“God,” I said, almost to myself.
“Fleur doesn’t deserve him,” Sarita said.
“Dylan?”
“No! Craig.”
I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of Craig, how he fell into the HBNQR category (hot-but-not-quite-right), but the demented glint in her eye made me save it. Sarita was a believer. She had the woolly balaclava of bullshit stretched over her eyes. She’d see heavenly hosts of angels before she saw Craig’s trail of sleaze. Not that I was immune. I hadn’t forgotten that look the Youth Leader had given me. He’d cameoed in my dreams and I’d already decided that if he wanted to, I would. Might as well have something to brag to Chloe about.
Sarita had her head in her hands and was staring dreamily at nothing.
“Are you having lustful thoughts?” I teased her.
I thought she’d laugh with me, but she hung her head and cringed. “Please don’t tell anyone.” Then she pressed her palms into the bedspread and whispered, “I wish I was dead !”
I crawled down the bed. I knelt in front of Sarita, cleared her hair away from her face, and pressed my thumbs to her temples. This was something Mom used to do to me whenever I went over the top. “Here,” I said.
“What are you doing?” Sarita sniffed.
“I’m handing over my drama queen crown. Take it, it’s yours.”
Sarita looked at me warily. I almost ducked, just in case that was too much, just in case she was going to crack. But no. She took a breath. She drew herself up in a queenly pose and gave a little wave to me, the commoner. Then she giggled uncontrollably for a full minute.
“Steady,” I said, smiling. “It’s not that funny.”
Sarita sobered up. “I am glad you’re here.” She nodded and looked toward the door. “And now I’m going to perform my ablutions.”
“I don’t need to know that.”
Sarita picked up her toiletry bag and towel. As she walked out, I saw something flutter down to the floor. I called after her, “You dropped something.” Sarita either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. The screen door bounced against its frame. I stretched over the bed and reached across the floor until my fingers found the lost property, a square of mold-spotted cotton that had once been white. Holy eBay miracle! It was Roslyn’s missing shroud. I held it up to the window and the face of Jesus came through the murk. If I scrunched it a certain way it looked like He was winking. I lay back on the bed and pressed the shroud to my face. It smelled like aniseed.
13
Capsized!
In full flight Dylan’s voice had a wry backhand.
“Craig’s got a tight walk,” he observed. “More like a strut. It’s like his dick is the center of his existence. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they walk.”
“What does mine say?”
“You walk like you think people are watching.” He paused. “Only I don’t think anyone is.”
“You’re probably right.” I sighed.
We were sitting on the landing while the other Honeyeaters and Counselor Anton hauled canoes from the dock into the river. In Spirit Ranch speak this was our first “off-site activity.” We’d come down on the minibus. Dylan got on last. He had two crutches attached to the back of his wheelchair. With the exception of Craig, who was acting as man on the ground, the Honeyeaters acted like seeing Dylan ditch his chair was completely uninteresting. They talked amongst themselves or looked out the opposite window. But they didn’t fool me. I could tell each and every one was sneaking a look when they thought they could get away with it. I decided to be blatant. I pressed my face against the window, made a blow-fish, and kept watching.
Dylan’s maneuver from chair to crutches was slicker than I thought it would be. Craig rushed to help him fold the wheelchair, but it was like watching someone trying to fathom IKEA assembly. Dylan watched him with a perverse smile on his face before pointing out a release button. Dylan came toward the minibus, frowning as he pressed down on his crutches, dragging his feet in the dirt. The twins were sitting in front of me. I heard one of them say something about a marionette. I punched the back of the seat and when they turned around looking all wounded, I did it again, harder.
Bird was looking through his binoculars. He pointed to something and jumped with excitement. “Anton! Anton!”
“This had better be good.” Anton snatched Bird’s binoculars and squinted into them. He handed them back without a word. Bird slumped. Richard threw a date at him. Craig stowed Dylan’s chair and we were away. I was not a nature girl—but already it felt great to leave the compound. As the shadow of the arches fell across my seat I waved my hands. “Hallelujah!”
