by Bill Condon
I see him under the school tree, trying desperately to do his maths homework in the five minutes before class. Same as always. This time I don’t offer to help.
‘Hope I gave you a real good laugh.’ I snarl it without stopping or looking at him.
‘Aw, don’t be like that, Dave. You know we were only muckin’ around.’
I don’t slow down.
‘You would have done exactly the same to me.’
I march back to him. ‘No, I wouldn’t. You know why? Because you’re supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t do that.’
I take off again before he can return fire. Not that there is anything he could say in his defence.
I don’t need friends.
In class, Lanny sits behind me. He whispers my name but I ignore him.
‘What’s up with you, Dave? You can at least talk to me, can’t you?’
I stare at Grogan’s back as he scribbles on the board. He drones on but his back is all that I can think about. If I concentrate, I can put Dad into Grogan’s white shirt. It’s not too much of a stretch. But it wouldn’t be maths Dad was teaching. He’d spin around and spread out his arms – ‘This is our potential!’ he’d say.
Then he’d bring two fingers close together – ‘And this is how much of it we use!’ Dad is president of the public speaking club. Hear him talk and you think you’re invincible. ‘Set your goals high! Aim for the stars!’ And you know he is.
‘Dave.’
Lanny’s foot connects with the back of my chair. Hard.
‘Dave!’
‘Nothing happens …’ Dad’s always saying that. He’s told me so many times. ‘Nothing happens unless you make it happen.’ Well, I know something I can make happen. I’ll get Mum and Dad back together. First I’ll call Dad. At recess. I won’t even talk about last night. Just tell him Allie and I are behind him. We have to rebuild. If the three of us can stand together, then Mum will fall into line. She’ll have no choice.
‘Turn around, will ya?’
In the meantime, I have to forget about what Gran said. She’s crazy. Probably has it in her head that we’re going to live with her. Not a chance. I don’t think Mum’s completely given up on Dad yet. No matter what she says. She’s ticked off, sure she is, but seventeen years together – she won’t walk away from that.
A note lands on my desk. I see Lanny’s scrawl.
What’s the matter with you? Why won’t you look at me? I’m sorry all right? You dickhead!
I screw it up and chuck it back at him.
Grogan’s radar spots it. His bushy eyebrows spear upwards.
‘You boys passing love letters between you?’
Perfect. Now our maths teacher’s doing stand-up.
The audience rolls in the aisles.
‘I’ll have that.’
Grogan scans the note quickly before waving it at Lanny.
‘Out the front, son.’
Lanny lurches forward, head in the ostrich position.
‘This a new form of maths, Mr Pringle?’
‘Um … no, sir.’
I glance around at the class. So many smart-arse grins. Life is cool when someone else is in trouble. Phillip Johnson up near the back sets up a whispered chant: Dingle Dingle Dingle.
‘Keep it down, please, boys.’
No one but me calls him Lanny. Now, the more he squirms, the funnier it is. He and I are the only ones who aren’t laughing.
Grogan points to me.
‘You might be able to shed some light on this, Mr Curtis. Up here, please.’
Cheers and whistles as I join Lanny in front of Grogan’s desk.
He reads the note again, scratches at his ear to draw out the laughs from his audience.
‘Perhaps it’s some baffling algebraic formula?’
This one cracks the class up.
‘Come on. Who’d like to answer first?’
I see my class as I’ve never seen them before. We’re slaves stuck in the middle of the Colosseum and they’re cheering for the lion.
Lanny runs a hand through his hair. He always does this when he’s about to be eaten alive.
‘Well? I’m waiting. Mr Pringle, please tell me what this note has to do with mathematics.’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Very good. I think that may be the first time you’ve answered a question correctly in my class.’
That earns a round of applause.
Grogan brushes Lanny away like a pesky fly. ‘Back to your seat. And pay attention.’ His glare shifts to me now. ‘That goes for you too, Mr Curtis. You’ll pay attention from now on, I trust?’
Decisions, decisions.
I know Grogan isn’t really all that bad. He’s only having a bit of fun. You can usually talk to the guy and he’ll listen. He’s not a hardhead. And all he wants from me is an easy, ‘Yes, sir’, then I’m on my way and it’s over.
But I don’t want to make it easy for anyone today. Including me.
I’m standing right in front of him. There’s nothing to hide behind. Nowhere to run. And he’ll hear the smallest mumble. But I don’t care.
In my head I’m roaring, ‘Bring on the lion,’ as I tell him big and loud –
‘stuff you. Sir.’
Mrs Flanagan is our Year Coordinator. I’m sitting in her office and she’s searching my eyes for answers to what she calls my ‘bizarre behaviour’.
It really wasn’t so bizarre. I went looking for something to shut Grogan up with and that’s what I found. Tough.
‘It isn’t like you to talk to a teacher that way, David. What on earth got into you?’
What did people do before shrugs were invented?
Mrs Flanagan plays the stare game again. My eyes fix on the photo on her desk. Her and a guy with a small boy between them. Big smiles all round. The happy family.
We’ve got photos like that at home but they’re ripped right up the middle now – or soon will be. What would she know about how I feel?
