Mel looked right up. She looked right into my face, which was being framed by the skylight. I knew I should duck away, but I couldn’t. I was frozen in shock. Clem was thrusting into her now, and her whole body was jiggling with each plunge. But she barely seemed to notice him. She was looking at me, and smiling that smile that brought back so many memories.
It was the smile that said she’d won.
32
Celia’s funeral could have been for anyone. People wore black; they spoke sedately and quietly. The priest spoke of God and Jesus, and I imagined how much she would have cackled if she’d been there next to me.
Evan came. I appreciated that. He didn’t have to. It lessened the sting a little. Nancy wouldn’t speak to me at all. In fact, she looked at me as if I shouldn’t have been there, which was something I could understand.
After the service finished, people made their way in dribs and drabs back to Celia’s house, where Nancy was holding the wake. I managed to stay awhile, nodding along to some old codger who talked about Celia like she was the one that got away. But then the lump in my throat got too painful. I ran over to what I still thought of as Evan’s house. The half-built one he used to sleep in after fights with Aiden. I jumped in through the glassless window and sat down on the floor. It was even dirtier than before.
I’d gone there to cry, to try to get it all out so I didn’t have to do it in front of everyone. But now that I was there I couldn’t.
“Thought you might be here.”
Evan was standing there in his suit, leaning in through the empty window.
“Do you want company?”
I wanted to shake my head no. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, least of all him. But his face set me off. The simplicity of his worry, the kind way he was looking at me. That was when the tears started to come. He jumped in through the window and got down next to me on the dirty floorboards, not even hesitating as he pulled me into his shoulder. If Celia was there, she would have told me to cry demurely. She would have wanted me to let one tragic tear drop down my cheek and ask him to ravish me right there on the floor. I could just imagine her saying something like that. But I couldn’t. I cried loudly and messily. It felt like purging, like vomiting, in the way it took over my body. The heat of his skin through his shirt, the tight hold of his arm, only made it worse.
“It’s okay,” he said, stroking my hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
The way he did it reminded me of the woman at the French café and her ugly, screaming baby. My cries started turning to laughter then. Weird, hysterical laughter. I hiccuped, pulled away from him and rubbed my palms over my face.
“Sorry,” I said, “really. That was full-on.”
“Don’t say sorry. I know you really loved her.”
I shook my head. He still didn’t understand. People like me couldn’t love.
“It isn’t that,” I said. “I’m not sad. I’m angry. That whole service was so impersonal, so not her. No one had more personality than Celia, and then that’s all she gets?”
I was half yelling, but Evan was nodding at me, his eyes still painfully empathetic.
“I’m sorry about everything,” I said, more quietly, “for being such an asshole to you.”
He looked away, uncomfortable. Then, “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
He still wasn’t looking at me.
“You know I heard this story the other day. About a couple that were murdered at a ski resort.”
He didn’t even say anything. I tried another tactic. I needed him back in my life. It wasn’t an option to continue only seeing him awkwardly when we really had to with Bea and Aiden.
“I miss what we used to be. Do you remember the crazy shit we used to do?”
“What, like taking roofies together right here?” he asked.
“Yeah, or...I dunno, remember when you pretended you knew that old friend of mine at the bar? Just dumb stuff like that.”
I cursed myself. I was still doing it. Seeing everything through the lens of my stupid revenge plot.
“Just, everything,” I said, then forced myself to say it. “I miss you.”
He grinned. “God, you spend a few weeks in France and you come back all touchy-feely? What happened to you, Auntie Ava?”
There was so much I could have said, so I just looked down, saying nothing.
“I guess we should go back.”
“Yeah.”
“Nancy probably wants your help with things, right?”
“Um. No. She doesn’t even want to look at me.”
“Why?”
I guess he didn’t know how Celia really died. Nancy had been keeping a tight lid on that one. It seemed that Celia hadn’t been taking her meds at all; she’d been hoarding them, just in case something like this were to happen.
It was my job to make sure she took them. To watch her take them, but I didn’t.
“Don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe she’s worried that the old bat is going to give you all her millions?”
I tried to laugh as Evan pulled me up.
Part 6
JUVENILE DELINQUENCY
2008
33
Did you know that chickens are cannibals? If a chicken has a scratch on it, even a small one, you have to separate it from the others. They can smell blood. At first it will just be one bird pecking at the injured chicken, but poultry tend to imitate each other. Soon, the whole flock will be on it, pecking, scratching and tearing at its feathers, its tissue, its organs, until all that is left is just a big bloody mess. It’s in their nature.
I thought I wouldn’t tell you what happened next. That explaining the night of Mel’s party was enough for you to understand. But really, I have to, don’t I? If you’re going to understand any of it, I’m going to have to tell you what happened after that night. I’m going to have to tell you all of it.
