Screw Loose

by Chris Wheat

  ‘How’s that barmy maharajah going?’ Tamsin asked.

  ‘He’s threatening to visit,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ha!’ said Tamsin. ‘Just give me a few details, and I’ll tell Mum. Have him detained at the airport.’

  Georgia smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  Ms Defarge trotted across to the lectern.

  ‘I think this is going to be about the accident,’ said Tamsin. This was a special seniors-only assembly. Ms Defarge tapped the microphone. In academic gown and looking very twitchy, she was gripping the lectern tightly. The auditorium fell still: there was nothing but the sound of creaking seats and the occasional cough.

  ‘Firstly, Mary Magdalene girls – the dreadful rowing collision. I have cross-examined all parties and have come to the conclusion that the incident was not a deliberate attempt to ram the Vistaview Secondary College vessel in order to meet boys, as I had previously assumed. It was sheer carelessness. However, if anything like this occurs again, the girls’ rowing team will be restricted to the swimming pool. Mary Magdalene girls lose everything if they lose their decorum.’

  She paused for a moment. ‘Girls!’ Her voice was now sharp and high-pitched. ‘Yesterday I was profoundly disturbed to discover that one of our maintenance staff, Mr Gary Deare, has been harassed and hunted – yes, I say hunted – by a senior student. One of you!’

  Silence. Ms Defarge glared down at the rows of upturned faces. ‘It can be quite normal for one of our younger girls to develop a crush on one of the older ones.’

  Tamsin nudged Georgia.

  ‘But it is not normal to develop a crush on one of the maintenance staff! It is not normal to ambush and harass him. I do not know which girl is doing this, but I had a note handed to me yesterday, written by one of you, addressed to Mr Deare.’ She waved a piece of pink paper in the air.

  Merest whisperings, like mice in a wall, scampered through the hall as the girls absorbed this exciting news. Georgia wanted to glance at Phoebe Choudbury-Foote and see how she was reacting, but students had been suspended for turning around in assembly, and Phoebe should not be exposed.

  Gary Deare had been assigned to support Georgia in her school-based apprenticeship, and she’d found him quite pleasant. Gary was funny and patient, and he wasn’t interested in her at all. He played the acoustic guitar, drove a lowered Commodore and composed witty rap lyrics about the school, which he performed behind his shed at lunchtimes. Many girls had questioned her about their relationship, and quite a number had made enquiries about school-based apprenticeships from the careers adviser since she’d started hers.

  Ms Defarge’s eagle-eyes slowly scanned her charges.

  ‘To get to the bottom of this – to discover who this girl is – I have procured an example of each of your handwriting from your teachers, and I have called in a handwriting expert!’

  You could hear dust fall.

  ‘I shall get to the bottom of this, and the girl who wrote this perversion will be asked to leave immediately: things that pollute shall not prevail at Mary Magdalene! Girls, I keep both ears to the ground wherever I go! I will begin interviews with each and every senior girl as soon as this assembly has concluded. Each girl will be expected to tell the absolute truth to me about what she knows of this atrocity.’

  Georgia sat just as still as the others. This was such nonsense.

  ‘We have come together today to affirm that our school is a place of the spirit and of cleanliness,’ Ms Defarge continued. ‘That great man, Savonarola of Florence, was the first to introduce bonfires of worldly possessions – bonfires onto which the citizens of Florence cast all those things which they knew polluted the spirit. Right now, we are all going to metaphorically cast upon our spiritual bonfires all those things that pollute us.’ She paused expectantly. ‘Meditate now!’ She clapped her hands and the sound rang out like a gunshot.

  The girls bowed their heads in instant meditation. Georgia lowered her head, too. She wasn’t really good at meditation, or sure of what impurity she should cast upon the bonfire, but she finally chose the Big Brother house, because she thought the competition was rigged. Then in boredom she switched to meditating on Tamsin, which made her much happier.

  There was no noise in the hall. Not a giggle or a sniff. Finally Ms Defarge signalled an end to their contemplation with another sharp clap. Heads lifted.

  ‘Dismissed!’

  As they stood up, the girls began to murmur to one another.

