Begin End Begin: A #LoveOzYa Anthology

by Amie Kaufman, Melissa Keil, Will Kostakis, Ellie Marney, Jaclyn Moriarty, Michael Pryor, Alice Pung, Gabrielle Tozer, Lili Wilkinson, Danielle Binks

  I stand and back up till my backside hits the bathroom wall. And then I shove Lou aside and pull open the door, pushing past a girl doing a pee dance in the corridor, and I bolt for the nearest exit.

  3 a.m.

  I stumble into the front yard, stepping over a guy snoring beneath a rose bush, and around a couple whose tongues are so far down each other’s throats that I don’t know whether to avert my eyes or offer them a round of applause.

  I bolt to the edge of the garden, gulping in the warm air. From here, I can see the whole expanse of the narrow road — the house across the street with its pin-neat garden, and the one next door with the overgrown grass and collection of beat-up cars. A little way down there’s a house almost identical to this one, with peeling cladding and a concrete porch. At this moment it’s filled with couches and a group of big guys, all beers and booming laughter. Everything is too close together here, everything looking one step away from the decayed neighbourhood in some soon-to-be apocalyptic wasteland.

  I slump against the wire-mesh fencing and sink to the ground. The Razaks’ house seems to throb, the walls pulsing with music and the dying remnants of a party that’ll no doubt be repeated in some other house next weekend.

  I close my eyes, with a lump in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow. Our neighbourhood is never properly quiet; even now, the early morning is overlaid with the voices of the guys across the street and the sound of distant car horns. I hate this place. But I can’t help loving it, too. And in my whole entire life, I’ve never been able to decide which emotion is going to win out.

  My eyes are still squeezed shut when a warm body drops beside me. The faint hint of smoke follows in his wake.

  ‘What do you want, Lou?’ I mumble.

  I open my eyes and glance sideways at him. His too-large frame is squished between me and the rhododendron bush near the letterbox, pink flowers haloing his shaved head. Despite everything, a rusty laugh escapes me.

  Lou wiggles himself into place. ‘You okay, Gabe?’

  I sigh. ‘I dunno, Lou. Probably not. I’m sorry about the dramatics though,’ I say, waving a hand in the direction of the house. ‘Everything just really … sucks. You know?’

  Lou’s head turns at the choking sound on the other side of the lawn, as the pashing couple disengage with way too much saliva than is probably hygienic. He snorts.

  ‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘But whaddya gonna do? People are gonna do what they want, right, not what we expect them to do. I reckon you’ve just gotta roll with it. You can’t control everything. Or everyone.’

  I rub my hands over my eyes. ‘Yeah, I know that. I know I’m being stupid —’

  He nudges my shoulder. ‘Hey, I never said that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to,’ I say, sitting up straighter. ‘I realise I’m being ridiculous. But it’s not just Cam and Claire though. It’s everything.’ I tug at a handful of dry grass, rubbing the russet stalks through my fingers. ‘I just really hate this feeling that nothing at all is … permanent. You know?’

  I rest my head against his arm with a sigh. Lou tenses slightly beneath me. ‘It’s over, isn’t it,’ I whisper. ‘Cameron and Claire … and the rest of us, too. Nothing is going to be the same, now. Is it?’

  A faint chuckle rumbles through Lou’s chest. When I look up at him, I don’t think it’s me he’s laughing at. He looks kind of sad, and resigned. He looks like the same old Lou, pragmatic to the core, rolling with whatever crap life throws his way.

  ‘Gabrielle,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s kinda scary having the … the rug pulled out from under you, or whatever. I get it, you know I do. Not everyone stays, right? But, you know, not everyone leaves either.’

  I blink at him. Lou looks away, hastily fishing out his cigarettes and patting down his pockets for a lighter. I take the pack from his hands before he can light up. ‘Ugh, and speaking of permanent — when are you gonna quit, Louis? Don’t know if you’ve heard this, but these things aren’t exactly extending your lifespan.’

  ‘Huh. So does that mean you want me to stick around?’

  I turn to look at Lou properly, only to find that he is staring down at me, his face close, eyes kind of weirdly dilated.

