Waiting for the Punchline

by Natasha West

  ‘Yeah’ Megan muttered.

  And then they listened as Miss Arkin handed around old empty egg shells and vinegar sachets to the confused class. ‘I like to use household objects in my experiments. Chemicals are easy to separate from the real word but things like vinegar and eggs are in your house. It’s real stuff and it’s science. I think that’s fun so that’s why you’re sifting through old eggshells right now.’

  She went on to explain about acetic acid and calcium carbonate and why they react. ‘Now, in your pairs, mash up the egg shell and pour on the vinegar and watch what happens.’

  Megan and Phoebe looked at each other, uncertainly. Phoebe spoke first. ‘Do you want to crush up the egg and I’ll pour the vinegar on?’

  Megan said ‘Alright’, picked up a spoon and started cracking up the egg shell haphazardly. A piece of shell flipped out of the bowl, straight into Phoebe’s eye. ‘Ow’ she cried out in shock. Megan gaped, mortified. ‘Shit!’

  Phoebe tilted her head forward, trying to blink out the shard in her eye. ‘Oh god, it’s gotten under the contact lens!’

  ‘You wear contacts?’ Megan asked, surprised. Phoebe looked at her. Megan realised it wasn’t the most pressing issue. ‘Miss!’ she yelled across the classroom. Miss Arkin turned, along with the rest of the room. ‘I’ve put eggshell in Phoebe’s eye!’

  Miss Arkin walked over. ‘What for? Did you think that was part of the experiment?’

  ‘It was an accident, Miss. And now it’s under her contact lens.’

  ‘Phoebe, do you need the nurse?’ Miss Arkin asked.

  ‘No, I can sort it out myself. I just need to go to the toilet’ Phoebe said calmly.

  ‘Go, then. Megan, go with her. She might need a hand.’

  Megan nodded, relieved. Everyone was looking at her again. If there was a chance to get out of this room, even to escort her victim to the toilet, she would grab it.

  In the toilet, Megan watched with morbid fascination as Phoebe put her thumb and forefinger into her eye, squeezing the contact until it popped out.

  ‘Gross’ Megan muttered. ‘I don’t know how you can touch your own eyeball like that.’

  ‘Better than touching someone else’s’ Phoebe replied as she examined the contact lens.

  ‘True’ Megan conceded. ‘But I can’t even put drops in. Every time I have to do it, I get really close, like I can see the drop hanging, and then at the last second, I’ll jerk my head out of the way and it splashes all over my cheek. Can’t help it. You’re trying to concentrate, aren’t you? I’ll shut up. My Dad always says I don’t know when to shut my yap.’

  ‘Think I’ve got it’ Phoebe said, as she touched her fingernail to the contact, picking up the tiny bit of shell. It was amazing how much pain this small particle of breakfast food debris had caused her. She flicked the shell into the sink and put the contact back in. Phoebe wasn’t certain what to do next so she took out her hair clips and began to put them back in again, in the exact same place. She was achieving nothing but it kept her busy. Being alone in the toilet with Megan was a bit confounding.

  ‘Sorry again’ Megan said as she watched Phoebe fiddle with her hair. ‘I could get you some more fries but you’ll have to wait till Thursday. That’s when my babysitting money comes.’

  It was the first direct reference to the ‘What the hell are you grinning at?’ incident that either of them had made. It made the atmosphere in the girl’s toilets a little more stilted. And it hadn’t been easy to start with.

  But Phoebe thought this was her best opportunity to clear something up. ‘I wasn’t laughing at you. You know. That day.’

  ‘I know’ Megan said quickly.

  ‘I didn’t think it was funny at all’ Phoebe went on.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It was mean-’

  ‘Can we stop talking about it?’ Megan said, shortly.

  Phoebe stopped, mid-sentence. She turned back to the mirror and took out the clip she’d just put in, reattaching it while Megan rolled her eyes at herself. ‘Damn, why do I keep doing that? Sorry again. Or again, again, again.’ Megan said. ‘I’m not like this usually.’

  ‘What are you like, then? Phoebe asked plainly, turning back to Megan.

  ‘Dunno. Just… Not a total bitch.’

  Phoebe nodded. ‘Alright.’

  Phoebe walked past Megan, headed out of the toilet. Megan thought she’d really muffed things with the one person who was nice to her and wasn’t a mute. But as Phoebe reached the door, she turned. ‘I think I’ll mash up the eggshell from now on and you can do the vinegar. What do you think?’

  ‘You’re not gonna try and swap partners?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It was only an accident.’

  She walked out. Megan hurried after her, hoping to god she didn’t somehow find a way to blind Phoebe with the vinegar.

  Later, they watched the eggshell and vinegar fizzing and bubbling. It was a reaction. They didn’t say anything, they just watched it crackling away. And then the bell went.

  ‘See ya’ Phoebe said, grabbing her stuff and fleeing at speed. Megan went to reply but she wasn’t fast enough. Phoebe was quick. And speed had never been Megan’s bag. What was the point of being fast? She was never on her way to anywhere that she wanted to be. Home, school, they both sucked. And now it was home time. Megan sighed and picked up her bag.

