I sigh. ‘Jeremy went, then you, then me. So, it’s your turn.’
‘But you can go—if you want.’
I scratch at the Bandaid on my leg. ‘I can wait.’
Evan continues to study me, his thick eyebrows pulling together. He is not getting it.
I throw my arms towards the pool. ‘Just take your turn.’
He shakes his head and laughs to himself.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he says, shoving he earbuds in and turning on his phone. ‘Just,’ he speaks louder over the music in his ears, ‘this is interesting.’ Then he drops into the pool.
How is it interesting? I like rules and order and logic. Cam used to rip me off about this stuff: the way I had to match up the colours on the pegs with the clothes when hanging out the washing or the way I’d eat my Easter egg—cutting out each carob diamond.
Evan carves up the pool. The board is like an extension of him, obeying his small movements and shifts in weight, he makes it look effortless. He’s a skater. My jaw tenses. I had that: connection, identity, walking onto the pool deck and knowing who I was. A backstroker. And the only person I can blame for losing it is myself, my stupid, broken mind.
Evan lands next to me. ‘Your turn,’ he says.
I stalk over to my board and pick it up. The air is heavy, pressing on me.
‘Hey, Lucy Taylor. You can go now.’
Tossing it to the ground, I whirl around and glare at Evan.
He raises his hands. ‘Don’t shoot.’
I take a deep breath and sink against the wall.
‘Hey.’ Evan walks over. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘No. It’s okay. I’m just’—I pull my knees to my chest—‘this isn’t me.’
He sits on his board in front of me. ‘What’s not?’
I gesture around. ‘This.’
‘Ah. This was your idea.’
‘No. I mean missing the carnival. I’ve never missed the carnival.’
He picks at the black rubber on his Vans. ‘So, why did you?’
I sigh and rub my face. ‘I just couldn’t handle being there and not swimming.’
He frowns and I know I’m not making sense.
‘What about you?’ I change the subject. ‘What’s got you all riled up?’
He laughs and scrubs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at new angles. ‘Kinda the same as you, I guess. I shouldn’t be here either.’
‘And where should you be?’
He looks up at me from beneath his eyebrows. ‘Home.’
A high-pitched giggle erupts from the spa.
‘Oh no,’ I say, getting up. The air has taken on a distinct marijuana edge. I bolt over to the spa and find Alix painting blue stripes on Jeremy’s face, falling over herself in hysterics, and Steffi puffing on the last of a joint.
‘You got her stoned?’ I say. Al’s never even been drunk and I leave her alone with Steffi Greggson for two seconds and suddenly she’s high. I knew this was a bad idea—we should both be at the carnival. ‘Who even are you?’ I snap.
‘Hey. She wanted to try. I’m not her mother.’
‘You’re so pretty,’ Alix says to Jeremy, then her face turns shocked. ‘But you should be green!’
He laughs. ‘I like green.’
‘Because you’re a heron!’ She flaps her arms up.
‘I’m a what?’
‘All right,’ Evan grabs hold of her flapping arm and helps her out, ‘let’s go.’
Somewhere a gate squeaks open.
‘Did you hear that?’ My heart pounds.
Steffi laughs, the sound floating up high like a bird.
‘What?’ Evan stops moving, straining to hear.
Footsteps. ‘Oi! Who’s there?’ a man shouts.
‘That!’ Holy shit, we’re dead. Someone’s coming, security or . . . it couldn’t be the cops, right? I race back for our boards. Evan helps Alix, but Jeremy and Steffi are so slow getting out of the spa. The security guy’s footsteps get closer and break into a run.
‘Come on!’ I yell, sprinting for the path. They get the message and fall in behind me. Jeremy zigzags through the bush, yelling and punching the air. We don’t stop running until we reach the car.
I lean against the door and gasp for breath. The others are doubled over—all of us panting.
‘Think he followed us?’ I ask.
