. I reached out to shake her hand as she went for a hug, and what ended up happening was a kind of awkward, fumbling collision. But a very nice one.

  Once she’d gone, I returned to the games room. My book was right where I’d left it. I sat down on the couch and opened it to read, but the words weren’t going in. Instead, the conversation with Juliet played out in my head again and again: the things we’d said, the shared looks, all of it.

  So I went down to bed. But lying there, all I could think about was how, just a couple of walls away, maybe Juliet was as awake as I was, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the night and wondering what might happen next.

  7

  It’s weird how quickly things can change. The next morning I was up early, ready to go out skiing with Juliet. But as I sat in the restaurant, watching the door and wondering why I hadn’t asked for her number, it soon became clear that things weren’t going to go how I’d thought.

  I did see Juliet – she traipsed in after her parents, both of whom were dressed in ski gear and looked unfriendly – but she threw me only the briefest apologetic look before sitting down while her mum went to pile up plates for them.

  For a second I considered walking over and asking if we were still on for today, but her dad was scanning the room with narrowed eyes so I returned my attention to my toast and pretended not to recognise her.

  I still held out hope that she’d approach me when breakfast was done, but as soon as they’d finished she was following her parents out again and that was that. She didn’t even glance back at me.

  Something wrenched my stomach and I was back at that flat-tyre feeling. My cheeks burned. What could have happened between last night and now? Was someone from school staying up here and had they told her all about me? Or had she just come to her senses? And why hadn’t I asked for her damn number last night?

  I returned to the room to get my ski gear, but found myself not really wanting to go out on the slopes alone. I had been looking forward to some company for once and now it was hard to muster much enthusiasm, even if a nagging voice in my head reminded me that entering the Whitt meant I needed all the practice I could get. So I picked up Red Dragon and made my way to the games room. In the wake of the slap in the face that breakfast had been, part of me wanted to spite Juliet by spending the day doing what she’d distracted me from last night. Yeah. That’d show her.

  Robbie had given me the code to open the door at the back of the games room, which led to the staff common area. It wasn’t a homely space exactly, situated between the kitchen of the main restaurant and the turn-off to the hall that led to the staff accommodation, but I liked it. There were a couple of worn couches arranged around an ancient TV in the corner, an old fridge, a shelf full of falling-apart books, and a tea, coffee and hot chocolate station. There was a weird kind of cosiness to the way the staff all bunched up on the couches between their shifts.

  Today, Matt was the only person there, sitting on a couch with his feet up on the coffee table, reading a massive fantasy novel. Despite having spoken to him a few more times, I still found his obvious coolness a little intimidating, so I kept my head down as I made my hot chocolate and said nothing until I heard his voice.

  ‘You not hitting the slopes today, man?’

  ‘Uh, no,’ I said. ‘It’s pretty miserable out there so I thought I’d just have a read.’

  ‘A man after my own heart.’

  I turned, steaming mug in hand, as he raised his own book.

  ‘Wheel of Time,’ he said. ‘Really long and really boring fantasy series.’

  ‘Why are you reading it if it’s boring?’

  He shrugged. ‘Because sometimes stuff happens and when it does it’s bloody grand. What are you reading?’

  ‘Red Dragon.’

  ‘Scary, man. Probably a bit much for me.’

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ I said, not wanting to point out that by most standards Red Dragon was pretty tame.

  Matt watched me for a moment, as if considering. ‘So I don’t want to pry or anything, but I couldn’t help noticing you walking the halls with a young lass last night.’

  I felt myself go red.

  Matt grinned. ‘Well, good for you, man. She’s cute. Why aren’t you out with her now?’

  I briefly considered coming up with an excuse or saying I didn’t like her, but Matt had asked so I sat across from him and filled him in on everything.

  ‘So yeah, I don’t know,’ I finished. ‘It seemed like things were going really well, we talked for ages, then suddenly she’s pretending I don’t exist. And I don’t think I did anything wrong or upset her last night, you know? But I can’t be sure and so I’m going over it all, but I really have no clue. What do you think?’

  ‘I think,’ Matt started slowly, ‘that you’re a lot like me.’

  I would have laughed if I wasn’t so flattered.

  ‘I mean, you’re jumping straight to the worst-case scenario,’ he went on. ‘And if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that situations are rarely as bad as you think. Maybe she’s in trouble with her parents. Maybe she freaked out because she likes you too and doesn’t know how to act. That’s the thing, man: we always make the mistake of thinking that girls are this unknowable other species who don’t get insecure or scared, but they’re really just as messed up as us.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m messed up.’

