I stop and inhale, gazing out over the tall mountains. They are so vast and magnificent. I’m the only one here. For now, it feels like I’m the only person in the world.
‘Hellooo,’ I shout as loud as I can. My voice carries over the trees. I feel strong, powerful, as if I can do anything, say anything.
You’d think my shouting would scare off the birds but, instead, a superb fairy-wren lands on the railing just out of arm’s reach, as if coming to say hello. I know the little blue bird is a ‘he’ because, like most birds, the female is brown. He looks at me with his head cocked to the side. I whistle to him and he hops along the railing towards me. I try not to get close to birds; it only scares them off. I prefer to let them come to me. I focus the camera lens on the wren and adjust the aperture until the background blurs. His head is a beautiful cornflour blue. It’s a shame I only use black-and-white film. I press the shutter button and the camera makes a click. When I lower it from my face, the fairy-wren is gone. I check the dial on the camera. That’s it; the roll is finished.
When I get home, Tilly is sitting on the steps of the verandah with her head in her hands.
‘What’s up, chook?’ I say.
Tilly lifts her head. ‘Nothing,’ she says. It doesn’t look like she’s been crying but something is definitely wrong.
‘Don’t worry about Evie’s hair,’ I say. ‘It didn’t look that bad. Mum overreacted. Maybe one day I’ll let you give me a trim.’
‘It’s not about Evie’s hair.’
‘So what’s it about then?
Tilly sighs. ‘There’s this boy at school I like. His name is Israel.’
‘Oh,’ I say, pushing Tilly’s hair away from her face so I can see her better. She has dark brown hair like Dad and Jackson. ‘I don’t know if I’m the best person to give advice on boys.’
Actually, I’m the worst person to offer wisdom on this topic. The only experience I have is with Liam, and that was a horrible mistake that cost me my best friend. I didn’t even want to go to that damn party. The only reason I went was because Cassie begged me. She wanted to go because she knew Liam would be there.
‘How do you know when a boy likes you?’ asks Tilly with eyes wide.
‘Well, does he smile at you?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And does he find ways to be around you?’
‘He always wants to be my partner for group work.’
‘Then he probably likes you.’ Thinking about it, Liam didn’t do any of these things. Until that night, I didn’t think he knew who I was.
Tilly’s cheeks turn crimson. ‘What should I do about it? Should I let him kiss me?’
I laugh. ‘You’re only eleven. I think you should just enjoy being friends for now.’ My laughter disappears into the bush that surrounds our house.
Tilly wraps her arms around my shoulders. ‘Thanks, Piper.’
She stands up and goes inside, but I stay on the verandah. I don’t want to take the thought of Liam inside with me. I’ve tried so hard to forget all about that night. It’s not just talking to Tilly that has made me think of him. Every time I think of West, I’m reminded of Liam. And now I’ve gone and agreed to tutor West, despite knowing it’s a bad idea.
But West is not Liam, so maybe it’s not a mistake.
Monday afternoon is an I’m going, I’m not going, I’m going, I’m not going fiasco. I feel like my dad whenever he goes to buy something that costs more than $100. Only I have a lot more to lose.
West replied to my message on Saturday afternoon about tutoring. I’ll be there, is all he wrote. I expected a bit more, or at least a thank you.
I didn’t see him at school today so as four o’clock gets closer, I’m seriously questioning my sanity. Why did I even send that message to West? In the end what gets me up and out the front door is the thought of his parents berating him – that’s why I decided to help him.
I walk from the back of our house and into the national park towards Peace Rock. As I approach, I see West exactly where I told him to meet me. He is throwing stones into the pool. I climb the smaller rocks that lead up to Peace Rock.
I’m almost at the top when West’s hand reaches down to help me the rest of the way. I take it and his touch is carbonated, like tiny bubbles popping against my skin and sending energy through me. As soon as I’m standing on the rock, I let go of his hand.