Evan pulls out his keys. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Oh no!’ Alix yells and we all jump. She pats down her clothes, eyes wide. ‘I left the zinc! Oh no.’ She falls against the car. ‘Oh poop,’ she says, letting each P pop on her lips, then repeats the sound and giggles to herself. Jeremy and Steffi join in and soon Steffi’s laughing so hard she can’t breathe. I feel it bubble up inside me and I clamp down on it but it escapes in a snort.
Steffi points at me. ‘Snorted!’ she yells and it sets her off again. And I can’t keep it in. The laughter rolls out and we fall over each other in hysterics. Tears run down my cheeks and my sides ache.
9
When I get home, Mum is asleep on the couch and Deb is nowhere to be found. I chug down a glass of water and head to my room.
I grab last year’s yearbook from my drawer and flick through until I find the Year Twelve class photo. It’s not hard: they’re the only ones in colour. I block Cam’s face with my index finger and scan over the girls in his year.
They all look familiar but in a vague, unfocused way. Jade and Nat came over a few times but they were loud and funny, not all dark and brooding like these messages. But grief can change someone. I can’t see Cam hiding either of them though, and that’s what this feels like: a secret.
I run my fingers over the other girls. Then there’s Tara. She’s the only one I know for sure he had some kind of relationship with.
Tara is a possibility.
I pick his phone up. I don’t want messages from Tara. I hold down the power button to turn it off but it beeps and vibrates in my hand. I jump and drop it.
Pointless
You’re gone you’re gone you’re gone
Words repeating in my head
– In my bones
You’re gone you’re gone you’re gone
But I don’t know it
– Can’t feel it
You’re gone you’re gone you’re gone
The words break in and drown me
– Choke me
But hope still sparks my edges
And my eyes still watch my window
– My hands still reach for you
But you’re gone you’re gone you’re gone
I swallow, copy the number to my phone, and text them back.
Who is this?
The message sits there and sits there and fails. I’ve got two bars of service but it won’t send.
Another beep: this time the microwave.
My thumb hovers over the call icon. I press down. Call failed.
I throw the phone on my bed and rake my hands through my hair. Then I grab the phone and shove it back in with my socks.
The microwave beeps again.
Dad’s in the kitchen heating up frozen lasagne. I slump over the breakfast bar and watch him watch the microwave. Mum would scold him for how close he’s standing. She freaked out whenever we stood in front of the microwave. You don’t know what it could do to you, she’d say.
He’s still in his green Taylor’s Hardware polo shirt.
He takes the lasagne out, tests it, curses, cuts it in half and shoves it back in the microwave.
‘Where’s Deb?’ I ask. Dad jumps at my voice but recovers quickly, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
‘Something came up and she had to go home for a couple of days.’
‘What a shame.’
Dad swigs his beer and wipes his mouth.
I pick up a pen from the bench and scribble on a Post-It. ‘Swimming carnival today,’ I say.
‘What’d you make Zone in?’
‘Hundre
d metre fly,’ I say just to see if he notices. I loathe the fly.
Dad raises his eyebrows. ‘That all?’
‘Two hundred breaststroke.’
‘Lucy.’
I shrug and tear a corner off the Post-It. ‘I didn’t go.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I quit.’ I let my words stretch for a moment between us before I look up. His brow is furrowed and he’s shaking his head. ‘I can’t do it.’ My voice shakes and threatens to crack. The microwave beeps.
‘Dad?’
He takes the food out and grabs a fork. The lasagne sizzles and pops on the plate.
‘I’ve always been able to count on you to do the right thing, Lucy. Can I still count on that?’
My chin trembles and I nod. He’s not hearing me.
‘I’ll call Phil and see if we can get you back on track for Canberra.’ He takes his food and walks out the front door to his office.
I bury my head in my arms and screw my face up against the oncoming tears. A sound comes from the lounge: a sigh, low and woeful. Mum. She’s still there.
I can do this. We don’t need Deb.
I walk over to the couch and crouch down next to Mum. She’s huddled under a blanket, eyes open, expression blank.
‘Mum?’ I touch her shoulder. No response. ‘I’ll help you get into bed.’ Still nothing. I pull the blanket back from her shoulders. Her arms are bent across her front, hands balled into fists under her chin.