  I swallow. In the dark, Lou isn’t easy to read. His eyebrows are drawn, tight and tense, and if I didn’t know him so well, I’d almost peg that look as dangerous. But I do know Lou, and to me he looks nothing but bewildered. His mouth looks strangely soft, lips slightly parted, even though he barely seems to be breathing.

  For the briefest instant I think he’s going to run, or I am. But somehow, insanely, I move forward, not backward, my brain figuring out what is happening just a few moments behind my body.

  Kissing Lou is weird, so weird, like adjusting to breathing under the ocean; not instinctive, not at first, but not totally unnatural either. There’s no choir of angels singing, no exploding fireworks; I can feel every touch of his lips and every move of his tongue, ’cause I’m totally here and present in this moment. I open an eye to the sight of one familiar thick eyebrow, and the feel of raspy stubble against my cheek, which is all kinds of odd, and, strangely, kind of nice, too.

  Lou pulls away from me. His breathing is heavy, the dusky skin of his cheeks stained pink. He looks away quickly, but then he seems to steel himself. He draws his shoulders back and looks me square in the eye.

  ‘I’ve wanted to do that for ages, Gabrielle,’ he says. His voice is even huskier than normal.

  ‘Oh,’ I say quietly. I feel my face crack into a strange, shy smile. ‘For how long?’

  Lou’s eyes widen. He grins at me. ‘Since, like, Year 8?’

  I straighten my back against the wire-mesh fencing, schooling my face into neutral, even though inside I’m feeling all crazy and buzzy. ‘Oh really? Even with the braces and glam-rock hair?’

  Lou chuckles. ‘Yeah. Think it might have been the hair that did it for me. ’Sides, I can’t talk. Remember my blond phase?’ He shudders. ‘Ma said I looked like a Greek Dolly Parton. Can’t believe you stayed friends with me after that, Gabe.’

  I nudge him back, leaving my hand resting alongside his. ‘What can I say, Lou? My tastes have always been questionable.’

  Lou touches the edge of my fingers, warily, his smile disappearing. He scratches at his stubble with his other hand. ‘Gabe?’ he begins uncertainly. ‘Um, so … what should we do now?’

  I glance at the Razaks’ house. I think about my friends scattered somewhere inside; Cameron and Lara and Tommy and Claire, all doing their own thing, wherever they might be. Lou’s question feels like it’s loaded with more than I know how to answer.

  I leap to my feet. And then I reach down and I offer him my hand. He stares at it for a moment before grabbing hold and letting me pull him up. This is probably my cue to let go, but I hold on to Lou, winding my fingers through his. Screw letting go. Maybe I’m just a wee bit nervous — okay, make that a wee bit gigantically terrified — but I refuse to let go until he does.

  ‘Louis? I have no idea what we should do now. But I think — no, I know — that I could really use a cheeseburger.’

  Lou smiles at me and squeezes my hand. He leans down and pecks me on the lips, just briefly.

  ‘You want to go?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose we should go back for a bit and see who we need to drag with us. But either way — I think I’m ready to leave now.’

  4 a.m.

  This is how it goes.

  We’re walking down the street as the first hint of a watery orange sunrise stains the edge of the sky. Lara is propping up Tommy as they stumble in front of us, her heels in her hands, his glasses lost somewhere in the disaster that is the Razaks’ house. Tommy is using Lara’s entire body as a man-crutch, since he still seems to be incapable of coordinating his legs. Around us, stragglers from the party drag their feet towards the train station, laughter and groans and a few honking cars hustling alongside. We left Cam and Isla catching a ride with one of his friends from the soc
cer team, Cam’s arm defiantly around Isla’s shoulders. Claire left a while ago; apparently she took off with those girls from the debating team for 7-Eleven slushies and doughnuts hours ago. She’s texted me though; I guess I’ll text her back at a more civilised hour. Lara is still grumbly, although whether it’s caused by the Cam-and-Claire drama, or the fact that her heels are now covered in Tommy’s spew, is anyone’s guess. And Lou is holding my hand. Or I’m holding his. I can’t remember who was responsible for the hand-binding situation, who grabbed on to whom first. I’m not sure if it’s all that relevant.

  Every now and then we will catch each other’s eye, a surreptitious sideways glance that makes Lou blush and my stomach tumble. Every now and then, Tommy will turn around and squint at the two of us, like he needs to keep checking on the continuation of our existence, and Lara will cast a glance over her shoulder, this dumb, gleeful smirk on her face.

