by Chris Wheat
‘It’s just part of the natural world,’ his father had interjected that night. ‘And what the research apparently shows is that there are lesbian seagulls! I’m serious!’ he’d yelled while Joshua’s mother tried to quieten him. ‘The evidence is overwhelming: monkeys, poultry, fruit flies, dolphins – everything. It’s not an issue, it’s a natural aspect of life.’ That had given Joshua some comfort. He had listened until the conversation segued to parking fines.
The YouTube posting currently causing such a furore at Cockatoos headquarters. Is injury-prone Angelo Tarano our first openly gay Aflplayer?
He had to face up to his nature – everyone else already had. You’re gay, get used to it, he kept telling himself. He hadn’t chosen to be gay; he just was. Did straight boys choose to be straight? No. They just found out at twelve that they liked the opposite sex. More than liked. So here he was, waiting for Heath, and he was nervous but things could certainly be a lot worse.
A bus pulled up further down the road, and Heath jumped off. Josh waved. Heath looked different – he was wearing his Bored of being bored T-shirt again, but he was missing the jewellery and the nail polish.
‘Hi,’ Josh said as Heath reached him. There was a bag over Heath’s shoulder.
‘How come there are all Japanese tourists outside your school?’ Heath asked immediately.
Josh waited for the kiss. ‘Matilda Grey. They wait for her.’
‘Matilda Grey, that crazy dog girl? She comes here? Is she for real?’
‘I think so. They think so in Japan, anyway.’
‘Matilda Grey and Angelo Tarano. Your school is like Beverly Hills High.’
Josh smiled.
Heath reached into his bag. ‘This is Alf.’ He pulled out a guinea pig. It was wrapped in a face washer. ‘Feed him grass, and you can buy guinea pig pellets. They eat their own shit. Don’t get him cold. Alf likes to wriggle.’
Josh took Alf in both hands. ‘Thanks. He’s really nice.’
‘You can kiss him. He’s gay.’
Well, no kiss from Heath, but this was something. Josh sniffed Alf first. He didn’t have a strong smell, thank heavens.
He kissed the guinea pig on the top of its head. Some of the Japanese tourists took photos.
‘Was the bus okay?’ Josh asked, wrapping Alf up again and wondering where to put him. He had a plastic bag, but Heath might freak out if he popped Alf in a plastic bag and plonked him on top of his Maths folder in his school bag.
‘Cool. Long way.’ Heath looked around. ‘So, what will we do?’
‘We could…’ Joshua heard footsteps and puffing. He turned around, and there was Chelsea Dean puffing up beside them.
‘Hi,’ she said to Heath. ‘My name’s Chelsea.’
‘My name’s Heath.’
‘Heath,’ said Chelsea. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She held out a hand, which Heath shook, then she turned to Alf. ‘Is the rodent yours?’
‘He’s Joshua’s now. It’s a guinea pig,’ Heath said.
‘How lovely, Josh. A companion. Did you bring him for Josh, Heath?’
Heath nodded.
‘Is your real name Heathcliff?’
‘No, Heath.’
‘Your parents probably meant Heathcliff, as in Wuthering Heights.’
Heath shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘I’ve read the book and seen the film. Heathcliff was this gorgeous sort of gypsy who was obsessed with a girl called Cathy, and they lived in this godforsaken swamp. We did it in Year 10 at Mary M. It’s actually about obsession. I’ve told Zeynep to read it. Zeynep is Josh’s ex. She’s obsessive. Do you have a girlfriend?’ Heath looked at Joshua.
Joshua jumped in. ‘Chelsea, you’re talking about too many things at once. Slow down. He doesn’t have a girlfriend; he’s gay like I am.’
‘Gay? Très chic. So maybe I’m intruding on a little gay rendezvous or something, n’est pas?’ She smiled brightly.
Heath looked at Joshua again for direction. Joshua wasn’t clear whether Heath couldn’t hear her properly or couldn’t figure out whether she was insane. The French didn’t help.
Chelsea just kept going. ‘Heathcliff was tall and dark, with smouldering eyes. A little like you!’ She smiled at Heath. ‘But he certainly wasn’t gay!’ She laughed in her rather high-pitched, musical way. ‘And where did you two meet, if I may be so bold as to enquire?’