  ‘Good old Phoebe,’ said Tamsin.

  Georgia leant in closer. ‘I meditated on taking you to the formal.’

  ‘Oh, good one. I accept, of course,’ whispered Tamsin.

  GUINEA PIG

  COUNTER STRIKE

  JOSHUAYEATMAN HAD been travelling through the city for nearly an hour now. He had discovered suburbs he’d only ever heard mentioned on the news. He’d read a paper he’d found on a seat and was following a meaningless tag repeated along the embankments and bridges of the railway line. Heath had asked him to stay overnight – a whole new and scary ball game. He’d asked his mother and she’d said no way, but Josh had started a campaign. When she finally gave in, he’d promised to ring her every two hours.

  Visiting Heath’s turf was another way of saying sorry for what he had done. But he was anxious about what he was getting himself into. Would Heath’s parents give him a hard time for being the gay boy who stole their son? And then there were Heath’s four siblings. Little kids smelt and asked nosey questions.

  His phone vibrated.

  ‘where ru?’

  ‘ginifer,’ he messaged as the train slowed down at a station.

  ‘not far.’

  The doors slid apart. ‘ferals getting in,’ Joshua responded.

  A couple, each with a pillow and a bag, flopped into the seats opposite him and slumped together. The guy slipped his arm around the girl’s shoulders and closed his eyes.

  ‘u scared?’

  ‘no. gf picking nose.’

  ‘her nose or his?’

  The guy was humming without an iPod, eyes still closed.

  They both had bare feet. Joshua sniffed but smelt nothing.

  Clean ferals.

  The train was racing along again. The guy handed a bottle to his girlfriend, who swigged and handed it back. The carriage smelt like booze.

  ‘feral opens scotch.’

  What would St Albans be like? He imagined crowds waiting at the station to bash him senseless because his shoes looked gay.

  The train was slowing again. The ferals started to stir, and around the carriage people stood and shuffled towards the doors. St Albans. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Heath on the platform, and his heart bounced.

  The train stopped and the crowd surged against the door.

  People knocked him and didn’t apologise. Joshua went with the flow and was pushed through the door onto the platform.

  Heath saw him and called out, ‘Dude! Josh!’ They gave each other a rough kind of guy-hug as people flowed around them.

  No public kiss, praise the Lord. And that was it. Safe in St Albans.

  They made their way out of the station. Indians, Vietnamese, Lebanese, Greeks, Fijians, Somalis – the whole United Nations seemed to be pushing through the barriers. Heath walked close beside Josh, deliberately bumping him and occasionally smiling. No Bored of being bored T-shirt this afternoon.

  Heath flicked Josh’s ear affectionately and bumped against him again. ‘Thought you’d be too scared.’

  ‘What did your parents say about me staying?’ Joshua asked.

  ‘Nothing much. My oldies are Poms. We have visitors all the time.’

  They waited at the boom gates with a crowd of noisy people, then after the train had rattled through they were pushed across the tracks into the shopping strip in a wave of chattering people. He could hear Indian music.

  ‘Hey,’ Josh whispered. ‘That’s the ferals up ahead.’

  Heath craned his head above the crowd, then yelled,
‘Hey, Lissa!’

  The feral girl turned around and searched the crowd with anxious eyes.

  ‘That’s my big sister,’ Heath said.

  ‘No kidding?’ Crap! Another stuff-up!

  He and Heath caught up to them. They formed a group in the centre of the footpath and people pushed around them.

  ‘Wazup?’ Heath asked.

  His sister smiled half-heartedly. Her teeth needed attention.

  ‘Been for a holiday,’ she said, ‘down St Kilda.’

  ‘Seen Mum?’ Heath asked.

  The boyfriend looked really out of it, his eyes wandering and his body restless.

  Lissa shook her head, then moved closer. ‘Hey little brother, could you spare us a couple of dollars?’ She looked over at Joshua, and his hand moved instantly to his wallet. He needed to show he liked her.

  ‘Nah. Gotta go,’ Heath said, and Lissa turned away. Heath grabbed Joshua’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he said angrily.

