Being Not Good

by Elizabeth Stevens

  “I just woke up. Give me a fucking break.”

  “I’ll give you a fucking break when you learn some proper manners, young man,” she said sternly. Gran only swore when I did and it was her way of telling me to clean up my damned mouth.

  I sighed. “My manners are fine. Thank you. My inventive use of language is merely proof of my advanced grasp of the nuances of linguistic semantics.”

  “And what ridiculous so-called study told you that?” she snorted.

  I frowned and was glad she couldn’t see me. “I was awake and thought I’d ask if there was anything I can pick up on my way tonight.”

  “And were you going to ask? Or just tell me you were going to ask?”

  “Talk about semantics,” I muttered. “Is there anything I can pick up on my way tonight, Gran?” I asked her in the insincere sweet tone I’d been practising with Avery lately.

  “I could use some more milk and Flint’s out of tuna.”

  Flint was Gran’s cat. I was pretty sure he was older than me and we’d never got on. Not in the years I’d spent two out of every four weeks at Gran’s, and not now that I was old enough to stay at home by myself and gave the stupid feline more space.

  Cue expository backstory.

  My dad worked in the mines. Fly in, fly out. Two weeks on, two weeks off. After my mum…died, I stayed with Gran for the weeks he was gone up until a couple of years ago when Gran said I could stay home, but I had to have dinner with her at least eight times while Dad was working.

  No one said no to Gran. I particularly didn’t say no to Gran. Not after everything that had happened and everything she’d done for me. So I went to her place for dinner a minimum of eight times in the fortnights Dad was away and I did whatever I could to show her I appreciated her.

  “Oh. And my script is ready to pick up at the chemist if you’re going to Newton.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I need a refill, too.”

  “Davin.” Gran’s tone was a stern warning. “Tell me you’re pre-empting the end of your previous script and haven’t run out…”

  “I’m pre-empting the end of my previous script and haven’t run out, Gran.”

  “For all that’s holy, Davin! There’s a ruddy reason you’re on those–”

  “Gran. It’s fine. I had the last ones last night. I’m good.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  I heard her sighing in relief. “All right. I should let you finish getting ready for school. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yep. See you tonight. Love you,” I told her.

  “I love you, Dav. To the centre of the Earth and back,” she replied.

  I nodded and hung up, stretching my neck agitatedly as I finished making my coffee.

  I found one of Dad’s travel mugs to put it in, bundled up my bag and fell into the car at my usual quarter to nine. But at least I had caffeine this time. That got me through first lesson without envisioning dousing the room with the fire sprinklers. It got me through to second lesson where I nodded semi-politely at Avery as I passed her on my way to my usual seat, and then through Mrs Weaving’s ability to make even Math unbearably boring.

  At some point in the lesson, I heard Avery’s voice but hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what she’d answered or what the question had been.

  I watched Mrs Weaving smile at Avery and I saw the emotions play out on the teacher’s face. “Good try, Avery.” You couldn’t quite call it condescension in her tone. Condescension implied a complete lack of sympathy. Mrs Weaving had a lot of sympathy for Avery. But it didn’t stop her from speaking down to her.

  So there was this new small part – miniscule really – that was suddenly annoyed at the way people treated Avery. And Mrs Weaving was just one example. Avery was definitely no Rhodes Scholar. In fact I’d be thoroughly surprised if her grades were better than a C average. And I knew it was the teacher’s job to – you know – teach us. But I wasn’t sure that gave them a pass to treat her like there was no hope for her academically.

  And it wasn’t just teachers.

  In case you hadn’t noticed, Avery was one of those truly kind and warm-hearted people. It was disgusting really, but that didn’t make it any less true.

  Until I was forced to feel a modicum of responsibility masquerading as care for her, I hadn’t realised that I already knew how people treated her: the girl who asked Avery to take her form to the principal’s PA for her because she didn’t have time, her so-called friends who dismissed every idea for the formal she came up with, the teacher who left her to clean up the art room because she was good that way.

  I’d had no idea that I knew any of this stuff. But snippets of this treatment from over the years came to me as we walked down the hallway to Home Group – while she and Blair excitedly chatted about I didn’t want to know what – like some ridiculous montage running through my head.

  I was sure I hadn’t been part of any of those scenes, but I guess I’m supposed to inherently know her Before character, right? Because she’s the popular girl and it makes total sense that the school loner has all the helpful expository knowledge when it comes to her. Because, you know, it would just be fucking weird if she told you all this herself and I guess there isn’t time to do all the individual scenes to show not tell – besides, who doesn’t love a time-saving montage?

  Once in Mr Boyle’s classroom, I gave Avery another nod and went to my seat. She and Blair sat in their usual seats, sneaking looks back to me now and then as our Home Group teacher did the roll and reminded us that our jumpers were going to be arriving on Friday, then dismissed us.

  “Davin, can I talk to you a moment, please?” Mr Boyle called as students headed out to lunch.

  I nodded resignedly and sat back down in my seat, waiting for him to get on with whatever it was I was being held back for. Mr Boyle took a perch on the desk in front of mine and waited until the last person had filed out of the room.