Josh thought he’d better take over. ‘We met on the internet.’
‘MySpace?’
‘Gaywayz.’
‘I should really make more of an effort to use the net and find the right person,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got so little time.’ She turned to Heath. ‘I’m trying to improve this school. What school do you go to?’
‘Judith Durham Secondary College.’
‘Judith Durham? She was, like, an ancient Seeker. My dad used to sing Puff the Magic Dragon to me! How ghastly.’ She turned to Joshua. ‘Josh, I meant to tell you, I’ve put you down for organising the formal tickets. I’ve got the design and the wording done, and you can arrange the printing and the sales. Any problems with that?’
‘Will that be a lot of work?’
‘It’s a very small part in the overall game plan. I can’t do it all myself, Josh. Perhaps Heath will help you.’
Joshua looked at Heath. ‘Can he come?’ he asked.
Chelsea thought for a moment. ‘Well, we can’t have riffraff. Only students from the three schools. But if Heath is on the door collecting the tickets, he might be able to stay for a little while. We’ll call him staff.’ She looked at Heath. ‘But you’d have to take responsibility for him, Josh.’
Heath’s eyes showed confusion. ‘I missed that. I’m deaf. Got an implant,’ he explained.
‘You’re deaf!’ She looked at Joshua in surprise, then raised her voice. ‘I only know the sign for good’ – she gave a thumbs up – ‘and get lost!’ She stuck up a little finger. ‘I’m inviting you to assist Joshua selling tickets for our formal. As a reward, you are also invited. But you can’t invite your friends. There’ll be heavy security.’
Heath shrugged.
‘And Joshua, could your brother’s band be engaged to play at the formal?’
He shrugged. ‘I could ask Tom.’
‘I downloaded their CD. It’s not my style, but if they can do covers we’ll take them. I need to know by Friday.’
‘Will Angelo Tarano be there?’ Heath asked.
‘Yes, he’ll be there. Wearing clothes, we hope,’ Chelsea yelled.
‘Just talk normally,’ Josh suggested.
‘Great,’ said Heath. ‘What’s there to see around here besides the big houses and the up-themselves shops? It’s pretty wanky.
All the BMWs. People on the bus just sit there looking like they eat caviar for lunch.’
Chelsea shot Heath a look of surprise. ‘Fiddlesticks! We’re very friendly, and we accept everyone, no matter what their disability. You can walk along the river,’ she suggested. ‘It’s romantic.’ She raised her eyebrows at Josh.
‘You’ve got a river. That’s classy. We’ve only got a creek.’
‘Okay, I’m out of here. Have a great time, guys. No mischief.’
She gave a little wiggle of her fingers. ‘Toodlepip!’
‘Bye, Chels!’ Joshua waved back with relief. He turned to Heath. ‘She’s kind of pushy.’
He shook his head. ‘So what’s this formal thing?’
‘It’s for our school and these two private ones. She’s sort of mixing us all together.’
‘Cool. Let’s go to the river now. Do they bash gays over here?’
‘Not really. I don’t know. They never bash me,’ said Josh. He handed over the newspaper article. ‘This is for you.’
‘Wow.’ Heath looked at the photo of Angelo and read the caption. ‘Gay? He’s not gay is he?’ Now he looked excited.
Maybe the gift was a bad idea.
‘No. That’s his girlfriend. My ex.’
‘Di
dn’t think he was. Bad luck for us all. Will you introduce me?’
‘Sure.’
‘So you really want me to come with you to this formal thing? I dance a bit crap,’ Heath said as they walked towards the river.
‘I don’t care.’ How bad could it be?
‘Sometimes I just do this crazy stamping and marching if I can’t hear the rhythm. Would that worry you?’
Josh shook his head vigorously. He wasn’t going to stuff up again. ‘No way,’ he responded firmly. ‘That’s great. However you dance is fine with me.’
‘Great. I might ask Tarano for a dance – check him out.’
‘Well …he’ll be dancing with Matilda Grey, I think. He’ll probably have his hands full,’ Joshua tactfully suggested.
‘So – we’ll dance as a threesome!’ Heath announced, his eyes gleaming.
Joshua suddenly felt a bit anxious.
