by Chris Wheat
‘You have to,’ he snapped. He just wanted to be rid of the damned DVDs. He’d dump them if they weren’t careful.
‘Can’t.’
‘Gotta go.’ He pocketed it.
‘We’ll wait one more minute,’ Chelsea announced. She was drumming her fingers on the desk.
Khiem looked at the audience. Ready for Chelsea Dean’s first etiquette lesson were four Year 8 girls, three Year 7 girls, three Year 9 girls, Craig, Joshua Yeatman, Zeynep Yarkan and himself. Joshua and Zeynep had their heads together.
‘We’ll start!’ Chelsea suddenly announced. ‘But before we do, Craig, Joshua and Khiem, don’t forget rowing practice has shifted to this afternoon. Meet me at the sports room after school to carry down the boat and oars.’
With that, Chelsea stood up and unfolded some notes. ‘We begin.’ Her voice was bright and positive. ‘Manners maketh the man, and maketh the woman too. The students at Mary Magdalene and St Ethelred’s have better manners than most of you, and I don’t want them turning their noses up at Vistaview students at my formal because they are yawning without covering their mouths.’ She looked at Craig.
Khiem glanced at the two Year 10 girls, who were smiling, and the two Year 7 girls, who were sitting up extremely straight with their hands clasped on their desks. He particularly liked one of the Year 10 girls; he often smiled at her in the corridor and watched the way she tucked her hair behind her ears. She must want to improve herself, too. Maybe next time he’d sit closer to her.
‘So, this is what I’m going to teach you in these lectures to get you ready for the formal: good table manners, how to cough and sneeze, and how upper-class people instantly know you’re not one of them.’
No one said anything. She went on. ‘Okay. Let’s start with table manners. Elbows in.’ Chelsea stuck her elbows out and brought them in a few times. ‘Why do we have elbows in at the table?’
The two younger girls shot their hands up. ‘So you don’t jab the person sitting next to you!’ said one of them triumphantly.
‘Good.’ Chelsea waggled her elbows again.
Khiem didn’t know about that, but he thought he kept them in anyway. Why would you stick them out?
‘Next point. What if food gets stuck between your teeth?’
A hand went up.
‘Yes?’
The same Year 7 girl spoke confidently. ‘Brush them?’
‘I meant at the table.’
‘Use a toothpick,’ said her friend.
‘Yes, but how does one use a toothpick?’
No hands.
‘I will now demonstrate how to use a toothpick. Imagine I have a toothpick. I raise my left hand and place it in front of my mouth, fingers closed, as if I was about to yawn. Taking the toothpick delicately in my other hand between my thumb and index finger, I bring it around behind my left hand and then stick it between my teeth. Don’t talk to other people while you’re doing this, or you could end up on a hospital reality show. Now, I’d like you all to pretend you have something stuck in your teeth and practise getting it out.’
All the girls put their hands up to their faces. Khiem, Craig and Joshua didn’t.
Khiem noticed Matilda Grey standing at the door looking at Craig. Craig swore softly. Matilda had a black bin-liner under her arm.
‘Craig,’ she called from the door. ‘Come to me.’
Craig shook his head.
‘Is Arnold’s nose still dry?’ she asked.
‘Excuse me, Matilda. I’m teaching etiquette. We’re not interested in Arnold’s nose. Although, actually, it isn’t dry, Matilda – I saw Arnold this morning.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘Perhaps you two could discuss this matter after my class.’
‘What’s etiquette?’ Matilda asked suspiciously.
‘Manners – like not interrupting people. In fact, you should come in and learn a few. Since you will be accompanying Angelo to the formal.’
Khiem glanced at Craig; he didn’t look wholly rapt at the reminder of that little arrangement. Zeynep, on the other hand, hadn’t even noticed; she was still whispering to Joshua Yeatman.
Matilda moved stealthily into the room, watching Chelsea the whole time.
‘Do you know what a toothpick is, Matilda?’
‘I know what a Quickpick is,’ Matilda answered and sat down near Craig.
Some of the girls giggled.
Chelsea referred to her notes. ‘Let’s continue. Next we have eating and speaking. They do not go together! Never, ever speak with your mouth full! Why not?’
Year 7 hands went up again. ‘People can see the food.’
‘Yes.’ Chelsea winced. ‘How horrible!’
