by Andrew Daddo
‘No, why would I?’
‘I didn’t know you took photos.’ Sampson was looking between me and Ryan as if it was a tennis match. ‘How long have you been taking photos?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ryan. ‘How long have you been taking photos?’
‘Fuck off,’ I said to Ryan. It was meant to be playful, but it didn’t really come out that way. It was meant to be the long, laughy kind, fuuuck ooohhff, as if he’d just asked me one of his weird ‘would you or wouldn’t you’ questions. Like, would you prefer to eat chocolate pudding that tastes like shit, or shit that tastes like chocolate pudding? He’s always doing those things.
So when I told him where to go, it came out short and much meaner than I’d meant.
‘Oooohh,’ said Ryan. ‘Would you rather we didn’t talk about your photography?’
‘So you do take photos? What of?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Ryan’s just being funny, aren’t you, Ryan?’ I looked at him and wordlessly tried to tell him to shut up and that I’d offer him whatever he wanted not to continue talking about me taking photos.
‘How is it, anyway?’ asked Ryan.
‘What?’
I ignored Sampson who was clearly about to ask, ‘How was what?’
‘You know. How is it?’
Now I tried to look at him in a way that said, Dude, really? Enough. If we talk about it, someone’s going to find out about it. And once one person knows, the law of social media says everyone’ll know, so like, enough.
‘It’s fine. No worries. Really. Nothing, at all.’
‘Whaaaaat?’ said Sampson.
‘Nothing,’ Ryan and I said together. It wasn’t really fine, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it now. Or ever, probably.
‘Hey,’ said Ryan. ‘Would you rather know something no one knows but not be allowed to share it, or never know anything everyone knows?’
Sampson shook his head as if to clear the space for that to make sense. I didn’t bother.
The Quad was filling up, there were people all over the place. Hamish Banning was tossing little pieces of bread to a growing crowd of pigeons, even though we were told almost daily not to feed them. That’s probably why he did it. Within a couple of minutes there were a bunch of them clucking about in front of him like fans at a concert. I’d never thought of him as being nice to anything before, so it was kind of strange to have him surprise me like that.
I checked in on Hannah, Gracie and Isabella. They were still there, still cacking, still the most fun people in the school. ‘What do you reckon they’re laughing about?’ I said.
‘They’re not,’ said Ryan. ‘They’re pretending.’
‘No, I’m pretty sure they’re laughing for real,’ said Sampson.
‘I’m pretty sure they are, too,’ I said. ‘I think they’re looking at Facebook or Instagram and they’re laughing about people’s posts, checking out the weird stuff they get up to. It’s pointless, right? Sunrise pictures, every day? Who cares? Or dog pictures or new bikinis or –’
‘I like new bikini photos.’
‘Good point, Swampie. Then they’re laughing at bad new bikini photos. I reckon they’re seeing who’s friends with who and what people are following, that’s what I reckon. Because they sit there and look for a while, then they piss themselves laughing, then they all go back to their phones and find some other loser to laugh at. That has to be it, doesn’t it? It’s not like they’re ripping music, there’s nothing funny about that. Kook of the Day, maybe? And they’re not playing games because most people pull faces that make them look marginally mental.’
Sampson knew what I was on about. ‘And then they start dribbling because they are marginally mental.’
‘Yeah, Ronnie, my little sister, she moves her jaw from side to side and back and forth – she dribbles, too. No, I think they’re just laughing at funny stuff on their phones.’
‘Maybe. But they’re spending a lot of time tossing their heads about and being loud and looking around to see who’s looking at them, that’s all I’m saying,’ said Ryan. ‘Seriously. Have a look at ’em.’
Hannah was tossing her hair around the most.
She had looked over at the exact moment Ryan said, ‘Have a look at ’em.’ So the three of us were staring straight at the three of them, as if they were some kind of show to be watched. Hannah stopped moving. For just a few moments her eyes bored straight into mine. Her head tilted the tiniest bit to one side making her fringe fall across her left eye. She frowned. She did a kind of reverse smile as if she was trying not to fart, then nodded. All this while she was looking at me. Then she moved her hand to Gracie Chilcott’s elbow and gave it a squeeze. I’m guessing that’s what happened, because Gracie pulled her elbow away after giving a little yelp. Hannah put her hand over her mouth and said something near Gracie’s ear, which made Isabella stop what she was doing and look up as well. The three of them went from heads down to looking at the three of us.