  Lou squeezes my hand. ‘So how long do you reckon we’re going to cop shit for this?’

  I shake my head, with a bubble of laughter that I can’t contain. ‘Um, I reckon summer holidays are going to suck? I wouldn’t plan on them letting this go anytime before uni graduation. Maybe keep, oh I dunno — say the next decade free?’ And then I realise what I have said, and my entire face fills with heat.

  But Lou just grins and squeezes my hand again. ‘Yeah. Sounds okay to me.’

  Then Tommy trips over and face-plants into a bush. Lara stands over him with a sigh.

  ‘Thomas, I swear to God, you’re like a bloody cautionary ad for underage drinking.’ She grabs the back of his T-shirt and tugs him upright.

  I turn my face to the sky. Graffiti covers the fences here; in this crumbly early light it almost looks organic, like it’s grown from the red brick and concrete itself.

  I don’t think I’ll ever not feel sad about Cameron and Claire. I’m guessing these last few years of our lives are always going to make me feel wistful; this moment tonight one of the many little pieces of sadness that amass over time like scar tissue.

  But I look down at Lou’s rough hand in mine, and I think that, maybe, it’s not just the sad stuff that accumulates. New stuff builds, too. I suppose not all of the unforeseen things that shake your foundations are going to suck.

  Lou lets go of me and hurries to rescue Tommy, who is now, for some reason, sitting on the footpath and singing a rousing version of the national anthem. Lara rocks back on her feet with an incredulous laugh. Lou all but throws Tommy over his shoulder, and he looks at me with a weary, happy smile.

  Will it last? Who knows? Maybe forever is a ridiculous concept, like wishing for mermaid fins or a life in a magical city under the ocean.

  ‘So,’ Lou says with a huff as he falls into step beside me, Tommy bobbing happily over his shoulder. ‘Breakfast?’

  Oh right. It’s Sunday morning. Still a lazy day, a nothing day.

  But I take Lou’s hand again, content for the moment with breakfast and possibilities.

  When you stand out in the front yard of your family’s dilapidated white stucco house and look forward, and all you can see is a street view of more dilapidated houses, with a panorama of traffic, and warehouses, and power lines above and beyond that … it’s safe to assume that your home is not what it was anymore.

  ‘Going for the don’t-give-a-shit look on your first day, eh?’ Mike’s eating a jam sandwich out of one hand, he has a clipboard full of delivery invoices tucked into his armpit and his driver’s shirt is unbuttoned. With his hair sticking up like that, he looks as if he just fell out of bed.

  I give my brother the stink-eye. ‘What do you care what I wear to school?’

  He scratches his head, which only exacerbates the hair problem. ‘Just sayin’.’

  ‘I could go in my underwear. Or a wetsuit. Or a toga. It won’t change the fact that I’m going to school.’

  ‘Jeez, Rachel. Wear whatever you want.’ Mike gives me a meaningful glance. ‘Wear a delivery driver’s outfit.’

  ‘Oh ha-ha.’

  Mum walks over in the old jeans she uses for house-cleaning. Her eyes are on the weedy front-yard lawn as she twists a scrunchie around the hair at the nape of her neck.

  ‘… and I told your father I’d be getting a ride in to work after we dropped you at school, so I hope he’s remembered to —’ She sees me, and her hands drop. ‘Oh, Rachel. Please tell me you’re not wearing a flannie shirt and cut-offs on your first day. And the knotted hair … You’ve got such lovely hair, sweetheart, why don’t you wear it loose?’

  ‘Yeah, Rachel,’ Mike says, grinning. ‘Show us yer lovely hair!’

  I mouth, ‘Rack. Off.’ at my brother. I’m about to turn and say a highly modified version of that to my mother when there’s a distraction: Dad pulls up in the taxi.

  ‘All passengers!’ Dad does a very lame-arse impersonation of a train driver out of the rolled-down passenger window. ‘Come on, girls. We don’t want Rachel to be late for class.’

  ‘You’re turning this whole first-day-of-high-school business into a thing.’ I bundle into the car, with Mum beside me. ‘You’ll give me a complex.’

