by Pat Flynn
It was true. The night before I didn’t get to sleep until close to midnight. As well as rearranging my room and touching my trophies, I’ve started turning the light switch on and off six times in sets of three, for extra luck at the next state titles. It wouldn’t be so bad except that I’ve got three lights in my room.
Dad shook his head. ‘No excuses. You need to find a way to win. Else Jett will have the edge on you at the New South Wales Championships.’
Now it’s time to get the edge back. It’s time for revenge.
I eyeball my rival and start bouncing the ball.
‘Not this again’ he whinges. ‘Hurry up and serve, will ya?’
I ignore him, giving six bounces before I flick my wrist and whack down an underhanded serve.
Not a tennis serve. A handball serve.
I can’t get revenge on Jett until next time we play, so I’m taking my anger out on my mates at school.
From the King square, Craig Withers backhands the return, hoping to get me out and become Ace.
He can hope all he wants.
I let the ball drop until it almost bounces twice. Then I pounce. With my left knee scraping the ground, I power a left-handed forehand into the corner of a square.
Withers’ square.
He doesn’t move. Can’t. The shot’s too hard. It’s known by the blokes as a ‘fireball’.
Withers stares at me, hands on hips.
‘Bad luck, Craig’ says Matt, walking from the front of the line to the dunce square. ‘But you need to go. You’re out.’
Withers shakes his head and mutters at me, ‘I’ll beat you one day.’
‘Yep,’ pipes up Matt. ‘On Pigs-fly day.’
The others laugh as Withers walks to the end of the line.
I keep my game face on. I need to focus on the next point. I need to keep this winning feeling.
As it turns out, I don’t see much action for a while. I keep serving the ball to Matt and he picks on the other guys. One by one he gets them out until he’s in the square next to me.
‘Welcome, Your Highness.’ I say.
‘Hello, Ace.’
Matt used to be hopeless at handball but he’s improved out of sight. He’s always had more power than the Williams sisters, but since he’s lost weight he can move like them as well.
I serve to him and he hits the ball back to me, nice and friendly. I return the favour with a ‘high mountain’ -which looks easy but has a tricky spin on it. He shouts out, ‘Doggies!’ — hitting the ball straight down into the ground.
As the ball drops, Matt hits it again. Hard. Normally he’d be out for a double touch, but by calling ‘doggies’ he’s allowed to hit it twice. It’s official school handball rules.
His shot lands in the corner of my square and forces me to hustle. Luckily I’ve got fast feet and make it just as the ball drops low. Just in time for a powershot.
As soon as I whack the ball on the run I smile inside. That’ll teach Matt for calling ‘doggies’ on me, I think. My powershot gets him out every time.
Except this time.
He lunges to his right and catches the ball on his fingertips, returning the ball into my square. It’s a weak shot, however, and Matt’s caught out of position. With a simple shot to the other side of his square, I’ll get him out.
I’ve got plenty of time to line it up.
Too much time.
My mind has a thought. Well, this thought is so fast it’s more like a feeling.
If you don’t win this point you’ll lose the next state title.
I choke up and tap the ball, rather than hit it.
The ball goes close to the yellow line that connects our squares. Dangerously close to a -
‘Double bounce!’ yells Withers. Being at the front of the handball line makes him unofficial umpire. ‘You’re out, Wrong!’
I stand my ground. ‘Was not. It was a line ball. Replay.’
‘No way!’ says Withers. ‘It bounced twice.’
He picks up the ball and shows everyone what he thinks happened, bouncing the ball a second time ten centimetres my side of the line.
‘Think Craig’s right,’ says Andy Reynolds, nodding from the Jack square.
I can’t be out. Not this time. There’s too much at stake.
‘You’re both dreaming’ I say firmly. ‘The ball hit the line. It’s a replay.’ I hold out my hand for the ball.
Withers holds onto it. ‘Matt’s Ace and you’re at the end of the line.’ He points the way.
I start walking, but then use my quick hands to swipe the ball from Craig’s grasp.
Jumping back into the Ace square, I’m about to serve when someone pushes me hard from behind and I land on my wrist. My left wrist.
The first thing I do is flex it. No major pain. The second thing I do is yell at Withers.
‘You idiot! That could’ve ruined my whole career.’
Craig puffs out his chest. ‘Well, if you wouldn’t have been such a baby and went out it never would have happened. It’s your own fault.’
A wave of rage crashes inside me. It’s an anger I’ve only ever felt before on the tennis court when I’m losing. My heart pounds and hot blood courses through my veins like a fountain. I feel powerful and crazy and don’t care about anything. A wild hippo could be in front of me and I wouldn’t back away.
I charge.
My last step is big and low to create maximum power. I raise my arms and push Withers as hard as I can, right in the chest.
I knock him backwards. Well, a little bit. Now that Matt’s lost weight, Withers is the fattest kid in the grade and he’s almost impossible to knock over.
But I’ve given it a good go.
He looks at me, disbelief in his eyes. We’re not best mates but we’re not enemies either, and we’ve never looked like coming to blows on the handball court before.
But there’s a first time for everything.