  No one said goodbye. Joshua allowed himself to be dragged through the crowd, realising that he didn’t really know Heath at all. ‘Um, sorry about saying … earlier … um, ferals…’ he stammered.

  ‘S’okay,’ Heath said. ‘They are druggies.’

  ‘I need to tell Mum I haven’t been stabbed,’ Joshua said. That was the wrong thing to say, too! But he flipped open his phone.

  They sheltered in a doorway.

  Heath waited, staring at him. ‘Your hair’s got a bit of curl to it,’ he said.

  Joshua nodded and put his hand on his head. ‘Mum. I’m in St Albans.’

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘It’s like Singapore.’ Keep her calm; she liked Singapore.

  ‘I doubt it. Don’t go out at night, please, Joshua; and be back early tomorrow. Do you know about the sleeping arrangements?’

  ‘Mum!’

  Heath was watching him and exaggeratedly mouthing his replies to his mum.

  ‘Did you remember your toothbrush?’

  ‘Mum, I’m a big boy now.’

  Her voice changed. ‘Joshua, I saw your friend Angelo in the park an hour ago. He was with Zeynep, and she was dressed in your clothes: your coat and beanie and those silly low-rise jeans. Why was she wearing your clothes?’

  Heath was staring at his lips.

  ‘She’s disguised.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Angelo’s football club told him not to associate with Zey, so she’s disguised. She wears my clothes so they can go out together.’

  ‘What? She’s pretending to be you? Angelo is not really coping with his sexuality, is he?’

  He groaned. ‘It was my idea, Mum!’

  Heath had his hands to his face and his mouth open in mock horror.

  ‘They were kissing, Joshua. In your clothes!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, for a moment I thought Angelo was kissing you!’

  ‘Mum! I should be so lucky.’

  ‘Joshua!’

  Heath was pulling faces.

  ‘Move on, Mum.’

  ‘Well … people carry knives in St Albans. This boy doesn’t take drugs, does he?’

  ‘No, Mum! Heath doesn’t!’ Joshua looked at Heath and smiled weakly. ‘Got to go, Mum! I’ll ring you later on.’

  ‘Toothbrush!’

  He hung up and sighed loudly. ‘She’s unstable.’

  ‘So what’s that about Angelo? Were you talking about Angelo Tarano?’

  His bionic ear was good.

  ‘Yep, Angelo Tarano. I’m kind of his psychiatrist. Mum thinks Angelo and I are on together.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Joshua shook his head and smiled. ‘No chance.’

  ‘You should have brought Angelo, too.’

  ‘Not likely. It’s Saturday. Angelo always watches the footy if he’s not playing.’

  Joshua realised that his eyes darted periodically to Heath’s cochlear implant. ‘So what’s St Albans like?’ he asked.

  Heath threw his arms wide. ‘Beautiful, downtown St Albans.’

  He turned around slowly, showing off the street. An old man ducked.

  ‘It’s very multicultural.’

  ‘Not like Fitzroy?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  They turned down a road. ‘This is it: Penshurst Road. Best road in St Albans, the old Penshurst Road. Good for burnouts,’ Heath announced.

  On each side of the street there were cream brick houses, lots with aluminium security shutters covering the windows.

  Early-model cars were parked on nature strips, and kids yelled.

  Head cocked, the occasional magpie inspected a lawn. Weaving black skid marks graffitied the road.

  Heath put his fingers to his lips and made a smoking movement. ‘Do you smoke dope?’

  Josh shook his head.

  ‘Do you like bowling?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, then, we can go bowling.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They walked along the street. Joshua knew now why he liked Heath. There was something confident and stuff you about him.

  A cool breeze blew Heath’s hair away from his ears.

  ‘So this formal thing. Am I still helping with the tickets?’

  Heath asked.

  ‘Sure. Please.’

  ‘Doesn’t require much talking and listening?’

  ‘No, that’s my job. Want to see the flyer?’ Joshua reached into his backpack and pulled it out.

  ‘Chelsea’s design, not mine.’

  He handed it to Heath.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘What makes her think they’ll mix? They won’t.’

  Joshua shrugged. ‘Well, it’s an interesting concept.’