* * *
The night of the party changed my life irrevocably, you see. There was no going back from something like that. If you’ve woken up with shit on your face, then you’ll understand, but I’m guessing that you haven’t. The months that followed it were blurry and indistinct. The pain became numbness, a necessary shield from the cruelty.
But the first Monday, I remember. The first Monday I still had hope, stupid misguided hope, that maybe everything might be okay.
The weekend before it had been drained of color. I had put the shower on as hot as I could stand on Saturday morning and watched as the dirt and sticky champagne disappeared down the drain. After that, I barely left my bedroom. Bea knocked, asked if I was okay. I ignored her. When my alarm clock went off that Monday, the first Monday, I didn’t wake with a jolt, I didn’t lie in bed stiff with worry. I remember getting up straightaway with empty acceptance. The cold didn’t creep into my bones as I walked down to the bus. I wasn’t scared of the black morning like I had been.
The first pain of the day hit me as the farmhouse flicked past the bus window. I looked away like I’d been slapped.
* * *
It was second period when I knew for sure. PE. They’d all covered their bodies when I walked into the change room. Not just Saanvi and Mel. Not just Cass. Almost all the girls covered themselves and glared at me. The story of what happened in that room must have spread. Morphed and mutated like Chinese Whispers. I put my bag on the bench and tried to ignore them.
“Don’t look at me, weirdo!” whispered Saanvi. “You owe me a fucking phone.”
The toxic taste was in my mouth again, gripping my throat. Threatening to strangle me. I changed my clothes quickly, staring at my feet, just trying to breathe. As I walked out of the room, I caught Mel’s eye.
“Psycho.”
* * *
That word caught on. Psycho. It was yelled, jeered and hissed a
t me every day by people I had never even spoken to, and every night when I got home, I could hear it echoing back in my head. Numbness didn’t make the time go faster. This was the time that should have been a blur. Should have disappeared in a montage of my sad face and their maniacal cackles. It wasn’t like that. Each minute was painfully, achingly slow. Each class was a combat, something to be dreaded. I would stare down at my book, while inside I was crouched, ready and waiting for the inevitable.
Through the fog, I even attempted to reconcile with Ashleigh and Ling. Ashleigh had given me a half smile, but Ling just looked annoyed.
“You can’t do that, Ava. You can’t ditch us without a word, and then come back like it never happened. That’s not fair.”
She was right. I could have kept trying, made the effort to make amends, told them what had happened and how sorry I was. But it was too hard; I was too tired. Just existing was exhausting.
Sometimes the only thing worse than the names was the silence. In science we had a class exercise in which we had to play “genetics bingo.” We had a list of different genetic traits, things like tongue-rolling, earlobe attachment, dimples, left-handedness, and we had to find a student that fit each one.
“Ready?” our science teacher said. “Go!”
People leaped from the seats, paper in hand. Quickly, the room got very loud, everyone talking to each other at once, filling in names and moving on. I tried. First, I approached Evelyn, a shy girl with auburn ringlets who had always seemed friendly.
“Can I write you down for curly hair?” I asked.
She just looked at me, then turned to someone else. I tried once more, with a guy called Rob. He was known as the nice guy at school; he was kind to everyone.
“You’ve got dimples, right, Rob?” My voice was already cracking.
He didn’t even look at me. I retreated back to my seat, staring at my empty worksheet.
“Bingo!” someone called eventually.
When everyone had returned to their spots, the teacher had each person stand up and say how many traits they’d ticked off.
“How about you, Ava?” he asked.
I stayed sitting, shook my head. “None,” I whispered.
“You didn’t participate?” he asked. I shrugged, not wanting to meet his eye, hoping no one would call out, None of us wants to talk to the psycho! No one said anything. The teacher looked around awkwardly, and then moved on to the next person. Somehow, that was even more humiliating.
For the rest of the day, my throat was clogged with sharp stones. As I walked up the hill to Lakeside the tears finally came. I was so wretched, so conspicuous in isolation at school. I looked so stupid all the time. There was no respite from it. When I got home, I’d turn on my computer. There’d be messages there, comments on Facebook, that had banked up throughout the day. Can’t you afford new clothes? And You’re such a fucking joke. And If I was you I’d kill myself. And always Psycho, Psycho, Psycho. I knew that I’d read them all, each and every one of them. Then tomorrow, it would start all over again.
“You okay?”
I looked up. The guy from across the road, Evan, was standing in his kitchen by the open window. He peered at me with real concern. I rubbed at my wet cheeks.
“Yeah.”
He offered me a sad smile, and I retuned it and kept walking before he could say anything else.
I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened, not even Bea. I knew I should. I wanted to. But how could I? Where could I start the story that ended with my face smeared with shit? I always wondered whether it was Theodore’s or someone else’s. I hoped it was an animal’s. That felt like the best option.
Bea stopped asking me eventually. One day after school she heard me crying in my room. The crying never helped, but my body kept on doing it anyway. Over my own pathetic blubbering, I heard her knock lightly.
