‘OK, pens down.’ Mr Moulton switched off the music. ‘Would anyone like to share their poem with the class?’
He waited for volunteers, and then waited some more.
Lee made sure she had her head down in case he asked her. From the corner of her eye, she saw the new girl tentatively put up her hand. Mr Moulton was looking in the other direction, and didn’t see it. By the time he looked her way again, the girl’s hand was down. She must have changed her mind.
It was nice getting the patterns on the butterfly wings exactly right, taking into account how the perspective would alter as they opened and closed. Dots gave way to circles and half-circles.
Finally, Cecilia put up her hand. It was unusual for Cec. She was bright, Cec, but she was also pretty shy.
Cecilia’s voice was soft and melodic from the front of the room.
‘Kindness leaps out from those blue eyes
Accidental. She doesn’t know
Her beauty, but it’s there
For itself. Not for show.’
Lee stopped drawing. She listened with her whole body, not just her ears. Her butterfly froze, mid-flap. She looked up from her page. There were eyes on her. A whole classroom of eyes, switching focus between Cecilia at the front of the room and Lee at the table.
Could it really be? Had Cec chosen to write a poem about her being special? No name had been mentioned. It might be just another thing she imagined, like all that stuff with Jack. She wasn’t special. Was she?
‘She gives like there’s no score
No debt to pay
She is just who she is
And it can make my day.’
A moment of silence stretched out.
‘A beautiful poem, Cecilia,’ Mr Moulton said finally. ‘And clearly written for a beautiful friend.’ He was looking directly at Lee. Seeing her.
Suddenly, everyone was clapping.
‘Nice one, Cec,’ Jordan said, and it was kind of sweet that she looked at Lee, too.
‘That poem was so you!’ Meredith added, giving Lee a friendly pinch on the thigh. It didn’t hurt at all. Just sort of woke Lee up.
‘So, is anyone else going to volunteer?’ Mr Moulton asked. There was no response. ‘No? It’s a hard act to follow, I suppose. Well then, you can hand your work in without your names this time. We can have anonymous pulsing hearts.’
Lee blinked at Cecilia as she walked back to the table. Mr Moulton came around to collect their work. He glanced at Lee’s butterflies, and smiled at her. A smile that said they were OK. Valid. Poetry in pictures, maybe?
Lee took a deep breath. She felt like her body was altering with the breath. Like it was making more space inside her for bigger thoughts.
And this one flooded the space like a wave. Cecilia had exposed a part of her that Lee didn’t know existed. She had explained how she saw Lee, and everyone in class knew it was about her without being told. But the surprising thing was that it wasn’t about Lee being blinky, or average, or normal.
It was about her being kind and beautiful in her own way. And loveable, like Jordan had said in the toilets.
She wasn’t exotic like Jordan, or funny like Meredith, or talented like Cecilia. But maybe that wasn’t really the point?
Maybe it was enough just to be Lee.
It’s ironic, being large and largely invisible. I can tuck myself in among the shadows, where the canteen roof slopes and drips stale water long after the rain has stopped. I can ignore the drops that catch the wind and sleet their way onto my face with their little nuggets of dirt inside.
From here I can see groups of kids, arranging themselves with others that match them.
The nerds, circular around a tree, discussing the latest computer technology.
The sporties, substituting catch and run for life. Letting balls and legs and arms do the talking.
I can let my eyes focus in peripheral vision without moving my head as a telltale. And if I angle my body, just slightly and not enough for anyone to notice the movement, I can get the little slices of interaction between the cool group. I can use my eyes as a casting agent might, taking a mental snapshot of each of them. The shiny group: ideal for shampoo commercials, health bars. Their tag lines could be written with ease, because I know them now.
I have watched. I have listened.
I have to remind myself to focus, though. It’s necessary to switch quickly from one person to another. There are always so many exchanges, and so much to take in. They are people who live publicly. Not hidden in the shadows.
I have to be careful. The temptation is to let my peripheral vision land on Jordan and stop right there. Exotic beauty, effortless flair. She leans against a white pole and it becomes a backdrop just for her. Jordan has perfected the art of not giving a shit, and it becomes her. It’s cruel, how it all works. For her.
