by Pat Flynn
I wonder if she’s here for number one or two. Or both.
‘Jasmine and Nina told me that looking through my diary was their idea. And I know you did it because you were worried about me. It hurt because I trusted you and it still hurts sometimes when I think about it. But I forgive you.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘And I’m sorry.’
Her face softens. ‘There’s a lot I haven’t told you,’ she says. ‘For a long time I’ve had a thing about food, but since Dad went into hospital I’ve had this voice in my head telling me what to do. It’s been really scary’
I nod. I wouldn’t like an evil voice in my head ordering me around. It’s bad enough listening to Mum do it.
‘I’ve hidden my real thoughts from a lot of people,’ she says, ‘including you, because I was worried you’d think I was crazy.’
‘This is me you’re talking about. I invented crazy.’
She shakes her head. ‘Not this kind of crazy.’
I look her in the eye. ‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s … disgusting. The voice tells me I’m a bad person if I eat, and then if I do eat I feel so guilty I have to empty myself. And even though I know it’s wrong, I feel like I have to do what the voice says.’ She shakes her head again. ‘Do you think that makes me a fruitcake?’
I speak low in case Mum is out of the shower. ‘Hope you’re not one of Mum’s fruitcakes. They’re revolting.’
She grabs my hand. ‘I’m serious!’
‘So am I.’
We hold each other’s gaze until I shock myself. I reach forward and kiss her lips.
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘You taste too good to be a fruitcake.’
She’s still got my hand and I’m in no hurry for her to let go. ‘Matt, I’ve been thinking about what you told me. At my house.’
It takes a second for me to realise what she’s talking about, but then it drops into my head like a bomb. The L bomb.
‘I feel the same way,’ she says, squeezing my fingers.
A rush of heat starts in my heart and flows through my body and up to my cheeks. A girl loves me.
‘But …’ she continues.
But. I hate that word.
‘I just … can’t get too close to anyone right now,’ she says. ‘It’s not the right time. I’m really sorry.’
I feel like the hot water tap is suddenly turned off inside me. It’s not what I was hoping to hear. Not by a long shot.
She stands and gives me a hug, squeezing tight. ‘You’re really special to me, Matt. And you always will be, no matter what.’
She walks out the door, does a U-turn and slips something into my hand.
And then, just like that, she’s gone.
Chapter Fourteen
When Kayla leaves, Mum materialises out of the bathroom. ‘Was someone just here?’
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘Was it Kayla?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Hmm. What did she want?’
‘Umm …’
What did she want? I think. To forgive me, hug me, then dump me for good? To tell me how special I was and then say that it’s not the right time? I wish I knew what she wanted because then I could give it to her and we’d still be together.
And all of a sudden I think I’m going to cry and I’m not ready for Mum’s sympathy. Not yet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say.
I jog to my room, close the door and sit on my bed. Kayla’s words run through my head.
I just can’t get too close to anyone right now.
I don’t want her getting close to anyone. I want her close to me.
Last time we broke up there was hurt and anger and I thought nothing could be worse. This time she let me kiss her but then said that we can’t be together anymore. In a way it makes sense but it doesn’t hurt any less than before. I think it hurts even more.
Like a pendulum my head slowly shakes and though I’m filled with sadness, no tears come. I look down at my class novel which is face-up on the floor. It’s been getting better, because although the boy is skinny and a great skateboarder his life is still messed up, and it makes me think that what Doctor Morrison said on my last visit is true. Everyone has problems.
‘For some reason we humans want to do things that aren’t good for us,’ he said. ‘Maybe at first we don’t realise it and then we don’t believe it. But later we get a nagging feeling in our gut that it’s wrong. It’s the people who take notice of that feeling that end up being okay.’
I have a seafood problem. I see food and want to eat it and I don’t think that’s going to change in a hurry. But I’m learning to listen to my gut feeling – not the evil one but the good one – and I’m getting my problem under control. Every day is a struggle though and I wish it wasn’t. But at the end of a day when I can look at myself in the mirror and stomach the person looking back, I know that all the effort is worth it. And that feeling beats any triple-cheeseburger, anytime.
Kayla’s trying to win her battle, too, and for that I’m glad. I really hope she gets control of her life because being out of control is about the worst thing in the world.
Looking at the book helps me remember that there’s something sitting in my pocket that I should read.