  He sighed and looked me over. “What can you tell me about Mrs Nichol’s computer, Davin?”

  Ah, finally. That had taken longer than I’d expected. “If it’s anything like the rest of the machines in this school, I’d say it was at least three years overdue for an upgrade, sir.”

  Mr Boyle looked like he sincerely wished he didn’t have to be the one dealing with me and the feeling was definitely mutual. “And what can you tell me about the screaming goat that keeps popping up on her screen?”

  I shrugged. “Not a lot, sir. I hear it’s a popular video among the children, though. Perhaps Mrs Nichol is trying to recapture her lost youth?”

  Mr Boyle looked at me, thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m going to have to give you detention for this, Davin.”

  I leant forward and gave him a contentious look. “Are you now? Why me, sir?”

  Mr Boyle sighed again, slightly more exasperatedly like he knew exactly what he was in for and debating the sanity in even starting it. “IT has no idea what was done to Mrs Nichol’s computer, Davin–”

  “I wouldn’t think that was a great shock to anyone, sir.”

  His glare got harder. “Regardless. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for speculation.”

  “So you just assume it was me?”

  “You are the only person in the school remotely smart enough.”

  “But you have no proof it was me.”

  “I don’t need proof it was you. Everyone knows it was you.”

  “I was under the impression our country worked on the supposition of innocent until proven guilty, sir.”

  “Mitchell College is not the Australian judiciary system, Davin. Detention. Friday.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “But I see no way you can enforce detention for a crime you have no proof I committed.”

  I felt the fact I did commit it was irrelevant.

  My Boyle actually grunted in frustration. “Mrs Mack will see you in detention on
Friday afternoon, Davin. Unless…?”

  “Really? What am I? Five?” I ask you as I frowned at his blatant attempt to engage me. “All right, sir. I’ll bite,” I said with sarcastic excitement. “Unless what?”

  Mr Boyle saw right through my sarcasm somehow and I knew he wanted this conversation over with as much as I did.

  “Unless the goat disappears from Mrs Nichol’s computer. I don’t care how it happens and I don’t care who’s responsible. No goat equals no detention.” He dragged himself off the desk like I’d just aged him twenty years. I seemed to have that effect on people. I liked having that effect on people. It meant people expected less of me and I was under no obligation to perform.

  “Well, sir. If I ever determine who’s responsible, I’ll be sure to let them know.” I got up and picked up my books.

  “You do that, Davin,” he replied wearily, dismissing me with a wave of his hand as he went back to his desk.

  I gave him a sardonic grin as I left and found Avery waiting for me outside the classroom. “What are you doing?” I asked her.

  She looked confused for a moment. “Waiting for you.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled, but was still confused. “Uh. Because we’re dating. It’s what you do.”

  So leaving the same room as the same time wasn’t enough. Now we were expected to wait for each other as well?

  “More social mores,” I huffed.

  That one sailed over her head. “Social whats?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Customs. Traditions. Obligations.”

  She nodded. “Oh.” Then I got a huge hit of that unfailingly nauseating sweetness. “Yes.”

  My nod was somewhat less enthused as I flashed her a split-second humourless grin. “Brilliant.”

  She followed by my side for a while. I wasn’t sure where she thought we were going, but I was going to my locker. But I didn’t have the energy to try to dissuade her. I avidly ignored people staring as the Queen of Pep trotted presumably quite happily along beside the Lord of Malcontent.

  “What’s Byronic mean?” Avery asked finally.

  “Characteristic of Lord Byron or his poetry,” I replied dourly as I pulled open my locker.

  “Who’s he?”

  “Is this for an English assignment?” I didn’t think we were doing poetry until second semester.

  “No. Blair mentioned it the other day.”

  “In what context did Blair mention Byron?” I replied in total surprise.

  “Byronic guys,” she said like it was really important.

  I snorted despite everything in me feeling utterly disappointed with such an emotional display. “What?”

  “Byronic guys. Grace said all Byronic guys were sexy.”

  I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. “Who’s Grace?”

  “Blair’s sister.”

  “The one into the whole Goth thing?”

  She looked surprised for a moment. “You remembered.”

  I shrugged as I went back to swapping my books over. “Was I not meant to?”

  “No. I just… I’m surprised. Anyway, Grace apparently said you were Byronic and all Byronic guys are sexy.”

  I froze as dread seeped into my soul. “Oh. Hell no.”

  Did that actually just happen? Were you aware of this? Fucking Jesus. No.

  I was not going to be the Byronic Hero here. Fuck that for a joke. No.

  I was not going down in history as yet another Heathcliff, an alternative Darcy, Dorian #5782, one more Gatsby (all right, I’m reaching now). And if anyone had the audacity to compare me to Edward-fucking-Cullen, I might just prove you all right and off myself.

  “What’s wrong?” Avery asked me.

  I looked at her like she really should have known. “I am not the Byronic hero,” I told her, my tone icy.

  She cocked her head to the side as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. I watched her fingers play over the screen and waited to see what in the ever-loving hell she was doing.

