‘A fuck-load if you have to hold it forever,’ says Emmanuel.
‘What would’ve happened if Piper kept holding it all night?’
‘She wouldn’t be able to feel her arm.’
Finn grins. ‘Exactly. Our stresses and worries are like this glass of water. If we think about them for only a short time, we’re fine. If we think about them for longer, we begin to hurt. If we think about them all the time, we will feel paralysed.
‘Remember to put the glass down.’
Monday is hot; the sort of hot where the bus driver only holds the steering wheel with one finger and the vinyl bus seat sticks to your legs like lava. The last two days are what people are calling an Easter heat wave, even though it’s still a few weeks until Easter. When I get home from school, Tilly and Evie are lying on the lounge room floor in front of the air conditioner, like two starfish. Evie lifts her head when I step into the room. ‘I’m melting,’ she moans.
‘That’s ’cause you’re doing it wrong. You need ice,’ I say, then go to the kitchen and fill two sandwich bags with ice cubes and tap water. ‘Here you go,’ I say, tossing them to Tilly and Evie.
‘What do we do with this?’ asks Tilly, staring at it.
‘Put it on your head, silly.’
I walk out of the room and hear sighs of relief from behind me. I run up the stairs and change into denim shorts and a lacy T-shirt. As I’m walking out, I grab an old sunhat from Evie’s room. It’s mine but Evie is forever borrowing it even though it’s way too big for her. She reckons it makes her feel like a cowgirl.
I sneak out the back door because Mum wouldn’t let me go out for a walk in this heat, so it’s better that I don’t ask at all. I’ll face my punishment when I get back.
West is already at Peace Rock when I arrive. He’s sitting still and quiet. I climb up the rock and sit down next to him. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You hear that?’
I listen.
‘It’s a catbird.’
He’s right. I nod approvingly.
‘Don’t ask me any of the others, though. It’s the catbird or nothing.’
I laugh.
‘I love your laugh. It’s like all the birds singing at once.’
I laugh again, but this time a high-pitched, crackling laugh.
West covers his ears in mock pain. ‘I take that back,’ he says.
For a moment, I’m caught up in pure amazement. With everyone else, I feel the need to talk. Without words, they don’t understand me, or they don’t try to understand me. But with West it’s different. I don’t feel the need to speak. It’s like all the words are already there even if I don’t say them out loud.
‘How did you go with that German homework?’ he asks.
I take it out of my bag. West looks at it and shakes his head. ‘You make it look so easy.’ He hands me his homework sheet. ‘That’s as far as I got.’
There’s nothing written on it yet, which is surprising because we’ve been doing this tutoring for a few weeks now and he’s been making heaps of progress. It’s not one of the easiest pieces of homework we’ve been given, though.
One at a time, I point to the single words we’re meant to match with the question form of the sentence, and West reads them out. Then we work on what the German sentences are in English. West starts by identifying words he knows, like dog and sister and bus. The words he doesn’t know I sketch. It’s almost like a game of Pictionary. It’s a lot of fun and laughs but it’s slow.
I draw a giraffe and a clock tower.
‘A late giraffe?’
I laugh and write the word tall on the page.
‘So it must be “how tall are you?”’ He writes the answer: 190 cm. I hope Frau Fortunat finds the humour in his answers.
‘I think I know the next one.’ West picks up the paper and holds it close to him. ‘Do you want to swim?’ he reads.
I grab the paper off him. That’s not what it says. It’s asking what time the circus starts, not anything about swimming.
‘I think a swim would be good.’ West stands up and takes his shirt off, leaving just his board shorts. ‘We need to cool off,’ he says.
I shake my head and try to focus on the book in my hand. There’s no denying that he’s ridiculously hot but it’s a bit easier to forget it when I’m not looking directly at him. I write in the exercise book and hold it up for him to read.
‘You’ll dry within minutes. And I won’t complain if you want to take your clothes off.’ He winks.
I throw my pen at him. It’s not being wet that I’m worried about, it’s getting into the water. I’ve tried to make myself jump off this rock so many times, but can never step over the edge. I could climb down the rock and enter the water from the bank, but I doubt that is what West has in mind. He’s already peering over the edge.
I write a message across the page in big letters:
‘Really?’
I nod.
West lowers himself back down next to me. ‘Okay, I get it. Up until I was five, I was terrified of the dark,’ he says. ‘I needed to have the light on. So, one night I was sleeping at my gran’s house. Back then she had a little white Maltese terrier called Fluffy. She told me that Fluffy was afraid of the dark and asked me if I could help him be brave. So I decided I would at least try. Fluffy curled up on the bed next to me, Gran turned off the light and we both fell asleep just like that. All it took to overcome my fear of the dark was Fluffy . . . So let me be your Fluffy.’
I laugh at how ridiculous West sounds.
‘We can jump together,’ he suggests.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up and pull off the lace top I’m wearing, leaving just my white singlet. I fold the top neatly and put it in my bag with my hat. It’s my favourite top and I’d cry for days if it got ruined, but part of me is also stalling.
