But to shrug properly, he needs both hands free. A bad move on old Lambert’s part. He begins to overbalance. I grab him and next thing you know, his foot slips off the seat and lands on the ball while at the same time, he presses the flush lever.
‘Shit!’ I hear Richmond say.
‘It’s a girl!’ Donald almost neighs with terror. Then comes a clatter of feet as they clear out. The toilet bowl fills and because of the ball in there, the water overflows. We jump off our perch but since there’s two of us, we can’t get the door open in time so we end up with wet feet and ankles.
I slosh out to the locker area and see what Richmond had been doing. He’d squirted some sort of whitish silicone stuff into one of the locks. It is already setting hard. Lambert comes to me.
‘Can’t get the ball out,’ he says. ‘Give us a hand, eh? We’d better not leave it for the girls.’
‘Lambert,’ I tell him. ‘This is not the time to be chivalrous.’ I flee, Lambert follows.
Once outside, Richmond and Donald are already nowhere to be seen.
‘Gee, they must have really moved,’ Lambert says.
‘Suits me,’ I agree. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ We move off ourselves at a more relaxed pace until Lambert suddenly stops.
‘Uh, oh,’ he says.
‘Uh, oh, what?’
I look and Lambert points to a bench under the shade of a tree where a small girl stands indignantly rooted to the spot with a prim look on her face. She
has only caught us emerging from the girls’ change room.
‘Having a good time, were you?’ the small girl says nastily. ‘Perverts!’
‘No, plumbers’ apprentices,’ Lambert lies. ‘Doing an estimate.’ But from the grim look in her eye, I can tell we are marked men. Lambert whips out his horoscope book and tries to change the subject. ‘Hey, what’s your star sign?’ he asks the girl.
‘Huh! As if I’d tell you!’ With nose in the air, she goes off.
‘They call her ABC,’ Lambert adds gloomily as we slink away.
‘Why?’
‘News on the hour,’ Lambert tells me. ‘I should have listened to my horoscope.’
As we go home, I realise I have a dilemma. On the one hand, I know what Richmond’s up to. He’s trying to get Sophie off the team. On the other hand I can’t just dob him in to Sophie. For one thing, it breaks the Code of the Bloke and for another, it means I’ve got to say how I found out about Richmond trying to bung up the locks on the lockers.
‘Me and Lambert just happened to be in the girls’ shower the other day,’ I will tell her nonchalantly. ‘You know, hanging around in a toilet, and we saw what we saw.’
‘Oh yes?’ She’ll fix me with a questioning look. ‘The girls’ shower, eh? And toilet?’
Sunksville, Mark Two!
Lambert breaks in on my thoughts. ‘You want to know where Sophie lives?’
‘Yeah.’ I try not to sound too eager. Lambert points to a house.
‘In there.’ It’s a nice place, with garden out front and a path leading to the door. Better still, it’s only three streets from Ryan Road. Already, I’m dawdling, gazing at the windows, hoping the door will open and she’ll be there. On the other hand, it would be the easiest thing in the world to pop in and tell Sophie that I didn’t like what the guys did on the soccer field. Now, that’s not breaking the Code of the Bloke. But somehow, my legs won’t turn and take me up her garden path so I allow Lambert to drag me away. ‘Thought you’d like a geography lesson,’ he grins.
‘My favourite subject,’ I tell him.
When we reach my place, Rodney is home from St Haughty’s-High-on-the-Hill, chastising his drums again.
‘Does that mad fella never stop?’ Dad asks. Dad has bought a load of timber but it is all too long to bring in the house out of the rain so Mum suggests he saw every bit of it in half. Or better still, quarters. My mother is not being supportive about these renovations. Senga announces that she’s moving into a sales position in Mr Snippy’s growing hair empire.
‘Selling what?’ Mum asks forthrightly.
‘Oh, I’ll spend my time between products and, um, goodwill.’
‘Any money in it?’ Dad wants to know.
‘Why is everyone so negative?’ Senga complains.
Next day at school, I find out that I should have insisted on my legs carrying me up Sophie’s garden path. The first indication is an icy feeling in our home room. I try to catch Sophie’s eye but she doesn’t even change her expression. As far as that woman’s concerned, I am a window and she’s looking right through me.
Then Lambert tries his horoscope chat-up line on Angela.