‘Thanks for coming. I didn’t know if you were going to turn up,’ says West. He has changed out of his school uniform, into shorts and a light blue T-shirt.
I shrug and feel uncomfortable because I’m still wearing my uniform.
‘I really appreciate you helping me, Piper. Maybe I can help you with something in return. How about maths?’
I shake my head.
‘Physics?’
I don’t even take physics.
‘Juggling?’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘You’re supposed to say no to that because the most I can juggle is two balls and not very well.’
I laugh and sit down at the edge of the rock. The pool is aqua coloured today and it reminds me of somewhere far off. Just the sight of it calms me. West sits next to me, stretching his legs out and casually leaning back on his arms. I would give anything to be so relaxed all the time. I cross my legs and take a new exercise book out of my bag.
‘It’s really different here without the crowds. Sort of nicer,’ says West.
I nod my head in agreement while I write at the top of the page in the exercise book.
I know this is beginner German but we have to start with the basics.
West turns the book towards himself and reads out the phrase in German. ‘Guten Tag, that’s hello.’
I nod.
‘Ich heisse West Kennedy. My name is West Kennedy?’
He’s close. I write I am called above the first two words, but it’s pretty much the same thing. It’s his pronunciation that I’m most worried about. It sounds like he is saying itchy West Kennedy. But it’s not like I can correct him myself. I have, however, downloaded a translation app to my phone for this reason. Before I can open it, West starts reading the next sentence.
‘Wie heisst du? Can I have your number?’
I give him an unimpressed look. What is your name? I write above it.
‘That’s what I meant,’ says West.
I tap the page and he reads the whole thing in German. It sounds nothing like it should. I play the sentence aloud in German using the app.
West listens and has another go, but it’s no different to his first attempt. It’s like he’s not listening to the way the words are pronounced. Or maybe he’s just not hearing them. We repeat the exercise another three times before I realise we need to try something different. I put my phone away and stand up.
‘That’s it?’ says West. ‘You’re giving up on me already?’
Funny, I’m usually the one people give up on – teachers, classmates. I’m usually glad when they do, but there’s always a little part of me that wishes they wouldn’t give up so easily, that they would make it harder for me to push them away. I shake my head and motion for West to follow.
Leaving our things on the rock, we climb down. I weave a path through the trees and away from Peace Rock, with West following. A few minutes later, I stop and write in the exercise book again.
I pass it to West. When he looks up from it, I point to the trees and then touch my ear. Naturally, there’s a lot of bird sounds, but here there’s one that stands out more than the others. It’s the green catbird, a member of the bowerbird family. It sounds like a crying baby.
My eyes search the trees for the bird, but it’s too well hidden. I take back the exercise book and write the name of the bird. On the next line, I write out the bird’s call phonetically as I hear it. When I hand the book over to West, he examines it then stands very still and listens. I study the look of deep concentration and wonder on his face.
I turn so he can’t see my smile and begin to
walk away. A moment later, I hear his footsteps behind me. We walk in silence for a few minutes. It’s a comfortable silence, one of those rare times no one needs to speak.
Further along, I stop and touch my ear again, listening to a rufous songlark. West’s brow furrows and then the corner of his mouth flickers into a smile. ‘That metallic sound?’
I nod and scan the trees, hoping to see it, but the small fawn-coloured bird must be hiding. We stop twice more. First to listen to the sweet wee-cheedalee-dalee of the scarlet robin and then the loud whistled fear-fear-fear-fear of the brush cuckoo. Each time I write the name of the birds in the exercise book with their calls.
‘Is that a car alarm?’
I cock my head one way and then the other, listening.
‘There it is again,’ says West.
Then I hear it, but it’s not a car alarm, just a very good impression of one. I scan the bush, searching for the elusive ground-dwelling bird. A moment later, the noise stops, but I smile anyway. To answer West’s question, I write superb lyrebird in the book.
West smiles back and I feel that popping feeling again.
I lead him back to Peace Rock to collect our bags. It’s after five o’clock. West holds onto the exercise book. I wasn’t expecting him to take it but what can I say?