‘Is Hannah Macrae staring at me?’ said Sampson.
‘She was looking at me,’ I said. ‘I think they’re all looking at me.’
‘Okay,’ said Ryan. ‘Sure they are. Wow. How did I miss that? I only just noticed that you must have been visited by your Fairy Godmather as well because somehow you’ve woken up looking exactly like the love child of Brad Pitt and Justin Bieber. Amazing. Of all the people, the guys from the swim team, the water polo players, the basketballers, the athletes with the buff bods and the beards, why would they be looking at you?’
‘Because,’ I said with my head down, scribbling furiously in my notebook, ‘they like my brains.’
Did I say that? I turned my back to the girls and gave Ryan and Sampson the twitter version of yesterday and what had happened with Gracie before being belted about in the change room by Hamish Banning. How she’d asked me to walk her to her next class and that we’d talked about some pretty cool stuff.
‘I’m going over,’ I said.
‘You are delusional,’ said Ryan.
‘Ryan, you should have been there. You should have seen her, for sure it was on, She was like, Do you wanna . . .? And then the teacher got her and –’
Ryan looked past me. ‘She’s coming over. Holy shit, she’s actually coming over here. Don’t turn around, just be cool.’
‘Who?’ I said. I was still facing Ryan and Sampson.
‘Gracie. Oh my God. She’s waiting for the others. She’s giving them the ‘come on, come on’, but they’re not moving. They’re sitting on the bench looking like they’ve had massive amounts of facial surgery. You know, they’re making this look.’ Ryan pulled the corners of his mouth way back into his face. He looked mutant.
‘What’s happening now?’
‘She’s ditched ’em. Gracie’s on her way. She’s about a third of the way here. This is intense. Sorry for saying you’re a bullshitter, this is pretty awesome.’
For a guy who didn’t seem too fussed about much, Ryan was pretty close to losing his shit. Maybe he liked her, too.
I’ll stay seated, I thought, and keep my back to her. If she taps me on the shoulder I’m going to turn the wrong way, as if it’s a stitch up. That’d be pretty funny. Or it’d be pretty weird. I’ll just turn in the direction of the shoulder she taps – if she taps me on the shoulder. What’ll I say? Hi? Or hey?
Ryan had a hand over his mouth and said, ‘Be cool, she’s nearly here. Be cool. Be cool.’ Physically he was holding it together, but his eyes screamed excitement. Sampson looked like he was about to wet himself.
So, my hand was poised over the pad, ready to go. There was nothing there, I hadn’t written a word. All that time pretending to look like I’m some world-class, tree-loving writer, and I’d done nothing. Of course she was going to ask me what I was writing and can she have a look. I’m such an idiot! But hang on . . . I made this big kind of thing where I used my pen to scratch my head, then I tucked it behind my ear and closed the notebook. Simple. She’d ask to see what I�
�d written and I’d say she had to wait. It wasn’t ready. But when it was, I’d show her. She’d be begging to see it. And then I could find the best time to show it to her, not in the Quad, but somewhere quiet. Just the two of us.
I squared my shoulders for the imminent tap.
I heard it before I saw it. There was this harried, thundery noise further down the Quad. It was the pigeons in front of Hamish Banning. They’d all taken flight at the same time, but a panicked take-off. Flight not fight. I could see Banning laughing his usual, idiotic ‘he he he he,’ as the birds took off. All airborne except one, which was flapping about on the ground.
‘You got one!’ roared Lurch. ‘Top shot!’
‘Shut up,’ barked Banning. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ But he was off the bench quickly and headed for a set of keys that were just beyond the injured bird.
‘His wing’s broken. You got him good enough to snap his wing.’ Lurch was like a kid who’d dropped a dollar into a chocolate machine and had a huge win.