‘Come on,’ I say and take her hand, trying to relax and straighten it. Still, she won’t acknowledge me: won’t look at me. Her hand is crushing something in its fist. I massage Mum’s fingers away and the paper comes loose. A baby photo of Cam. I try to smooth away the crease running through his chubby face.
‘Come on, Mum.’ I pull her into a sitting position. The straps of her grey singlet top hang off her bony shoulders and, from her sour smell, I can tell she hasn’t showered today. ‘Hey, Mum?’ I touch her cheek and her eyes meet mine. I can do this.
‘You go get into bed,’ I say, ‘and I’ll make you a tea.’ Mum nods, a small nod, and I help her up. She shuffles down the hall and I go put the jug on.
That wasn’t so bad.
I get her mug out and a chamomile teabag. A loud crash comes from the hallway and everything in me sinks. Oh no.
‘Mum’—I run into the hallway, heart pounding—‘what happened?’
She presses her hand to her mouth, gaping at the halo of splintered glass around her bare feet. ‘It fell,’ she says, her eyes sliding from the floor to me. ‘I dropped it, it fell.’ The family photo that normally hangs by their bedroom door lies in shattered pieces.
I shouldn’t have left her alone, I should get Dad—I don’t know what to do—stay calm, stay calm. Blowing out a slow breath, I meet Mum’s eyes with a watery smile.
‘Don’t move,’ I say. ‘I’ll get the dust pan.’
I sweep up the glass from the floorboards and sit Mum down on her bed.
‘Did you cut yourself?’ I ask, picking up her feet one at a time and scanning them for broken glass.
‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’
‘It was an accident,’ I say.
‘He’s everywhere. Everywhere. Sometimes I just can’t take it anymore.’
I set her foot down on the floor.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, getting up, ‘you didn’t mean to.’ Mum doesn’t respond. I pull back the covers and tuck her in. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, too hard. ‘Night, Mum,’ I say, prising my hand from her grip.
I shut the bedroom door and lean against it. What am I gonna do if Mum gets worse, if she smashes more pictures, if she cuts more than just her hair?
Oh hell.
10
The next day Alix and I are called separately into the vice principal’s office.
His office is small and plain, with a few family photos dotted around and the same crappy laminate desk all the teachers have.
The man himself is tall, skinny and a redhead—from the shiny bald patch on his scalp to the bushy beard on his chin.
He folds his fingers together and leans forward on his desk. This is the first time I’ve been in trouble; the first time this grave, flat expression has been directed at me.
And I’m calm.
I did the wrong thing, I’m about to be disciplined—this is right. It makes sense.
‘How are things going, Lucy?’
‘Okay.’
‘Ms Dyer told me you weren’t feeling well at the carnival yesterday. Is that why you left?’
I rub my thumb between my fingers. It’s not exactly the truth but it’s not a lie either. ‘Yeah,’ I say and then because I can’t stop myself, ‘kind of.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘She also says you haven’t been as switched on in class. Some of your other teachers say the same thing.
My throat goes dry. ‘School’s only just started. I can do better, I’ll get better.’
He gives me a sad smile and his eyebrows pull together. ‘That’s not what I’m concerned about.’
‘It’s not?’
He scoots closer, his hands clasped like he’s praying and then I know he wants to talk about Cam and about how I’m actually doing and I want to climb over this chair and bolt out of the room.
‘I’d like you to go see Miss Moon.’
‘The counsellor?’ I sit up straight in my chair. ‘I’m fine really. I don’t need to see anyone.’
‘No one expects you to be fine. Lots of students talk to her. I’ve been told it helps.’
‘Look,’ I find myself gripping the armrest and let it go, ‘are you giving me detention or something?’
He blinks. ‘What for?’
‘For leaving the carnival when I shouldn’t have. For doing the wrong thing.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘I’m letting you off with a warning, provided you see Miss Moon.’
‘Did you give Alix detention?’