‘What’s your star sign?’ I hear him say.
‘Get lost! Drop off! Suppurate! In that order!’ she snarls.
‘Aw, come on,’ I support Lambert.
‘You too,’ Angela spits. ‘We know what you did!’ Thud! My jaw drops. Again I look at Sophie but this time she turns away.
Then at the first break, I find out the really bad news. No, I don’t go to Sophie, she comes to me.
‘You’re on his side, are you?’
‘No, I’m -’
‘You were seen,’ she goes on. ‘You stuck a soccer ball down one of our toilets then gunked up the lock on my locker. Can’t get the key in. How infantile!’
‘Look, we didn’t -’ Well, I have to agree, half of it is true. But Sophie cuts me off.
‘I thought you might have been different,’ she says. ‘But you’re one of the guys who don’t want girls in the team! What’s wrong? Afraid I’ll show you up?’ She goes and Lambert comes to join me.
‘If you say anything about horoscopes,’ I threaten, ‘I’ll make you eat that book.’
‘Wasn’t going to.’ Lambert takes a pause. ‘Okay, ABC saw us come out of the girls’ shower and dobbed us in. But why didn’t she dob in Richmond?’
‘Because they’d already gone,’ I say. But Lambert sees a flaw in my argument.
‘But we weren’t that far behind them. So where did they disappear to?’
‘Yeah.’ This starts me thinking, but Lambert has already done his own reasoning.
‘They must have gone into the boys’ change room,’ he announces. The pair of us stand there nodding significantly. It’s very simple. Maybe that’s where they left the gunky silicone stuff. In one of their lockers. But we are sunk. How can we let Sophie know that Richmond is the owner and user of the silicone stuff? If we somehow got the tube or whatever and showed it to Sophie, Richmond could just deny it was his.
Instead of doing homework that night, I do a lot of pointless pondering, and doodling, then back to pondering. After that, I go to bed, but still without a plan of action. I have a restless dream where Lambert comes to me with his horoscope book.
‘Look for the weak link,’ he tells me. ‘Aim for Achilles’ heel.’ I wake up and the digital clock says 2.17. Weak link, eh? Achilles’ heel. I have heard of this guy and his dodgy heel. It sounds like a message but I roll over and go back to sleep.
Thursday morning, I wander through the shopping precinct on the way to school. I like coming this way because it reminds me there is a real world out here, with real people who have jobs and futures. Play my cards right and who knows, I might be one of them. Mind you, going past CCC always makes my face flush red and it’s got nothing to do with caffeine.
Then I find that my sister Senga is in the precinct. She too is one of the real people in this real world and she is hard at work, standing with a tray of lapel badges which mark ‘Hairpiece Awareness Week.’
‘Hi, Senggers,’ I greet her.
‘Get lost,’ she hisses. I pick up a couple of her lapel badges and read: ‘I know, but it doesn’t show’ and ‘Hairpiece? What hairpiece ?’
Senga gives me a look and I smile and move on. I won’t say a word to Mum: she’d only worry.
Thursday is the best day of the week because in class we get an unsupervised free period in the morning. We’re
supposed to study but hey, who’s checking?
It is during my free period that the whole solution falls into my lap. It is almost like a stage play, with actors making their entries and exits on cue, starting with Sophie and Angela who are in the room while Richmond and Donald are not. Sophie and Angela rise and leave. I hear them tell a girl they’re going off to collect an assignment. Back soon.
Donald passes them at the door as he makes his entry and suddenly, it is as if he is lit up with a big neon sign which flashes on and off saying: ‘Weak Link, Weak Link.’ Richmond is a hard nut to crack, but Donald is a softie. Donald fades fast. Donald goes to water. Donald is my man. Donald is a.k.a. Achilles and he’s got a weak ankle.
After some rapid thinking, I decide it is now or never.
‘Donald,’ I wave my arms at him and he comes to me with a sneer on his face.
‘What’s up, Fungus?’
‘The girls,’ I say, keeping my voice low and tense. ‘Sophie and Angela. They’re going to your locker to get that gunky stuff.’
‘What gunky stuff?’
‘The stuff you and Richmond squirted into Sophie’s lock.’
‘Huh,’ Donald scoffs. ‘You don’t know anything.’