When we arrived at the river I had the sense of other creatures scampering. The world seemed eerily still, broken only by the occasional snap-buzz of a dragonfly. The river was wide and brown and slow. There was no natural bank on the opposite side, just blackberry bush and the ancient river gums. They were huge, intimidating. They punched the sky, and the clouds hung around them like groupies.
“Get into pairs!” Anton barked. I avoided Sarita’s eye and moved backward until I was next to Dylan, who was back in his chair. He looked at me suspiciously.
“I don’t do sports,” I found myself confessing.
“Why not?”
All those summers rang: of PE teacher-slash-sadists, of trying to stand proud when no one wanted me on their team, of thigh-rub-rash and straitjacket skin and your only options being heart attack or hurl.
“I don’t like to sweat,” I said simply.
“That’s a shame,” Dylan said. “I like sweaty girls.”
“Okay, everybody!” Anton roared. “Life jackets on! Helmets on!”
Dylan and I stared at the pairs: Lisa and Laura, Richard and Ethan, Bird and Sarita. Fleur sat in her canoe waiting for Craig, but he was heading our way … again.
“Here we go,” Dylan said under his breath.
Craig squatted down next to Dylan. “You could have a go. If you want. I’ll be your partner. Or Anton could.”
Dylan shook his head.
“Okay …” Craig backed off. He went to the bank, frowning, and said something to Anton.
“Fuck it.” Dylan got his cigarettes out and lit one. “Youth Leaders should only exist out of frame.”
“Wait. I thought you were a Youth Leader.”
“Yes, well.” He frowned down at his vest. Then he passed me a cassette tape.
“Check this out. Neville made it for me.” Sure enough, it had Neville Special written on it. Dylan rolled his eyes. “Shame I can’t play it. It’s got Mariah Carey on it. And that girl from Neighbours who had cancer.”
I couldn’t speak after that. The pop starlet and my mother had had cancer at the same time. We followed her progress in the papers. But the starlet had pulled through. She had a new album out and a new look. So much hair. You’d never believe she’d once been bald from chemo.
Anton came running up. He pointed to Dylan. “Put that out, mate.”
Dylan pushed the burning end of the cigarette into his jeans, just above his knee. I squeaked in protest. “Ow! Are you crazy?” In a fifties movie about white-trash greasers, it would have been the ultimate tough-guy move. But it wasn’t a movie. All Anton did was sigh and say, “That’s great, Dylan. Really clever.”
Anton turned to me. “I need a partner. You. In the canoe. Now.”
I shook my head. “I can’t swim.”
“She’s keeping me company,” Dylan said. “Hey. If she doesn’t want to, she shouldn’t have to.”
“It’s okay,” I said. It didn’t seem fair to have Dylan fighting my battles.
Anton looked me up and down, and his eyes were saying: Fat girl, chicken, what are you—scared? “Have you got some kind of medical condition?” I shook my head. And now everyone was looking at me. Anton said, “Then go on—get your bathing suit.”
I stood up. “I’m wearing it.” I had on board shorts and my black skull halter. My skin was pink all o
ver. I walked down the bank to the last canoe on the dock. Someone was making sound effects—the sound of a sumo wrestler thundering into the ring. Was it Richard? I couldn’t tell. I gritted my teeth and kept walking.
“Ladies first,” Anton said.
I stepped in. The canoe jerked around and I stumbled.
“Whoa!” Bird laughed.
“Shut up!” I hissed, even though I knew he wasn’t being nasty. Fleur, on the other hand … As water splashed around my ankles I heard her gleeful shout, “She’s going to capsize!” I went to sit down, my face burning. I couldn’t look at Dylan or Sarita. I hated every Honeyeater, but most of all I hated Anton, because the next thing he said was: “You know, Fleur, it’s a funny thing. Riley, hold on to the sides. On the count of three we’re going over. One, Two, THREE!”