OUR BODIES
BETWEEN
OUR KNEES
KHIEM DAO WAS walking carefully along the bike path that traced the course of the river, videoing the rowing team in action. He was under secret instructions to make it look as if the guys were rowing Chelsea home after school – just her usual method of transport. The guys hadn’t realised what she was really up to. At certain points, Chelsea put the megaphone down in the boat and trailed one hand in the water as she dreamily watched the branches of overhanging trees. This was a signal that he should be videoing. She had it all worked out.
Right now, though, Chelsea was on the megaphone and was broadcasting her opinions about a kilometre in all directions.
‘I most certainly can count!’ her voice boomed. ‘Lift your oars! Backs straight! Follow the person in front! Lift your oars. One, two!’
The boys were working hard, gliding upstream towards Chelsea’s house in concentrated silence.
‘Lean back ... and hold! Lean back… and hold!’ Chelsea demanded. Then, obviously aware of his camcorder, she hid the megaphone, leant back and trailed the fingers of her right hand down in the water. It looked classy.
Khiem lowered the camera and grabbed his bike. They were coming to a bend in the river and he’d lose them if he didn’t start riding.
Too late – they vanished. He could hear someone else’s voice, also amplified, approaching from around the bend as he hopped on his bike. Then a cry: ‘Chelsea Buns! Watch what you’re doing, girl!’
Chelsea started singing into the megaphone: ‘Vistaview, let’s all pull together, our bodies between our kneeeees!’ She ended her song with a short peal of laughter.
He pedalled fast, and another boat slid into view as he rounded the corner, this one crewed entirely by girls. Then he saw the other girl on the megaphone, who was coming from the opposite direction and was, like him, on a bike.
‘Bunsy – watch out, you silly cow!’ the girl bellowed into her megaphone.
He could see what was about to happen.
‘Magga girls, OARS UP!’ shouted their coach from her bicycle. But it was too late.
There was an ear-shattering shriek from Chelsea, amplified through the megaphone, as the Vistaview boys and the boatload of girls collided in the middle of the brown river.
Khiem watched in shock as the girls’ boat slid over the top of the boys’ boat. The girls’ boat gently inverted and, as one, they all tumbled out. Then the boys went over, too. Khiem got the last moment on the camcorder.
There was mayhem: violent splashing, screamed obscenities and wild accusations as each group blamed the other. Oars, like matchsticks, floated off down the river. Then the abuse turned to laughter. As he watched, smiling, and wondering if he needed to jump in, Chelsea’s amplified shrieks transformed into a mournful ‘Help me!’ followed by a deep, amplified gurgle.
The girls’ coach, a tall girl with short hair, was off her bike already and easing herself into the water. He had to help, too.
The river was deep and dirty and probably dangerous, but too bad. He left the camcorder on the path and jumped down the bank, pulling off his shoes. In front of him in the muddy water, Craig was swimming after an oar. Some of the girls were attempting to right their boat; a number of boys and girls were clinging to one another.
The river’s bottom was muddy and Khiem’s feet slid deep into the chilly ooze as he plunged in. He gasped at the cold, then dived. Up close, the river was even dirtier than he’d realised. He dodged a lump of wood and, deciding to keep his head out of the water, struck out into the current.
The Vistaview boys had grouped around their boat and had now righted it, as had the girls. There was an atmosphere of sodden elation coming from both boats. The Magdalene girls were clambering back on board and warning everyone not to swallow the water. The Vistaview boys were spitting noisily and abusing Chelsea.
Khiem noticed Angelo Tarano helping Georgia Delahunty back into the girls’ boat while Josh Yeatman steadied it. But where was Chelsea? Then he saw her. The girls’ coach had an arm around her and was side-stroking to the bank; Chelsea’s strained and upturned face was spluttering abuse as they chugged slowly past.
‘Shut your silly little mouth, Bunsy, or I’ll hold you under,’ he heard the coach say.
Khiem grinned. A girl trying to catch an oar bobbed past.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.
‘Fine. Are you?’ she enquired. She had a very sweet face: his kind of face.
‘I’m fine, too.’ He liked her instantly. Her eyes were smiling at him.
‘Do you want me to help you?’ he asked, hoping she would say yes.
‘No need. I’m absolutely fine.’
