West isn’t at Peace Rock when I arrive. It’s still not quite four, so I sit down to wait. The water level of the pool is high after the rain we had on the weekend. It’s also turned the water a cappuccino colour, just after the froth has been scooped off. That would actually make a nice wall colour for Mum’s salon. I check the time on my phone again. It’s 4.06. I’m sure West is just running late.
I take out my German textbook and a brown paper bag falls out at the same time. The bag contains chamomile tea. All week I’ve been thinking about Emmanuel from the support group and his horrible situation, and often those thoughts had led to West and his own problem with insomnia. How awful would it be not to sleep well? Or not to sleep at all? I remember Finn mentioning at the support group that chamomile tea aids sleep, so before bed last night I grabbed a few teabags from the kitchen for West. I don’t know if it will help him, but it can’t hurt to try.
I stand up to stretch my legs then sit down again. It’s 4.19. Where is West? Maybe his car broke down. I don’t know how he gets here but I assume he parks on the road and walks down the bush trail. Maybe he got held back at school. Maybe his cat is sick. Does he even have a cat? His parents don’t seem like cat people. Maybe this is all part of the Royals’ plan to humiliate me. I look around, half-expecting to see them among the trees, snickering and putting bets on how long I’ll wait.
There is one thing I now know for sure.
He’s not coming.
I don’t know how I know it but I do. I grab my stuff and run home.
‘I’ll be in the darkroom,’ I shout as I walk through the front door. The darkroom is really just a converted walk-in wardrobe. Dad put it together for me. He built a bench, installed a tap and small sink, strung up some lines of string and fitted a red light. There’s also a lock on the inside so if I need to, I can stop my family from coming in at the wrong time. A roll of film is ruined if it’s exposed to light before it’s developed. The darkroom’s also good for when I want to be left alone.
I close the door and lock it before I can be asked any questions. In the glow of the red light that fills the room, I sink to the floor.
Giving West the benefit of the doubt, I check my phone again. No message. He really did just leave me there. I should be glad as I knew it was a bad idea to tutor him. Now that’s over I can go back to the plan, having nothing to do with West Kennedy and focusing on me. But I can’t help feeling crushed.
Blinking away tears, I stare at the row of black canisters of undeveloped film on a shelf. I can’t sit here and feel sorry for myself. I have to do something to keep my mind off West.
Each canister is labelled with the date the roll was taken. There are dozens of rolls. Most of them have been sitting around forever. There are no important photos on them, just a bunch of random shots I’ve taken in the national park.
I take the canister containing the last roll I finished, the one that has the photos of Tilly and Evie I need to print for Mum’s birthday next week. I turn off the red light and the room snaps into complete darkness. Using a pair of scissors, I break open the roll and pull out the film. I feel around on the shelf for my developing tub. I open the lid and take out the developing reel. When I first started using the darkroom, I found it so difficult to load the film onto the developing reel, but now I manage it with ease. When the film is loaded, I snip off the canister, place the reel in the tub and secure the lid. Since the tub is lightproof, I no longer need to fumble around in the darkness.
The first chemical to go in is the developer. In a separate plastic jug, I measure out what I need and add water, checking it’s at the right temperature with my thermometer. It’s so important everything is measured precisely and to exact specifications. You can’t just throw in a bit of this and a bit of that like West does when he is cooking.
I push the thought of West from my head and pour the developing liquid into the tub. Quickly, I set the timer. The tub needs to be agitated at various intervals and although I’m watching the timer closely, my mind drifts to West. If he didn’t want me to tutor him any more, why didn’t he just say so? Because he’s a Royal; they just take what they want and throw it away when they’re done with it.
The timer goes off. For a moment, I don’t move. I’m paralysed by a flood of pain and anger. If I don’t remove the developer now, the film will be ruined. I’m not going to let West have that power. I force myself to open the tub and pour out the developer into a large milk bottle so I can dispose of it properly later. Then I fill the tub with running water to stop the developing process.
I measure out the fixer and pour that into the tub. After three minutes, I pour it back into its container, checking the colour. At the moment, it’s yellow, meaning there’s still some use left in it. When it turns purple, it needs to be thrown out. If only people were so easy to read.
I clean the film off under running water then remove the reel from the tub. As I pull the film off the reel, I inspect the negatives against the red light. The photos of Evie and Tilly are beautiful. Their smiles are so powerful that I find myself smiling.
I peg the negatives on the string suspended above the bench and weigh it down with a peg on the other end of the strip so that it doesn’t curl as it dries.
As I’m packing up, I notice the bottle of fixer on the bench is no longer yellow; it’s turned a light purple colour.
I guess it’s time to throw it out and start anew.
The world can be divided into two types of people: those who like swimming carnivals and those who don’t. Tanvi, Jessica, Celia and Wai are the second type. Not only do they loathe competitive sports, they’ve even come prepared with what Jessica calls the Swimming Carnival Survival Kit, which consists of several packets of snakes, a year’s supply of Cosmo magazines and enough bottles of OPI that we’ll still be painting our nails with ‘My Chihuahua Bites!’ when we’re eighty. I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend the day.
