‘My go,’ says Cooja, grabbing the dice.
We nearly have a full-on brawl as Belinda explains with eyelashes batting so hard the cards just about fly off the board, that we all have to roll the dice and whoever gets the highest score starts.
‘I know that,’ says Cooja. ‘So I’m going first.’
‘Typical,’ giggles Cathy, moving closer and squeezing his arm.
Boxie winks at me. I’m lost. There’s something going on here and I haven’t quite twigged.
‘It’s an internal triangle,’ whispers Boxie in my ear. ‘How does he do it?’
Huh? Oh, he means an eternal triangle. Cathy, Belinda and Cooja? I’m stunned. I thought Belinda was still pining over me.
‘A six,’ goes Cathy as Belinda throws.
‘A six.’
That was my throw. It’s a play-off between Belinda and me.
‘You could be chivalrous and let her start,’ says Cathy.
Forget it. This isn’t a game of manners, it’s a game of power. I throw.
‘A six.’
Belinda throws.
‘A six.’
‘Aw. Come on. We’ll be here all day,’ says Boxie.
I throw again.
‘A six.’
‘Suffer, Belinda.’
She throws again.
‘A six. And I’m starting.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I go, but it’s too late. She throws a four and lands on ‘Risk’. She takes a card.
‘You made a rude noise in public, go back to the start,’ she reads out, and makes a farting noise. I grab the dice.
‘Clockwise, dork,’ goes Cooja, grabs it back and throws a five. It means I end up throwing last. Doesn’t seem fair to me and it’s certainly not good manners. I finally get to throw.
‘A six.’
‘Another six.’
‘I’m on a roll here,’ I say, as I throw a third six.
‘What’s with you, Stud? You got the devil on your side? Six, six, six?’
‘Manners from hell,’ goes Belinda, glaring at me.
‘Is it my fault that I’m hot?’
‘Ya might be hot on board games but that’s about all,’ says Cathy, and the internal triangle cracks up laughing. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ says Boxie, rolling his dice after I’ve thrown a two. ‘They’ve got their own problems.’
The game’s okay. We get points and bonuses for answering correctly where proper manners are concerned and black marks for stuff like forgetting to say ‘Excuse me’ and yawning without covering your mouth and burping aloud and spitting and barging ahead of people. Before we know where we are the double period’s ended.
‘Now,’ says Miss Heatherton, ‘the thing is, I want you to carry these manners out away from the game, away from the classroom, into your everyday lives. We’re going to discuss your successes and failures during the next lesson on Thursday. Take note of how people respond to you when you are courteous and polite. We’ll use this information to do some writing.’
‘Der,’ says Boxie. ‘Knew there’d be a catch.’
But he doesn’t sound too disappointed.
We motor over to the canteen and start our usual pushing and shoving in the queue.
‘Hey,’ says Belinda. ‘Females first. Good manners.’
‘Yeah? What about feminism and equality?’ goes Cooja, grabbing her round the waist and giving her a squeeze. If looks could kill he’d be dead on the canteen floor. Cathy presses her lips together and glares at Belinda.
‘Whoa. This could get in-ter-est-ing,’ says Boxie softly.
‘Give us a buttered roll and a packet of Twisties,’ says Cathy to the lady.
‘Per … lease,’ we all chorus.
This manners thing could be habit-forming. We float over to a seat and sit. Cathy opens the roll and pours her packet of Twisties into it. Belinda’s up tight against Cooja. Then she spots her initials on his arm and nudges Cathy.
‘He loves me,’ she goes, pointing, giggling.
‘Get real,’ says Cooja. ‘B.S. stands for Bestial Shock the new thriller out by M.A. Carb.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
Cathy looks like she’s going to start bawling and Belinda looks smug.
‘I can’t stand this,’ says Boxie in my ear. ‘I’m outa here.’
‘Me too.’
We take off for faraway places, that is the locker room.
‘Cooja’s gonna get burnt. He’s playin with fire,’ he says. ‘Jugglin two women at once when they’re best friends is bad, bad news, mate.’
‘His problem.’
‘You still like Belinda?’