  A crooked smile lit her lips and she giggled. I still didn’t care for it, but it did starkly remind me of a slightly more breathy laugh she’d given on Friday night while I had my lips on her neck and my hand up her skirt. That I hadn’t minded quite so much.

  “You are definitely a Byronic hero.”

  “Why didn’t you just look it up in the first place?” I slammed my locker, trying to work out how many Byronic heroes actually managed to get out of these situations whole and without the added inconvenience of a love interest.

  “Grumble all you want, Davin. But it’s all here. Cynical. Arrogant. No respect for authority. Moody. Intelligent. Mysterious. Sexy. The only thing missing is self-destructive impulses and a past trauma.”

  Well. Fuck.

  She had me.

  And neither of those last two things were missing. I had self-destructive impulses perfected like it was my native language and past trauma in spades. Not that the shiny happy beacon of annoying buoyancy next to me needed to know that.

  “But in good news…” she continued. “You’re capable of redemption, heroic behaviour and deep affection.”

  I had a sinking feeling about where all this was going and I maintained I wasn’t having a bar of it.

  “Oh. That’s the good news? So pleased,” I muttered.

  She giggled again. “Come on. Let’s go find Blair.”

  “For what purpose would I possibly want to find Blair?”

  “To hang out with my friends.”

  “Oh. Of course.” I nodded then stopped. “No.”

  Her hand was suddenly in the middle of my chest and I found myself with my back against the locker behind me, looking down at this smirking minx in front of me. I watched in almost disbelief as her had ran up my chest slowly and I felt my heart thud inside it.

  “Please, Davin. It’ll just be you, me, and Blair.”

  “Threesome from hell?” I ask you, trying to picture that and how dreadfully colourful it would no doubt be.

  Another giggle and she took my hand and dragged me after her. I had very little choice but to follow and arguing would have been far too much effort. I knew people were still watching us carefully, trying to work out what was going on. But no one stopped us, no one said anything. As far as they were concerned, I was probably in trouble for something again and Avery was delivering me to Mrs Mack.

  “So… What would you say your super power was?” she asked me as we walked and I could not believe I was putting myself through this. Even the way she kissed was surely not worth it.

  “Super power?”

  She nodded excitedly and I grimaced.

  “Superheroes aren’t real. I have no super powers.”

  “Fine. What are you really good at? Other than computers and dark humour.”

  “Is this some mandatory dating protocol or something?”

  “What?”

  “This getting to know each other bullshit.”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed and stretched my neck. “Okay.” I thought about it. “I twomble. If there was an Olympic medal for twombling, I would get gold. Every time. Hands down.”

  She snorted. “You what?”

  “Twomble. It means to abruptly leave an awkward situation without saying a word.”

  She was trying – and failing – not to laugh at me. “I’d bet you’d just twomble out of life if you could.”

  I shrugged. She wasn’t totally wrong. But I’d been on the other end of that and, previous threats aside, I wasn’t going to do that to the two people who cared about me. “I’d certainly twomble out of here if I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

  “I would notice, though.”

  “Why do you think I’m still here, then?”

  “Because we need to plan another date!”

  How did we get onto that? I hung my head back. “One isn’t enough?”

  She laughed and I did not want to look at he
r again, but I did when she said, “Of course not.”

  I glared at her. “Fine. But if we have to actually go on dates, then there’s going to be a point to them.” Was there? Oh good.

  And, oh! I was so close to a frown there. But it was just confusion on her face. “A point? Well, duh. The point is to get to know each other and for you to show me how to not be good.”

  I liked how she always phrased it that way – never ‘be bad’, just ‘be not good’.

  I’m lying. I did not like it. I’d had no idea there was a distinction, why there needed to be a distinction, or how said distinction was being made. It was stupid.

  “Exactly. So we have to date? Fine. But you have to learn one lesson on every date.”

  I did not expect her to be excited by that. I really should have known better. “Like a lesson lesson?” she asked and I nodded.

  “You want me to teach you how to…be not good, then we’re doing this one lesson at a time.”

  “What kind of lessons?”

  I blinked. “Right. Keep your panties on.” Because I had no idea. Yet. I’ll work it out. “Enjoy the surprise.”

  She beamed and I wished I had my sunnies. How could someone’s face hurt my eyes?

  But while I was busy pondering that, she stopped, pulled me down and kissed me. I rolled my eyes, but… All right, I got into it…a little. With my eyes closed, I could almost forget how inanely excitable she was.

  She finally pulled away and I did not just nearly follow her for more. That was not a thing that happened. But she had this look in her eyes and she bit her lip as she half-smiled at me and I didn’t know what was happening.

  The question was, was that bite of her lip just for the benefit of the people around us? They were certainly looking at us and whispering. Did she think she was succeeding in trashing her reputation? And if that’s all it was, why did I feel a little conflicted about that? After all, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Lessons. I look forward to it.”

  Who was this girl with that sexy, playful look in her eyes? Avery St John wasn’t supposed to know the meaning of sexy let alone pull it off to the point I was fighting to control a boner in the school hallway. And I’m not sure she knew she was doing it. Because the next second, that annoying pep and vigour was back and she bounced off, still dragging me behind her.