Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  Ellie removed her stare from the photos my mum had on our fridge and smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t run all that much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s gross.”

  I subdued a laugh. “Gross?”

  “Fine, running is stupid. Why run when you can just walk?”

  “So you don’t run when you play Netball?”

  “Only if I have to. That’s why I play Goal Shooter. Everyone else runs to get the ball to me. I basically stay in one spot.”

  “Sounds lazy.”

  She shrugged. “It is. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a kick-arse shooter. I don’t need to run.”

  “Maybe you’re just unfit,” I taunted.

  “No. I told you, it’s just a little bit of asthma.” She straightened her back and pointed at a particular photo. “Is that Aaron?”

  “Yep.” I knew the exact photo she was pointing at without even looking. I knew because I’d removed it several times despite my mother insisting it stay put. Thankfully, for her sake and mine, I’d eventually given up the photo-battle not long after meeting Ellie.

  “You’re much taller than him.”

  “I am. I mean, I was.”

  “He has kind eyes. And cool hair.” She smiled a girly smile, the type girls do when they like you. “I like his hair.”

  Hearing Ellie say those things about Aaron annoyed me. Made me mad, even. But not mad because she was talking about him like everyone else did. As each day went by, I was getting better at hearing and talking about Aaron. This was different, though, because she was complimenting him and saying the types of things I wanted her to say about me. My hair, for instance, I wanted her to like my hair.

  Reaching up, I skated my fingers over my head. She probably hates my hair and thinks I look like a girl. It was the reason some of the guys from school nicknamed me Jesus. My hair was long, but not as long as Jon Bon Jovi’s hair. It wasn’t as if I needed one of those girly headband things that he wore. That would never happen.

  I hadn’t always worn my hair at the length it currently was. After Aaron’s death, I hadn’t bothered getting it cut. He’d lost his hair against his will, so I didn’t think it was right to just chop off mine as if it were nothing. Maybe I should? Maybe Ellie would like it better if it were short?

  Realising I was still touching my hair like one of those idiots in a shampoo ad, I quickly dropped my hand to my side.

  “So, this surprise you have,” she said as she turned toward me and sucked in another puff of her inhaler, “can we just get it over with?”

  I swallowed heavily, my nerves ballooning over what I was about to show her, but she was right; I should probably just get it over with. “Okay. But it’s nothing special. It’s not like it’s jewellery or flowers or anything,” I blurted out.

  Heat burned my cheeks, and Ellie stiffened. What the crap did I just say that for? She sucked in another puff of her inhaler before shoving it back into her pocket and pivoting on the spot. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Uh … down the hall. Last door on the right.”

  “Cool. Thanks. I need to pee.”

  “Cool.”

  She took off in the direction I’d told her to, and when the bathroom door closed, I pretended to repeatedly hit my head against the fridge. “You stupid, stupid, idiot,” I muttered. “Why are you even talking?”

  I was an indisputable donkey, talking when I should’ve been singing. Because that was my surprise: her words, my voice and music—they were the perfect combo.

  Ever since she’d given me her note at the campsite, I’d been singing her words. They’d left my mouth as naturally as exhaling so I’d turned them into a song. A proper song with a start, middle and end, and I wanted her to hear it. I also wanted her to know that her words had helped me ‘express myself’ like she’d suggested. I wanted her to know that she was the reason I could now face each day, the reason I wanted to face each day as long as she was there with me.

  The song was kinda stupid, though, because the lyrics weren’t words I would normally say, yet, somehow, they were words I could sing. And, damn, did I want to sing so many things to her, things I couldn’t say like, “Will you be my girlfriend? Let’s kiss. Can I touch your boobs? I mean, books … can I touch your books?” Thankfully, I hadn’t sung any of that, and I wouldn’t. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her away.

  Sounds and images flicked through my mind: sparkling eyes, bold colours … fire. They sparked a hum, a soft beginning of a tune, until the sound of the toilet flushing interrupted my creative process—not exactly melodic.

  “Connor, I think I’m just gonna go—”

  “I wrote a song, because of you. I didn’t want you to hear it but now I do. That’s my surprise,” I babbled as she walked back into the kitchen.

  Not allowing any time for her to object—or escape—I grabbed her hand and tugged her upstairs to my room, closing the doors behind us. “Take a seat, over there on my beanbag,” I ordered, like a jerk. “Sorry. Please. I mean please take a seat.”

  “Uh … okay.” She sat down and smoothed out her blue school dress before placing her wrung hands in her lap. It made me smile. She did those two things when she was nervous and, strangely enough, her nerves lessened my own.

  “Like I said, it’s nothing special. I just wanted to show you that I could express myself like you told me to.”

  Ellie’s face stretched into the biggest smile I’d ever seen. She relaxed her unclamped her hands and began twisting the hem of her dress.

  “You painted your nails pink. They look nice,” I said, watching how her twisting pulled her dress tighter. I looked away, took hold of my guitar, and sat on the stool next to my window. “Okay, so this song is called ‘Always’. I hope you like what I’ve done with your words.”