I stand back from the edge of the rock. If I don’t jump now, I never will. If I can jump, maybe there’ll be hope that I will speak. West’s fingers entwine with mine and I step forwards so that I’m standing next to him on the edge. The water in the pool glistens gold and green, but as inviting as it is, my legs feel immovable.
West squeezes my hand. ‘Are you ready?’
I look ahead and nod hesitantly.
‘Okay. One, two, three.’
With my hand firmly clasping West’s hand, I leap from the rock.
My first thought is that I’m never going to hit the surface of the water. It’s only five metres but it feels like I’ll keep falling forever. Milliseconds are like minutes. Maybe that’s why people jump from the rock, to know what infinity feels like. And then, amid this thought, I hit the water and the impact pushes me down deep beneath the surface. The water surrounds me as I fight my way through it. When I break the surface, I take a deep breath in and expel it with a laugh – a laugh of a survivor.
I did it. I jumped.
It was completely terrifying and I wouldn’t call it fun but there’s something almost nice going on inside me right now.
West is floating in the water a few metres from me. ‘Ready to jump again?’
I splash water at him.
‘Hey,’ he cries, splashing me back.
A moment later, water is going in all directions. I close my eyes, turning my head to the side while my hands madly hit the water. Then at once, we both stop and look at each other, smiling. We float in the water, everything so still and silent, apart from the birds. I focus on one particular bird’s call, a beautiful melody of high and low notes, strung together with whistles. I’m not sure what bird it is.
West whistles, attempting to mimic it. He’s quite good. If I close my eyes, I could almost be fooled.
‘Can you whistle?’ asks West.
I can’t but I give it a go anyway. All I end up doing is blowing air through my lips, making a hissing sound.
West chuckles. ‘Try curling your tongue.’
I look down at my tongue as I try curling it and then realise how silly I must look. I burst out laughing.
It’s the type that builds and builds until you can’t stop laughing and you can’t remember what made you laugh in the first place.
West shakes his head at me with an amused smile. ‘Can I call you Pi?’
I tilt my head and furrow my brow. Is that meant to be a shorted version of Piper? It’s not really a name you can shorten. Dad tried calling me Pipe a few years back and I hated it.
‘You know in maths – p-i, pi,’ says West. ‘The ratio 3.14 something, used to work out the circumference of circles. The exact number is unknowable and goes on to infinity. The ratio comes up in the shape of rivers, the pyramids. It’s pretty awesome when you think about it.’ West smiles at me, making his dimples stand out. ‘Piper Rhodes, I think I’m going to call you Pi.’
Even if I could reply, I wouldn’t know what to say.
A hot pink Post-it note on my locker catches my eye as I walk down the hallway. At first I’m not entirely certain that it’s my locker, but as I get closer I see that it’s definitely mine. I don’t know what’s written on it but the sight of it fills me with dread. Post-it notes on lockers are rarely there just to wish you a nice day. I quicken my pace. The words come into focus.
I freeze. No, this can’t be happening. Someone pushes past me. ‘Move out of the way,’ they mutter. I stumble to my locker, pull the Post-it off and scrunch it into a ball. My eyes dart around, my breathing increases. Some people give me a funny look as they walk past. How many people read the note? How long has this been on my locker? It can’t have been too long or a teacher would’ve taken it down. But then, most teachers are in too much of a hurry to stop and worry about things like this.
I watch each person who moves down the hallway, waiting for someone to call out ‘freak’.
Holding the Post-it close to me, I unfold it just to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. All the words are there like burns on the paper. I feel like throwing up. I hurry to the bathroom, run into a stall and hold my head over the bowl but nothing comes up. Breathing heavily, I close the toilet lid and sit down.
I can’t go to class, especially not when that class is German. West cannot see me like this. He’ll know something is wrong straightaway. I could go to the office and pretend to be sick – it wouldn’t really be pretending – but they’ll insist on calling one of my parents to come and get me. I can’t hide out in the library either. Mrs Diaz did a big speech at yesterday’s year meeting about how teachers will be roaming the library and playground during each period, checking timetables, to make sure no one is skipping classes.
It’s not that easy to walk out either. The gates around the school are locked during school hours. But there has to be some way out. I could ask Tanvi but she doesn’t seem like the truanting type. Then again, maybe it’s something everyone knows. I hurry to her locker. I see her dark hair at the end of the hallway. She closes her locker and begins to walk away. I run to catch up and grab her arm, because it’s not like I can call, ‘Hey, wait up’.
‘Are you okay, Piper?’ she asks. If she has to ask, then it means she hasn’t seen the note or heard about it. I flip to the back of my English book and scribble a message. Tanvi bites her lip. ‘There’s a gate on the back oval, near the basketball court,’ she whispers. ‘It’s open in the morning for the students who walk over from the station. Sometimes the grounds keeper forgets to lock it. It might be open, I’m not sure.’
I hug Tanvi. I think she’s surprised by the gesture but after a moment she squeezes me back. ‘Just don’t get caught,’ she says.
I can see how it would be easy to get caught. To get to the oval, I’m basically going in the opposite direction of everybody else. I get more than one strange look from a passing teacher, but most teachers know me by now as the girl who doesn’t speak so they don’t bother to ask where I’m going.