The bird was flapping about like an angry drunk.
Banning pocketed his keys and motored for the far side of the Quad.
‘What are you going to do with it?’ said Lurch after him. ‘You should get it and do something with it.’
But Banning was gone. The whole Quad saw him take off; it was pretty obvious who was responsible for the bird’s injury.
I turned for Gracie. She’d have to be right behind me. Now we’d definitely have something to talk about. We could unite in the shared opinion that Hamish Banning was a total tool.
But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t even in the Quad. Hannah and Isabella weren’t, either. Weird. I looked at Ryan. ‘Where’d she go?’ I said.
Ryan shrugged. ‘Dunno. I was pretty sure she was on her way over. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was a bit nervous about meeting the great writer.’
‘Yeah,’ said Sampson. ‘Or maybe she wasn’t ever coming over.’
‘Maybe,’ said Ryan.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Good one, fellas. Thanks for that.’
The bell went. Before everyone cleared out, a teacher found the bird and was now trying to pick it up, but it still had enough mobility to avoid her.
‘Does anyone know what happened to the bird?’ she said, looking around the circle that had formed. No one said much. Hamish’s brother was there, so it’s not as if anyone was going to dob on Hamish. She looked at Lurch. ‘Get a box or something and pick up the bird. We’ll work out what to do with it once we know how bad the wing is. Everyone else, lunch is over, get to class.’
I looked around the Quad one more time for Gracie or the other girls, but they were gone. That was weird. Maybe she was never coming over to talk to me, but why would Ryan do that?
On the way to training I kicked a few stones from here to there before picking one up and trying to hit the stop sign at the crossroad. I missed the first two times but the third was a direct hit. I imagined the stop sign was Banning’s head and let rip, but missed by miles. I’m hopeless when I throw too hard.
I was looking forward to getting wet.
The afternoon had the smell of heat about it and time in the water always managed to clear the murkiness. Coach Tran would warm us up with a solid 2k swim and then we’d head to the diving boards. She was hard. She’d been part of the Chinese national diving program, only just missing her chance to compete at the Olympics. Looking at her in that too-tight tracksuit, she was nothing like the photo of the young, skinny girl on top of the diving board at the entrance to the pool. But it was her, just a continent, a strict diet and thirty years of training ago. In her staccato voice she’d always say things like, ‘I know what it takes, boys and girls. So far none of you have it. But you will. Hard work. Big k’s. Lots of falls. Lots of tens. Not many fours. That’s what it takes.’
The pool was busy. Heaps of mums sat on the side while little kids farted around in the two piss ’n’ play lanes.
My shirt was sticking to my back as I dumped my bag and searched for my pass. The water looked good, the smell of the chlorine seemed to hook its fingers into my nostrils and drag me poolside. There she was, clipboard in one hand, sticky bun in the other. ‘Let’s go, Meestah Dylan. In you go. You swim good today. Swim good, dive bettah.’
I waved a hang-on-a-second and went for the change rooms.
The place was empty, and I got a weird, hot rush of embarrassment as I remembered the last time I’d been in change rooms alone and was nailed trying to photograph my butt. Thank God it was Ryan who came in, and not some arsehole.
The zits on my shoulders weren’t too bad and I stood back from the mirror to see how I was going. I’d look better after warming up; a couple of k’s pumps up even the biggest weed. Sometimes between the lap pool and the dive pool I’d pretend to go for a piss in the toilets so I could have a flex and see if the puppy fat was falling off.
Nothing could make the Speedos cool.
After draping my towel over my school clothes and bag I headed for the pool. I took the short way, which would have been fine if that hadn’t been the exact moment half of my year arrived for a splash. I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was going, my head was down and I was working away at a small gob of something on the inside lens of my goggles. It might have been toothpaste.
I practically head-butted Sully, who had his hands up and said, ‘Watch it, will ya!’ I don’t mind Sully. He’s pretty funny and he’s everyone’s mate. If there’s a joke on, he’s in it or part of it. He gave me a gentle push before pulling his hands back quickly and wiping them on his school shirt. ‘Those zits better not be catching,’ he said. ‘They’re manky.’