  He laughed. ‘Course you don’t. You’re what, sixteen? But you’ll get there. We all do.’

  I decided not to correct Matt on my age.

  ‘Anyway, messed up might not be the best term for it,’ he said.
‘Or it is the right term, but not pertaining to us. More like the world is messed up and confusing and that’s bloody scary and hard to deal with. You know that feeling?’

  I did.

  ‘Well, girls feel that too,’ Matt said as Hayley, another staff member, entered from the direction of the staff accommodation.

  Tall, willowy and always smiling, Hayley was stunning, even in the pyjamas she was wearing now. She sat down next to Matt and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘What would you know about how girls feel?’ she asked.

  ‘I seem to have done alright with you.’ He winked at me as Hayley hit him playfully.

  ‘I hope you’re not corrupting Nelson,’ she said. ‘He’s sweet; he doesn’t need your bad influence.’

  That prompted mixed emotions. On the one hand, Hayley thinking I was sweet brought that blush right back. On the other hand, if Matt was with someone who looked like Hayley then maybe I did need his bad influence.

  ‘So what do I do?’ I asked, determinedly not looking at Hayley.

  ‘Nothing,’ Matt said. ‘You relax, read your book, have a ski, and act like it doesn’t faze you at all. She’s staying the weekend, right? The Gal isn’t huge; you’ll see her tonight and then you’ll know one way or another.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘If she talks to you, stuff is fine. If she doesn’t, something’s wrong. And if that’s the case – well, you just met her and the season is long. There’ll be other girls.’

  ‘Corrupting – I knew it,’ Hayley said. ‘Nelson, if you like her, talk to her and find out what’s up. Girls like to know that guys care. It’s why people like Matt can’t hold down a relationship.’

  ‘You’ve known me a week,’ Matt said.

  ‘I’ve known you very well in a week,’ Hayley said. ‘Enough to figure out your tricks.’

  But she didn’t seem too upset about whatever she’d figured out, which left me wondering what Matt’s tricks were and how I could get him to share.

  Trying to relax was pointless. I couldn’t focus on the book, and it was too good to read when my brain was elsewhere, so by early afternoon I was out on the slopes. Every run I went down I kept an eye out for Juliet, but nobody was exactly recognisable in bulky ski gear with helmets, goggles and neck warmers. So I just skied until the runs closed, before heading back to the Gallagher.

  A prickly nervousness was growing in my chest as I looked around for Juliet. There didn’t seem to be any sign of her. I had dinner alone, then headed back to the empty games room with my book. I managed a couple of pages, then hit a part where the serial killer kidnapped one of the main characters and suddenly it had my full attention. Thoughts of Juliet weren’t going to distract me any more … until I realised she was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Are you …’ I began, wanting to mimic what she’d said to me last night, but in that moment I couldn’t remember it. ‘Are you coming in?’

  She walked over and sat across from me. She didn’t seem to want to make eye contact.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice light and relaxed as I remembered what Matt had said about pretending none of it fazed me.

  ‘I feel like I owe you an apology,’ she said. ‘I should have … I should have been clearer last night, but like … I dunno. I really liked hanging out and I didn’t want you to think I was weird or anything.’

  My nervousness had shifted slightly. It was still there, but warmer somehow.

  She met my eyes. ‘My … my parents are really strict, you know? Super uptight about who I see, what I do, all of that. I got in trouble for going out for a walk last night, and even … even if that hadn’t happened, they were never going to let me spend the day skiing with a guy.’ She looked away. ‘I know I need to be tougher and stuff, but like … it’s just hard. I’m up here with them and I don’t want to spend the whole time being yelled at, so I just …’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘Really it is. I …’ I couldn’t help my grin. ‘I thought you didn’t like me.’

  She blinked a couple of times, as if surprised, then smiled. ‘No, I do like you. I think you’re great.’

  There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her how much it meant to hear that. I wanted to tell her that it made me feel like there was this warm golden balloon filling in my chest, swelling with every second I looked at her and every beautiful word she said.

  But all I managed was, ‘I think you’re great too.’

  Juliet’s smile grew.

  Going to school on Monday was like returning to a different place. It didn’t seem to matter any more that Pat wasn’t there, or that Dale Dickson had taken to throwing scrunched-up balls of paper at me all with the word ‘thinking’ written on them. It didn’t matter what anyone said or called me because I’d spent the weekend hanging out with a girl who thought I was great; a girl who was pretty and funny and smart and far cooler than anyone at my school. It felt like I was carrying with me a tiny little fire that nobody could put out.