I have to tear my eyes off Jordan. I tell myself to do it the same way I would rip a bandaid off. Quickly. Instead, I slowly start pulling, feeling the wound stick to the plaster.
It’s a competition between Jordan and Lee. I can tell just by their body language. I am not stupid. Just fat. I can see what’s happening.
It’s a short movie, the sound’s muted, and I find myself barracking for Lee. Go the underdog. Wholesome and radiant. The Girl Next Door. Lee is the sweet one. She almost knows I exist. She even smiled my way in English. It had been a shock, and for a frightening moment I thought I’d been caught staring. I think I looked away quickly enough for her not to notice me.
The prize is Jack. Of course. A prize no red-blooded girl would be disappointed with. Jack could be used to model a trophy. He would be gold, arms outstretched, muscular. A Jack for the mantelpiece. Masculine, athletic and a little touch of zing.
Lee won’t win. I can see that already. I’d like to be her coach, advise her to pull back a little. Stop blinking. Stop letting your feelings spurt everywhere. Of course it’s just fantasy. It will never happen, you and Jack. Except inside your head.
I know that I will never give Lee any such advice.
I use the exchange of Twisties as an opportunity to move around the group. I force my eyes to ride from hand to packet. Cecilia takes three. Exuding delicacy and grace. She drifts away from the group. I notice the sliding of Twisties beside Cecilia’s mouth. Sleight of hand, a magician’s trick, but if you look closely it’s not hard to figure out how it works. The Twisties remain in her hand, her hand drops down, resting against her leg, and it’s only a short trip to the ground.
Then my eyes are with Meredith. She’s a performer, that one, roving around looking for material to use in her act. Vivacious smile to light up any screen. The threat of masticated Twisties, spewing out with her guttural laugh. Overdone, you think. A touch too vivacious. But the others laugh.
Lee screws up her nose. She tries to act grossed out by Meredith, but it’s a pretty weak decoy. Her body is permanently pointed towards Jack and Jordan.
Jordan deigns to take some Twisties. Lee turns to Jack, offering him some, but he hardly notices. His eyes are glued to Jordan. His eyes are unshifting pupils full of Jordan.
I follow Lee as she steps back, accepts defeat.
Jordan: for whom the world turns.
Meredith steps back in front of them. It’s as though she has received a call back from me, the casting agent. Requires a second audition, requires more attention. And it’s just as well, because I don’t know whether I would have been able to change focus, to rip off the last remnants of that bandaid. She is saying something to Sam. Typical teen. Perfect in sidekick role. Meredith is laughing. That one is always laughing.
It makes me wonder why she is sad.
The something she said has slapped Sam. His cheeks are burning red. I wish I could have heard it, but it’s too dangerous to move within earshot.
I have a salad roll for lunch. I am starving and want to take a bite, but that is dangerous. A big girl eating will always attract unwanted attention. Still, I take the risk. I try to do it slowly, with no sudden mov
ements. I lift the roll towards my mouth.
It’s a stupid risk. I have blown it. There are eyes on me, and although they don’t see me really, I must swerve away.
Viewing time is over.
I look down at my school shoes. Giant boats. Let them ship me down the track to the breezeway behind the canteen.
Alone.
sam
It was drizzling. Not enough to stop the game, as far as Sam was concerned. But the others were waiting anyway, hanging around under the canteen roof. Jack was eyegoggling Jordan. Probably why he wasn’t in so much of a hurry to play basketball for once. In all the years they’d been friends, he’d never seen Jack so stuck on someone. Even when he was going out with Tylah, he didn’t act like this.
But that was just the way it was. Jordan was changing his mate, and Sam would just have to keep up.
The girls were taking forever to eat one measly packet of Twisties, stringing out the time for eating. Jack was eating a sausage roll and also taking forever.
Sam raised his hands, palms up. ‘Come on, Delanty. How long are you gonna take?’
‘Come on, Delanty. How long are you gonna take?’ Meredith ducked under Sam’s outstretched hands, mimicking him.
She got his tone exactly right, the emphasis on the ‘long’, the crackly voice. Sam could feel how close she came to his body. Her back to his stomach. The grey wool of his school jumper brushing against the checks of her dress.
