The last act of the show is my favourite. It’s when these two clowns come out with a blow-up ball that is over two metres in diameter and throw it into the audience, along with a dozen smaller blow-up balls. Everyone reaches their arms into the air as the balls come past, hitting them in every direction. The larger one is surprisingly heavy and it takes both West and me to get it going again. I haven’t had so much fun in a long time.
After several rounds of applause, the lights come back on and everyone starts to leave. ‘Can you believe that guy who juggled those chainsaws?’ asks West as we’re walking out.
I shake my head in amazement.
‘West?’
We turn around and there are West’s parents standing just outside the tent.
‘Hey,’ he says, taking my hand and leading me over to them. ‘What are you two doing here? This doesn’t seem like your sort of thing.’
That much is clear from how they’re dressed. They look like they’re going to the theatre rather than a circus.
‘A client gave us tickets,’ answers his mum. ‘You’d think a bottle of wine would do but no, we get tickets to the circus. It’s an important client so we thought we’d better make an appearance. Was it just me or did that tent smell really mouldy?’ She wrinkles her nose.
‘I didn’t notice it,’ says West.
‘Who’s your friend?’ asks his dad, looking at me.
West squeezes my hand. ‘This is my girlfriend, Piper.’
His dad nods slowly. ‘Where are you from, Piper?’
I look down at the ground, waiting for West to answer for me.
‘Piper has Selective Mutism, so she won’t answer your questions.’ That’s not the answer I was expecting. From the looks on his parents’ faces neither were they.
‘We saw Indiana the other day,’ says his mum. ‘She’s such a lovely girl. She said she’s applying for early acceptance into the Global Leadership Entry Program at Macquarie University. It’s a double degree with law.’
‘That’s great for her.’
‘I can’t believe how tall she’s got. Do you remember when you were just toddlers and you used to have baths together? I think we still have a photo somewhere.’
I stare at West’s mum. Doesn’t she realise that I’m not deaf? Speech and hearing are two entirely different things.
‘We’ve got to go now,’ says West, tightening his grip on my hand. ‘I need to take Piper, my girlfriend, home.’ He doesn’t even wait for his parents to say goodbye.
By some impossibility, I’m quieter than normal on the drive home. West notices it too. When he stops the car in front of my house, he turns to me with a concerned expression. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
I shake my head.
‘Is it my parents? They’re like that with everyone. It’s not you.’
I pull my notebook out of my bag and write:
West reads my message. ‘I know that. That’s the point,’ he says.
So I was right. But still I want him to tell me I’m wrong.
West doesn’t look at what I’ve written. He pushes my notebook away. ‘No more messages. Just talk to me, Piper!’
I look at West and shake my head, not as in I can’t but as in I can’t believe you. I get out of the car and slam the door.
‘There’s something you need to see,’ says Tanvi as I walk out of maths. She had study periods all morning, so I’m not sure what she is doing up here. ‘Come on,’ she says, grabbing my arm. She drags me down the stairs and through the building. I don’t know where we are going until my locker comes into view. It’s the first thing I see when we turn into the hallway because it’s covered in different-coloured Post-it notes. My mind immediately jumps to the other time there was a Post-it note on my locker and the thought fills me with dread.
‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw it,’ says Tanvi. ‘It made me wish it was my locker.’ Her expression alone makes me feel better. We stop in front of my locker and I recognise West’s handwriting. I peel off a note and read what’s written on it.
I peel off another and another.
When all the Post-it notes are in my hand, I turn to Tanvi.
She’s grinning. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Go and find him.’
I hurry to West’s locker, hoping he’s there. He’s not, but I can wait. He’ll have to collect his books for third period at the end of recess.
I try to remember back to Saturday night and whether I took the notebook with me when I stormed out of the car. I don’t think I did, which means West must have found it and read my last message basically accusing him of only dating me to annoy his parents. That explains what the Post-it notes are about. I feel so stupid. Maybe I could return the gesture. I open my pencil case to see if I have any Post-it notes in there.
‘I’m sorry.’
West is standing in front of me. ‘I’m really sorry, Pi,’ he says. ‘There are so many reasons I want to be with you and none of them has anything to do with my parents.’
I take the Post-it notes out of my pocket and smile. I know. I wish I could say that I’m sorry too. I ruined our date. West would never date anyone just to make his parents angry. I should’ve known that. I shouldn’t have overreacted.
He takes a step towards me, almost as if he’s going to put his arms around my waist but he doesn’t. ‘So are we good?’
I nod.
‘Tutoring this afternoon at your place?’
I nod.
As of a few weeks ago, tutoring has now permanently relocated to my house, since Tilly has pretty much taken over as West’s tutor. His German is improving really quickly and with trial HSC exams coming up, we seem to be spending more and more time studying.
‘Great. I’ll meet you in the car park after school.’ He kisses me right there in the hallway.
I look around to see if anyone has seen, but the hallway is mostly empty. Maybe it’s time I stop worrying about what other people think anyway. I’m sure they’re going to wonder why West is with me when he could be with Indiana, but let them wonder. Let them say whatever they want.