  I smiled at Madison, and held my head high as I went between classes. I still kept to myself in the library, but it didn’t feel pathetic or desperate because it wasn’t like there was anybody worth talking to here anyway. Before long I would be hanging out with Juliet again.

  Maybe being obviously happy makes you a target. As the week went on, it felt like Dale Dickson was more and more fixated on getting to me. He shoved me into walls, threw things at me in class, yelled ‘thinking’ in the middle of assembly, and basically did whatever he could to wear me back down to misery. But you know what? I really didn’t care.

  Dale spent all of Friday lunchtime following me around, having already driven me from the library by whispering ‘thinking’ and throwing bits of food. New ideas weren’t exactly his strong suit. When the bell rang and the halls were full of people trying to get to their lockers, I finally faced him.

  ‘Alright, Dale,’ I said loudly.

  The noise seemed to lull as people turned to look. Dale grinned, ready for the snap.

  ‘I get that “thinking” is something you need help with,’ I went on, ‘but if you could please stop telling me that again and again that’d be just great, because there’s not much I can do. You need more than half a brain to be able to think, which I guess doesn’t leave you with much, hey? You’re just a braindead arsehole who nobody really likes but everyone puts up with because it’s easier than having you following them around saying stupid things to cover the fact that you don’t actually have any friends.’

  The hall was silent. Any hint of a smirk had dropped from Dale’s face.

  ‘Want to know something else?’ I continued, stepping forward. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend. I see her every weekend up on the mountain. And yeah, you’ll try to say she doesn’t exist or whatever, but I don’t care, because I know she’s real, as much as I know that you’ll never have any idea how that feels. Because let’s be honest, who would ever want to touch you? Is anybody putting their hand up here?’ I looked around. Nobody moved.

  I returned my attention to Dale. ‘Guess not. Sorry, mate.’

  Nobody made a sound as I turned to open my locker. I was tense, ready for an attack. But nothing came.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Dale was gone and all eyes were on me. But for once, it didn’t feel bad at all.

  8

  The next morning, I was out on the slopes early despite the heavy fog that made visibility next to nothing. I shivered on the ice-encrusted lift, making my way up to the top part of the mountain where the bulk of the good runs were. The view from here was pretty much just fog with the occasional vague shape of a droopy gum popping up. There was barely anyone else around, which was rare. Usually the smart skiers got out early to beat the crowds, but it was hard to blame even a passionate Olympian for looking at the weather today and deciding they’d be happier doing literally anything else.

  I didn’t have that luxury, not since I’d stupidly told Juliet I’d
be entering the Whittaker Classic, and that not only would I be in the race but I’d be giving a world-class skiing performance. I didn’t even know what one of those looked like, let alone how to achieve one.

  The signs that pointed to the different runs were fluorescent and reflective, designed to be seen even in grim weather like this. I made my way across the snow towards the top of the Little Doon Track. One of the most popular runs on the mountain, it was also the favourite for races. The Whitt took place on a different run every year, but realistically there were only a few that were long enough and wide enough to accommodate a race and a whole bunch of spectators. Little Doon was as good a guess as any.

  I positioned myself at the top of the run, looking down into a wall of fog. I figured the race would start around here. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine how it would be on the day. Hundreds of cheering people, Juliet’s face among them. And a whole bunch of the best skiers on the mountain around me.

  Ski races don’t work like running or swimming races. Because you might have to swerve at any moment to avoid an exposed rock or a tree, it’s not a matter of everyone going down at once. If it was, Doon would have a lot more casualties every year. Instead, ski races happen one at a time; every contestant goes down alone, their time’s recorded, then compared at the end. This was both good and bad. It meant that if, say, you were probably going to come last it wasn’t all that obvious. But it also meant that for the minutes you were going down the slope, you would be the only point of focus for the spectators.

  Watching the fog, I wondered if a broken leg would really be so bad.

  I tried to play out the length of the run in my head. How long did it usually take? What kind of time was better than standard? Skiing always goes a bit quicker than you think. When you’re literally speeding down a slope, it ends up being a matter of minutes or seconds – albeit minutes and seconds packed with way more exhilaration than usual.

  I tried to concentrate. A decent run of the Summit probably came in at about a minute, thirty seconds if you were gunning it. Little Doon – a way longer run without the same steepness that sent you careening off – was likely a generous five or six minutes. So a time of four minutes would be reasonable. Three minutes probably put me in reach of being a Whitt contender. Beyond that, I’d be laughing. Maybe.