The Toilet Kid

by Pat Flynn

  Drats!

  As I hand Kayla the envelope, Tash appears out of the classroom doorway. She was probably kept in for being annoying.

  ‘Oooh. What’s this? A love letter?’

  ‘It’s none of your business, that’s what it is,’ Kayla snaps. ‘Now, go away, Tash. Matt and I have important things to discuss.’

  Tash’s mouth falls open.

  So does mine. I’ve told Tash to go away plenty of times but I’ve never heard Kayla speak like that before. A part of me almost feels sorry for Miss Annoying.

  She skulks off, but not before giving me a dirty look.

  Hey, what did I do?

  Kayla puts the envelope in her bag. ‘I’ll save it for later.’ She touches my arm. ‘Thanks a lot, Matt. I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’m no writer.’

  ‘Was it fun to do?’ she asks.

  I think back to Saturday night. Normally I’d watch a DVD, play computer games or chat on MSN, but this was something different. I sat in my room and thought of two of my favourite things – food and Kayla – then put the thoughts into words.

  One cup of sugar

  a tablespoon of melted chocolate

  one sweet girl

  with a pinch of sadness

  Place in oven for one hour

  200 degrees

  Take out and let cool

  then try. Slowly.

  ‘Yeah, it was,’ I admit.

  She smiles and walks off.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day Kayla gives me a red envelope that smells like strawberries. On the front is my name – written in fancy swirling pen – and on the back a love-heart sticker holds down the flap.

  I wait until I get home to open it – in my room with the door closed. Not that I think Mum will be interrupting -she’s been slaving over some work report all week – but it’s best to be sure.

  Inside the envelope is a note saying how much Kayla liked my poem and how special I am to her. A sweet, sickly feeling hits me hard under the solar plexus. Love hurts.

  Her poem is written in black felt-tipped pen on a thick, rough piece of pink paper. Around the margins are little drawings of bowls, spoons and love hearts. They make me smile.

  But the poem doesn’t.

  One cup of olive oil

  One cup of brown sugar

  and one cup of self-raising flour

  Mix carefully with a boy

  But not just any boy

  One who understands

  what it’s like

  to love food

  and hate it

  Cook for 30 minutes

  or until tender

  Then eat

  and eat

  and eat

  until you can’t eat anymore

  Then be sick

  and start eating again

  This isn’t what I expected. Not by a long shot. Who wants to eat until they’re sick and then eat some more? Even when I was as fat as a house I didn’t do that. At least not on purpose.

  There’s only one explanation that I can think of. My girlfriend is messed up in the head. Hopefully, there’s another explanation that I can’t think of, which is definitely possible because I don’t know that much about girls.

  I need to talk to an expert.

  Unfortunately, the only person close by is my mum. She’s an expert in working hard, spoiling me silly and cooking inedible cakes. But she is a girl, so I s’pose she’s worth a try. And she deserves it – she has been a much better mum lately than ever before.

  She’s on the couch cradling a cup of coffee and her laptop – fingers typing like the wings of a bat trying to escape from hell.

  ‘Mum. Can I ask you something?’

  She doesn’t answer. At the moment being a mum doesn’t seem to be on her mind.

  ‘Mum!’

  She doesn’t look up but she does say, ‘Sorry, hon. What is it?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘what do you do if you think someone might be doing something that’s really bad for them?’

  She stops typing and looks at me. ‘Are you taking drugs?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Is one of your friends taking drugs?’

  ‘No, Mum!’

  She keeps looking at me for a few seconds, then her eyes wander back to the screen. ‘Good,’ she says.

  She starts typing again.

  I shake my head. ‘Thanks for your help, Mum.’

  ‘Anytime, love.’

  The next day at school we’re told to make groups of three during art and I hook up with Jasmine and Nina. We’re supposed to be planning a collage about the media’s influence on body image, instead we’re making a collage of all the information we know about Kayla.

  Because I don’t know what else to do, I show them Kayla’s poem.

