by Harry Cook
“I wish Eric wasn’t such a jerk-off,” Poppy says, chewing on a loose strand of her hair.
I go to say something, but she’s not finished.
“– and I wish Rye didn’t put up with his shit and I wish good people found other good people and that guys like Eric weren’t so dense and tone deaf, and I wish he hadn’t forced you into coming out within the first five minutes of being –”
“Wait, he did what?” June says, sitting bolt upright.
The room is quiet for a moment; the lips on the Rocky Horror Picture Show poster on the wall seeming to glow red.
“That dumb Rapid Fire game,” Poppy says.
“That boy is about as subtle as a dumpster fire,” June says, heading to her closet and rummaging around in a bag on the floor.
“Here,” she says, handing me a leaflet on which the letters “QSA” are framed by a rainbow flag and the slogan “Keep Calm, It’s Just a Toilet” is stamped along the edge: “QSA: Queer Straight Alliance. We have a meeting tomorrow, right after fifth period in the music rooms in C-block. You should come. We’re planning a counter-protest against discrimination of bathroom usage at school.” Her nails glint as she points to the slogan. “We’re always looking for new members.”
Suddenly I feel really warm. The air in the room thins, like there’s an oxygen shortage. Activism might be too big a step right now.
“Sure,” I say, my voice sounding squeaky.
I know that moving here is my parents’ way of giving me a fresh start. I know that QSA meetings and QSA friends are exactly what they are trying to avoid by us being here, but in my heart I also know how stupid it is for them to want me to change. In my heart I know there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. My eyebrows alone are proof of that.
I take the flyer, fold it up and put it in my pocket.
“Thanks for a great Halloween,” I say, standing. “I should probably head home.”
“I’ll drive you,” June says, grabbing the keys from her desk. Poppy gets up too and before I know it we are all in the car and heading for my place.
We park outside and I can see that the light in the top right window is on. Mum and Dad are still up.
Poppy, June and I say goodnight and I head for the front door. When I’m inside I make for the stairs. I’m two rungs up the ladder to my room when I hear Dad’s voice.
“Eleven fifty-four. Cutting it fine, Fin.”
I close my eyes and swallow. As I climb back down and face him, I feel like a liar. I want to be anywhere but here right now.
“Poppy like your costume?”
I nod.
He nods back.
“It’s good to make new friends, Fin. . .” Dad goes on, clearly wanting more enthusiasm from me. His previous good mood seems to have disappeared. Instead his face is void of any expression and his voice neutral. “Please just – Just don’t make the same mistakes twice, okay?”
Did he follow me tonight or something?
“I know, Dad,” I say, my stomach tightening and my upper body becoming heavy.
“Just a reminder, that’s all,” Dad says, the ice in his tone suddenly turning the air around him cold and unfriendly.
Yes, no doubt about it, he’s in one of his moods.
“Well, I got it,” I say, turning to the ladder. Then I head up through the hatch in the ceiling into my new room. The moonlight’s casting a silver glow on my bed through the windows, as I close the hatch behind me.
Thank god he can’t read my mind.
8
Fin
I wake early to the smell of pancakes, coffee and burnt toast. I can hear Mum humming along to the golden oldies radio station in the kitchen.
Dad’s car is gone from the drive, so I know he’s left for work and it’s just me and Mum at home.
She looks up and smiles as I enter the kitchen, handing me a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes and giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat on the kitchen bench and pouring myself an orange juice.
“How was your night?” Mum asks.
“Good. My costume was a hit,” I say.
Mum smiles. “And . . . And Poppy?” she asks. She looks nervous. Like Poppy is my only chance at “normal”. As if, without her, I might start belting out show tunes and shooting rainbows from my fingers.
“She’s good.” I don’t really know what to say. I’m not going to lie and say we are a “thing” because we’re not a thing. And it would be ridiculously fast work if we were.
Rye, on the other hand, refuses to leave my mind. I haven’t stopped thinking about him since we met on the dock and, to be honest, it’s driving me insane. I’m also extremely pissed that he has a boyfriend. More so because his boyfriend is a giant ass-hat and one hundred per cent unworthy of him.