‘I’m here to help you. That’s all. You’re not in any trouble. Is there something you’d like to talk to me about?’
‘Not really.’
I don’t give a thing away. My words are cold slabs straight from the morgue. But she presses on.
‘How are things at home?’
I shake my head as I look out the window.
She leans forward.
‘What happened to your lip?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m a very good listener, you know. Anything you say won’t be repeated. It stays between us.’
Leave me alone.
‘Whatever it is, it’s not going to get any better unless you talk about it.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it because there’s nothing to talk about. Nothing’s wrong. I’m doing great! I don’t need your help! Okay?’
There’s silence between us but I hear my own words echoing in my head, too loudly.
And now when Mrs Flanagan looks in my eyes she sees everything.
It’s there in my trembling chin, my face breaking apart.
I’m on my feet, pushing the chair out of my way.
‘David, please sit down.’
‘I’ve gotta go.’
I burst out of the room gasping for breath as if I’m coming up from the ocean floor. And I look up and see Lanny.
‘You all right, Dave?’
It takes me all of two seconds to recover.
‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’
Lanny’s not fooled but he leaves it alone.
‘What are you doin’ here?’ I say.
‘Same as you. Grogan sent me. After you got kicked out I called him a power freak. Actually, I think I said a friggin’ power freak. Yeah, that was it. He wasn’t real happy.’
‘Thanks, Lanny.’
‘That’s all right. I owed ya.’
The office door opens and Mrs Flanagan walks out.
‘David, I want you to at least think about talking to me. Perhaps later. Will you do
that?’
‘Yeah, I’ll think about it.’
But I knew I wouldn’t.
‘Thank you. Now go back to your class. Mr Grogan is waiting for an apology.’
She turns to Lanny – ‘Not you again’ – and rolls her eyes. ‘I should charge you rent. In you come.’
A different teacher might have made me apologise in front of the class. Not Grogan. He walks out into the corridor with me and instead of a lecture he rests a hand on my shoulder.
‘Let’s try to get along. Okay, David? You might not believe this, but I am on your side.’
Grogan never calls any kid by their first name. Never lets anyone get close. But I always feel there’s a real person in there, somewhere. And now I see him.
We spill out onto the street after the rehearsal and hang around talking. David is deep in conversation with Megan. Glenna hovers nearby, slightly behind them with her arms folded in a futile attempt to hide the fact that she has pretty big boobs. She’s very self-conscious about them when she’s around boys. I’ve got the opposite problem to her. There should be some simple and painless operation where the breast-wealthy can make a small donation to a needy and flat friend. But since there’s not, all I can do is fold my arms, just like Glenna.
Lanny and I stand a few steps away from the others, with nothing but awkwardness holding us together. I speak first.
‘You go around giving flowers out to everyone?’
‘Not usually.’
‘How come you did it?’
‘Aw, you know, just somethin’ to do. Thought it might make old Boyly happy.’
‘It was kind of you.’
He grins at me as if his Grin Button is jammed. I sense trouble. Either he’s about to ask me to go out or he’s had a stroke. I make a mental note: Stop being nice to people – Lanny most of all.
‘Well, I better go.’ I flash a shop assistant’s plastic smile. You have a good day. ‘See you ’round, Lanny.’
‘You want me to walk home with you? I’m going the same way.’
‘But you live in the opposite direction to me.’
‘True, but I need the exercise.’
‘Maybe some other time.’
I throw another ‘See you’ behind me and head for home, without looking back.
Late that night in my room, I think it over. It’s flattering to know that a guy likes you. Any guy. But Lanny isn’t for me. It’s not that I’m waiting for some Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet. I stopped hoping for that when I was twelve. At that age I knew my face was never going to make it past ordinary, just as I knew that ‘tall and willowy’ were descriptions of other girls, not me.
For a long time I thought I’d be the booby-prize girl no boy would ever ask for a date. My luck changed when Jeremy Doyle invited me go to a rock concert. It was going okay until we had a problem because of his poor comprehension skills. He didn’t understand what ‘no’ meant. As I told him, it definitely didn’t mean that he could stick his tongue down my throat as soon as the lights went out. No, Jeremy, that was not a turn-on. Neither was the garlic.
My second victim was Vitas Kazorosky. His girlfriend had just dumped him so I think he was working his way through the phonebook, asking everyone in town to go out. He took me to Luna Park and we rode the Wild Mouse. I was fearless about the ride, but scared to death about being on a date. To get my mind off my nerves I ate a huge tub of popcorn and a choc-top ice-cream. Then I threw up. Instead of shutting up about it, like a gentleman would, he told all my friends. He even said I deliberately aimed at him. I wish I had.
Lanny is very average, just like me, so really we should be the perfect couple. We’re not, though. I simply don’t feel anything for him, except maybe compassion and empathy. That’s not enough.
In another part of the house I hear raised voices. Mum and Dad. Only a handful of words are shouted. The ones I hear clearly belong to Mum – ‘I don’t want you near me!’ A door slams. There’s a part of me that wants to stomp in there and tell them to get their act together.
Work it out, talk it out, buy a punching bag. Get over it.