The water was like ice, and it was heavy. When I first opened my eyes all I could see was black. I realized it was the bottom of the boat, and I was pressing up against it. I kicked away from it, propelling myself under and out and swam up. I came out spluttering and heaving, with a constricted feeling in my throat, like I’d just swallowed a tennis ball. I hauled myself onto the dock and sat for a second, blinking at the campers, taking in their smiles and hearing their laughter through my waterlogged ears. Sarita was gesturing at me frantically. “Riley!” she hissed. “Your top!” I looked down to see that one of my boobs had escaped my halter. I rearranged my suit and made my face as blank as possible.
“Oh, my God!” Fleur shrieked. “How embarrassing.”
Anton threw me a towel. “Great instincts, Riley.” For a second I thought he was talking about how I handled my wardrobe malfunction.
He addressed the Honeyeaters. “What Riley did was, she used the boat to launch herself out of danger. Like a platform, yeah?”
I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and started walking away.
“Riley?” Anton called. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I stuck my middle finger up at him and kept walking. Dylan was dozing, listening to something on his MP3. I could hear it enough to know it was hard-core—definitely not Mariah Carey. I pulled the white cord out of his left ear. “Can I have some of that?”
He nodded and I sat down next to him and put the earplug in. He smiled and turned the volume up and the singer screamed and raged against an insane beat. I blocked my other ear with my hand and let the chaos in.
14
Healthy Animals
All the way back to camp I sat in the back of the minibus stewing. Fleur was snuggling up to Craig and she kept turning around in her seat to laugh at me. Now I really, really wanted to punch her. But worse than Fleur’s flappy mouth were Sarita’s sorrowful eyes—Sarita looking sorry for ME! I couldn’t stand it. And Bird kept staring and then looking away. My boob-flash had him thrown into a world of sex and confusion, I was sure. Anton had given me a warning. I was supposed to tremble and quake when what I wanted to do was bitch-slap him to Christmas. What day was it? Tuesday? When was I leaving? Wednesday. Tomorrow! But tomorrow felt like a long way away.
Craig left Fleur to sit down next to me. He stretched his legs out and sighed and smiled. He said, “Riley—”
“What?”
“Anton’s a prick.”
“Wow. How’d you figure that?”
He laughed. “You did really well, though.”
“Yes. I flashed my boob.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He looked at me. “Really.”
I stared at the back of the seat. I said, “You’re a little … liberal for one of God’s children. What about setting a Christian example?”
“We’re all God’s children,” Craig said without a trace of irony. He grinned. “I’m a healthy creature with a healthy appetite.”
Now we were sizing each other up. He looked at the yellow nicotine stains on my fingertips.
“Kissing a smoker is like kissing an ashtray.”
“Who’s kissing?”
Craig looked over the seat. I followed his gaze. Fleur was staring at us with a face like thunder. The bus stopped and she jumped out of her seat and came straight for us.
“Here comes your girlfriend.”
“Aw, we’re just hanging out.”
I started to say: “Does she know that?” But actually, I didn’t care. I realized I had two reasons to pursue Craig: one because he was hot, and two because Fleur thought he was hers. She was nearly on us when Craig nudged his shoulder into mine. “You ever done it on a merry-go-round?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Who hasn’t?”
We smiled. We were both healthy creatures with healthy appetites.
Craig stood up, nodded at me. “Laters.” He waltzed over to Fleur. She clutched his arm and glared at me.
I had to cross my legs because I felt delicious.
I had to check my head to see if little red horns had grown.
15
The Tail of a Q
Back at the smokers’ bench—my spiritual home—I dreamed and dazed. I painted my toenails seaweed green and ate my emergency chocolate. Time was crawling. I consulted wristwatch and schedule. The Word was coming up. Scripture-based activities. Ugh. In the distance Roslyn was laying yoga mats in a circle under a tree. Most of the Honeyeaters had surfaced. I saw Dylan wheel over. He had his earplugs in; his face showed nothing. I ditched my cigarette and wandered over. Roslyn fairly pounced on me.
“Riley, isn’t it?”