I play the translation from the beginning of the lesson. West clears his throat and this time his pronunciation is pretty good. I nod enthusiastically.
‘Really?’ he says.
I keep nodding.
West slings his bag over his shoulder. ‘I knew you were what I needed, Piper Rhodes.’
Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t know what to say. I’ve never been what anyone has needed before.
‘Do you want me to walk you home?’
I shake my head.
‘Okay, well, thanks heaps for today. See you at school tomorrow.’ As West walks away, he spreads his arms out wide. ‘Ich heisse West,’ he shouts over and over.
And I can’t help but laugh.
I wander down to the kitchen a little before my regular snack time on Wednesday night. Jackson is standing at the open fridge, drinking from a bottle of orange juice.
‘Mum’s looking for you,’ he says. ‘I heard her telling Dad about some centre or something.’
I grab a banana from the bowl on the breakfast bar. For a short time last year, Dr Hayes had me on Prozac to see if it would help with my social anxiety. When I was taking it, my appetite was all messed up. I wouldn’t be hungry at dinner but then I’d always snack around eight. Even now that I’m no longer on the medication, I still feel like having something to eat around that time. ‘Thanks for the warning,’ I say, peeling the banana. ‘Where did you see her last?’
‘Heading upstairs but I think she got distracted by Evie. She’s lost some doll’s foot or something.’
‘Doll’s foot?’
‘Or something.’
‘I think I’ll hide in the darkroom for a while.’
‘If Mum asks, I’ll say you’ve gone waterskiing.’
‘That should totally put her off my tracks. Thanks, bro.’
‘It’s all good. By the way, there should be a package coming in the post with your name on it. It’s just new parts for my PC I ordered online, but you know what Mum and Dad are like when I spend my money on computer parts. Tell them that it’s something for your camera.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Okay. I’ll keep an eye out for it. I won’t ask where you got a credit card from.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ I know I’m wasting precious minutes. Mum could find the doll’s foot at any moment and then she’ll be on the hunt for me. But I have to know, and it’s not often Jackson comes out of his room, aside from meals and Family Fun Night.
‘Sure.’
‘Do you see Cassie at school?’
‘Yeah, a bit.’
‘Does she . . .’ I can’t find the right words. ‘Does she seem the same?’
‘She’s cut her hair and she’s hanging around that idiot, Liam Baxter.’
‘What? Are they dating?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’ Jackson closes the fridge door. ‘What happened between you and Cassie?’
‘Nothing,’ I mutter. ‘I better go before Mum finds me.’
I almost make it to the darkroom, my hand is practically on the doorknob, when Mum stops me. ‘Piper, there you are,’ she says. ‘Can we talk to you for a minute in the lounge room?’
I sigh. Jackson was right. ‘Can I go upstairs and get a cardigan first? It’s a bit chilly.’
‘Sure.’
As I walk up the stairs, I wonder what plan my parents have come up with now. In the past, they’ve suggested everything from crystal bowl therapy to meditation for treating my SM, and each time it ends up in an argument. I know they’re just trying to make up for those years they didn’t acknowledge I had a real problem. They even blame themselves for the time wasted with my first two psychologists, but it’s not their fault.
Now they’re super-SM-fighting parents, helping their firstborn with one alternative therapy at a time. I think Jackson is sometimes glad they invest so much of their energy into me. It takes the attention away from him and the things he gets up to. He might spend eight hours on the computer each day, but that’s nothing compared to my issues. I wish my parents would leave the job to Dr Hayes.
I open my cupboard and pull out the first cardigan I see. As I close the drawer, a dark burgundy knit catches my eye. It was a birthday present from Cassie in Year Ten. I’d seen it at Sportsgirl and wanted it for ages but it was too expensive. I was so surprised when she got it for me.