His expression turns to anger and he holds out his arms — sumo style — and gestures me forwards.
I’m not falling for it.
Instead, I dance to his right and jab him in the gut.
He tries to grab me but is too slow, and I hit him again.
‘Come here, you loser.’ Craig wants me to get in close where he can use his weight advantage and wrestle me.
I shouldn’t fall for it, but I can’t stand being called a loser.
I rush at him, throwing a kidney punch when I get in close. Sometimes at state squad we do boxing training to help our footwork. I never thought I’d use it like this.
He grabs me around the waist and gives me a bear hug. Geez, he’s strong. It must be from carrying his own body weight around all day. It feels like a giant snake is squeezing the life out of me, so I do the one thing I can.
I stomp on his foot.
He yells but doesn’t let go.
Just as I start to feel out of breath, I throw an uppercut into Craig’s solar plexus that makes him double over. He’s winded, and I break away from his grip.
It’s time to finish him off.
I step forwards and am just about to throw another punch when someone grabs me from behind. Someone strong. I feel like I’ve been locked in a vice.
‘Enough.’
The voice isn’t loud but it’s firm as my tummy muscles. If I didn’t recognise it I’d swear it was a teacher.
‘Let’s go.’
It’s not an invitation. It’s an order. Besides, Matt’s still got an arm around my shoulder and he pulls me away like his hand is the hook on a monster truck.
I point at Craig as we leave. ‘I’ll finish this later.’
He doesn’t answer. He’s still down on one knee, getting his breath back.
When we’re twenty metres away, Matt drops his arm and I walk beside him. We head past J Block and up the slight incline on the way to the library. It’s only now that my heart slows and the fog in my head begins to clear.
I’m still mad, though. But not so much at Craig
as I’m mad at Jett, Dad, and the stupid rituals that waste my time away.
Mostly I’m mad at myself.
We head around the library and when I see the picnic tables I know where Matt’s leading me. I want to turn around.
But it’s too late. The girls have already seen us.
‘What happened to you?’ asks Nina.
‘It looks like you were hit by a bus,’ says Jasmine.
I look down at my shirt. My top button’s been ripped off and my tie is skewed.
‘Marcus and Withers just had a little … disagreement,’ says Matt.
‘I’d hate to see him after a big disagreement,’ says Nina.
Jas laughs.
‘Hey, Kayla?’ Matt says. ‘Can we talk?’
‘Can’t it wait, fat boy?’ says Tash. ‘I was just speaking to her about something important.’
‘It’s okay,’ Kayla says to Tash. ‘We’ll catch up later.’
They hug.
Matt, Kayla and I walk off. My legs become heavy and my head light.
It’s the same feeling I get before an important tennis match because I know that afterwards my life will change -either for the better or the worse.
I just don’t know which one it will be.
Chapter Twelve
The school’s biggest tree has wide, leafy branches that block out the hot sun. I sit underneath it where the grass is cool.
But my palms are sweaty. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, and I don’t like uncertainty.
Matt and Kayla are standing a few metres away, whispering. I can’t hear what they’re saying but it looks like Matt is asking Kayla for a favour and she needs convincing. Her hands half-cover her face, as if protecting herself. Matt’s hands wave around as he makes his point, and it must be a good one because I see Kayla nod slowly, and then they walk in my direction.
Kayla sits next to me but Matt doesn’t. He puts one hand on Kayla’s shoulder and the other on mine. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’
He gives my shoulder a squeeze and I’m sure he does the same to Kayla. ‘You’re two of my favourite peeps in the whole world. Just want you to know that.’
And then he’s gone.
Kayla looks at me. ‘Hear that? We’re his favourite peeps.’
I laugh, a bit too loudly.
Kayla goes to say something, then stops. She touches her hair.
‘This is hard.’ she says.
‘What is?’
‘Telling the truth.’
I don’t know what the truth is, but I do know that I want to hear it. Especially from Kayla.
‘It’s only me you’re talking to,’ I say.
‘Yeah, right. Marcus Wright. Tennis star. The boy all the girls swoon over.’
My cheeks get warm. I want to tell Kayla there’s only one girl I want to like me, and she’s sitting underneath this tree. But I don’t. I’m not a big fan of rejection.
She takes a deep breath. ‘Okay, here goes.’ She locks her eyes onto mine. ‘I have an eating disorder.’
I nod. There’s been rumours, of course, especially when she lost so much weight last year. ‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘It’s kind of a long story.’
I look at my watch. ‘We have ten minutes to the bell.’
That gets a tiny smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’
She takes another breath. ‘I can’t remember exactly when it started. In Year 5, I matured before my friends and was teased by some people. I didn’t like it. Then in Year 6, I got pneumonia and lost weight. I got lots of compliments and started exercising and dancing more and felt healthy and happy. But then things started going wrong.’
Kayla picks up a stick and starts drawing on a bare patch of ground. ‘Mum and Dad started fighting at home. Mum put a lot of pressure on me to do well at school. I guess I started to seek control through what I ate.’
Seeking control. It rings alarm bells in my head but I ignore them. I’m nothing like Kayla.