‘Don’t be an arse,’ said Madison. She was right behind him. ‘It’s not his fault.’
‘Yeah,’ added Plant. ‘Don’t be an arse, Sully. Everyone knows zits aren’t contagious. You arse.’
‘Such an arse,’ said McAcca. God knows how he’d got McAcca – with a name like Andrew McAnulty, you’d think he’d get Macca, like all the other McSomethings.
‘Arse,’ I chimed in. Sully pretended to look hurt. They’d all stopped coming through the gates now, swamping me. Sully, McAcca, Plant and Madison. The cool kids. Ashley Smythe’d be round here somewhere. She’d probably have her phone out ready to shoot and post. Isabelle, Hannah and Gracie might to be about, too. All of them were fully clothed, and here I was in Speedos with only my swimming goggles to hide behind.
‘I thought there was only one reason people wore dick stickers, Dylan. But there must be two,’ said Sully.
If there was an answer to that riddle, I didn’t have it. Everyone knew diving was my school sport. They knew I had to train, so I wasn’t sure where this joke was coming from. I was heating up from the inside. For sure I was blushing, for sure my zits were glowing.
‘Sorry?’ I said. ‘I’ve got training. That’s why I’m wearing Speedos. Duh!’
‘Yeah, right. Me, idiot,’ said Sully. ‘That must be the other reason.’
I was still lost, but wasn’t too worried because I could figure out the answer – or an answer – in the next thirty or forty minutes doing laps. Answers often came pretty easily chugging along the black line at the bottom of the pool.
I started to edge out of the throng and noticed Gracie and Hannah. I nodded to them, Gracie nodded back, and there were a few other kids behind them. Everyone was hanging around as if something was going to happen.
‘What’s the other one?’ said McAcca. ‘What did you think the reason for wearing Speedos was, Sully?’
Sully put his hands out wide, like he was the most important person in the world, and said in a big voice, ‘Well, McAcca, I’m glad you asked. The only reason I thought you would wear Speedos was because you had a huge schlong, but that is clearly not the case. It looks as if you can wear dick stickers without having much of a package at all.’ They laughed. All of them. High-pitched and low, boys and girls. Their mirth spewed out in great guffaws. Only a couple tried to drag them ba
ck by covering their mouths. Even Madison let a laugh escape before giving Sully a belt on the arm.
Worse, I think they all tried to look at my crotch.
‘Oh my God,’ said a voice from the back I wasn’t sure about. But that was all I heard. If they said, ‘It’s true,’ or ‘He doesn’t have one,’ or anything else, I missed it. I covered up and shouldered my way past Sully towards the safety of the water and lane three.
‘Just kidding, Dylan,’ said Sully. ‘It’s a joke.’
‘Funny,’ I said to myself.
‘Dylaaaaaaaaaaan, it’s a joooke.’
I couldn’t get to the water fast enough. Coach Tran was at the far end pointing a rickety finger at her wrist where her watch would be. ‘Come on. Come on,’ she bleated.
From behind, it started up again. There was a big guffaw and then, ‘Oh my God. He’s got shit coming out of his dick stickers. He’s wiped shit up his back.’ I had no idea what they were talking about, or who, but was just glad it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be. I hadn’t even been to the toilet, so how could I have shit up my back? I turned to look, but they were staring at me, and laughing and pointing, shaking their heads and pissing themselves.
What the hell? I thought. I even wiped my hand across my lower back to see if there was anything there, but of course, there wasn’t. I looked at McAcca and Sully with my hands out. ‘What?’ I tried again, running my fingers across the top of my Speedos but a little firmer. There was nothing but a sharp little sting as my fingers went across the dark welt from Hamish Banning’s wedgie. That must be the shit, I thought. They think it’s shit. It’s a burn, you idiots. It’s not shit, it’s a fricken burn from that arsehole Banning. ‘Oh, come on you guys. It’s not what you think . . . It’s a burn . . .’ but it was useless. It was like they’d all been smashed with laughing gas. McAcca and Sully were literally doubled over, holding their guts and pointing.