The talkative girl nodded vigorously. ‘You might spit it out accidentally.’
The other added: ‘In someone’s eye.’
‘Yes,’ said Chelsea, looking towards Matilda. ‘What about you, Matilda? Did you know that?’
Matilda was slumped in her seat. ‘I don’t talk when I eat, I just eat,’ she said.
Chelsea nodded. ‘That would be right. Gobbling your food – even from a bowl – is very bad manners. Now the next important aspect of etiquette is not using your cutlery to point with.
Some people gesticulate with their cutlery. How uncouth!’
A Year 10 girl put up her hand. ‘What does gesticulate mean, Chelsea?’
‘Gesticulate means pointing.’
The girl nodded. ‘And uncouth?’ she asked.
Chelsea smiled down at the girl. ‘It means vulgar, common, gross, no manners at all. Maybe someone in the room is a little like that?’
Chelsea rolled her eyes, smiled, and went on. ‘So, never point your knife at someone when you’re speaking to them.’
She raised her eyebrows and smiled at Khiem, which annoyed him. He no longer carried a knife.
‘Or a chopstick,’ she laughed. ‘Am I right, Khiem?’
‘Right,’ he said quietly.
‘Next, leaving the table. It is polite to always excuse yourself when you wish to leave the table. Do you do that, Matilda?’
‘I don’t sit at a table.’
‘Where do you sit?’
‘On the floor.’
‘You eat your dinner on the floor?’ Chelsea’s voice was incredulous. ‘No invitations to Government House for you!’
Chelsea looked at everyone with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Well, if you ever do sit at a table, then when you want to leave you should excuse yourself. You wouldn’t need to ask anyone to leave the floor.’ She giggled. ‘All right?’
‘I leave when I want to leave, and no one stops me,’ Matilda announced loudly. ‘You stuck-up poodle!’
Chelsea did a double-take. ‘Matilda, that was not necessary!’
Matilda suddenly stood up, knocking her chair over. She shook out the bin-liner and began to advance slowly towards Chelsea. ‘Stay away from Craig!’ she said ominously. ‘He didn’t make you pregnant.’
‘What?’ Chelsea looked furious, and a little nervous. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’ll sue!’
Matilda lunged at Chelsea, trying to throw the bin-liner over her head. Chelsea danced backwards and shrieked. ‘Down!
Bad! Khiem, you’re my bodyguard. Stop her!’
Khiem raced to the front, with Craig at his heels. ‘Matilda.
No way! You’re human!’ he heard Joshua yell. Khiem and Craig got to her just as she got a hold on Chelsea, who was still shrieking. They both grabbed Matilda’s arms. He was nervous about grabbing Matilda; you weren’t supposed to touch girls without them giving the all-clear. But you shouldn’t stand and watch assaults either.
‘Get the police!’ Chelsea cried. ‘She’s trying to suffocate me!’
Mr Dunn and Mr Ireland suddenly appeared at the door.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Mr Dunn demanded.
‘It’s an etiquette lesson, sir,’ Khiem heard Zeynep explain.
‘Matilda is trying to put Chelsea in a bag!’
Matilda was growling, still struggling
in Craig’s arms.
Mr Dunn nodded. ‘Not too much screaming,’ he said. ‘A little quieter. Now, what’s the right etiquette in this situation?’ He laughed.
‘She should be put down!’ Chelsea cried. ‘Khiem, escort me out of the room!’
‘I’m going to bag you up – and river you!’ Matilda yelled.
‘Call a dog catcher!’ Chelsea screamed back as Khiem hustled her out of the classroom.
SCREW
LOOSE
FINALLY, THINGS WERE looking up for Angelo Tarano. The Cockies management was pleased with him for teaming up with Matilda Grey; he didn’t have to worry about being Cinderella in the players’ review any more; his lip had healed; and best of all, during his last game, against Port, he’d scored a goal and a behind, and taken four great marks!
His life had turned a corner, and he could see success, good times, Brownlow votes and pots of dough up ahead. His life was charmed. Nothing bad was going to happen again. The power of positive thinking – think positive thoughts and they happened – he believed in that.
Now, on this cold Saturday morning, dressed in a black three-quarter Italian coat and wearing sunglasses to stop the fans mobbing him, he was surreptitiously making his way through the Victoria Gardens food court to meet up with his gorgeous, disguised, true girlfriend, Zeynep Yarkan, for a quiet lunch at McDonald’s. This was the life.