  ‘That’s weird,’ says Nina.

  ‘Really weird,’ agrees Jasmine.

  ‘What’s weird?’ asks Tash, who has wandered away from her group to annoy us.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, stuffing the poem in my pocket.

  We’re silent, which annoys Tash. She can smell gossip like I can smell pizza, and she hates missing out. Like I hate missing out on pizza.

  Tash gives me the evil eye. ‘I think you’re weird.’

  Two tiny girls come to my rescue. ‘Leave him alone,’ says Nina.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Jasmine. ‘Matthew’s not weird. He’s eccentric.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say to Tash. ‘Here that? I’m electric.’

  Tash humphs off.

  ‘I’ve got a plan,’ says Nina, leaning close.

  Jas and I listen.

  ‘Matt, you need to look through Kayla’s diary. If there’s more weird stuff about food then we go see Mr Cook.’

  Mr Cook is the school counsellor, not the school cook.

  ‘That’s a good plan,’ says Jas.

  I’m not so sure. Stealing my girlfriend’s diary is sounding like a pretty bad plan to me.

  ‘Why don’t I just ask her if something’s wrong?’ I say.

  ‘Because she’ll probably deny it,’ says Nina. ‘And then she’ll be really suspicious.’

  ‘It’s true,’ says Jas. ‘People with problems like this usually keep it a secret.’

  ‘This is the only way,’ says Nina. ‘You need evidence.’

  Jas pats me on the arm. ‘It’s for the best, Matt.,’

  If it’s for the best then why do I feel guilty already?

  Kayla and I are eating lunch together. Well, I eat lunch and she nibbles on a few grapes. She reckons her tummy is feeling funny, an excuse I’ve heard twice this week. Her stomach should get a gig as a stand-up tum-edian.

  We used to be able to talk and laugh about anything but now we don’t say much. It’s like there’s an elephant at the table and neither of us wants to mention it.

  ‘You haven’t told me what you thought of my poem,’ she says.

  ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, trying to think of something positive, ‘I really liked the note you wrote and the little drawings. They were cool.’

  ‘What about the poem itself?’ She chews at a split fingernail as she waits for me to answer.

  ‘Well, it was quite …’

  Quite what? I think, panicking. I wish I wouldn’t speak before I think. ‘Quite … interesting.’

  She blows out the broken fingernail and turns away. ‘I have to go to the toilet.’

  I suck in a breath and look left. Jasmine and Nina give me the thumbs up and follow her.

  The jackal is out of the bag. The bird has flown its nest. The dancers are now a-go-go.

  Their job is to keep Kayla in the toilet long enough for me to hot-tail it to her bag, check her diary and run back to the table. Then me and the skinny twins are to meet for a debrief later in the library. Debrief is Jasmine’s word, not mine. She and Nina are really getting into this spy thing.

  Like I’m cut out to be Jame
s Bond. I’m more like James the Fat. I can’t hot-tail it anywhere.

  But I find Kayla’s bag easily enough, undo the zipper and start rustling through books. A burst of excitement, guilt and fear rushes through me. I feel like a thief.

  ‘Matthew! What are you doing?’

  Oh, no! It’s Mr Simpson. I’m busted with a capital B.

  ‘Umm …’ I mumble, trying to remember the excuse that Nina told me to say in case I was caught. It was something about Kayla forgetting her lunch and me eating it for her. No, that’s not right.

  He’s standing tall, a football in his huge right hand. I hope he doesn’t throw it at me. ‘The senior touch football comp is about to start on the oval,’ he booms. ‘Why aren’t you there watching?’

  He gives me a little smile. I think scaring kids is one of his favourite hobbies.

  ‘Or, better still, you should consider playing,’ he continues. ‘You’ve really impressed me lately with your improved fitness.’

  ‘Umm … thanks, sir.’

  He strides off towards the oval.

  I breathe out and keep rustling through Kayla’s bag. Eventually, I find her diary, on top. It was staring at me the whole time.

