Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  With a broad grin, Blake gives the iPad back. Florence hands over a crumpled tissue and she dabs away the tear tracks on her red, round cheeks.

  ‘Your turn, big fella,’ says Bernie.

  Dale takes the hand of his bride and kisses it. He opens the voice program. ‘Blake, I take you to be my girl, to hug and to kiss on this day and all the other days after that. I promise not to hide your FurReal Friends, or burn your French toast, or stink you out after a long day of sweating in the sun. I promise to listen to you and respect you and support you and love you. Most of all, I promise to live as your guy, now and forever.’

  ‘Ignatius?’ says Bernie. ‘Do you have the Fruit Tingles?’

  Iggy lifts the candy from his pocket, two pieces. He hands them to the couple with a Fabergé-egg level of care.

  ‘Good thing you had those,’ I say to Kelvin.

  He shrugs. ‘Life Savers would’ve been better.’

  ‘Blake, do you take this guy to be your guy?’

  ‘I do.’ She places the candy on Dale’s open palm. He lifts it to his open mouth and drops it in.

  ‘Dale, do you take this girl to be your girl?’

  ‘I do.’ He returns the Tingle favour.

  Bernie nods. ‘By the power vested in me as creator of the Freetard line of clothing – shirts $19.99, caps $14.99 – I now pronounce you together forever. You may kiss each other. But no tongues, please. And no exchanging Fruit Tingles. That’s gross.’

  Dale and Blake lock lips. Iggy applauds. Florence does a celebratory Flo-jitsu move. The iPad approves, too, with a pre-programmed AWWW, YEAH!

  After the photos – two each on the newlyweds’ devices – Blake runs over and throws her arms around my neck.

  ‘Thank you, Munro!’ she says in my ear, her voice way too loud. ‘That was the best moment of my life!’

  I pat her back. ‘So stoked for you and Dale.’

  She separates, squeals and returns to her husband. He’s staring at the photos, mist gathering in his eyes. The wedding party soon morphs back into a tour group and follows the guide towards the cell blocks. Kelvin and I bring up the rear.

  ‘I’ve seen plenty of Fair Go moments in my time. Not too many better than that,’ he says. ‘How do you feel?’

  I take the black pawn out of my shirt pocket and toss it from hand to hand. My face aches from smiling so much. My head is clear. ‘I feel like I did good.’

  Kelvin nods. ‘Can’t argue with that, Munro. Can’t argue with that at all.’

  I should be dog-tired, dozing, destined for some faraway platform on the opposite side of Brisbane. I’m not tired. I’m wide awake. That’s what a wake-up call will do.

  The school planner is out of my bag. The calendar is open. In my hand is a red marker. It looms over the grid of dates, ready to strike.

  The first ‘X’ – Vaccination Day – is marked as the train leaves Banfield station. There are six more ‘X’s by the time the announcement for Wattle Heights comes over the PA.

  ‘Rowan’s gonna be real busy deleting messages,’ I murmur.

  ‘So, how was it? Where did your mate Shah choose, Munro?’

  ‘Boggo Road Gaol.’

  Geordie and Nina exchange a glance across the dinner table. Rowan says ‘awesome’ through a mouthful of his incredible bacon-potato pie.

  ‘Brings back some memories,’ replies Geordie, between glugs of his XXXX beer. ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘Bad start, but it got better.’

  ‘Did Shah enjoy it?’

  I set my knife and fork down on the plate. ‘That was the bad start. He wasn’t there. He left Fair Go last Thursday. Gone for good.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mun,’ says Nina, levering another slice of pie out of the pan. ‘From what you told us, you did a lot of good for him.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough. But I won’t make that mistake again.’