  ‘I’m sure your first day will be wonderful,’ Mum says. ‘It’ll be a breath of fresh air after Year 11 distance ed.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, because there’s such a thing as fresh air in the middle of Melbourne, not to mention in a classroom full of sweaty teenagers.

  It’s not like I haven’t seen North Coburg Secondary; I did the tour there with Mum and Dad a week ago. The impressions I got consisted of: halls with lino floors, run-down buildings, concrete lunch benches, and hundreds of people my age, like I’d walked into some sort of Teenager Convention. I’ve never actually been around large groups of people that much — except at the Ouyen Races or the Farm Expos — and it turns out they make me nervous.

  Now I’m regretting I ever shared that information with my brother.

  ‘Don’t stress, sis.’ Mike winks at me as he shuts the car door. ‘You’ll be fine.’ Which is Mike-speak for They’ll rip your head off, I think.

  Mike heads for his delivery van, Dad rolls up the windows and turns on the radio, Mum fiddles with her scrunchie and casts glances my way as we drive along Summoner Street towards Sydney Road. And I sit with my satchel on my lap and pretend that I’m anywhere but here, in this huge city, where my world has become infinitely smaller.

  ‘Hot guys,’ Mai Ng says.

  I look back at her. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I was just getting your attention. I have to explain the rooms for your classes now, so I figured I’d wait until you were listening.’ She smiles, not unkindly. ‘Although I totally get the desire to zone out when people talk about this stuff. I almost fell asleep during induction when I arrived here.’

  My cheeks warm. ‘I’m sorry. I’m listening. I need to know where I’m supposed to be going.’

  ‘Relax,’ Mai says. ‘You won’t know where you’re going for a while. Everybody gets lost at first.’

  We’re walking through one of the lino-floored corridors. Out the window, three junior boys play handball against a brick wall, kids eat their snacks underneath a bunch of straggly trees, and more students chase each other towards someplace I think might be the canteen. People bloody everywhere.

  ‘I’m just not used to … all this.’ I wave at the view. ‘School, I mean.’

  ‘You’re from the country, yeah?’ Mai leans forward. ‘What’s that like?’

  ‘Different,’ I blurt. Then I think about it. ‘I mean, the distances are big, and it’s nowhere near as populated. But we probably do pretty much the same things as city kids.’

  ‘You hang out, watch a movie, listen to music?’

  ‘Sure. Or you play games, or text each other if you’ve got reception. Or you can drive around in someone’s car. Go swimming in the dam. Get together and make a bonfire — a twig, we call it.’

  Mai raises her eyebrows. ‘We don’t do much of that in the city.’

  ‘Guess not.’
I look at her sideways. ‘We have hot guys in the country, too. They pop up on occasion.’

  She laughs, until she’s distracted by the view outside. ‘Speaking of …’

  I follow her line of sight. ‘The blond one? Or the one with the soccer ball?’

  ‘Soccer ball,’ she replies dreamily. ‘Gus Deng. Incredible shoulders. Smart. Nice — like, really sweet.’

  ‘Seems perfect.’ I grin.

  ‘We’re on friendly terms, but yeah. He’s not Vietnamese. My mother would have apoplexy.’ Mai sighs, returns to my paperwork and adjusts her black-framed glasses. ‘Okay, lemme show you where you need to be for your next two classes. And we have English together, so that’s a win.’ She gives me a smile. ‘I think we’re gonna get on well.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Mai’s smile is open-hearted; mine is more just relieved.

  ‘Don’t commit too soon,’ Mai warns. ‘You haven’t met my friends, you might hate them.’

  ‘I’m pretty easygoing.’

  She snorts. ‘You haven’t been introduced to Mycroft yet.’

  Not everything about school is awful, but still. At least two of my teachers seem to be incapable of modulating their voices above a drone. The bells that ding at unexpected intervals make me jump. And in my biology class, some crazy guy up the back sets fire to his class notes within five minutes of arriving and is immediately bundled out to the principal’s office by the teacher, Miss Paulsen. I catch a glimpse of the guy’s dark hair and hear his fruity accent before his departure, and table him as someone to avoid.

  At lunch, Mai ushers me towards a bench seat near the library. She waves to about forty different people along the way. In my entire life in Five Mile, I don’t think I even met forty teenagers.

  ‘So when’d you move?’ Mai asks, unboxing her food.