‘Piss off, Moo,’ he said mildly.
‘Piss orff, Moo.’ She swung around, laughing. She was such a stirrer, so loud. She always had so much to say that Sam never needed to say much back.
The sun came out between the clouds. There was something weird about the way Meredith was watching him. Sam felt like a pinned insect, alive and wriggling.
‘OH MY GOD! You’ve got BUM FLUFF, Sam! Above your lips!’
BLUSHING IS THE BODY’S RESPONSE TO STRESS. IT SENDS THE BLOOD PUMPING THROUGH THE VEINS TO REACH THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE SKIN. READYING THE BLUSHER TO RUN. TO EXECUTE THE FIGHT OR FLIGHT INSTINCT.
The random information knocked around in Sam’s head, even as he felt the blood rushing through his veins, the heat up his neck and face.
Sam registered a general sense of amusement around the gang. He didn’t know where to put himself or where to look. Cecilia looked embarrassed for him. Made it worse, somehow.
Meredith, whose chatter came as fast as the Blackbird airplane. ABOUT 3600 KM AN HOUR. Like she was always in some kind of race. Normally it made her the girl he was most comfortable with. She never seemed to notice that Sam wasn’t good at making his thoughts come out in words. That he struggled to come up with the right thing to say when Lee asked him a question. When Jordan gave him one of her withering looks, or Cecilia just let the pause in a conversation grow and gape.
Meredith filled in the gaps herself. She included Sam in her conversations, requiring only a gesture here, a word there. Sometimes Sam even felt a bit cool when Meredith was around. Not Jack cool. That was never going to happen to a guy like Sam. But cool enough.
And then a curve ball, like this. What was he supposed to do with this?
Instinctively, Sam moved into his default position. He knew it was a variation on the fight instinct. He buckled Meredith’s knees with his own and spun her around into a headlock. Her back was against his chest, and she fought all the way as they fumbled through the crowd.
Sam mumbled an apology to Cecilia for making her jump backwards to avoid them. She was so skinny, so small, it was kind of scary. It was as though you’d break her in half if you weren’t careful. The two of them bumped into Jack. That didn’t matter. Delanty was indestructible.
‘No offence, Sam,’ Meredith giggled. ‘I just noticed it, all right?’
The Chinese burn was pretty hard. Meredith was strong, for a girl. A bunch of Sam’s skin went one way. Another bunch of skin went in the opposite direction. Like his thoughts.
She shouldn’t have said that in front of everyone.
She noticed.
Sam pressed the nozzle on the shaving foam can. RELEASED FROM THE PRESSURE INTO THE ATMOSPHERE, THE HYDROCARBON MADE IT EXPAND AND FROTH. Sam pasted the foam onto his upper lip. He checked the lock on the bathroom door.
Meredith’s comments had followed him around all day, like a shadow, and even seeped into his evening. Around the basketball court as he passed and shot the ball. Her words had melted into maths, arranging themselves around the algebra. X = flattered. Y = embarrassed. Brackets should tell you which part of the equation to figure out first. Where were the brackets?
This was harder than algebra to figure out. Because there was embarrassment, but there was something else too. A sort of thrill inside the humiliation that had made him shudder even as he played basketball or solved maths problems. The memory of what Moo had said jumped back at him like a zombie in a horror movie. It kept coming back. And back.
Sam was surprised that there was no knock on the bathroom door. No pleas from his big sister to let him in. No yells from his mum to come and set the table. To make things more confusing, he was surprised to find he was a bit disappointed by it.
His first shave might go completely unnoticed. It almost felt like everyone had forgotten his birthday.
Sam smoothed the foam. He lifted his nose, stretching the skin underneath. His hand was wobbly. Slow and steady, he told himself. It’s not a race.
His dad shaved every morning. Every morning. How weird to think that would be the same for him, soon. Once, his dad had grown a beard. Sam’s mum hated it. She had complained that he looked like a cave man. She’d vowed that 99% of females thought that beards were gross.
Sam wondered if Meredith hated beards.