  The Hydes’ faces turn wary, each of the trio silently chewing on my vow. Nina wipes away a dot of grease from the table. Geordie splashes Worcestershire sauce on the last of his vegetables. Rowan studies a slightly overcooked scrap of bacon. A long minute passes, the sounds of supper fade. I kill the pause, compliment ‘MasterChef Rowan’, gather up the empty dinner plates and, with my own still half-filled, carry all four to the kitchen. After dumping my leftovers in the garbage and depositing the load in the dishwasher, I return to the table.

  ‘If it’s okay, I’d like to be excused.’

  ‘You mean from the table or from the mistake you made?’

  Geordie makes out like he’s joking, but there’s a kernel of something underneath. Frustration? Disappointment?

  ‘You’re excused, mate,’ he adds, before I can figure out what to say. ‘Catch you later? Row and I are gunna watch a tape of the Broncs game from this arvo.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I start to step away.

  ‘Munro?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘One last thing.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Geordie delivers his words like they’re written on palm cards. ‘Your heart is in the right place. That’s been clear from the beginning, when you told us about Mr Adams and how he tried to save your sister. You said you’re searching for his spirit?’

  ‘I am.’

  Geordie stands and brings a hand to his barrel chest. His mouth twitches, as if there’s voltage in the words he’s about to say. ‘Are you sure it’s his spirit you’re looking for?’

  He sees you, Munro.

  On your knees, keeping Evie’s head still. Working on her. Chest compressions, breaths. Keeping going, not stopping. Not stopping when it was all too late.

  It was you who held her hand. It was you who let go.

  He knows, Munro.

  He knows it was you.

  Before the rugby match, I tell Rowan about all the Fair Go time I mean to do this term.

  He grabs the little stuffed koala clinging to the stem of the pedestal fan and attaches it to his middle finger.

  ‘I take that to mean you won’t be wiping any more phone calls.’

  ‘You gotta help me out here, man,’ he says. ‘You gotta give me a reason.’

  ‘I thought you said you would keep doing it. That it was like littering for you.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You said you wanted to help me.’

  Rowan pats the koala on the head. ‘I am helping you, and I will keep helping you, but you gotta get real now, Mun. You gotta talk about what happened.’

  I tilt my head, allowing my hair to fall forward. I look at Rowan through the dark curtain. ‘You still don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t look it up out of curiosity?’

  He smiles. ‘Didn’t search any of the million articles out there.’

  ‘More like ten.’

  ‘A million, ten … not cool either way.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  ‘He’s not much of a googler.’

  ‘At supper, it just seemed like he … knew.’

  Rowan sits in the office chair. ‘He doesn’t know about you, but he knows what’s going on. He sees you.’

  I move so I’m seated on the edge of the bed. My heels bounce against the wooden frame. ‘It goes no further than this room.’

  ‘Only if you say otherwise.’

  The story I told in the Thai restaurant my first week – I tell the same one now, only Mr Adams is nowhere to be found. Where was Evie’s favourite teacher when she lay dying in the corridor between the library and Mrs Bouchard’s class? Probably on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, back in his home town of Brisbane. Certainly thousands of miles from DSS. I wonder if he even knows what happened. I wonder if he’s even aware that his brightest star fell from the sky.

  Rowan listens without reaction. No ‘What the?’ or ‘I can’t even’ or ‘That’s totally messed up’. When I finish, he strokes the thin hairs on his top lip, crosses his legs, leans on one of the armrests. ‘You need a drink of water?’ />
  ‘I’m okay.’

  He closes one eye. ‘Bundy and Coke?’

  ‘Pass.’

  ‘How’s it feel to unload that stuff?’

  I count out three breaths, then answer. ‘Makes me want to jump on a train and head back to Fair Go.’

  Rowan nods and gets to his feet. He tosses the koala to me and shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets. ‘I’ll rub out as many messages as I can.’

  As he heads for the door, he has the last word.

  ‘The residents out there – they’re not your sister, man. And they’re not your chance to make things right.’

  I sit the koala on my bedside table. He looks a bit lost, his outstretched arms pleading for something to hang on to.

  ‘I gotcha, buddy.’