At Springwood High, Cassie competed in every event in both the swimming and sports carnivals, which meant I went in them too. I don’t like racing. And I don’t need to race, when the mere thought of speaking in public causes my heart to beat faster and makes me breathless.
Lying on my stomach next to Tanvi, we flick through the same magazine while the conversation in the group jumps around like my dad switches radio stations. I’ve got my trusty notepad and occasionally I’ll write something down to add to the conversation. Somehow the topic turns from one-piece swimsuits to West.
‘Look at him. He’s so hot,’ says Celia, gazing at West as he gets out of the pool. He does that hand-slap thing with a few guys. I didn’t see the swim but it must’ve been good.
‘He can go North, South and East on me,’ says Jessica.
The rest of the group burst out laughing.
‘He keeps looking over here,’ says Wai.
Tanvi gives me a wink. ‘He’s looking at Piper.’
My cheeks instantly burn. I shake my head.
‘What’s going on between you and West, anyway?’ says Jessica. ‘I heard Indiana and Taylor talking about you in the toilets yesterday.’
I grab my notepad.
‘Something about how it’s all an act, you not talking. They think you’re trying to be mysterious and intriguing to get West’s attention.’
So many thoughts rush into my head at once. Those ignorant bitches. It’s not the first time someone has said my silence is an act, but it’s the most cutting. Who would be so desperate to get someone’s attention?
‘He’s coming over here,’ whispers Wai.
Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here. My prayers are too late.
‘Hey,’ says West. He has dried off and has his school shirt back on but his hair is still wet. He looks around the group before his eyes settle on me. ‘Piper, can I talk to you for a minute?’
I shake my head and reach for another magazine.
‘Please,’ he says. ‘Just one minute.’
I giv
e Tanvi a pleading look, hoping she’ll get the message and get rid of West for me. Instead, she gives me a nudge.
‘Okay,’ says West, sitting down between Jessica and me. ‘I’ll talk to you here.’
Jessica looks like she’s about to explode with happiness and sexual fantasies.
I sigh. He’s giving me no choice. I don’t want my friends knowing that I’ve been tutoring him.
I stand up and West follows me. ‘Bye, girls,’ he says as we walk away from the group. I’m not sure where I’m heading, just away from my friends and anyone else who might overhear us – him.
‘Look. I’m really sorry about yesterday,’ says West. ‘I got kept back at school for soccer training. It’s normally on Thursday but Coach rescheduled it for some reason. I didn’t get the message until I was just about to leave school. Coach took my phone before I could send you a text and he didn’t give it back until after training. By then it was late and I wanted to apologise in person. I’m really sorry, Piper.’
West looks at me until I catch his gaze and nod. It wasn’t his fault. I get it. Now can I go back to my friends?
‘Can we give tutoring another go? I already feel like I’m getting better. I really need your help.’
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes as I release it. Why is he making things so difficult? I can’t seem to make a decision and stick with it when it comes to West. Yesterday it was over, and now he wants me to change my mind again. If Indiana and Taylor are saying those things about me, what will they say next? They could be watching us right now.
West takes a step closer to me. I can smell the chlorine on his skin. ‘Can I show you something?’
I shrug, confused about how I feel at the moment.
‘It’s over there among the trees,’ says West. I follow him away from the pool to an area that’s more like a picnic ground in a national park than a public swimming pool. There’s a few old wooden tables surrounded by gum trees. Students aren’t allowed to sit here because it’s too far away from the pool for teachers to supervise. Dry sticks crack under our feet as we make our way between the trees. The starting gun goes off and cheering erupts. My heart rate starts to quicken. What if a teacher sees and we get in trouble?
‘It should be around here,’ says West, looking up. ‘I was getting some practice in on the weekend and I heard this strange bird call so I followed it and then I . . . I’m sure it was here.’ He turns on the spot.
I tilt my head to the side, listening.
‘Wait, there it is!’ says West, pointing up at a branch. ‘Do you see the nest?’
It takes my eyes a moment to find it. I gasp softly. I can’t actually see the young birds from where we’re standing but when I block out the sounds of the carnival and listen closely I can hear their squawks. I look around for the parents and see a tawny frogmouth sitting further along the branch. It seems like part of the tree with its squat body and mottled, silver-grey feathers.
West grins at me. ‘I thought you’d like it.’
I look at West, really look at him in a way I’ve been afraid to. His eyes are not just brown. There’s also a hint of green around the pupils and flecks of yellow. And you can see the sadness in them.
I decide to give him another chance. A small part of me likes being around West, but this time we have to be extra secretive about it. No cronuts. No catching up in the hallways.
‘So Monday afternoon, same place, same time?’
I bite my lip pretending to think, then nod.
The thing I love most about the German language is how it contains some words you just don’t find in English. Take the word verschlimmbessern. It means when you make something worse by the very act of trying to improve it. That’s me applying eyeliner or trying to toast a crumpet or how things ended with Cassie. The day after it happened, I called, sent her texts, sat out the front of her house but it all just made her angrier.