  I flick through it. Every page is busy, busy, busy. There are homework assignments, friends’ birthdays, and a love heart with ‘Kayla loves Matthew’ written inside. It makes what I’m doing seem even worse and I’m about to put the diary back when I notice something strange. There are a group of pages stuck together. As carefully as I can, I undo the sticky tape and open the sealed section.

  I wish I hadn’t.

  Chapter Nine

  Most people who hang out in the library at lunchtime either play chess or sit on beanbags and read. Two library monitors sit behind the check-out desk on tall stools, while Joe Calabrese sticks close to the librarian, like chewing gum under her shoe. No one hangs out in the non-fiction section which is why we decided to meet here. For this conversation, privacy is the key.

  ‘What did you find out?’ asks Jasmine.

  ‘Yeah. Tell us,’ says Nina.

  I’m about to answer but can’t find the right words. How to explain that my world has come apart with the peeling away of clear sticky tape?

  On the shelf I see a thick book called Introduction to the Human Species. I need to read that book.

  ‘Come on,’ says Jasmine.

  ‘It’s important,’ says Nina.

  And before I can stop myself, I spit it out. About the sealed section and what was in it: cut-outs of paper-thin models, a list of websites such as eatingisforlosers.com and beskinnyandhappy.biz, a how-to section called ‘Thinspiration’ that had tips like:

  When hungry:

  Eat grapes, drink water, chew sugar-free gum

  Exchange eating for exercise

  Notice how many girls are thinner than you

  and try to beat them

  When you get hunger pains, curl up in a ball.

  It helps them go away.

  There was a section titled ‘Excuses’:

  If anyone offers you food say:

  I’ve already eaten

  I’ve got a stomach bug

  I’ve just finished training

  I’ll eat later

  I’m vegetarian/lactose intolerant/allergic

  to wheat.

  More like allergic to life, I reckon.

  And a poem Kayla wrote called ‘Dizzy’.

  When your head is light

  Your stomach tight

  And all you want is a snack

  Soon you’ll be dizzy

  Your head nice and fuzzy

  And the pain will fade to black

  I’m about to tell the girls about something called a BMI index that Kayla had highlighted when I freeze. There’s a faint rustling behind the bookshelf. I slide out Introduction to the Human Species and peek through the gap.

  Kneeling down with an ear between two encyclopaedias is Tash! With my finger I push out a book from the middle shelf and it hits bang on target.

  ‘Oww!’ She looks up and rubs her head. ‘What are you doing?’

  She’s lucky it was only a thin paperback about the dangers of nicotine, and not Introduction to the Human Species.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, even though it’s obvious.

  She stands, and although I can’t see her very well through the books, I’m pretty sure she has her hands on her hips. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been spying on my friend! That’s, like, so low!’

  ‘Well, you’re doing exactly the same to us,’ I say.

  ‘That’s different!’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she argues. ‘I’m doing it for good and you’re evil. I’m like Batman and you’re the Joker.’

  ‘Well, go live in a cave then.’

  ‘Hmmph! I’m going to find Kayla and tell her what you’ve done!’ She storms out of the library.

  ‘Uh, oh,’ says Nina. ‘We’re dead.’

  ‘So dead,’ says Jasmine.

  I don’t say anything. It seems like things have just gone from bad to baddest.

  ‘Now that we know no one’s listening—’ says Jasmine.

  ‘Anything else you can tell us?’ finishes Nina.

  ‘No.’ I’ve said too much already, although there’s one thing I’ve kept to myself.

  In Kayla’s diary is a photo of me. I’m at the pool with my shirt off, flab hanging over my boardies like jelly. Still,

  I’m smiling, because Kayla is taking my picture.

  But underneath the photo is something that would wipe the smile off my face if I knew that Kayla was going to write it there. It’s something I’ll never forget, the huge letters taunting me.

  FAT.