When I arrive at the car park that afternoon, West is leaning against his car, doing something on his phone. I sneak up to him and plant a big kiss on his cheek.
‘Nice to see you too,’ he says, laughing. ‘Can we quickly stop at my house? I’ve got to grab my laptop. I was working on my German assignment last night and left it at home.’ He sees the expression on my face because he adds, ‘Don’t worry, my parents won’t be there.’
I nod, relieved. I’ve never seen West’s house before and I’m not even sure what suburb he lives in. He never mentions home. As he drives out of the school, he tells me about all the ways he was thinking of killing himself during his commerce lesson to end the boredom. I particularly like idea number 5, listening to One Direction. It’s times like this I miss speaking the most, these random, meaningless conversations that could go anywhere.
West turns onto the Great Western Highway and heads down the mountain. A few minutes later, he takes the exit for Leura. I should’ve guessed. Leura is the most exclusive area to live in the Blue Mountains. His house is one of those beautiful old double-storey homes that look sparkling new at the same time. It has an electric gate and a long driveway.
‘Come in for a minute,’ says West, turning off the engine.
I get out of the car and follow him up the path to the front door. Their verandah is very similar to the one at my house but there are no shoes outside the front door. The welcome mat doesn’t say welcome or any other cute phrase; it’s brown with black diamonds. Inside the house, everything is white or pale timber.
‘I think I left my laptop in the kitchen,’ says West.
The kitchen is spotless, unlike the kitchen at my house that has everything from colouring books to phone chargers on the bench. I notice twenty dollars stuck to the fridge. There’s a note next to it.
I can see why West always agrees to stay for dinner at our house. How often does he ha
ve to make his own dinner? How often is he here alone in this big empty house?
‘It must be in my room,’ says West. ‘You can wait here if you want.’ I stay in the kitchen for about a minute but it’s too quiet and cold. I head upstairs and find West’s room. I’m curious to see what it looks like, if he has soccer posters on the walls or clothes all over the floor.
He has neither of those things. His bedroom floor is clean and the only things on the walls are a clock and a calendar with sports cars on it. I step inside the room and wander over to the bookshelf. The first thing I notice is the entire Harry Potter series. I run my fingers along the spines and give West an amused smile.
‘Hey, Harry Potter is cool,’ says West, putting his laptop into a case. ‘I read them all when I was in Year Seven.’
There’s also the Lord of the Rings series. I didn’t pick West as a reader. I want to ask him which is his favourite book, but it doesn’t seem the right time to find paper and a pen. Instead, I continue looking through the things on the bookshelf. My hand stops on a photo from Movie World when West was around five. He’s standing between a giant Tweety Bird and Sylvester. His cheeks are so chubby he looks like a chipmunk. I hold it up and laugh.
‘Look, if you’re going to tease me about my childhood treasures, you can go back to the kitchen,’ says West. He makes a grab for the photo frame but I pull my hand away. He catches me around the waist and I squirm to get loose. In the process, my grip on the photo frame loosens. It hits the floorboards, making a cracking sound.
I gasp and look down. The glass is still in one piece but it’s covered in cracks. I pick it up, not believing what I’ve done.
‘It’s okay,’ says West, taking it from me and laying it on his desk. ‘I can get a new frame.’
I look away, wishing I could say sorry more than anything.
‘Hey, it’s okay. Seriously.’ He kisses my cheek and then my lips. My body relaxes and softens like candle wax. We move over to the bed, kissing hurriedly. His weight bearing down on me sends shivers through my body. My leg curls around his and my lower body arches upwards. Somehow my body knows things I don’t. West moans softly. That sound sets off something in me. Our hands work beneath each other’s clothes and I know where this is going. Hours earlier, I would’ve never imagined this happening right here and now.
All of a sudden West pulls himself away and sits upright on the bed. I lift myself up onto my elbows and cock my head to the side. Did I do something wrong?
‘We probably shouldn’t do this,’ he says, turning to look at me. ‘I don’t have protection and my parents could come home any moment. They sometimes come home to grab files they left here.’
I sigh and put my head on his shoulder. I know he’s right, he is absolutely right, but I feel like I’ve just had something taken away from me that I didn’t even know I wanted. How would I have felt if we had gone through with it? Would I have regretted it? Sex is something we should talk about but it doesn’t seem right doing that through notes or Facebook messaging.
‘Should we go to your place?’
I give him my answer by standing up.
‘You might want to fix your skirt,’ says West with a cheeky smile.
I look down. My skirt has spun almost all the way around. I laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Evie stands by the front door with a look that says where have you been?
We sit down at the dining table. And I study while Tilly helps West with German. She’s taking her role very seriously. She’s even come prepared with a red pen and stamps. I think she has found her calling. I listen to her trying to explain word order to West.
About an hour later, Mum comes in and tells Tilly that it’s time she does her own homework. She goes off to get it, while West and I continue studying. I catch West looking at me, smiling. Then I catch him doing it again.