He sits back in his chair. ‘Yes. She has two Mondays.’
I stand and push my chair back. ‘Then you can give that to me too.’
At recess I meet Steffi and Alix at the basketball courts where they’re watching Jeremy and Evan play. Evan has the ball. He looks up at us. I smile and give him a small wave. Then the other team steal the ball.
‘Dude!’ Jeremy says, running backwards. ‘What was that?’ Evan shrugs and runs after him.
I sit down next to Alix.
‘How’d you go this morning?’ she asks.
‘Two Mondays.’
She sighs. ‘Me too.’
Steffi leans in. ‘You know who always has detention?’ She nods at Jeremy.
Alix smiles. ‘Not all bad then.’
‘Did anything happen yesterday?’ Steffi asks.
I frown. ‘What else happened yesterday?’
‘Ah,’ Alix deposits an ant that’s crawling on her knee back on the ground, ‘after we dropped you off . . . we, kinda, all went to the beach.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No,’ I tuck my hair behind my ears and smile at her, ‘it’s fine. Don’t worry.’
‘He walked her home,’ Steffi says.
‘Who? Jeremy?’
‘They were disgustingly cute.’
‘But you don’t . . . Alix, you don’t really like him, do you?’
‘What’s so wrong with Jeremy Haines?’ Steffi says. ‘She could do worse.’
I shoot Steffi a glare. ‘She could do better.’
She rolls her eyes and turns to Alix. ‘So, did anything happen?’
Alix won’t meet my eye. She fidgets some more with the ant: setting up a leaf for it to crawl over. ‘No. I made him a cheese sandwich and then he left.’
‘Ah,’ Steffi says, ‘there’s your mistake. Should’ve withheld the food.’
‘He doesn’t like me.’
‘Well, look hot,’ Steffi says, ‘cos here he comes.’
Jeremy stands over us, p
ulling at the straps of his backpack. ‘Have you got a sec?’ he asks Alix.
‘Um, yeah, sure.’ She scrambles to her feet and grabs her bag. We watch them walk away.
Steffi opens a packet of Pizza Shapes and raises her eyebrows at me. ‘What?’ she says.
‘He’s not right.’ I close my eyes. ‘If he hurts her in any way’—I glare at her—‘I will kill you.’
She feigns shock. ‘God, settle down. Jer’s a good guy.’
‘He’s a loser. When did you even start hanging out with him?’
Steffi studies me for a long minute. ‘How about you let Alix make up her own mind.’
I breathe in sharp. ‘It’s not . . . she does . . . I’m not controlling her or anything. I just . . .’
‘Worry about her?’ Steffi finishes.
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, then you’re a good friend.’ She smiles and offers me some Shapes.
Some guys in our year walk past and yell crap at Steffi.
‘What the hell you do to your hair?’
‘Dyke!’
‘Punk!’
‘Pyke!’
She gives them the finger but I stand and yell after them. ‘Fuck off, dickheads!’ They fall over themselves laughing but I don’t care.
‘Jesus, Lu,’ Steffi says when I sit back down. ‘Where did that come from?’ She shakes her head, laughing.
I hide my smile behind my hand and shrug.
Dear Steffi,
I am a bluebottle. I can sting like a bitch.
The bell goes and we grab our stuff and get up. Evan catches up to us.
‘Hey,’ he says, shouldering his backpack and tucking his folder under his arm. Steffi digs around in her bag, pulls out a sandwich and gives it to him. ‘Cheers,’ he says, taking it.
‘What do you have now?’ he asks me.
‘Ah, Ancient History.’
‘Nice,’ he says. ‘Um, you wanna hang out this afternoon?’
I glance over at Steffi—who’s not there. I stop walking. This afternoon I want to make sure Mum’s okay, then find Ryan and hammer him with questions about Cam’s love life.
‘We could go skating or something,’ Evan says. ‘Or, um, maybe you could show me around.’
‘Oh.’ I bite back a smile. ‘But I’m sure you’ve seen everything.’
Pieces of Sky Page 8