But that won’t make any difference. You can tell a storm to go away but it doesn’t stop it from happening. I sink down into the bed and pull the covers over me as if I’ve just heard the first crashes of thunder from a very deadly storm.
In the morning Dad breezes past me, a piece of toast wedged in his mouth. He garbles, ‘Hi, kiddo,’ and gives me a wink. I think of what he did to Mum, and turn away.
In under an hour I’m in the long seat at the back of the bus, heading to school with Megan and Glenna on a cold grey day. At the first lull in the conversation I break in with a newsflash.
‘Hey, guys, just thought I’d tell you – I’ve made a big decision – I’ve decided not to get married. Ever.’
They want to know why, of course, and I don’t mind explaining.
‘It’s not worth the trouble. All that finding a guy stuff. Who needs it? There’re too many creeps out there. I might still have kids, though – get a sperm donor – that’s the only part of the guy you need to make babies. They can keep the rest, thank you very much.’
‘Sperm donor!’ Glenna screws up her face. ‘That sounds yuck.’
‘Not as yuck as ending up with some jerk.’
‘Don’t worry, Caitlin.’ Megan rubs my back consolingly. ‘There’s gotta be a guy out there for you somewhere. What about Lanny? He’s available.’
‘And he likes you,’ Glenna says eagerly, as if it’s a good thing. ‘He told me he does.’
There’s too many people on the bus to scream out loud so I open my mouth and bellow silently. As silent bellows go, it’s a giant.
As more doors are slammed at home, the higher become the walls I build to keep out Lanny. This isn’t a good time for me. Definitely no room in my life for boys. I tell him this in not so subtle ways. I don’t laugh at his jokes. I avoid him during the breaks in rehearsal, and when he proudly shows me his P-plates – he’s a few months older than David – I couldn’t care less. It’s the same when he turns up in his ‘brand new’ old bomb Holden. Ho hum.
He wants to take me for a ride.
‘Some other time.’
He asks me to help him choose a name for it.
‘I don’t have a clue, Lanny. How about Rover?’
What kind of person names their car?
‘Rover? Hey, that might work. I’ll think about that one.’
Poor Lanny.
I’m never out-and-out rude, but I make it as obvious as can be that whatever he has to sell, I’m not buying. Any normal person would take the hint. I should have known Lanny wouldn’t.
One night I get a mysterious text message.
‘Can I ring u?’
‘Who r u?’
‘Lanny’
‘No, u can‘t’
My mobile rings.
‘Just checking. Is it okay if I ring you?’
‘I already told you. Didn’t I? No, it’s not all right. I’m supposed to be doing my homework. And how did you get this number?’
‘Megan gave it to me – she said you wouldn’t mind.’
Megan – my ex-friend.
‘You don’t mind really, do you, Caitlin?’
‘No, I suppose not – this once. But I’m very busy, Lanny. What can I do for you?’
‘Nothing – it’s what I can do for you!’
‘Have it your way – what can you do for me?’
‘I’ve got tickets to a show. You wanta come with me?’
I stifle an urge to treat him like a telemarketer for the Nazi Party. Instead, out of politeness, I ask, ‘What kind of show?’
‘Monster trucks.’
I’m stunned. I didn’t know he was on drugs.
‘Are you kidding me, Lanny?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Do I look like someone who would enjoy watching monster trucks?’
‘They’re really good.’
‘Sorry. Not my thing.
But thanks for asking. Gotta go. Byeeee.’
Two nights later. Mobile. Him – again.
‘Hi, Caitlin. It’s me.’
‘I know who it is, and if this is about those trucks, I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘No, this is different. I was wondering if you’d like to see a movie.’
‘Not really …’ I don’t want to crush the poor guy completely, so I throw him a scrap of hope. ‘Which movie were you thinking of?’
‘Anything at all. We’ll go to the video shop and you can pick one out. I’ll pay for it.’
‘Is this one of your lame jokes?’
‘No. I thought you’d like the idea.’
‘I don’t believe this. You’re not asking me to go to the movies, like any sane person would, you’re asking me to watch a DVD!’
‘Is it too late to pretend I didn’t ring?’
‘Goodbye, Lanny.’
‘Caitlin …’
‘You just have no clue, do you?’
‘About what?’
‘Girls. What to say, what to do – you’re hopeless.’
‘Do you think?’
‘Yes! You tell Glenna that you like me – you tell David – but you don’t tell me.’
‘I was working up to it.’
‘And then, when you finally do ask me out, it’s to see stupid monster trucks, or to watch a DVD. What sort of date is that?’
‘We’ve got a big screen TV.’
‘That’s not the point! I’m going to hang up now.’
‘Can I say one thing?’
‘All right, but it won’t help.’
‘When I asked you to see the monster truck show, that was the first time I’d done it – asked anyone to go out with me. Tonight was the second time.’
‘You haven’t asked a girl out before this?’
‘No.’
‘That’s hard to believe. You don’t have any trouble talking to girls. I’ve seen you. You’re full of confidence – you even gave Miss Boyle flowers.’
‘They were about to throw them out – I got them cheap.’
‘But you still gave them to her. You’re not exactly the shy type, Lanny.’