‘Suit yourself,’ I say reasonably. ‘I listen to the ABC and she knows everything.’ Donald stiffens and I can see him thinking. This ABC girl’s got a really powerful reputation. He falters.
‘Are they going to my locker right away?’ he asks at last, worried now.
‘No, they’re collecting an assignment first,’ I tell him. ‘'Then your locker. So you’ve got time.’
‘Right, well, thanks, Fergus.’ He goes. I smile at Lambert.
‘I’ve got a job for you.’ Then it’s whisper, whisper and Lambert smiles back.
Richmond enters and takes his seat then produces a book. Angela and Sophie return, talking together then they start reading what the teacher said about their assignments.
‘A bit rich,’ I hear Angela complain. ‘What have adjectives got to do with anything?’ Then Donald enters furtively but his eyes suddenly widen when he sees Sophie and Angela in their places. He has something in his hand. Lambert swings into action.
‘Hey, Donald.’ He holds up a book which has a loose cover. ‘Is that glue? Can I have a squirt?’
‘Yeah, it’s got a squirty thing,’ I add. Donald stiffens. His eyes swivel side to side.
‘It’s not glue,’ he says too quickly. ‘Anyway it’s Richmond’s.’ Donald holds it up for all to see, a yellow tube which has a long pointy nozzle. ‘Here you are, Richmond.’
‘That’s not mine!’ Richmond gets to his feet and backs away.
‘Yes it is.’ Donald tries to give the tube to Richmond. ‘You bought it in Nifty-Shifty Hardware. Four-ninety-five.’ Richmond tries to reject it. Sophie and Angela become interested.
‘Silicone, is it?’ Sophie asks. I smile. The Code of the Bloke has not been broken.
After that, things become delicious. Well, more or less. Sophie comes to me. (Not me to her, you’ll notice.) Lambert is witness to my sudden reinstatement in her good books.
‘Okay, I apologise,’ she says. ‘It’s just that ABC never gets things wrong.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ I smile kindly. The word is magnanimously, but kindly will do. I keep the smile on so long, it begins to hurt. It’s great being right for once.
‘I should have known better,’ Sophie goes on. ‘I mean, the idea’s so stupid. That you’d gunk up my lock then stuff a ball down the toilet.’
‘Oh, the ball in the toilet, that was us,’ Lambert confesses. ‘But not the gunk in your lock.’ I shrink into my collar. I have found another weak link! Move over, Achilles. Your brother’s here only he’s got two dodgy ankles!
‘Right.’ Sophie calculates. ‘So you guys were there?’
‘We were, but I can explain,’ I say. Well, at least it is easier explaining only one thing and when she walks home with me and I tell her, Sophie sees the funny side of it.
‘You could do stuff like this professionally,’ she tells me
Lambert has made a move on Angela, but I don’t think Angela recognises it as a move. He shows her his book of horoscopes and she’s interested and wants to know what the rest of the day holds for her. Lambert flicks the pages.
‘Thursday, the eleventh of March,’ he says importantly. ‘Travel beckons and there is some money on your horizon -’
‘Thursday, ninth of March,’ Angela corrects him.
‘Not according to this.’ Lambert checks the date again but Angela turns the book to show its cover.
‘Last year’s.’ She points. There is no way out of a situation like that.
‘Well, for a dollar-ninety-five,’ Lambert says. ‘You got to expect a few imperfections.’
Friday afternoon I see Sophie having a passionate word with the coach. Her face is set hard; his arms are folded. I sidle sideways, the better to hear. My ears are already up twin flagpoles, blowing in a stiff breeze. Flap, flap, they go.
‘So that’s it?’ Sophie says. ‘I’m out?’
‘And there’s nothing I can do about it.’ Coach shakes his head.
‘Fine, then.’ Sophie moves away and sees me. I make my bold move.
‘And the same goes for me, Coach. You sack Sophie, then I go too.’
‘Okay by me, McPhail,’ Coach says grimly. ‘Saves me the bother of giving you the elbow. Cheers.’
Sophie and I walk off together.
‘Was that you being noble or something?’ she asks.
‘Well, somebody’s got to make a stand,’ I tell her.
‘He wasn’t sacking me,’ she says. ‘I was quitting. There’s a difference.’
Bummer! The problem about overhearing what you’re not supposed to hear is that you sometimes get the wrong end of the stick. Try reading Sophie’s statement of resignation without question marks. Then add one to what Coach said. Now it makes sense.