‘Nah. Well … dunno. I don’t want to go with her, but … I don’t want Cooja muscling in either.’
‘Top confusion, mate. Look, why don’t I give you Mandy?’
Mandy’s Boxie’s cousin who lives up the bush somewhere and he’s supposed to be going with her. I don’t need his cast-offs and I don’t need love at a distance, either.
‘Nah,’ I go, ‘I don’t need a woman in my life right now. There’s enough flak about Leanne without adding to it. I just want to live a peaceful, single, bachelor life.’
Boxie makes a snorting noise as the bell goes for the next period. We grab our books and rock on over to Science. Wish we were doing lupins but it’s frogs again, swimming in this stinking liquid, because they’re not alive are they? Dead as dinosaurs. We have to work in partners, hacking up these dead things, and I’m all set to work with Boxie as usual (or Cooja if he can peel himself away from his eternal triangle) but Cathy’s edged up.
‘We’ll work together,’ she says.
It’s a statement, not a question. Now what? I roll my eyes at Boxie who’s cacking away behind the Bunsen burners like he’s fit to burst.
‘Well …’
But she’s grabbed the frog in the tweezers and laid it on the board. She’s bending over with her dark hair practically dangling onto it, peering at it.
‘Wonder if it’s a male or a female?’ she says, prodding it with the tweezer tip between its little legs.
That’s the biggest turn-off I’ve ever experienced, I think, squeezing my knees together. I wouldn’t go out with Cathy Fletcher if she was the last living female on the planet. She’s still fiddling with the frog, playing with its armpits. I can’t handle this.
‘Er … I’ve gotta bail.’
I zoom outside to the dunnies and lean against the wall. My stomach’s going round in circles. It’s not the dead frog, I can handle that, it’s Cathy poking and prodding it.
Eventually I go back. I can’t live in the Men’s for the rest of my school life. I wander in, really cool, and the whole class gives a cheer.
‘My hero,’ screeches Cathy at the top of her lungs, and Micalinski the science teacher gives a sarcastic little speech about nerves of steel and operating theatres and people fainting at the sight of blood. Someone should tell him it’s bad manners to be sarcastic. I must bring it up in Thursday’s English class.
The next period’s free so we go to the library for silent reading, I’m sitting alone in a carrel, trying to read our English text which is dead boring, when I get this note.
‘Hey, Stud. Wanna have a Coke with me after school? C.F.’
What is happening here? Cathy Fletcher and I are about as suited to each other as chalk and cheese. She is a total bimbo with the brain of a flea and I like girls with some intelligent conversation. Belinda isn’t the Brain of Bennett High but she certainly isn’t as brain dead as Cathy. Plus Cathy is supposed to be going with Cooja. There’s only one answer to this note.
‘No,’ I write and pass it back.
‘Why not?’ comes the reply.
One thing about Cathy Fletcher, she’s not shy!
‘Because!’ I write back.
‘Because why?’
‘Because I hate your guts,’ I’m tempted to write, but we’ve just done manners in
English and I should be polite. I chew the end of my pen and think. Do I say ‘You’re the biggest turn-off since Dracula’s daughter?’ (True but cruel and hurtful: years of living with Leanne have taught me about cruel and hurtful remarks!) Do I say, ‘I’m busy doing homework’? (I’ll sound like a wimpette extraordinaire), ‘I’ve got to help my mum after school’? (Mummy’s boy) or ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment’? (then she’ll think I’ve got some incurable disease and spread the word). While all this thinking is going on another note lands on my desk.
‘Cooja, Boxie and Belinda are coming too.’
Well, that’s a different story.
‘Okay,’ I write back just as the bell goes.
Boxie, Cooja and I clatter off to get changed for sport. We have a practice footy match all afternoon ready for Friday’s big game against North High, Bennett’s archenemy.
Bennett, Bennett, brave and bold,
Oughta be, oughta be dipped in gold.
North, north, ya ya ya,
Oughta be, oughta be dipped in tar!