I take it out. The paper is familiar and when I unfold it, I know why.
I’ve read this page before, in Kayla’s diary. It’s the page with a picture of me and the word FAT below it, the one I’ve been seeing in my nightmares. Why would she cut it out and give it to me? Is she trying to rub it in?
But when I look closely, there’s something I didn’t notice last time. Beside the F, A and T are more letters, much smaller and in the same greeny colour as the piece of paper they’re written on. It’s probably why I didn’t notice, or maybe all I saw was the word I’m most afraid of. Of who and what I don’t want to be.
For you I would walk through hot coals,
eat bad Chinese food, run into your arms,
And kiss your lips.
Teach me to like myself for who I am,
the way you do. Tell me you love me,
and I’ll say I love you.
And below the poem is something else, in red pen. It must have been written recently because it wasn’t there last time. I definitely would have noticed.
I love you, Matthew.
Kayla xxxooo
And now the floodgates open and the tears come.
Chapter Fifteen
We line up for tuckshop and I get a few simple requests. Andy Reynolds wants hot and spicy so I recommend wedges; Jane Frawley wants hot and cheap so I suggest the spag bol; and three people want money so I tell them to get lost.
‘I don’t have any,’ I say, turning out my pockets.
And it’s true. Today it’s Withers’ shout.
He goes for Hawaiian pizza and I choose a ham and salad roll with an apple for dessert. The apples have been high quality lately – big and red and sweet. It’s hard to believe, but I’ve become something of an apple expert.
I thank Jan and we head to a nearby picnic table to chow down.
‘To good mates,’ he says, holding up his orange and mango popper.
‘To mates,’ I echo, clinking his drink with my small chocolate milk.
As we’re eating, Tash and Kayla stroll past. Tash lifts up her nose but Kayla looks over and smiles.
Although I don’t want to, I smile back.
She stops, whispers something to Tash, and starts walking in our direction.
Withers kicks me in the shin. I feel like yelling at him but I’m trying to play it cool.
As she gets close, my stomach starts dancing the cha-cha.
‘Hi, Craig. Hi, Matt,’ she says.
‘G’day,’ says Withers.
I wave. Words and me don’t mix well right now.
It’s quiet for a moment. Tash looks on from a few metres away, her arms folded.
Kayla speaks. ‘That apple looks really good, Matt. Can I’ve a bite?’
; My head starts spinning. Kayla wants a bite of my apple? What does this mean?
‘Please?’ she asks.
Withers kicks me in the shin again. This time I’m glad because it spurs me into action. I pass her the apple.
She lifts it to her mouth and sinks her teeth through the crispy red skin. It’s not a huge bite but it’s more than a nibble and some juice runs down her cheek.
‘Mmm. That’s good. Thanks.’
She hands me back the apple, gives another smile and leaves. Tash is whispering something as they walk off and it doesn’t seem too friendly.
Withers and I just sit there.
He finally speaks. ‘Mate, I’d put that apple in a deep freezer and save it forever if I were you.’
I raise my eyebrows at him.
‘Are you sure you two aren’t back together?’ he adds. ‘Coz if you are you owe me two lunches.’
I shake my head. ‘Nah. We’re just friends.’
‘Yeah. And I’m a marathon runner.’
I toss a bit of beetroot at him and he responds by chucking a piece of pineapple at my head. Luckily, I duck, but unluckily it hits Andy Reynolds at the next table. He takes out his $300 tennis racket and smacks two grapes at us.
‘Oww!’ we yell.
He got us both with one shot.
And then it’s on for young and old – rice crackers, cheese sticks and banana boomerangs flying across picnic tables.
It’s the happiest I’ve been in ages.
First published 2009 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia
Reprinted 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2007, 2013, 2014
www.uqp.com.au
© Pat Flynn
www.patlfynnwriter.com
© Illustrations Tom Jellett
This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any foram or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Typeset by Peripheral Vision
Cataloguing in Publication Data
National Library of Australia
Flynn, Pat
The Toilet Kid
For middle to upper primary school students.
1. Eating Disorders – Juvenile Fiction. I. Title.
A823.4
ISBN 9780702237171 (pbk)
ISBN 9780702244049 (pdf)
ISBN 9780702244070 (epub)
ISBN 9780702244056 (kindle)