We walk home together, the weekend before us and Sophie is suddenly relaxed about being with me. In her eyes I am no longer an unsophisticated nerd. There’s no rush, no need for me to be home and I like the long twilights down here, not like Brisbane where the light goes like somebody flicked a switch. Another thing is, I haven’t missed anybody from my old school. (And they haven’t missed me.) I did at first, but not now, not while I’m walking home slowly with Sophie by my side. We talk, and soon we get on to my family.
‘Mum was sick for a while,’ I say. ‘Only in the mornings but she’s over it now.’
‘M-mm,’ Sophie considers. We walk a bit more then her words hit me. ‘So what is she hoping for? A girl or a boy?’
My face says it all. Okay, I’m able to read the signs like the next guy - I had a vague idea but you can’t just come out and say, ‘Hey, Mum, are you pregnant or something?’
‘Boy or girl, I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it,’ I tell Sophie. ‘It’s a bit sort of - delicate.’ Sophie grins.
We walk on and now that it’s out in the open, my head is full of thoughts. Mum and Dad pregnant? Who’d have thought it? At their age?
The Sins of the Father
The important thing about breaking the ice with a girl is you’ve got to keep it broken. Take your mind off things for ten minutes and all the great chunks of splintered ice join together to freeze up again. Next thing you know, the warm-hearted soul who used to smile cheerfully at your jokes has turned back into a frigid glacier. Then it’s out with the snow shoes, the ice-pick and you start all over again.
The above has been a free hint from Every Boy’s Book of Cracking On To Girls, which budding author Fergus McPhail will write one day as soon as he gets the spare time. And a bit more experience.
These April days, I often walk to school with Sophie Bartolemeo then after school we stroll home again, through romantic autumn colours and soft, dappled afternoon light, which should be a big enough mood-setter for any girl, but that’s as far as it goes. We reach her garden gate wh
ere it’s suddenly and primly goodbye, Fergus, then off she goes up the path to the front door to let herself in. And she never looks back, nor does she wave.
I drop hints about us meeting up after school or even working together on our assignments, her place or mine, but Sophie is not very good at catching dropped hints. Or maybe she doesn’t recognise them as hints. But at least we get to walk home so I leave it at that.
Then comes a breakthrough, which happens like this: In our English class, Mr Boddie is fond of coming into the room first thing in the morning and greeting us. Then he snaps out a quick assignment, such as: ‘How many countries in the world have “land” in their names?’ He looks at our sea of blank faces then goes on. ‘For example, England, Finland. Got it? No discussion, go!’
Then he leaves us to mull over the problem while he gets on with a crossword puzzle. After that, it’s a race against time to see how many countries you get - Ireland, Swaziland, Iceland. It becomes frantic. Deutschland is German, but he didn’t say it had to be in English. Some guys check the atlas. Good move. Poland, Thailand, Scotland, the lists build up. Okay, it’s harmless enough and usually a bit of fun.
Mr Boddie explains that he’s expanding our horizons and polishing our research skills. I say it’s too early in the day for stuff like that. But one morning when he gives us an assignment, he tells us this time there’s a prize for the winner and the runner-up. It’s a couple of Eugénie Telfer paperbacks. Girls’ eyes go pop; Eugénie Telfer is very in right now. Eugénie is this tough, take-no-prisoners teenager who rights wrongs and gets herself into dangerous situations. She is also environmentally aware and kind to animals, especially dolphins. When Mr Boddie shows the book covers, Sophie is suddenly in raptures.
‘Oh, Eugénie Telfer. I want one.’
‘So win it,’ Mr Boddie tells her.
‘What do we do?’ Angela demands. Mr Boddie leers, so we know it’s going to be a tough nut, this assignment.
‘I want you to find all the anomalous finites in the English language,’ he says. Around the room, jaws drop thud, thud on to desks. He goes on to explain. ‘You’re looking for words that take the “n-apostrophe-t” form, that is words like “isn’t” and “wasn’t”.’ He writes the examples on the board then tells us there are twenty-three of them. Mr Boddie gives us ten minutes to work on our collections, but wants our entries in the morning and the first with all twenty-three words is the winner. He’ll draw the entries from a hat.
Fergus McPhail Page 7