She continues. ‘It started with cutting out cheese, then only drinking soy milk, and a few other picky habits. It got worse when I didn’t win the cross-country and Dad had a heart attack. He ended up being okay but I wasn’t. I was punishing myself for everything about my life that I didn’t like.’
Punishing myself. Is that what I’m doing?
She keeps talking, faster now.
‘At my worst I would get up at the crack of dawn, sneak out for a run, do crunches in my room, eat breakfast, shower, vomit, go to school, not eat, come home, go to dancing, eat dinner, shower, vomit and go to bed. That was my life for almost six months.’
I glance at her and notice that her eyes are leaking.
‘It drove me away from my friends and family, made me miss out on so much. I wouldn’t go to parties as there was food at parties. All I thought about day in and day out was food, exercise, how I could get out of dinners. Lies and planning.’
Lies and planning.
I say something, perhaps to stop from thinking. ‘But what about when you looked at yourself in the mirror? Didn’t you see that you were wasting away?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. My image of myself was all screwed up. I thought I was fat. Mum sent me to psychologists, dieticians, but nothing made any difference.’
‘So, what changed?’
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She seems stronger now. ‘The turning point was talking to a girl who’d been through the same thing as me. It hit home to hear her mentioning some of the things she did, and realising I did the same — like lying to get out of meals, losing friends, being tired. Seeing her happy and hearing how full her life was, I realised how much of my life I was wasting and how, if I didn’t do something, this is how I would be when I was older. How could I have a good life when all I was thinking about was myself? I needed help.’
I nod. One of the things I hate about tennis is that you have to think about yourself all the time. Have I eaten enough? Are my strings at the right tension? It gets tiring.
‘It was a difficult process — learning to eat again.’ Kayla says. ‘Eventually, I started eating socially. Mum took me out for breakfast and I was proud of myself for holding it down. I had a friend who made me feel beautiful and supported me.’
She’s probably talking about Matthew, although I wish it was me. I’d love to support her.
‘I look back on old pictures and can’t believe I let it get that far. That disease changed a lot of things and it’s been a long time moving on. But I’ve got help from a specialist and things are much better.’
‘So … you’re okay now?’ I ask.
‘Well, you can’t cure a disease like this — I’ll always have an eating disorder. I still have little habits and doubts. But I’ve got it under control at the moment. My weight’s in the normal category, I eat three meals a day, and I’m heaps happier and healthier than I was.’
‘Cool.’
She looks at me. Gives another tiny smile. ‘So, now I’ve told you all my secrets … Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’
I look back into her eyes. They’re like two new tennis balls — green, big and beautiful. ‘Yes, there is.’
She waits.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. My throat tightens around the words I want to say. It won’t let them go.
‘You’re right’ I say. ‘This is hard.’
‘Just try.’ she says. ‘You’ll feel better after.’
‘Okay.’ It’s my turn for a deep breath.
But I can’t get the words out. I can’t let the girl I like know that I’m a nutcase.
I can’t let anybody know.
But I have to say something, and some other words come to mind. Not that I want to say them either, but in a choice between courage and crazy, I’d choose courage every time.
I bite my lip. ‘I think … I like you.’
‘I like you too.’
‘No.’ I say. ‘I really like you. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages.’
There’s a pause. I’m waiting for a sign that she likes me too but it doesn’t look like one’s coming.
My stomach sinks as I look at the grass that I wish would swallow me up. I think about jumping up and running away, but it would look pathetic.
‘Could you keep that information to yourself?’ I mumble. ‘It’s kind of a secret.’
I can feel her looking and I force myself to meet her eyes. She gives me a smile and my heart melts a little bit.
‘You’re cute.’ she says.
I’m not sure what that means.
‘I promise I will’ she adds. ‘You keep my secret too. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
She touches me and the hairs on my arm stand to attention. It’s like she’s plugged in.
‘I need to think about what you said,’ she says. ‘I’ll give you an answer later, if that’s all right?’
‘Yep.’
The bell rings. One part of me has never been so happy for lunch to end. But another part wishes it would last forever, just Kayla and me talking beneath a tree.
I catch up with Matt at the lockers and feel like a backstabber. Sure, he and Kayla aren’t going out right now, but he probably still likes her. Who wouldn’t?
‘How’d it go?’ he asks.
‘She told me,’ I say.
‘And?’
‘It was interesting.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ He looks at me. ‘Did anything she said … ring a bell?’
I’m not sure what he’s on about. ‘Not really’ I say. ‘I eat all the time.’ I slap one of his love handles. ‘Almost as much as you.’
I laugh, but not for long.
Matt grabs me by the shoulders. His face is so close to mine that I can’t look away.
I’m shocked. He’s never done anything like this before.
‘I was just joking,’ I say quickly.
He doesn’t let go, and although he’s not hurting me, it’s suffocating not being able to move. ‘For Kayla and me, food took over our lives,’ he growls. ‘That’s no joke.’
‘Sorry.’ I was out of line and I know it.
He lets go and steps back.
I relax for a second, until he says, ‘I know it’s not food, but I reckon you’re fighting something else. And I think you know what it is.’