The back oval is deserted when I reach it. Just as Tanvi said there’s a gate along the fence and it’s slightly ajar. I push it open and step into an alley that runs between two houses.
The fresh air and quiet does not make me feel any better. Who could’ve written that note? And why would they do that? What do they want me to say? And why does it have anything to do with them? The only person I can think of is Indiana and that’s because West is spending time with me. Maybe West has even told her about the tutoring. Or is it a completely random person?
Bullying was supposed to be behind me, just painful memories from early high school. I thought people grew up. Over the years, I’ve become good at dealing with horrible things people say. I can laugh it off, walk away, roll my eyes. But it’s different when it’s not said to your face, when it’s an anonymous threat on a piece of paper.
I reach the train station and buy a ticket to Penrith. The only other person waiting on the platform is a woman with a crying baby. I’ve always found the sound of babies crying soothing. It reminds me of when Evie was born. Evie cried a lot. Mum says I was a quiet baby, not surprisingly.
The train pulls up and I get in the last carriage. Penrith Station is a good hour from Wentworth Falls so I settle into the seat and rest my head against the cold, and probably germ-covered, glass. I watch trees and houses flash past the window. What if I don’t get off the train? What if I stay here until the end of the line? I’d only get as far as Central Station, that’s what. It’s not like in the movies where someone falls asleep and then ends up in another state where a whole new life is waiting.
The Post-it note is all I think about the entire trip. I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t realise the train has pulled up at Penrith Station until people start getting on board, the mountains train being a popular choice for people wanting a quick trip to Sydney. I jump up and run for the door.
Westfield Penrith is across from the station. I haven’t been here for a while. Cassie and I used to come here after school on Thursdays, like a lot of students from Springwood High and every other school in Penrith and the lower Blue Mountains. I’m not really sure why I’m here now, other than to pass time. I can’t go home because Mum will be there and I’m not ready to talk. I suppose I could’ve gone to Peace Rock, but it didn’t really occur to me in my panic. Now that I’ve been spending time there with West, it’s taken on a different meaning.
I pass through the food court and even though it’s getting close to lunchtime, I don’t feel like eating. For a while, I wander through the shopping centre. But none of the shops really interest me so I end up at the library.
Being the middle of the day, it’s mostly mothers and young kids here. I browse every aisle. The only section I skip is the self-help section. An hour later with a pile of books, I find an armchair in a secluded corner. I’m flicking through a book about a wildlife photographer when my phone chimes with a Facebook notification. A girl has commented on my post from back at the beginning of the term.
I add a comment.
Another message comes through from the same girl straightaway.
I write back.
I wish I could express how much better this one girl’s concern has made me feel after everything today.
For the next hour, I read through other posts on the Facebook page and comment where I have something helpful or supportive to say. For the first time I realise how brave people are to share their troubles with others. I need to be braver.
Feeling around my pocket, I find the Post-it note. The sight of the words makes my heart beat faster but instead of scrunching it back up, I smooth it out. Using the camera on my phone, I take a photo of it. Then I start a new post. I upload the photo and write:
Noticing the time, I grab my bag, borrow the book about the photographer and make my way to the station. I hear my phone chime again and again with notifications, but I don’t read them right now.
The quickest way back to the station is through Westfield. The centre is already starting to fill with students as I head towards the station. I see some people from Springwood High, but no one I know personally.
Until I see Cassie.
Ther
e are a few things different about her. Like Jackson said, she’s cut her hair short, pixie short. It looks amazing on her, sweet and edgy at the same time. I’ve always been jealous of Cassie’s ability to take risks with her appearance. The biggest risk I’ve taken was getting a fringe and then I spent the next six months growing it out. There’s something else different about Cassie but I can’t quite work it out.
She’s looking down at her phone and hasn’t noticed me yet. I freeze. Do I keep walking or do I turn around and go the other way? Before I can make a decision, Cassie looks up and sees me. She stares for almost a minute, her face unreadable. Then she starts walking towards me. I hold my breath, willing my voice to work when she stops.
But she doesn’t stop. She passes by without a fault in her step and she gives me a look that I never thought I’d see on her face. She looks at me like I’m a freak.
I close my eyes and imagine taking my feelings and putting them in a box for later. Anything to hold myself together now. But the box is just too full today.
It’s funny how sometimes nothing in particular wakes you. You’re asleep, then you’re awake, that’s all. Just like things can be going so well and then turn so bad in a blink. Everything comes rushing back to me: the Post-it note, skipping school, seeing Cassie. I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to forget it all but it’s impossible. I can’t even fall back asleep.
I sit up and realise that I’m still wearing my uniform. I don’t even remember going to sleep, only coming home and going straight to my room. My phone says that it’s just before midnight. How long was I asleep for? I wonder if Mum came looking for me at dinnertime.
In the dark, I open Facebook, praying there is nothing on there about the Post-it note from someone at school. There doesn’t seem to be, which is a relief, but that relief doesn’t last long when I see an unread message from West.
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