  Sucking in a breath, I exhaled and relaxed, my guitar pick clipping the strings and sounding the chords I’d spent night after night practising.

  What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away.

  Hold on to your memories.

  Hold on. Always.

  Always.

  Always

  Hold on. Always.

  As I strummed my last chord, I was heavy with emotion but also felt lighter. Happier. And that probably had something to do with the obvious joy in Ellie’s body language. How her knees cradled her chin and were hugged tight to her chest, her smile radiant but slightly sheepish, her green eyes twinkling and full of questions, but mostly how her cheeks rivalled the shade of her hair.

  “So … what do you thin—”

  “I loved it!” she squealed before I even had a chance to finish what I was saying. “How? How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I asked, chuckling as I placed my guitar down and flexed my fingers.

  “That.” She gestured toward me. “Create a song.”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I just do it.”

  She glared at me like a furious, red-eyed cartoon character. “Don’t brush it off like that.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yeah, you are. Music is your art. You’re an artist, Connor Bourke. A really good one. Don’t cover that in self-doubt.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are,” she said, standing up and stepping toward me. She looked angry, and I wasn’t sure whether to get up and run or grab something as a shield.

  “You’re so talented and passionate, and that’s really special. You could be famous one day, like Bryan Adams.”

  The muscles in my face pulled taut, and I tried not to laugh. Really tried. But some things were just … funny. “You really think so?” I asked, my enthusiasm tenfold, albeit a lie.

  She nodded with excitement, red curls bouncing on her shoulders and chest. “Uh huh.”

  “Would you be my agent? I’ll need one of those.”

  “Sure! I don’t know how to be an agent, but I’d research it. I’d learn.” Ellie’s eyes were wide, like two big green traffic lights. She
was so adorable, and deadly serious.

  Unable to continue my charade, I burst into laughter. “Eloise Mitchell, what would I do without you?”

  “Huh?” She tilted her head just slightly, her brow crumpling.

  I kept laughing; I couldn’t help it.

  Recognition soon blared and her traffic light eyes turned to narrow light sabers. Dangerous light sabers. Angry red, Darth Vader dark side light sabers.

  She was lightning fast and grabbed my pillow, whacking me over the head with it. “Argh!” she screamed. “You’re so infuriating. You drive me nuts.”

  “Good nuts or bad nuts?”

  Whack.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Whack. Whack.

  “Okay okay,” I said, defending her blows. “I’m sorry.”

  She got in one last, softer whack.

  “I’m sorry. It was just funny.”

  “What was funny?” Ellie tossed the pillow back onto my bed and crossed her arms. “I didn’t say anything funny.”

  “You did. You said I could be a famous musician.” I pointed to myself. “Me? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Because I don’t like performing.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She gave me a you-and-I-both-know-I’m-right grin before breaking eye contact to scan my room. “Are you normally this messy?”

  I quickly glanced around, noticing some dirty clothes hanging on my desk chair, an empty chip packet next to the bin, and my half-made bed … which had been neater before Ellie tossed my pillow onto it.

  “What mess? This is tidy.”

  It wasn’t, and I was now a little embarrassed.

  “Boys are slobs.”

  “Hey!” I stood up and collected some of the clothes into my arms, not exactly sure what to do with them.

  “You are! Especially my brother. Do you know what he does just to annoy me?”

  I could’ve hazarded a guess, but I shook my head.

  “He eats the Milo out of the tin.”

  “Doesn’t everyone do that?”

  “But does everyone lick the spoon and leave it in there for next time?”

  I shook my head again even though I was prone to some spoon recycling myself, but I wouldn’t admit my sin. Not yet.

  Ellie’s attention diverted to her left, to my bed, where my crumpled up boxer shorts lay.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, sceptical.

  “Yes. But I should get going. I need to be home before Mum finishes work.”

  “Oh, okay. Do you want me to walk you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I stood up and performed some arm and back stretches, deliberately grunting.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing myself.”

  “For what?”

  “Your super heavy backpack.” I waggled my eyebrows and flexed my bicep for her again.

  She stepped closer, paused, and then poked it. And I swear I stopped breathing for a second.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. “I loved the song, and I had a really good time.”

  Slinging her backpack over my shoulder, we headed out of the room. “No probs. We should do it again sometime. Well, maybe not the song bit.”

  “Why not? I could write you another note and you could make another song.”

  “It doesn’t exactly work like that.” We exited the house and walked down my front steps.

  “Oh. Well, it was just a suggestion. I mean, I like to write, and you like to play.”

  She sounded disappointed, as if I’d somehow failed her or let her down. I didn’t like that feeling so changed my mind. “True. You write; I play. Maybe we should try it again sometime.”

  “Really?”

  I kicked a rock. “Sure.”

  Ellie bounced on the spot and clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting! I have so many things I can write about.” She stopped bouncing and became super serious. “I wonder if Madonna has a notebook for her lyrics?”

  I shrugged.

  “How cool would that be?”

  I shrugged again.

  “Hey, you have a basketball ring.” Ellie walked around me toward the garage. “I mean, of course you do. You’re a basketballer.”