I nodded. Her hair fascinated me. It was piled on top of her head in a high ponytail, reminiscent of a date palm.
“Have you got your personal possession?”
“Sorry?”
Roslyn sighed. She took my arm and guided me away from the group. “Didn’t you read your program? We’re playing a ‘get to know you’ game. I’ve asked everyone to bring a personal possession: something that says something about you. Sort of a show-and-tell, okay?”
I stared into her hair. There was life in there, I was sure.
“Why don’t you run along to your cabin and pick something out. Ter-rif-ic.” She took a few steps backward. “I’d better—” And she did the jazz hands as if to say that, left unsupervised, the Honeyeaters would start lighting fires or playing porno charades, but all they were doing was lolling and talking. Everyone was sitting cross-legged, or with their legs curled up or stretched out in front of them—all except Dylan, who was just out of the circle like the tail of a Q.
I opened my cabin door to a shriek. Sarita was standing by my bed. She whirled around and covered her throat with her hands. She looked so scared I almost laughed. And then I saw the flash of green between her fingers. She closed her eyes and moved her hand away. My sea-glass necklace glittered against her brown skin.
I stared at her, feeling my blood go hot. “Take it off.”
“I was j-just—” Sarita sputtered and struggled with the catch.
“My mother made me that necklace.” I practically spat the words. In the next few seconds my anger bounced from Sarita back onto myself, because I’d started something now. I’d opened the door, just a crack. I should have been more careful.
Sarita cowered by the bunk. “It’s beautiful.” She was babbling, buying time. “Is she an artisan?”
“No. She just did a lot of short courses. She’s dead.” I grabbed her arm. “Turn,” I instructed. She obeyed. I was rough with her. I dug my finger into her neck as I lifted the catch. I gripped my necklace. “What else did you take?”
“Nothing!” Sarita cried.
“Thief. Liar.”
I climbed the ladder to her bunk and started pushing through her things. It didn’t take very long. She didn’t seem to have any personal items. Even her toiletry bag was free of fancy products—just a bottle of Pert and a toothbrush and toothpaste and some soap. Her limited wardrobe consisted of boring beige and lilac items with that hand-hewn vibe.
“Oh, nice!” I scoffed at a pair of granny pants. “Sensible and super-absorbent.” I threw them at her head and st
arted prodding her pillow. My fingers fell on something sharp. I held up a small, jagged rock.
“Are you planning to stone me in my sleep?”
Sarita looked pained. “It’s my prayer rock.”
“What the—?”
“I put it in my pillow and when it hurts my head it reminds me to say my prayers.”
“Why do you need reminding?”
“Because I’m thinking of myself too much. I get caught up in what happened during the day and in my problems and I forget.”
I jumped down from the bunk. “Prayers don’t work.” I put the rock in her palm. “So is that your item?”
Sarita shook her head. “It’s not unique.” She clutched her rock in one hand. In the other she wrenched her granny pants.
“Those are.”
I stood in front of the mirror and put my necklace on.
“It’s really pretty,” Sarita ventured.
I grunted and started powdering my face. Sarita was like a mannequin in the background, still and indistinct. “You know, magpies do that,” I told her. “They steal shiny things. They look boring as fuck but they covet.”
“You swear a lot,” Sarita noted.
“I’m colorful.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. And I’m sorry about your necklace. I just wanted to see what it was like to wear something pretty. My mother calls jewelry the devil’s baubles.”
“Jay-sus.” I laughed. “My mother used to say that accessories were the only things that separated us from the animals.”
Sarita watched me make up in the mirror. Her eyes were sad and serious. She said, “When I was ten I really wanted to get my ears pierced. I pleaded and pleaded and so my mother finally said yes, but instead of taking me to the store she said she would perform the procedure herself with a leather-stitch needle.” Sarita hung her head. “I never told anyone this. My parents wanted a boy, only now my mother has had a hysterectomy and she hates me. I have no place in the world.”
I remembered. “What about the shroud?”
Everything Beautiful Page 5