  Chapter Ten

  Kayla finds me in the handball line. For once I wish I was good enough not to be in line but actually on the court, because then it would harder for her to grab my arm and say, ‘We need to talk.’

  None of the other guys blink – they’re too busy watching the bouncing ball – except for Withers. He’s in line too and as I’m led away he gives me the thumbs up.

  That’s how much he knows about girls.

  She stops under a tree. It’s the same one I escaped to last year when I was on the run after sconing Withers in the head with a tennis ball for calling me fatty, fatty, fat, fat. Trouble found me that day in the form of a teacher being led by a posse of students. Today it’s just my girlfriend sitting cross-legged in front of me.

  Although this trouble is a lot better looking (no offence, Mrs Carmichael), I’d prefer the teacher any day.

  ‘Is it true?’

  She almost whispers it, no anger in her voice, and it occurs to me that with a well-told lie perhaps I could escape from this tree with no major injuries.

  Apart from the word of an unreliable, jealous friend, there’s no evidence that I did anything wrong. Kayla’s diary is back in her bag and Jasmine and Nina aren’t going to rat me out in a hurry. Not when it was all their idea.

  Excuses run around my head like rabbits caught in headlights:

  Is what true?

  Tash is making it all up.

  I’d never lie to you. Ever.

  ‘Yeah. It is,’ I hear myself say.

  I never was much of a liar.

  She doesn’t say anything, but a tear appears in the corner of an eye and rolls down her cheek like a bowling ball. I’ve got the strongest urge to wipe it away with my sleeve, but I’d probably get whacked in the jaw if I tried.

  ‘Why?’ she says, even more softly than before.

  I think about blaming Nina and Jasmine, but it’d sound weak. ‘Because I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just ask me if something was wrong?’

  I shrug. It’s a good question.

  ‘You don’t think I wanted your help?’ she says. ‘Do you know how hard it was for me to eat all that food with you watching? Or write that poem?’

  I shrug again. It’s th
e best I can come up with.

  But then I think of something to say. ‘I can help you now.’

  I reach out to wipe her face. The first tear has gone but more have taken its place.

  She turns her head, then stands. ‘It’s too late for that.’

  She’s walking away.

  When I get home from school there’s a note on the kitchen bench.

  Have to work late.

  Vegetable lasagne in fridge. Cook on high for three minutes in microwave.

  Love Mum

  PS. Do your homework before you play on the computer.

  As if I don’t know how to heat up dinner in the microwave.

  As if I’m going to do my homework.

  As if I’m eating vegetable lasagne tonight.

  I turn the computer on and do a search for local takeout places. I’d love pizza but Eric’s brother is a delivery boy and I don’t fancy another punch in the guts. I can’t even consider Chinese, so I decide on a bit of Thai me kangaroo down, sport. Besides, if they don’t deliver in under an hour it’s free.

  I check a menu and jot down my order, but as I’m about to pick up the phone it rings.

  I jolt in surprise, not answering it straightaway. Maybe it’s Mum checking up on me? Someone from India trying to sell me a mobile phone? Or Kayla wanting to make things right.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Matt’

  It’s not Kayla. Or Mum. Or even a mobile phone dealer. In fact, it’s someone I least expect.

  ‘Withers. What do you want?’ I’m not exactly in the best mood to be talking to worst enemies.

  ‘I just … wanted to say something. To you.’

  ‘Go on, then. Say it.’

  I’m not cutting him any slack, I know. But I have food to order, computer games to play and a girl to forget.

  ‘I just wanted to say … sorry. For everything.’

  I don’t answer. I’m too shocked.

  ‘I wish I never stopped being your friend,’ he continues, ‘but when the new kid came and started teasing us …’

  There’s a pause so I finish his sentence. ‘It felt bad.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But why did you become best friends with him after that?’

  It’s a question I’ve always wanted to ask.

  ‘It was stupid, I know,’ he says. ‘But I think it’s because I didn’t want to be the one everybody picked on, so I joined him and went against you. I wanted to be normal.’