  I dig into my shirt pocket and pull out the black pawn. It’s a perfect fit.

  I do fifty push-ups, then get into bed and turn out the light.

  So, you gave me a scare today, Coyote. A little throwback to the bad old days.

  It’s done, though. The Fair Go effect is about to go into overdrive. No more scares, no more glitches, no more echoes. Just goodbye. For good. It’s the home stretch, Coyote. Starting tomorrow.

  Sleep well tonight.

  You too, Munro.

  Just like Shah.

  HOME

  ‘I’m sorry … what exactly are you saying?’

  Craig Varzani pulls his shoulders back. The red poppy on his lapel dips and bobs, as if trying to avoid eye contact. For the fourth time since taking a seat, he reads from the notepad in his lap.

  ‘In the last few days, Munro, I’ve become aware of the full details surrounding your student exchange to date. Your marks are average at best, and you’re not actively engaging in school life or participating in extracurricular activities. These were points of discussion at our previous check-in meeting and there hasn’t been any improvement since then. While these would be concerning on their own, additional matters brought to my attention have escalated the situation considerably. I’ve been reliably informed that there have been other issues, including altercations with students.’

  I glare at Ms MacGillivray. She doesn’t look up, preferring to focus on the paper in her hands. ‘They were early in first term. There hasn’t been an issue for over two months.’

  Varzani tweaks his bumble-bee glasses. ‘That’s true, but it appears you replaced the fighting with something else – truancy. You’ve missed an unacceptable amount of school recently, Munro.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is, I’m no longer “da man”. Is that what you’re telling me?’

  Varzani ignores my sass. ‘This is not the sort of behaviour we want associated with YOLO.’ He takes off his glasses. ‘I rang your parents this morning and informed them of the situation. I recommended that you go home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No warning? No second chance?’

  ‘This was your second chance.’

  I shake my head. ‘My parents won’t agree.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. They felt you should go home, too. But they wanted to tell you in person.’ He checks his fluoro yellow fitness band. ‘That was almost two hours ago.’

  I feel for the phone in my shorts pocket. In this brief lull, I half expect FaceTime to fire up and burn a hole right through to my skin. It stays quiet, though, the way it has been all morning. The only notification I’ve received so far was a text from Caro – thinking of you and a series of emojis: kissy face, sad face, love heart, broken heart. She couldn’t know about this, could she? ‘This is BS. I don’t get a vote?’

  ‘In all fairness, Munro, you had a vote. You agreed to the terms of the exchange, you read the rules, you knew the expectations.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t ditch anything that mattered, did I? The Thirty Hour Famine? The Athletics Carnival? Vaccination Day? Really? And I wasn’t truly ditching! You know where I was.’

  Varzani unbuttons his jacket. The poppy stares at the door. ‘Your commitment to Fair Go – it’s admirable, no question. But here’s the thing: once your fifty hours were up, continuing to go there had nothing to do with school. And that’s regrettable, Munro. It really is. Because this is a school exchange program. Your folks paid us a lot of money so you could come to Australia for school.’ He closes his notepad. ‘You are a decent young man. And you’ve been through hell. If Fair Go is your calling, maybe you should come back.’

  ‘Come back?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe in a couple of years, on a temporary visa. Or you could work in a care facility when you return home.’

  I turn to Ms Mac. ‘Help me out here. Please.’

  She cricks her neck and leans forward, elbows on her knees. Traces of a black eye are visible under her make-up. ‘I’m sorry, Munro. It’s too late for me to help. When you get back to Vancouver, you should definitely get in touch with … what was the name of that counsellor your mum mentioned in her email?’

  ‘Ollie.’

  ‘Ollie. You and Ollie can work on a plan that will find your “best” and doesn’t involve sacrificing your education.’

  I let the words percolate in my head. Then I stand, extend a hand to Ms Mac.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got a lot less time than I thought I had. You’d think I would’ve learned that by now.’ I nod to Varzani. ‘You know where I’ll be.’