  “Was,” I corrected her.

  She frowned. “Where’s your basketball?”

  “I don’t know. I think it got lost in the move.” At least I hope it got lost in the move.

  “There it is!” She skipped over to where my stupid (not) lost basketball was sitting in our stupid sports equipment tub. “Wanna shoot some hoops?” Ellie bounced the ball a few times then lifted it and performed a Netball shot, swishing the net beautifully.

  She was good.

  The ball bounced. And bounced. Take the shot, Aaron called. Take it. Heat fizzled up the back of my neck, and I blinked. Aaron wasn’t there. Take the shot.

  “Go on, try to beat that,” Ellie taunted before throwing the ball at me.

  Watching in what seemed like slow motion, Ellie and the rest of the world froze as the ball careered toward me before slamming against my chest, near knocking the wind out of my lungs. It bounced at my feet. So loud. So familiar. So painful.

  “Connor! Connor, are you okay?”

  My eyes slowly focussed on Ellie, standing right in front of me, her hands on my arms, her green eyes full of concern as they searched mine.

  “I’m …” I blinked again and shrugged out of her grip. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  Dropping her backpack, I hurried inside to get away from the ball, the bounce, and Ellie. I didn’t stop when she called after me. I just left her standing there.

  In my driveway.

  With the ball and all of those damn books.

  Chapter Nine

  Ellie

  I peeked through the open slit of my curtains to find Connor, fussing uncomfortably as he stood waiting with his parents on my front doorstep. I hadn’t talked to him since he’d left me standing in his driveway a couple of weeks ago. He’d tried to sit next to me on the bus, but I refused to move my bag from his seat or make eye contact. I’d been angry. Hurt. But I was over it now. It was my birthday; the best day of the year, and I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it.

  Yanking his grey shirt out from its tucked position in the waistband of his black trousers, he shifted on his feet then combed his hand through his hair. He was clearly nervous, and it made me smile. Serves him right.

  “Connor, what did you do that for?” Mrs Bourke said, reaching out to try and tuck Connor’s shirt in again. “You just messed it up.”

  He swiped her hands away. “I looked dorky, Mum. No one tucks their shirt in anymore.”

  She turned to Mr Bourke. “And that’s what’s wrong with today’s youth.”

  Mr Bourke scratched his balding head. “Leave him be, Raelene. It’s just dinner at a friend’s house.”

  “It’s also dinner at my boss’s house.”

  Connor and Mr Bourke rolled their eyes, and it made me giggle.

  Stepping back from the curtain, I hollered, “They’re here,” then wrenched the front door open.

  “H—Hiiii, Eloise. Happy birthday. You look …” Mrs Bourke paused, her eyes unblinking as she scanned me from top to toe. And for a second, she appeared to struggle to find the right word. “Colourful,” she said, quickly. “You look colourful, like a walking, talking rainbow.”

  I glanced down at my blue Chucks, bright purple ballerina skirt, yellow t-shirt, and rainbow-striped tights with a matching bow, and then beamed a smile that would hurt a clown’s face. “Thanks. I add something colourful to my birthday outfit every year. I started when I was seven.”

  “It’s her tribute to Rainbow Brite,” Mum added as she stepped up behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Please, come in.”

  Stepping aside, I gave Mr and Mrs Bourke a quick hug to welcome them then waited for Connor to follow behind, but he didn’
t budge. Instead, he just stood at the threshold of my house, as if he were a vampire waiting for permission to enter.

  “Happy birthday, Ellie.”

  I met his eyes. “Thanks.”

  Connor tentatively held out a present wrapped in brightly coloured paper, so I didn’t hesitate and snatched it from him, franticly tearing it open.

  “What is it? I love presents so much. They’re the best. Unless they’re crap, then they’re not the best.” My eyebrows took off like rockets when I realised what he’d got me. “But OH MY GOD this one is definitely not crap!”

  Holding the two Christopher Pike books I hadn’t been able to borrow from my school library in the air like trophies, I flapped them about and bounced up and down on the spot. “Where did you get these?”

  He winked. “Mum has connections.”

  “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. My face flushed instantly, and I snapped my body backwards, my mouth the perfect ‘o’ shape, my eyes frozen wide.

  I wanted to die.

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled but shifted awkwardly on the spot. “Listen, I just want to say that I’m really sorry for how I acted the other day. I shouldn’t have just left you like that—”

  I swished my hand in front of his face. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m over it.”

  “Huh?” He scratched his head just like his dad had done. “How can you be ‘over’ it? Girls are never just over it.”

  “It’s my birthday, silly, the best day of the year. I don’t let anyone or anything ruin my birthday. Ever. So, yeah, Sorry McSaddy Head, but I’m over being angry with you.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. “Come on. Come and see what else I got.”

  Bounding up the stairs, Connor close behind, we entered my bedroom, which resembled a small library: books, books, and more books, housed in white bookshelves lining two of my four walls.

  “Wow!” Connor exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. “I knew you liked books, but this is—”

  “Awesome!”

  “I was gonna say full-on, but awesome will do.”