“Go away! I’m fine.”
I tried to hold the crying in, but it made my throat burn so much that another sob escaped anyway.
The door pushed open. I hid my face in my hands. I knew I was snotty and disgusting; I didn’t want her to see. The bed squeaked as she sat down next to me. She pulled me into her. Wrapped her arms gently around me.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said.
I tried to tell her that it wasn’t, but I couldn’t speak. She rubbed my back. Eventually the crying eased.
“It’s those girls, isn’t it? I knew they were bitches.”
I pulled back to see her expression. “How?”
“I could just tell. The way they swanned in here that night like we were so far beneath them. Honestly, Ava, you are so better off without them.”
“You don’t get it,” I said, nestling back into her shoulder. “Everyone at school hates me.”
“Who cares?” she said. “You’ve only got four months left.”
“I should have swapped schools.”
“Yeah, but it’s too late now. Just focus on getting good grades. As soon as high school finishes it stops mattering. Seriously.”
I nodded and she stayed for a while longer and patted my hair. It was nice, so I didn’t ruin it by saying anything more. When she went back to her room, the numbness was still there.
I got out my science textbook and tried to study, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I used to be so good at science.
* * *
I remember clearly the moment that the numbness dissolved. It was like I had been wearing a thick, heavy veil and all of a sudden, after all those months, it was snatched off. When I finished my media class, I began my funeral march toward PE, which was always the worst class. The corridor was empty, except for Mel. She was standing against the wall outside the drama room and she looked up as I approached. Hurriedly I averted my eyes and quickened my pace.
I half expected her to stick out a leg to try to trip me, but she didn’t.
“Hey,” she said, instead.
I looked up at her, but didn’t slow or reply. She began walking next to me.
“How’s it going?”
She was talking to me like she used to, like nothing had ever happened. I sneaked a look at her and she was staring right at me, smiling.
“Okay,” I answered.
“Listen, I’m sorry for being kinda mean lately. And God, Saanvi and Theodore were such assholes at the party, right?”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I bowed my head and tried to walk faster. She kept pace with me.
“Anyway,” she said, “you should come over after school.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!” She shrugged. “Why not?”
I didn’t answer; there wasn’t time. She’d already jogged ahead of me to reach the change room. My head was clattering, trying to understand what had just happened. I started wondering if it was possible that I had misunderstood all of it. That it had been all Saanvi and Theodore, that Mel hadn’t been involved at all. More than anything I wanted that to be true. But it couldn’t be. She was the one holding the phone, she’d been the one to first call me psycho. I didn’t understand.
When I entered the change room, she was in the corner with Saanvi and Cass. I stared at her.
“What are you looking at, psycho?” Saanvi snapped.
I looked away and started changing, but then I caught Mel’s eye. She made a face at the back of Saanvi’s head. We both smiled.
When I went out to the oval, I felt everything. The air on my face, the smell of the grass, the blaring whistle of the PE teacher. Somehow, while I had been consumed by survival, the weather had changed. It was almost summer, and I was still wearing the gray hooded jacket I’d had on all through winter. Sweat was prickling underneath it and I hadn’t even noticed it. I pulled the jacket off and tied it around my waist. The sun caressed my bare arms. I wasn’t stupid. I knew it might be a trick. I knew that none of it m
ade any sense. But I didn’t care. At least there was a chance the torment would stop. Now I had the possibility of redemption, where before I’d had none.
The rest of the day disappeared and soon I was making my way to her house.
I knocked on the door. I had the whole thing worked out in my head. She’d lead me into the living room, where Cass and Saanvi would be waiting. Cass wouldn’t mind, but Saanvi would be angry that I was there. She’d come around. She always did what Mel wanted eventually.
Then there was the other option. That I’d come into the living room and they’d all be hiding, waiting. That they’d jump out and throw something disgusting all over me and it would be my fault for being so stupid to come here.
The door swung open. It wasn’t Mel; it was her mother.
“Hi, Ava,” she said, stepping back so I could get inside. “How are you, honey? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been really busy,” I said.
“Mel’s up in her room.”
“Thanks,” I said, and walked quietly up the stairs.
If this were a trick, surely Mel wouldn’t do it when her parents were in the house. Mel’s door was open and she was sitting on the bed painting her nails in a dark red color.
“There you are,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten.”
“Nah,” I said, barely able to look at her. This room was where it all happened. It didn’t seem like the same place with the afternoon sunlight flooding through the curtains, her Beach House album playing softly on the stereo.
“Can you do my toes?” she said, holding out the polish.
Dumping my bag on the carpet and pulling off my shoes, I clambered onto the end of her bed. I took the polish from her hand and she put her foot in my lap, pointing it like a ballet dancer. Unscrewing the tiny brush out of the bottle, I carefully applied the polish to her smallest toenail, which curved like the letter c under the toe next to it.
The Spite Game Page 17