  ‘Come on, Munro, my man. You’re not a criminal. And this doesn’t have to be a difficult exit.’

  I walk towards the door of Ms Mac’s office. ‘Craig, my man … Too late.’

  I’m sick to my stomach. I can’t say goodbye yet. I’m not ready.

  My feet move quickly, walking fast, then jogging. They work in isolation from the rest of my body, as if someone’s controlling them with a remote. Past classrooms, along corridors, up stairs. I’m headed for my locker, but that fact is in the distance, somewhere on the horizon. A single thought is taking up all the available space in my head:

  I’m headed home.

  You knew this would happen, Munro.

  Deep down in your heart, you knew.

  You can be away from me for an hour, a day, even a few weeks, but it could never be permanent. You need me too much.

  Munro and the Coyote – we are together.

  Forever.

  I fumble with the key, then try to insert it upside down. Swear words are muttered. My hands steady. I flip the door open, it crashes against Toby Gresham’s locker with its peeling Pantera sticker. My bag and the folders of my Fair Go team – stained and bent from so much handling – are the only things I need. Planner, textbooks, spare school shirt … no longer required.

  ‘Munro?’

  Caro is standing in the middle of the hallway.

  ‘I know what happened. I’m … I’m totally gutted for you.’

  I’m set to ask how she found out about my take-down, but the question fizzles. Caro’s face is nuit.

  She’s been crying, Munro. And it’s not because you’re going home.

  She knows.

  I point a shaky finger at her. ‘Rowan told you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Rowan?’

  ‘About Evie. He fucking told you.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Munro –’

  ‘He promised to stay quiet. He’s a fucking liar.’

  ‘Rowan didn’t say a thing.’ Caro steps forward. She holds a hand up towards me like I’m a dangerous dog. ‘I found out off my own bat. You were bailing on school so much, I was worried things were getting worse for you.’

  Her palms come together and push up under her trembling chin.

  ‘I spoke with Ms Mac. I told her I was concerned. She didn’t want to say anything, but I got a tiny bit of info out of her, enough that I did a search on your old school. I found the article.’

  My phone starts to buzz. FaceTime. I block the call.

  �
�I’m here for you.’

  Caro searches her pockets, finds a folded piece of paper. She opens it and passes it to me. I stare at the creased page. It’s a poster. The content – pics, logo, colours, badge – I know very well.

  * * *

  Sussex State High – support our exchange student, Munro Maddux!

  Munro’s sister, Evelyn, passed away at age 13 and the Evelyn Maddux Foundation was established in her honour.

  Buy an E-LIFE badge for $2 and fund Down syndrome awareness and research!

  * * *

  They all know.

  It’s just as well we’re going home.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Caro. ‘It’s just a draft. It hasn’t gone out anywhere. I got the go-ahead from Student Council and I got in touch with your folks about the buttons. They’re on the way. We could definitely sell a tonne of them this term.’

  She takes hold of my left hand. Her wet cheeks shine in the hallway light.

  ‘What happened to you, Munro, losing your sister like that – I can’t imagine how that feels. And I can’t blame you for seeing school as a shit place to be. But for the rest of the exchange –’ she nods towards the poster – ‘I hope this helps you stick around a bit more.’

  Ha! Not gonna happen.

  My hand slides out of Caro’s grasp. I tear the poster in half, put it in my locker, close the door. ‘The exchange is done. I fucked up. YOLO contacted my parents – they’re calling it quits. I guess I’ll be on a plane tomorrow or the next day. Either way, I’m headed home.’

  Caro hugs herself, hands clasped to her shoulders, knuckles white. Her black fingernails and wristbands are like fresh bruises. Her scattered hair hides her face. ‘So, this is goodbye?’

  Not the voice you wanted saying those words, eh?

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  A shudder rolls over her. ‘I could come to Fair Go with you. I could ditch and we could go together one last time.’