  ‘Interesting concept,’ echoed Heath with a smile.

  They walked in silence. Heath’s hand touched his periodically.

  ‘This is it,’ said Heath after a few minutes. ‘The mansion.’

  Heath’s house was much like the others.

  ‘Mum’s cooking you something special!’

  Joshua’s stomach tightened. This was nerve-wracking.

  They walked across a lawn with dead patches. Around the edge of the lawn were roses in tanbark. Aluminium security blinds covered all the windows, and Joshua could hear a dog barking and kids yelling from behind the house. Heath’s world. Now he had to meet the parents, smell the house, eat the food, sleep somewhere. He wondered if Lissa and her boyfriend would be staying too and felt uncomfortable.

  ‘We’re gonna have fun!’ Heath announced. ‘Here’s my mum.’

  A pair of glasses were reflecting in the dark hall as a woman approached them.

  ‘Joshua. Welcome.’ She grabbed his hand; hers was cold and wet. ‘Hope you don’t mind a madhouse? Come in.’

  Heath opened the door and Joshua stepped into the dark.

  ‘Did Heath tell you he has two brothers and two sisters? Hope you didn’t come here for peace and quiet? Heath can sleep on the floor tonight. You can have his bed, and good luck to you. I couldn’t sleep with all that scratching going on.’

  Scratching? What did that mean? Fleas? Body lice? Impetigo?

  ‘This way to our room,’ Heath said. ‘It’s a bit crowded, but you’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘No worries,’ Josh laughed and felt the urge to run again.

  But he wouldn’t. No way. No matter what was crowding Heath’s room, what caused the scratching, he was going in.

  ‘Just as well you like guinea pigs,’ Heath said, pushing open the door, ‘because me and my brother breed them in here.’

  He felt slightly dizzy. ‘Really? In your bedroom?’

  ‘Sure.’ Heath put his arm around Josh’s shoulder as they stood and looked at the huge guinea-pig run along one wall.

  Joshua tried to breathe through his mouth as Heath proudly pointed out some of his best guinea pigs.

  ‘It’s a beautiful sight, is it not?’

  ‘It is,’ Josh gasped.

  Heath offered him one to h
old. It was much like Alf. He duly stroked it.

  ‘Cute,’ he said. But it was difficult to speak when you were trying not to breathe through your nose. He was starting to panic. No way could he sleep in this room.

  ‘Like, how many in here?’ he asked, his voice trembling and his throat constricting.

  ‘Fifty-eight now,’ Heath said happily. ‘Good company at night. You’re never alone.’

  Joshua threw up all over the floor.

  OUT OF MY

  COMFORT ZONES

  KHIEM DAO HAD never had a girlfriend – not one who remembered his birthday or massaged his neck. Most of his relationships had lasted one day – spur-of-the moment affairs that were forgotten as soon as some other excitement had tripped him up. He needed a deep relationship with someone who cared. He’d once watched a girl pop the pimples on her boyfriend’s back: a sure sign of a deep relationship.

  Every time he’d decided to wag last period and go over to Mary Magdalene to find Penny, his nerve had vanished under an avalanche of doubt. Maybe she would walk right past him and laugh. He couldn’t stand that.

  But now he’d taken the plunge. Here he was outside Mary Magdalene. The school had a huge fence and giant gates with a golden crest. Mercs and BMWs driven by rich mothers were pulled up all along the road. He felt tense. The cops might turn up and ask him why he was hanging around outside the gates of a girls’ school. There were no other boys waiting. He had worn his best clothes.

  Chelsea knew Penny; they had been in the same choir and the same house at Mary Magdalene. Thanks to Chelsea, Khiem now knew her surname (she wasn’t in the White Pages), and he knew that Penny was a scholarship girl – which Chelsea seemed to think was a misfortune. Penny sang alto, whatever that was. But if she sang alto, then that was the best thing to sing. Her full name was Penny Wong-O’Neill, and that name was beautiful music. He imagined writing and performing a song called Penny Wong-O’Neill Is My Real Deal on Video Hits. He wanted to shake her hand underwater again and again and again.