He saw Ronald before he saw Zeynep. Fibreglass Ronald with his shiny smiling face sitting on a bench outside Maccas, his arm stretched out to embrace any sucker who sat down beside him. Angelo shuddered and scanned the tables for his girlfriend. She would be wearing Josh’s clothes.
There she was, sitting alone at a table, waiting for him to appear. She was wearing a beanie, scarf, jeans, a coat, and sunglasses like him – all Joshua’s. She looked just like a guy – and yet she still looked like Zeynep. They would be like an A-list Hollywood couple, dating secretly, the public unaware of who they really were. Nice.
‘Do I look like a guy?’ She spoke in a husky voice. ‘Call me Zac.’
‘You look great, Zac,’ he answered. ‘But don’t talk like that.’
Her face changed. ‘Angelo, my parents really are sending me to Turkey because of your calendar.’
‘Again? You can’t see anything.’ Angelo felt a surge of annoyance. ‘They should be the ones going to Turkey!’
‘I think they mean it this time.’
‘Your parents are all talk.’ He looked around. The queues were long.
‘Do I look like Josh?’ she asked.
‘Not that much.’ He chuckled.
She had a little pile of money on the table. Delicately, she slid the note and coins into her purse using one finger.
‘I’ll wash it when I get home.’
She was probably the only woman in Australia committed to keeping the currency clean and germ-free.
‘Guys don’t have purses,’ he pointed out.
She clapped her hand over her mouth.
This made him want to kiss her. He looked about then leant towards her, but she drew her head away and checked out the people around them, too. ‘Here’s Georgia!’ she said.
Angelo watched Georgia approach. One of the reasons he’d originally gone crazy for her was that she reminded him of the 50 Foot Woman. The 50 Foot Woman was an old film about a gorgeous but angry giant housewife who walked (she had a really sexy, slow walk, like Georgia) through her town, looking for her cheating husband. What would it be like to have sex with a fifty-foot woman? Easy to disappoint, he supposed.
‘Welcome back!’ Zeynep’s face had lit up. ‘How was India?’
‘It was problematic. I only stayed six days. You look great like that, Zey.’
‘Shh! I’m supposed to be a guy! Call me Zac.’
Georgia guffawed. ‘Okay Zac, what’s brought this on?’
Georgia sat down.
‘The Cockatoos banned Angelo from seeing me. So I’m supposed to be his best mate.’
‘Harsh,’ she said. ‘But kind of interesting. Zac, eh? You really do look great.’
Angelo felt uneasy. Georgia was dressed a bit like a guy, too.
‘Why did you come home so early?’ Zeynep asked.
‘My parents were trying to marry me to some joker.’
‘Oh, same with me,’ Zeynep responded.
Angelo knew nothing of this. He grabbed her hand. ‘What’s this?’
‘Don’t worry about it, Angelo. You know I won’t. I’m a rebel.’
He leant back. ‘Your parents are truly crazy.’
‘So are mine,’ said Georgia. ‘They know I only have eyes for Tamsin.’
‘Who’s Tamsin?’ he asked with great interest.
‘A special friend.’ Georgia winked, and Zeynep blushed.
He shook his head. ‘You guys want any food?’ he asked.
Zeynep shook her head.
‘Let me get you something,’ Georgia said, standing up.
He turned around to look at the board, although he knew what was on it. ‘Okay. I’ll have two McMuffins, please.’
Georgia waved her hand when he reached into his pocket.
She went off.
‘Angelo, do you want me to go to Chelsea’s formal dressed as a guy or a girl?’
‘A guy, it’ll have to be,’ he said. ‘But you look great like that, don’t worry. Kiss?’
Zeynep leant towards him. He put a hand on her shoulder and leant towards her, and their sunglasses clicked. She pulled back.
‘Do you think that I’m Joshua when you try to kiss me?’ she asked.
‘Come off it!’
‘When I’m in his clothes?’
‘Stop it, Zeynep!’ He shook his head vigorously. He’d actually wondered momentarily whether Georgia was watching.
He leant towards her again, his heart beating powerfully.
‘You’re definitely you.’
Behind her sunnies, she closed her eyes. Their lips were about to collide again.