After school Cooja, Boxie and I meet Cathy and Belinda outside the gate. We walk down to Bruisers which is the local hangout in town. I’m next to Boxie, and Cooja’s got a girl hanging off each arm walking in front of us. The pace is fast because we want to get seats. This little excursion means I’ll miss the early bus and Mum’ll probably chuck a mental but sometimes you’ve got to go with the crowd or you won’t have any friends.
It takes about ten minutes to get there. Bruisers is already filling up with kids from different schools eyeing each other off. Cathy and Belinda slide into a booth and look hopeful. This annoys me. Why do girls always think guys have to pay?
‘It’s good manners for you guys to shout us,’ says Cathy as if she’s reading my mind.
I’m starting to think the Manners Manual was written by a woman!
The girls study the menu then decide they want Cokes and nachos. Cooja grabs some money from Boxie and me and goes up to the counter to order. Boxie spends the time putting salt in the sugar container and Belinda and Cathy are in this sort of huddle whispering. I might as well be a fly on the wall. Cooja comes back and sits in between the two girls with an arm along the back of the bench behind each.
‘Don’t like the new paintwork,’ he says.
The way the two girls gaze at him you’d think he’d just recited the Declaration of Independence. I study the decor. The walls are now black, red, blue and silver, like giant bruises. Theme decor, huh.
‘Thought you’d be on diets,’ I say sourly as the nachos arrive dripping with cheese and sour cream, a zillion kilo-joules a bite. I know this from Leanne. I know that water, tea and coffee have got zilch, tomatoes and lettuce and celery are lo-cal, and cheese, hamburgers, chips, and all things sugary are Fat City.
‘We don’t need to diet,’ says Cathy, whose got mega thunder thighs.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. The fashion’s for slightly chunky.’
That’s news to me. Maybe Leanne’s reading the wrong magazines. We munch and chew and the girls nudge and giggle about nothing. Well, nothing I can see. Cooja’s holding Cathy’s hand (which is a big relief) until I drop a nacho and bend under the table. He’s rubbing thighs with Belinda! As I’m under there gawking his free hand slides down and pats her leg. I come up confused. What’s going on?
‘I’ve gotta go,’ says Boxie, standing up. ‘See ya.’
‘Me too.’ I’m also standing.
Belinda reaches across and yanks me down so hard that the table jiggles. I’m sitting. Now what?
Cathy stands, lets go of Cooja’s hand, and moves round next to me. Belinda looks amused. I’m even more confused. Cathy looks at Cooja as she practically sits on my lap. I move away and nearly slide off the seat. I’ve got this funny feeling that I’m some sort of pawn in a weird game and I don’t like it one bit.
‘I’ve gotta roll.’
Cathy wraps her arm through mine. She’s got the suction power of a giant squid, but I break free and take off for the day.
‘See ya.’
I rush for the bus and jump on just as the driver’s shutting the door which means I get squashed against the doorway.
‘You trying to kill yourself?’ he says crossly as I give him a handful of five cent pieces which is guaranteed to make him ever madder. Too bad. I’ve just escaped the Jaws of Death in the guise of Cathy Fletcher and a bus doorway is nothing.
I slump into a seat and gaze out the window. There’s only one human on this planet who can tell me what’s going on and she’s not round to help. The only time I’ve ever needed Leanne and she’s a Missing Person.
I get off the bus still confused and mooch up the driveway. As I guessed, Mum’s home, in the lounge drinking a cup of tea with her feet up on the stool watching Family Feud.
‘Detention,’ I go before she starts in with the third degree.
‘Why?’
‘Dunno.’
‘You must know.’
‘The whole class got kept in; someone let off a stink bomb.’
I think it’s a great lie; I’m quite proud of it.
‘Wasn’t you?’
‘No way!’
Well, that’s the truth. I flop down and watch the show.
‘We should go in for this,’ I say idly before thinking, because the two lots of contestants are weak as caffeine-free.
‘Yeah,’ says Mum. ‘You know, we could. It’s televised in Brisbane so they’d have to fly us there, wouldn’t they?’
‘We’d need four,’ I say. ‘You. Me. Leanne. And …’
‘Steve,’ goes Mum. ‘He’s real bright, you know.’