  Four

  ‘Megan, coaster’ Kelly said sharply as she turned from the oven with plates in her hand.

  Megan sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, picking up her coke and shifting it onto the coaster.

  ‘I’m not asking for much, Megan.’

  ‘Just total obedience’ Megan grumbled under her breath.

  ‘What was that?’ Kelly demanded.

  ‘Nothing’ Megan said, sulkily. She looked at the knackered out old dining table and wondered what the big deal was. She’d been putting her drinks down without a coaster since she could grip one. And on this very table, which belonged to her and her Dad. Not Kelly. But apparently, Kelly felt that her moving in meant she held dominion over all furnishings, soft or otherwise. It had been like this for weeks now. And the worst thing was, Megan had known it would be.

  She’d seen through Kelly with her bleach blonde hair and make-up by the trowel load the second she’d met her. All chummy and nice. What a load of crap. Because the real Kelly was coming out now she’d gotten her feet under the literal and figurative table. Everything Megan did was wrong, wrong, wrong. If it wasn’t her lack of respect for the house, it was her bad attitude. And when it wasn’t her bad attitude, it was her disinterest in her schoolwork. And if it wasn’t that, it was something else. Anything Megan did seemed to wind Kelly up. Megan wondered how long it would be until Kelly had a pop at her for breathing incorrectly.

  Megan thought Kelly was probably just disappointed that her new boyfriend had come with a child in tow. Speaking of her Dad, where the hell was he? She needed a buffer. Not that her Dad was a lot of use in that department. He didn’t seem to notice that Kelly was on her back morning, noon and night. Whenever Megan complained, he took Kelly’s side. ‘You’re just getting used to each other. Give it a bit of time.’ But Megan didn’t think time was the answer. Because she hated Kelly. Sincerely, passionately hated her. And the feeling seemed to be quite mutual.

  As Megan watched Kelly sit down with the plates, she wondered if there was some way to get rid of her. Probably not murder, she didn’t think she had it in her to actually kill Kelly. Although she had watched an episode of The X-Files recently (her new favourite show) where some creepy little girls had killed someone with a poison called Digitalis. It was hard to detect in the autopsy and you could get it from a plant called Foxglove, or so the show said. Megan had not gone so far as to go out in the garden to look for it, but the idea that it could be out there, waiting to solve her problems, was a comforting one.

  Kelly ran a finger down her hair to inspect for imperfections and finding none, turned her attention to Megan’s. �
��Have you ever considered putting a bit of product in your hair? It could really calm it down a bit.’

  Megan chewed and swallowed her fishfinger, her mind turning back to poison. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because I think if you just gave me ten minutes with your hair, I could work miracles. And while we’re at it, I could maybe do a bit of a make-over, get your eyebrows sorted, try some blusher on your cheeks, make you look less sickly-’

  Speaking of miracles, Megan’s Dad walked in, interrupting Kelly’s breakdown of everything wrong with Megan’s appearance.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a happy greeting’ her Dad, Kevin, said as he headed for the sink, grabbing the Swarfega from under it and washing the black filth from his hands. He looked tired. Tarmacking roads was a wearing job, Megan had surmised. But having Kelly harp on her was also wearisome.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Megan continued.

  Kevin looked dubious. ‘As long as it’s easy. I’m bollocksed, love.’

  ‘Do you think I look sickly?’

  Kelly gave a light, tinkling laugh. ‘I didn’t mean you look sickly, Megan.’

  ‘You just said it’ Megan exploded, incensed.

  ‘You misunderstood me, I just meant I could make your cheekbones pop’ Kelly said, cheerily.

  Megan spun to her Dad, now sitting down in front of his plate.

  ‘Dad! She said it just before you came in!’

  Kevin groaned. ‘I’ve just walked in the door, Meggy.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘You’ve probably gotten the wrong end of the stick’ Kevin said, anger creeping into his tone.

  Megan knew she wasn’t going to win, but she couldn’t help it. Kelly was gas lighting the shit out of her. The injustice was too much to sit on.

  ‘Dad, she said she wanted to put blusher on me because I look sickly. She bloody said it.’

  Kevin dropped his fork. ‘Right, you’ve just sworn so that’s it. Get to your room.’

  Megan went bug eyed. ‘What?!’

  Kevin picked up his fork. ‘You want to lose your Master System for a week as well? Because you’re going the right way about it.’

  Megan had a choice. Scream the place down or do as she was told. She was tempted to go with the former. But her Master System was about the only thing in her life that brought her joy any more. She’d saved her babysitting money for weeks, earned from looking after her bratty twin cousins Ben and Mark, and found the console in the second-hand paper. Twenty whole pounds but it had come with two games, Sonic the Hedgehog and Double Dragon. A week without it was unthinkable.

  ‘Fine!’ Megan said and stood up from the table, stomping out of the room. She didn’t look at Kelly. She thought that if she did, she’d lose her rag completely. And Kelly wasn’t worth the loss of Sonic. Nothing was.