‘Excuse me.’
He flicked his eyes open. A man was hovering beside their table.
‘Are you Angelo Tarano?’
Angelo didn’t have a pen for autographs. The guy was holding his mobile phone out.
‘Smile, Tarano!’ He moved the phone about.
‘Hey! No photos, thanks!’ Angelo said indignantly. Zeynep suddenly buried her face in his chest. He put his arm around her.
‘Tarano, you and your boyfriend were swapping spit!
I’ve got it all in here, on video.’ The guy waved his phone in Angelo’s face.
‘She isn’t my boyfriend, she’s my girlfriend!’ he protested and stood up.
‘Whatever, Tarano. Whatever you say, you bighead gay Cockatoo!’
‘What? She is my girlfriend, Zey—’ He had to protect her.
She wasn’t supposed to be with him. ‘Tell him who you are, Candibelle.’ The Cockies would spew.
‘I am his girlfriend,’ came Zeynep’s muffled voice.
‘See.’
‘Ha! Yeah, sure thing. The camera doesn’t lie.’
Georgia appeared with a tray.
‘Hey, Georgia, tell this joker who I’m with,’ he cried.
Georgia hesitated, her eyes darting from him to the guy with the phone and down to Zeynep, who now had her head on the table. ‘Um …Zac, your mate!’
‘There you go!’ cried the stranger. ‘Boyfriend, name of Zac.
Thanks, Zac. Thanks, Tarano.’
The stranger held his phone up in the air like a victory salute.
‘See it all on YouTube, folks!’ he announced to a gathering crowd. Then he took off.
Angelo leapt after him. ‘She’s my girlfriend!’ he yelled after the fleeing photographer. ‘Put it on YouTube and you’re dead!’
‘Wait!’ Zeynep called out. She overtook Angelo and raced off through the food court after the photographer. ‘My name is Candibelle! I’m a girl. See!’ She threw off Josh’s beanie as she chased the stranger. ‘Look,
I’m a girl, not a boy!’ She was unbuttoning Josh’s coat. ‘I’m Candibelle Brown! Angelo Tarano’s girlfriend.’
All around the food court, people were standing up, craning their necks for a better look. A group of guys in orange safety vests started clapping and cheering.
Suddenly Zeynep crashed into a table and disappeared in an explosion of paper cups and KFC boxes. Several people rushed over to help. Angelo sprinted over to her as the photographer vanished.
His girlfriend: she had a screw loose – and she was fantastic. Candibelle or Zeynep; Zeynep or Zac. The club wouldn’t like it; her parents wouldn’t like it. YouTube! Damn! He’d have a lot of explaining to do before the six o’clock news.
TRÈS CHIC
IT WAS THURSDAY and Joshua Yeatman was waiting nervously for Heath at the school gates. In his hands he held a newspaper article about poor Angelo and Zeynep – in the photo, Zeynep was wearing his beanie. He’d thought he’d better bring Heath a gift in exchange for the guinea pig.
Most of the kids had already left, so this meeting wasn’t going to be too public, although a coachload of Japanese tourists had just pulled up.
After a week of anxious anticipation, Josh had come round to imagining that Heath was everything he was looking for in a boyfriend. He liked his eyes, his hair, his voice, his forgiving attitude. He was already used to the idea of the bionic ear – it made Heath a kind of cool cyborg. Heath was a great name, too. And the guy could cartwheel.
A teacher cruised by in her blue Volkswagen Golf and waved. Since Dunny had outed him, the staff had been heaps friendlier. In fact, in the absence of Georgia, he had become the unofficial school spokesperson for all things gay.
A few weeks ago, Joshua’s parents had held a dinner party. His father’s voice had boomed through the house for hours, interrupted by detonations of laughter. Late in the evening, Josh had abandoned his Accounting homework and crept to the top of the stairs. The smell of brewing coffee had drifted up to the landing as he listened to their conversation.
‘The dog’s gay – very passionate about the neighbour’s whippet,’ he heard a lawyer friend of the family, a local resident, say. Joshua knew both the dogs he was referring to: Ralph and Jock. They often played together in the park. He hadn’t realised they were gay at all. He’d been more supportive of them after that – throwing sticks to them and watching for any sign of inappropriate play. Now here he was, about to become a father to a gay guinea pig.