I finish breakfast, give Mum a kiss goodbye before grabbing my bag and heading for the door. I’m three steps away when the phone in the hallway rings.
“Hello?” I say into the receiver. In the corner of my eye I see Mum walk out from the kitchen.
On the other end of the line there’s static. Then –
“Dad? Is that – H-Hello?”
“Elliot, it’s me!” I yell, excitedly.
“Fin?”
I smile. I haven’t spoken to Elliot in ages. He’s been travelling to every possible remote place with zero Wi-Fi/reception, which means we only hear from him when he’s slumming it in a city somewhere.
I’ve missed speaking to him. Before he went away, we’d spend our weekends together, hiking, chilling or at the arcade. He would always be front and centre at every school performance I was in and, before he left school, I was safe from anyone like Jesse or Jake because Elliot was captain of the football team and they wouldn’t dare touch me. We’re close. Well, we were close. I’m wondering if that will still be the case when he finds out about the events of the last few weeks.
“Where are you?” I ask, holding the receiver away from Mum who is attempting to pry it out of my hands.
“Borneo!” he says. “The rainforest!”
“Are you kidding me?” I say, grinning to myself. Elliot’s the type of guy who I can totally imagine in an ancient rainforest. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was living up a tree with an orangutan by now.
“Yeah!” Elliott laughs. “It’s awesome. I’ve got so much to tell you! But you guys moved?! How’s Dad’s new promotion? How are you liking Lochport?”
I’m guessing that’s what Mum and Dad have told him. That we moved for Dad’s work.
“Yeah, it’s . . . It’s all good,” I lie.
We talk for a bit about his travels and I quickly distract him when he asks anything to about my life or what’s been going on. We focus instead on his adventures out in the world far away from here; how he has been living on two-dollar noodles and rice for who knows how long and washing his clothes in waterfalls.
“I gotta go,” I say, wrapping up the conversation as I feel it heading in the direction of what I’m desperate to avoid talking about: me. “Chat soon. Here’s Mum.” I hand the receiver over and head out the front door.
I take a deep breath and let the salty air from the harbour calm me. The leaves under my feet crackle and crunch like the sound of a mouth full of Corn Flakes as I make my way down our street and head for my new school.
I have the QSA flyer in my back pocket. I’m surprised at myself that I kept it. If Dad found it, I’m certain he would be in the car like a shot, racing towards the next town, and I’d be back on that clapped-out bus to Aunt Carla’s, nursing a near-fatal asthma attack from her four thousand feral cats.
*
I arrive just as the first bell of the day goes and head for the reception area. A woman stands behind the reception desk chewing a pen ferociously like she’s trying to bite it in half. Her eyes seem wild and I wonder if she’s okay. With her swishy bangs, she reminds me of Taylor Swift – if Taylor Swift was into smoking heavy-duty bath salts.
“I . . . It
’s my first day,” I say, walking up tentatively as if she might lunge over the counter and maul me.
She snaps out of her trance and smiles this toothy smile that’s sweet but kind of terrifying too.
“Name?” she asks.
“F-Fin. Fin Whittle. I just moved here fr–”
“From Pittford. Yes. Here is your welcome pack.” She hands me a manila folder with a weird sticky bow on it. “Your locker number is one-five-four and your textbooks are inside. Your timetable is in the folder towards the back, but your first class is geography. A-block. Room four-zero-one.” She smiles that big insane smile again and then goes back to biting the hell out of her pen.
“Thanks,” I say.
I turn to leave and find my way to a row of lockers, slowly walking along until I get to 154. My combination is on the back of the manila folder: 13-03-19. I open it up, grab my geography book, dump the giant folder onto the shelf and head off with a jog towards A-block.
The school is kinda nice looking (as far as schools go). Lots of archways and trees and benches to sit on. The cafeteria is enormous. Our tiny little hall in Pittford is like a dog kennel in comparison. I scan the buildings, B-block, C-block.