‘Sorry, you’re just so beautiful. Hey, when am I going to get that photo of you from the circus? Is it ready yet?’
I shake my head. I’ve developed the negatives but I haven’t had a chance to print the photos yet. I hold up a finger and duck off to the kitchen.
Mum is unpacking groceries. I pull across the sliding door so West can’t hear. ‘Is West staying for dinner?’ asks Mum.
I picture the twenty-dollar note pinned to his fridge. ‘If that’s okay.’
‘Of course.’
‘How long till dinner?’
‘Probably another hour. Dad won’t be home until six.’
‘Is it okay if West and I use the darkroom until then?’
‘Why?’
‘To print some photos we took. It’s for the school yearbook. We’re working on the cover together.’
‘You’re on the yearbook committee?’
‘Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.’
Mum’s face says it is a big deal. ‘That’s fantastic, Piper!’
‘So can we use the darkroom?’
‘Well, since it’s for school . . . I’ll knock on the door when dinner is ready.’
I walk back into the dining room and signal for West to follow me. I lead him down the hallway to the darkroom. I turn on the red light and close the door.
‘Wow,’ says West, looking around the small space.
The strips of negatives are still hanging on the line where I left them to dry. I unpeg one and hand it to West. He holds it up and looks closely at each image.
‘Here it is, the photo of you,’ he says.
I set up the enlarger and place the strip of negatives in the carrier. I turn on the lamp and the image of me appears, projected onto the photo paper. I raise and lower the enlargement head, bringing the image in and out of focus. Then I take West’s hand and place it on the knob, guiding his hand to find the most focused point. I show West how to create a test strip and then place it in the tray of fixer further along the bench. I set the timer for a minute and agitate the tray until it goes off. It’s actually quite easy to teach someone to print photos without speaking.
From the test strip, we work out the best exposure time. I show West how to set the timer on the enlarger and place a piece of photo paper on the board. Ten seconds later, it’s done. It still looks like a blank piece of photo paper, but the image is there, you just can’t see it yet. I move the enlarger aside and rearrange the trays with the chemicals into the middle of the bench. Developer, stop bath, fixer and hypo clear, in that order. That’s all it takes. But leave the print in one tray for ten seconds more or ten seconds less, agitate too little or two much, and the image could be ruined. There’s no room for intuition in the process. The last thing we do is peg the photo up to dry. ‘It’s perfect,’ says West. He’s not looking at the photo; he’s looking at me.
I roll my eyes and he laughs.
‘I was just thinking,’ he whispers, ‘my parents have a holiday house at Jervis Bay. Maybe we could stay down there one weekend. You could bring your camera and take photos. One of the neighbours has these incredible statues made of wire in his backyard. He makes them himself and anyone can wander through his garden to look at them. What do you think?’
I nod. For once it doesn’t seem like an inadequate response.
I survived another casual teacher. Mrs Edwards was off today so we had a teacher called Mr Adamski to lead us through one of Shakespeare’s masterpieces. Mr Adamski started the lesson by picking people to read the different characters. Needless to say, I was in full panic mode. But instead of being overcome by it, I quickly started scribbling a note that I could give him if I needed to explain myself. When he pointed to me, ‘girl with the Katniss Everdeen plait’, to read Cordelia, I shook my head and he chose someone else without comment or question. It was an Elizabethan miracle.
Now I just need to survive another yearbook meeting. The hallways seem noisier and busier than usual as I walk to my locker, probably because the rain has forced everyone inside. Tanvi warned me at recess that she might be five or ten minutes late because she wanted to stay back
after chemistry to ask a question about her assignment mark. It gives me a bit of time to stop at the library to check my emails. I’m not the only one with this idea. Everyone seems to have already taken refuge at the library by the time I get there. All the computers are occupied. I’m about to walk out when a guy with a shaved head looks my way.
‘Here’, he says, standing up. ‘You can use it. They block all the good sites anyway.’ He winks at me and walks off.
As I log on, I wonder what sort of sites he is referring to. There’s one unread email in my inbox. It’s from Melbourne City Council. And in the subject line is my tree’s ID number. I can’t believe I got a reply. I click on it and the email appears.
Dear Piper,
It was so nice to get your email. I’m an old tree and I can tell you one thing from all my years, there’s no such thing as normal. There are thousands of types of trees in the world. Who can say which of those is the normal one? Between you and me, I’ve always admired bonsai. They are beautiful and complete.
You ask some interesting questions. I think we shape ourselves. We take what we want from our circumstances and make that a part of us or don’t make that a part of us. I think a lot too. Many people sit beneath me to think. There’s nothing wrong with thinking.
Melbourne is beautiful. The people are so nice, so full of imagination and expression. I’d love for you to come and visit me sometime.
Warm regards
Myrtle (you can call me that for short)
I finish reading and exhale with amazement. It’s strange but it genuinely feels like I’m communicating with a real tree and not just some office worker sitting in a cubicle. With still a few minutes before I have to meet Tanvi, I click reply and start typing, the words flowing out of me effortlessly.
The Things I Didn't Say Page 13