  She wondered what Phoebe was up to right now. Probably getting loads of praise and presents and shit because she was so faultless, in a way Megan could never dream of being. The girl was impeccably groomed, knew how to play loads of instruments and she got way better marks than Megan. Megan wondered what it would be like to be Phoebe. Just for a day. Megan couldn’t imagine that it would be anything less than perfect.

  Across town, at a different dining table, Phoebe was wishing someone would send her away from the table. She was giving her weekly progress report as her over eager parents listened intently, trying to spot any potential genius that might have sprouted. As Phoebe explained what could only be described as general plateauing in all instruments, she watched their smiles fading.

  ‘What about marks? Did you have any tests this week?’ Alice Fitzgerald, Phoebe’s Mum, asked hopefully.

  ‘Maths. Got eighty-two percent.’

  ‘Eighty-two?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Phoebe waited for further remark but Alice just left her comment hanging in the air. The question mark reeked of disappointment.

  ‘You know, Josh wasn’t very good at maths either but he’s a fabulous pianist, just like his old man’ Marcus Fitzgerald added, trying to sound jovial. ‘We’re a right brain type of house, aren’t we?’ he said to his wife, tipping a conciliatory wink at his daughter.

  ‘Mmm’ replied Alice vaguely. She was already losing interest now that she knew there was not going to be any discoveries of musical excellence made today.

  Phoebe picked at her broccoli quietly, hoping the critical spotlight was off her. And it seemed it was. But then Phoebe made a mistake. She decided this was the moment to ask the question that had been brewing for weeks.

  ‘I was wondering, since I don’t feel like I’m really picking up the violin, could I switch to a different instrument?’

  ‘What instrument were you thinking?’ Alice asked, her attention once again grabbed.

  ‘Umm… guitar?’ Phoebe said quietly.

  Alice shook her head immediately. ‘No, I don’t think that will work. It’s a very oversubscribed instrument. Lots of kids your age pick it up because they think it’s ‘Cool’. And what kind of music would you even perform with it? Rock? Pop?’ she asked with moderate disgust. ‘I don’t think so, darling. Stick with the violin. Much more potential for a better kind of life.’

  Phoebe didn’t get what her Mum meant by ‘A better kind of life.’ And she wasn’t about to ask. No was no and that was that.

  The truth was, she did like rock. And pop. And jazz. And R&B. And indie. And folk. And hip hop. That was the pain of the situation. Even though her parents spent all their time trying to ram music down her neck, she still loved it. She just didn’t love classical.

  She didn’t hate it as such. But it wasn’t to her taste. And it was very hard to imagine playing it for the rest of her life. Especially when she knew there was a whole world of music out there beyond classical.

  But Alice and Marcus Fitzgerald did not live in that world. They were classical enthusiasts, putting it mildly. They lived and breathed classical, a world of music that had been written for the most part before their grandparents had been born. But Phoebe supposed that was what they liked about it. There was an exclusivity to it. And that’s what they wanted her to be. Rarefied.

  But Phoebe didn’t feel very rarefied. She didn’t want to be groomed into a musical prodigy, even if it was in her. She was twelve. She just wanted to relax occasionally with some junk food and stick on MTV. And then maybe play some guitar. If she felt like it.

  But that wasn’t her life. Instead she was stuck cutting her little fingers to ribbons on the violin and eating carrot sticks if she got peckish.

  She wondered about Megan, what her life was like. Even though she obviously didn’t have it too easy at school, not since the thing with her trousers, Phoebe thought she could probably eat chocolate any time she liked. And fries and coke and crisps and cake. And for that, she envied her.

  Five

  Phoebe and Megan were sat together in science. It wasn’t technically necessary, they weren’t doing any practicals today but it had become customary for them to sit next to each other now. But only in science.

  Phoebe was thinking maybe she should expand that situation. She didn’t have many other friends, it wasn’t schedule permitting. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if Megan and she were very compatible. But Phoebe thought that was part of the pull of Megan. She was exactly the kind of person her parents wouldn’t want her to hang around with. She obviously came from a poor family, she was a bit unkempt, she was loud, she drank coke like it was going to be banned tomorrow, she swore and she was clumsy. In essence, Megan was chaotic. Phoebe’s parents didn’t like chaos. But Phoebe was wondering if she just might.

  ‘Wanna sit together at lunch?’ Phoebe asked quietly as Miss Arkin explained photosynthesis.

  ‘What?’ Megan spluttered.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to’ Phoebe said quickly. ‘I usually eat really quickly because I have clarinet practise at one so I’m in and out-’

  ‘Yeah. Come and find me. I sit with Anna. She’s a
bit quiet but she’s alright.’

  Phoebe nodded without looking at Megan.

  Megan was explaining to Anna about the eyeball incident when Phoebe sat down with her tray. Megan tried to act casual, giving Phoebe a light nod, no big deal.

  ‘Hi. What have you got in that sandwich?’ Phoebe asked.

  ‘Same as every day. Meat paste.’

  Phoebe was confused. ‘Meat paste? What kind of meat?’

  Megan examined her sandwich but there were no clues to be found. Just brownish mush. ‘I don’t actually know. What you got?’