A-block. Perfect. I locate room 401 easily enough and, thankfully, I’m not the last one to arrive. I find myself a seat near the back and scan the room for any sign of Poppy, June or Rye. Mostly Rye. But nada. Nothing. Zip. The class is still void of my new friends by the time our teacher, Miss Chenoweth, arrives and closes the door behind her.
Note to self: resist the urge to ask Miss Chenoweth if she is any relation to Kristen Chenoweth. Resist. The. Urge.
The class whizzes by fairly quickly and, again thankfully, I’m not asked to stand and introduce myself or any of that other dumb-assery that teachers find it appropriate to make new people do. I realise I left my timetable in the folder which is in my locker, so I head back in that direction. The halls are buzzing with chatter and energy and when I get to my locker I see a ripped piece of paper sticking out from one of the ventilation slats.
Hope your first day is going good? Come have lunch with us.
You’ll find us easily enough.
Love, Rye and Poppy
My heart skitters and I feel like a thousand butterflies are dancing in my tummy. Love, Rye and Poppy. Which one wrote it? Rye’s name is first, so him? Now I can’t stop thinking of that ridiculously cute smile and his curly hair. And then the fact that he has a human excuse for a toilet as a boyfriend slaps me across the face.
*
I have another period before lunch and, after checking my timetable, I realise it’s advanced maths. Strangely enough, I don’t mind maths. I guess I’m kinda good at it too, hence the whole “advanced” bit. And yes, I said hence. Emily would be rolling her eyes, keeping me right as always. I can’t help but really miss that girl . . .
The class is in D-block and somehow I’ve managed to get there just as our teacher does, making me the last one through the doors with her. Miss Delecki is seriously impressive. Her dark hair’s in an immaculate bob and she has some awesome heels going on. I’m talking hot red ankle boots with a metal zip. An absolute boss.
The only seat left is one at the front. As I sit down, I notice that the two girls from the wharf yesterday – the ones who were tormenting Rye – are sitting together and staring at me. I know one of them was called Bronwyn but I can’t think of the other one’s name. Poppy likened her to a couch in an old person’s house, but I can’t for the life of me think of –
“Paisley –” Miss Delecki snaps. That’s it. “– open your textbook and come back to the room, please. Daydreaming is one thing, but honestly, you look comatose.”
Paisley does as she is asked and sighs loudly, as if resigned to a fate worse than death. Then her brain clicks into gear and she evidently decides to really throw me under the bus and reverse over my face.
“Of course, miss, but don’t you think the new guy should introduce himself?”
Miss Delecki glances over to me and then back at Paisley. “Or, we could all introduce ourselves to him.”
“Hmm. I think I’d rather he do it. Otherwise we won’t be able to enjoy your wonderful class if we’re all talking about each and every one of us.”
Ooh. Paisley is good for a couch.
I stand, turn and death stare her with a look that says, I will find you and I will kill you in Liam Neeson’s Taken voice.
“I’m Fin Whittle. I just moved here from Lochport. I like video games, ice cream, musicals and running, but not in that order, and I’m really happy to be here.” Those last few words I add extra cheese to and then sit down and face the front.
Seemingly impressed at my effort, Miss Delecki gives me a little nod.
“And you like dudes, right?”
I flinch like someone just punched me in the chest.
“Paisley, Mr Whittle’s sexuality is his own business and I –”
“Um, you’re acting like it’s something that should be hidden, miss,” Paisley says with a faux smile that makes me want to vomit. Murmurs of stifled laughter and chatter blanket the air and I’m finding it impossible to breathe. “It’s just that I saw Fin with Rye down at the wharf yesterday and I guess I put two and two together.’ She pauses and puts that bus into reverse. “No doubt he’ll join the QSA with that ‘June’ and become another one of those campaigners –”
I can’t believe her finger quotes. I go to say something, anything, but no words come out.