They were both treading water, but drifting downstream with the current. She reached out and grabbed the oar. He grabbed it, too. The Vistaview boys had pulled up alongside the girls and there was a hum of conversation and laughter. Khiem looked behind him for Chelsea. She was fine; she and the coach had reached the bank.
‘My name’s Khiem,’ he said to the girl. He drifted closer to her and found her hand under the water, then he shook it. She looked shocked, but she laughed.
‘I’m Penny. What crazy school are you?’ she asked.
‘Vistaview.’
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Are you guys on your Ls?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah.’
They were both puffing a little by now. ‘Chelsea Dean appears to be your cox,’ Penny said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You know her?’
‘I know her,’ said Penny and she laughed again. ‘She used to go to our school, but they asked her to leave.’ She looked in the direction of the bank. ‘Tamsin’s got her over there. She’s all right.’
Their hands touched again underwater.
All the girls except Penny seemed to be back on board and adjusting their oars. ‘You okay, Penny?’ one of them called out to her.
‘Yep. Coming,’ Penny called. She turned back to Khiem. ‘I better go then. Nice to meet you.’
He watched her swim away. She was a good swimmer.
Confident. He definitely liked her. Her hair gleamed dark-red in the sunlight. A rare colour.
‘Is everyone accounted for, other school?’ the girls’ coach asked through her megaphone. ‘I’ve got your cox here.’ Across on the bank he could just see Chelsea lying flat on the distant bank – he’d drifted a fair way. Their coach was standing over her.
He swam back to the bank to rescue the camcorder. Chelsea and the coach were taking off their tops to squeeze them out.
They turned away as he clambered up the bank, dripping like them.
‘Well I didn’t think I needed saving,’ Chelsea was saying.
‘Certainly not by you, Tamsin!’
‘Shut up, you little cane toad, or I’ll throw you back in,’ the other girl said.
‘Where’s our cox?’ Craig shouted from the river. ‘Girls, have you seen our cox?’
‘Shut up, Craig,’ Chelsea shouted.
‘You okay?’ Khiem asked Chelsea. She’d put her wet top back on and was sitting on
the bank. He was still dripping, but he picked up the camcorder and started filming her again. This would make interesting footage. She was trying to squeeze water out of her hair.
‘My megaphone sank! Damn! Well, perhaps now my father will have to get me a runabout!’
‘What were you bloody doing with all those boys?’ the other girl asked.
‘You have such a limited existence, Tamsin. I’m so glad I’m not at that sad school any more. Why don’t you get out of your gilded cage and live in the real world!’
‘Sucks to the real world, Chelsea. Give me the gilded cage any day!’ said the girl, her hand shielding her face as she surveyed the scene on the river. The girls were rowing back towards them now.
‘My new school has boys, Tamsin. But perhaps boys are not really your interest.’
‘Oh, Bunsy, so perceptive. Actually, I remember you once told me your dream was to be rowed to and from school by the Ethels’ First Eight. Obviously you couldn’t manage the Ethels, so you have the Vistaview rowing team instead!’ She looked at Khiem. ‘Why is that boy filming us?’
She suddenly stalked up to him, grabbed Chelsea’s camcorder before he realised what she was doing, and hurled it into the river.
CALL IN A
HANDWRITING
EXPERT
AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS at her new school, Georgia Delahunty was occasionally beginning to doubt the wisdom of choosing it. There was more punishment and more rebelliousness at Mary Magdalene than at Vistaview. In her short time there, she’d witnessed all Year 7 parents being contacted because socks with a fine silver thread became fashionable; she’d seen the whole of Year 9 get a half-hour detention when someone used a laser light in assembly; and at her own year level, a girl was wrestled to the floor by the Director of Religious Studies during a fingernail inspection. She was inclined to agree with Chelsea that the school was obsessed with personal appearance and run like a penitentiary.
But Tamsin made it absolutely worthwhile. Tamsin was sitting close to her now, and their knees touched as Ms Defarge climbed the steps to the stage. Since Georgia had returned from her short stay in India, she and Tamsin had been closer than ever, and Tamsin’s confident management of the collision on the river the week before had left Georgia in even more awe. Chelsea Dean’s rescue was now the talk of the school. Tamsin, as captain of the rowing team, had been grilled after the collision and told that if there were any more incidents like that they were to be with private schools only.