I can’t believe that she’s dating Liam. I know what it looked like when she walked in that night. I was ridiculously drunk and when Liam kissed me it felt good. I thought he really liked me and it made me feel like a different person so I kissed him back. I was stupid. I should’ve been a better friend. I knew that Cassie had liked Liam since Year Seven and still I kissed him. I can understand why she hates me; I hate myself for it. But now a part of me questions what sort of person she is. She wasn’t the only one who got hurt that night. It turns out that Liam only kissed me because of some disgusting bet he made with his friends, a bet that sex would break my silence. I overheard Liam’s friends talking about it when I was waiting for Dad to pick me up. I ran out and threw up on the front lawn.
The next day, I tried to tell Cassie about the bet, not so she would forgive me but to protect her from him. She didn’t believe me then and clearly she still doesn’t believe me. I grab the knit and toss it on the floor. I’ll throw it in the garbage bin later. But as I’m walking out, the sight of it on the floor makes me stop. I pick it up, fold it and leave it on my desk, still intending to throw it out.
When I walk into the lounge room, my parents are waiting. ‘I was just telling your dad that a funny thing happened today,’ says Mum. ‘I was sweeping the salon when a kookaburra flew through the door. I tried everything to get it out. I tried catching it with the rubbish bin. I tried scaring it. I even tried luring it to the door by standing there laughing like a kookaburra, but it refused to go. It even did its business in the wash basin.’
Dad laughs until he turns red, which means he’s nervous about what they want to ‘talk’ about.
‘Anyway,’ continues Mum with a wave of her hand, ‘eventually I called someone from WIRES. I might’ve happened to say that I suspect it has a broken wing so that they would come to the house. The man they sent caught it in less than a minute and when he got it outside it flew away. So I was wrong about the broken wing.’ Mum laughs. ‘I was talking to the WIRES worker as he was leaving and he was telling me about his daughter who goes to a support group for teenagers with anxiety disorders.’
I cross my arms. Funny how that topic of conversation came up. There probably wasn’t even a kookaburra or a man from WIRES.
‘Well, your dad and I think it would be a good idea for you to
join a group like this.’
I knew this story was going somewhere. ‘No.’ My voice is calm but firm.
‘But you don’t know anything about it. You’d be with other teenagers –’
‘Support groups are for people with cancer or drug addictions,’ I say, interrupting.
‘Piper, that’s a horrible thing to say!’ says Dad.
‘It’s true! Can you picture a support group filled with people with SM? Talk about the world’s most awkward silence. How will we support each other? Sit there in silence and lay comforting hands on each other’s shoulders?’
‘It’s not just for people with SM,’ explains Mum. ‘There’s many types of anxiety disorders.’
‘I’m part of the Facebook group Dr Hayes put me onto. It’s only for people with SM, so isn’t that better?’
‘But it’s not face-to-face,’ says Mum. ‘Do you interact with any of them?’
‘I read their posts and sometimes write stuff.’
‘Then it’s not really a support group, is it? You could make friends at this group. It’s only once a month.’
‘I am making friends. There’s this girl on the bus, Tanvi, and her friends, Jessica, Celia and Wai. I sit with them at lunch and recess.’
‘Do you talk to them?’
‘I haven’t known them very long.’ I pick up a cushion and scream into it.
‘You could drive to the meeting to get experience for your driving test,’ says Dad. ‘It’s over in Parramatta. Think of all those extra driving hours for your logbook.’
Mum sighs. ‘We just want you to have friends, people your own age, you can talk to. What happened to Cassie? I saw her at the shops the other day. I thought you said she moved to Wollongong to live with her dad.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘I didn’t have a chance to catch her. But I want to know why you’re not talking to her. What happened between you two? Does it have something to do with the night your father picked you up from that party?’
I cringe at that memory and the awkward weeks afterwards when my parents couldn’t look at me the same way. The one time I’d got drunk and they happened to see me like that, not just throwing up on the lawn but for hours after into the toilet. Somehow they kept my brother and sisters from finding out.
The Things I Didn't Say Page 6