“Enough, Paisley,” Miss Delecki snaps, her eyes piercing into Paisley’s in a way that’s almost scary. Paisley stops like an obedient puppy called to heel and her sidekick Bronwyn giggles like an idiot.
For the rest of the class I attempt to remember how to speak while simultaneously taking deep breaths to try to lower my heart rate. Feelings flood me. I’m so angry I’m shaking. I want to cry furious tears and throw something at the wall and watch it break. I hate how much shame I’m carrying. I hate how broken I feel. I hate how much I hate myself. I’d give anything to be as confident as Rye or June. Literally anything.
9
Fin
When the bell rings – at last – I practically break the door off its hinge with the force of my departure. I’m pissed. Really pissed. Mostly at Paisley, but also at my situation. As if high school – make that my first day at a new high school – weren’t hard enough without dealing with all this.
I leave D-block and make a right through the field that doubles as a running track, basketball court and soccer pitch. The sky is a perfect blue and the wind whips at my cheeks as I make another right down A-block and arrive at the cafeteria. I’m hit with the smell of over-processed mac ’n’ cheese, noodles and salad. I’m not hungry in the slightest after the hour I’ve just endured so I opt for a muesli bar and an iced coffee.
I make a beeline for an empty table in the corner of the room but realise midway that I’ve forgotten a metal straw for my iced coffee. It’s a must when you’re dealing with ice cubes in a drink. Don’t fight me on this, I’ll win. I turn and head back to the cutlery table and see out of the corner of my eye a giant balloon with the words “Sorry For Your Loss” written on the front. I look down and see Rye and Poppy sitting together. They’re waving and ushering me over.
“Um . . . Hey,” I say, unable to stop staring at the balloon.
“I know. I’m sorry. We wanted to get a ‘Welcome’ balloon, but this was the only one left in the store,” Rye says.
After Paisley’s horror show, this is the sweetest thing imaginable. Even if the balloon is wrong on every level. People are walking by and staring. I giggle.
“Thanks,” I say, smiling at both of them.
“How has your first day been?” Poppy asks.
“Mmm. Yeah. It’s been something.” I don’t know how to begin.
They both look at me expecting me to say more.
“I had maths with Paisley and Bronwyn,” I say, taking a bite out of my muesli bar, which tastes
like a block of compressed dust. “And they kind of outed me in the middle of class.”
Poppy drops her fork. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She looks furious. Like, next level rage. Rye looks angry too but seems to have a lid on it.
“Poppy, don’t bother with those scumbags,” Rye says, a piece of advice which she completely ignores. She’s glaring around the cafeteria now, like a savage dog that’s about to slip its chain.
At that moment, Paisley and Bronwyn enter the room and Poppy stands. They both smirk at her with a look that says, What you gonna do? Rye grabs hold of her arm and I look up at her, my cheeks burning.
“It’s fine. Honest. Please . . . Just sit,” I say. My voice sounds faraway like it belongs to someone else.
To my amazement, Poppy sits and Paisley and Bronwyn find a table with the guys who were at the wharf yesterday. They truly look like a bunch of vampires. Not the sexy kind. More like the walkers of the earth, pale as milk, iron-deficient kind.
“I can’t stand them,” Poppy says, glaring at them across the room.
Rye looks over at me. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, but my heart’s beating so fast I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
“Thanks again for the . . . For this,” I say, gesturing to the slowly deflating sympathy balloon above our heads.
“No problem,” Poppy quips. Then, adopting a serious look: “We are very, very sorry for your loss.”
I laugh. I like how easy this feels. If there’s one thing I was worried about more than anything it was finding new friends. Thankfully the universe had my back on that at least.
June arrives and gives me a hug before sitting next to me.
“Um, where are our hugs?” Poppy says, motioning between herself and Rye, who is smiling; I can’t help noticing he has dimples for days.
“Mwah, mwah,” June blows two kisses in their direction which Rye catches and Poppy swats away like a fly.
“Not gonna cut it, June-bug.”
June sighs, rolls her eyes and then leans over to give Poppy a hug which she happily accepts.