He stroked the razor with small vertical movements. How strange to think that something that had taken all these years to grow, to appear, could disappear so quickly.
Sam washed the remnants of foam and short hairs and water down the plughole. He watched the foam swirling anti-clockwise. Was it true that on the other side of the world it swirled in the opposite direction?
And was his mum right, were her statistics correct? Did 99% of females hate facial hair? Sam didn’t even know what one female thought.
About facial hair.
About him.
Back in his room, towel tied around his waist, Sam switched on his laptop. Broadband gave him a Google screen. He typed in his question, unsure of whether he’d get any decent hits. How do you know if you like somebody?
Because where was the thrill coming from, the thrill inside the humiliation, if he didn’t like Moo? But then, how could he be sure? He wondered whether he was doing a pale imitation of Jack. It was a no-brainer that Jack liked Jordan. More than as a friend. But Sam couldn’t exactly ask him how he knew. Everything came naturally for Jack, which was pretty amazing when you thought about what Jack’d had to deal with. Jack was just one of those people who coped.
There was a surprising number of hits. At least some other sad suckers had asked the question before him.
Sam double clicked on a site. Perfect Match. It was written in a flowing, twirly font and decorated with hearts and arrows. It looked kind of lame, but it did seem to offer a comprehensive list of symptoms. As though liking someone might be like having some kind of disease. THE FLU MIGHT MANIFEST IN A COUGH, OR EXCESS PRODUCTION OF PHLEGM. Liking someone might produce its own checklist.
Is He/She the one?
74% report getting clumsy or tonguetied around the one
Sam instantly aligned himself with the 74%. But then again, when he thought about it more, he actually got tongue-tied a lot of the time. It wasn’t confined to talking with Meredith. In fact, he was often worse with other girls. Cecilia could make him go completely mute, and he definitely didn’t like her like that. Sam moved on.
68% report thinking about the one constantly
Hmmm. What was constantly? A few times a day? Every second? Yeah, she did seem to jump into his mind. Quite a l
ot, actually, but maybe not constantly. Really, the site wasn’t very clear. Sam scrolled down.
85% report that they hold eye contact for up to ten seconds longer with the one than with other people
Sam breathed out a sigh. The whole thing was like a giant riddle, waiting to be solved.
He tried to use the mouse to scroll down. The computer froze. It did that sometimes, for no apparent reason. But now was particularly not a good time. Sam’s sister Lauren was stomping down the hallway towards his room.
‘Saaam,’ she called as she came closer. ‘Mum wants to know if Jack’s coming for dinner on Monday? She’s going shopping and needs to know whether to get a leg of lamb or an entire beast.’
Suddenly, she was at the bedroom door. She was wearing a yellow dress and a smirk. ‘Oh yeah, and she also wants you to clean up the bathroom. Dad’s razor and stuff.’
Sam closed the lid of his laptop. He knew he should shut it down first. But this was an emergency.
‘So you did it, finally?’ Lauren said. She sniffed at his bedroom, fingers pinching her nose. ‘It stinks in here.’
‘Then feel free to f--- off,’ Sam countered. He folded his arms, ready for combat. But Lauren was the braver soldier. She walked right in.
‘Give us a look,’ she demanded.
Sam rolled his eyes. He stared at the roof as Lauren inspected his upper lip. There was a spider web in the corner.
‘Not bad,’ Lauren said. ‘Just a little cut over there.’
She sat on Sam’s unmade bed and arranged a big sisterly look on her face, probably borrowed from one of her stupid American sitcoms. She was all furrowed brows and quizzical mouth.
‘So, how come you did it? You trying to impress someone?’
Sam shrugged. He wondered if Lauren had caught a glimpse of the screen before he’d closed the lid. He decided that she couldn’t have. But then, where did the question come from?
‘It’s OK,’ Lauren said, ‘happens to everyone, sooner or later.’
She looked thoughtful, kind of dazed. She often wore this look when she talked about her boyfriend, Nelson. Sam liked Nelson. He was a good bloke. But he and Lauren were hopeless together. They were either attached to each other, some part of their bodies joined like Siamese twins, or they weren’t speaking to each other.
Outside In Page 4