The more I think about it, the more I realise how often I make things worse by trying to improve them. I’m not sure this is exactly what Finn meant when he told us to write down one word that describes ourselves. I tap my pen against the pad of Post-it notes resting on my leg. Finn seems to have an endless supply of Post-it notes. He chose the word ‘caring’ to describe himself. I think it’s pretty accurate. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about helping us unfortunate souls. But if I could only choose one word to describe him, it wouldn’t be caring, it would be persistent. He called my mum last night to say how much he hoped I would be attending the meeting this month. Persistent.
We’re sitting in the circle of chairs again. Somehow I’ve ended up next to the same girl I sat beside at the last meeting. I think her name is Maddison. She said ‘hi’ to me when I sat down. Finn looks around the group to see if everyone has finished writing. ‘One more minute,’ he says.
I sneak a look at the word Maddison has written, but her writing is too small to read. I think of another German word I know. Finn said to write a word. He didn’t say it had to be an English word. I could write: Waldeinsamkeit. It means alone in the woods, or more accurately, feeling as if you’re alone in the woods. Whoever invented this word didn’t really know the true feeling of loneliness. Feeling alone in the woods is not so terrible, it’s the feeling of being alone in a crowded room that’s far worse. I’m sure there’s a word for that in German too.
In the last few seconds, I quickly write the only word I can think of: silent. As soon as I’ve written it, I wish I’d picked a different word, something fluffy that would pass without discussion. I know what Finn will say to me. He’ll say that I’m not defined by my disorder, that there’s more to me than silence, blah, blah, blah. I’m not in the mood for it today.
My driving lesson on the way here was an epic fail. I managed to stall the car twice and I didn’t give way at a roundabout, which the other driver let me know about by swearing and honking at me. So all I really feel like doing right now is going home to watch Netflix in my bedroom.
‘Okay, everyone,’ says Finn. ‘What I want you to do is ask five people over the next few weeks to give you a word they think describes you, then we’re going to use all those words for an exercise at our next meeting. But right now we’re going to have a competition.’ Finn points to the table in the middle of the circle where nine identical glasses of water sit. Are we going to use them as musical instruments? Or see who can drink the quickest?
Finn picks up one glass. ‘How much do you think this weighs?’
Everyone, except me, starts shouting out guesses.
Emmanuel reaches over and grabs a glass, weighing it on the palm of his hand. ‘321 grams, bro.’
‘Are you kidding?’ says Heath. ‘It’s more like a hundred.’
Finn holds up a hand. ‘It’s pretty light, I think we all agree on that.’ Everyone nods or voices their agreement. ‘Okay, I want you to pick up a glass and hold it out like this.’ He demonstrates with his arm extended straight out.
‘The competition is simple. Hold the glass as long as you can. The last person still holding their glass wins.’
‘We’ll be here all night,’ says someone.
‘Maybe,’ Finn says with a shrug. I have the feeling he’s trying to make a point with this exercise, but I’m not sure what it is yet. I grab a glass and join the others. Finn gets us to stand in a line, like on Survivor when they have to balance for as long as they can on a post. My dad loves watching Survivor. I always thought I would be good at these sorts of challenges, the ones where they outlast each other.
For the first ten minutes, there’s a lot of laughing and joking going on. Emmanuel is busting out some dance moves while the girl with all the ear-piercings makes beatbox sounds. She’s quite good, and Emmanuel, well, you can tell he’s not even trying to be good. But after ten minutes the mood changes. There’s not so much talking and there’s a strained look on everyone’s faces. Some are using their other arm to support their extended arm. I’m feeling the pain too but for some reason
I’m determined to win.
‘I’m out,’ says the beatbox girl. She walks over to the wall and slides down to the floor to watch.
‘Heath’s cheating!’ cries someone. ‘He’s drinking the water.’
‘You’re out,’ says Finn.
Heath spits the water back into the glass.
‘You’re still out,’ says Finn.
‘This sucks!’ says Heath. He joins beatbox girl on the wall. ‘Keep that arm up, Hannah,’ he calls out.
‘But it weighs a tonne,’ she moans.
I try to stay focused but with all that’s going on around me it’s not easy, especially with my arm feeling like it’s about to fall off.
After thirty minutes, the others start to drop like flies. There’s no lack of cheating being attempted, but Heath keeps a close eye on everyone, and when Hannah tries to swap the glass to her other hand, he is the first to call her up on it. I give her a sympathetic look as she walks off.
Emmanuel and I are the last two standing. ‘Have you seen The Hunger Games?’ he asks me.
I nod.
‘You and I, we’re like Peeta and Katniss. We could both drop out at the same time, go down together. What do you say, beautiful?’
I grin and shake my head. I can last at least another ten minutes, but I can tell Emanuel is at breaking point. A minute later he lets out an almighty groan and drops his arm. Finn jogs over. ‘Piper is the winner!’ he shouts, lifting my arm in the air. ‘All hail, Piper!’
Everyone claps and cheers. Emanuel pats me on the back. I laugh and take a bow.
We sit back down in the circle. Finn leans back in the plastic chair, his hands clasped together. ‘So how much does the glass weigh?’
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