Then I realise what I’ve just suggested. I’ve gotta be crazy!
It’d be a family feud all right, right in front of millions of viewers, with Leanne losing it, Mum screeching, Steve preaching and me diving under the desk.
‘I’ll write in,’ says Mum eagerly.
‘Mum. You’re forgetting one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Leanne. We haven’t got Leanne.’
Mum slumps in her chair. She’s temporarily forgotten about our Missing Person while she’s been watching tv and now she’s been reminded, her mouth droops and she looks like she’s going to cry. I get up awkwardly and put my arms around her.
‘Don’t worry, Mum. She’s all right. Leanne’s a survivor from way back.’
‘But she could be …’
‘Murdered and under a bridge. I know that’s what you keep saying, Mum, but if Leanne’s murdered under a bridge the rest of Australia’s dead.’
‘You’re a good kid, Sam.’
Yeah, yeah. Good kid. I’m beginning to think that’s my major problem. But they say a leopard can’t change his spots.
I go to Leanne’s room and water her towering lupins and wonder what she’s doing right now.
LEANNE
*
Should I pound on the door and beg the guys to let me in? Or crawl into the annexe and stay there? I bend down and pick up the money. I’m not crying too much to count it … a hundred bucks! Now what?
It isn’t cold so I figure I can find a safe place to sleep and then work out what to do in the morning. I walk a little way till I find a deserted van with an annexe, crawl in, and sleep on the groundsheet with my bag for a pillow. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all but I flake out and wake feeling hot and sticky. When I crawl out the sun’s up high in the sky and it’s a lovely warm day. I can see the guys’ van further down the row. No car. Gone surfing. I don’t need them. I know where I’m heading. Noosa and Dad.
So it’s four days later. I got a bus to Noosa, found a youth hostel and a bed, and now I’m sitting in the sunshine at an outdoor table at McDonald’s having a burger and French fries for a late breakfast (so much for wall-to-wall mangoes and pineapples) wondering what to do next. Because there’s no Walter Studley or W. Studley in the phone book.
I’ve got enough cash for one more night in t
he hostel if I want to keep eating. Then I don’t know what I’m going to do.
The worst bit is not having any friends. A few guys have tried to crack onto me, but after the last experience I’m scared. The girls I’ve met are either with a guy and don’t trust me, the butch hiker-nerd type, or here from another country and can’t speak English. The hostel’s clean enough but it’s not for permanent accommodation so it’s kind of lean. I’m missing my room and Mum and Sam something chronic. But I’m not missing that Steve dude. And I’m not contemplating going home till I find Dad.
‘You want the rest of those chips?’
It’s this girl, dark skinned with amazing green eyes, wild, tangled honey brown hair, thin arms hanging out of a torn white t-shirt and skinny legs in tight black jeans with high-top sneakers that look several sizes too big on her feet.
‘Yeah,’ I go as her hand snakes out towards them.
She shrugs and looks round. A guy further over finishes and as soon as he leaves she dives on his meal. He’s left half a muffin and a hash brown which she crams into her mouth. I’ve never seen anyone eat someone’s leftovers in my life, in public like this.
‘Here, have ’em.’
I shove the chips at her. She needs them more than I do.
‘Ta.’
She eats like mad, her eyes checking me out as she crunches up the fries with her white teeth.
‘That’s better.’
What the hell.
‘Here. I’ll shout you a Coke.’
‘Do you mind if I have a thick shake instead? It fills you up more.’
I order two caramel and we sit and slurp them together.
‘That feels better,’ she says as she pushes the empty container away.
She sweeps her untidy hair off her forehead and out of her eyes and grins at me.
‘I’m Alicia.’
‘Hi. I’m Leanne.’
‘So, Leanne. What are you doin hangin round McDonald’s in Noosa? I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘I’m not hangin round as you put it, I’m eatin my breakfast.’
‘Oh. Well excuse me!’
She grins again then pokes out her tongue. I can’t help liking her. There’s something about her cheeky smile and her green eyes.
‘I’m lookin for my Dad,’ I volunteer.
Living With Leanne Page 6