Everything I've Never Said

by Wheeler, Samantha;

  Just before I pass out, I tilt my head to look at the green square.

  YES!

  ‘It was awesome, Ava,’ says a voice. A weird robotic voice. ‘You probably don’t remember. All those kids, coming to visit you, wanting to check you’re okay? One was wearing headphones. What’s his name? Brendan or something? And … Ava? Can you hear me? Ava?’

  My eyes are shut, and my head lolls to my chest. It sounds like Aimee, but why would Aimee be in my room? I can’t think straight to figure it out. I’m tired, so tired …

  ‘Look, I brought you flowers. Pink ones.’

  I force my eyes open. I’m in a bed, like Dad’s in the stroke ward, but this room’s way more colourful than his. I try to focus, but my eyeballs are dry and scratchy, and the room spins, making me want to throw up. By the taste in my mouth, I already have thrown up. I recognise another smell too. Flowers – maybe lilies? With fuzzy eyes, I search for where the smell is coming from and spy some bunches of flowers on the table by the window. And more over by the sink. There’s even a black bowling-ball balloon sticking out of some pink carnations.

  Why have people sent me flowers?

  Then I remember. Kieran’s computer. The ‘yes’ and ‘no’ squares. Choking on the Vegemite sandwich. Kieran and Nic thumping me on the back. Nic screaming and the distant wail of an ambulance.

  How long have I been in hospital?

  Aimee’s still talking. Her carer is by her side. What’s wrong with me? Have I had a stroke, like Dad? Someone’s holding my hand. It can’t be Aimee, it wouldn’t be Aimee’s carer, so it must be …

  Nic?

  ‘It’s okay, Ava. You’re okay,’ Nic whispers. ‘You just choked, that’s all.’ She gently pats my hand. ‘Mum’ll be back soon. She’s just ducked out for a coffee.’

  ‘You know your mum cried after they showed her the video?’ says Aimee. ‘You should have seen her face when you chose “yes”. Priceless. Totally priceless. Kieran’s been showing it to everyone all day.’

  Nic squeezes my hand. ‘It was beautiful, Ava.’

  I try to lean forwards to sit up straighter. I have a drip in my arm – a plastic tube like Dad had – but everything else feels fine.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Nic, encouraging me to lie back down. ‘We stopped the webcam right after that. You know, when you started choking.’

  ‘Ross! She’s awake!’ Mum’s in the doorway, holding two takeaway coffees. She rushes to my bed, nearly dropping the cups on the way. Aimee rolls her wheelchair aside while Nic takes the coffees from Mum.

  Hi, Mum. So, you saw the video?

  Hey, Dad. I’m glad you’re here too.

  Dad leans his walking stick against the wall and sits gently on my bed.

  ‘Ava okay?’ he stammers, taking a gentle hold of my foot. His touch is warm and soothing, even though I can only feel it through the covers. I ache for him to come closer so I can lean on his shoulder and smell his special Dad smell. Instead, he keeps a reassuring hold of my foot while Mum fusses over my pillows, checking they are just right.

  I wish I’d used Kieran’s computer to say I loved Dad too.

  Soon I’m tired and want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes, but I’m woken by a voice I instantly recognise.

  ‘No more Vegemite sandwiches for you!’ says Kieran. ‘How are you feeling? Everything okay?’

  I smile. I want to reach out and hug him. To squeeze him tight and shout, ‘THANK YOU!’ from the rooftops.

  I’m finally going to speak!

  ‘Good work on the video, Mr Disco,’ says Aimee, as if she gets what I’m thinking. ‘Nailed it or what? But will it be enough to impress the goons?’

  Kieran’s video does impress the goons. He shows it to every specialist he can, till I’m finally approved for a device.

  It’s like winning the lottery. Excitement tingles inside me. I’m getting my own device!

  I’m going to talk, Sam, I say with my eyes when I’m well enough to go back to school. I’m getting a speech device, I tell Brandon, Derek and Freya on the last day of term. Soon you’ll know exactly what I’m saying.

  And when Wendy packs up her cards, ready for Hayley’s return, I say, So long, Wendy. Probably just as well you’re leaving. You so don’t want to know what I think of you!

  These school holidays are the best ever. Dad’s getting better and he’s well enough now to help me practise my eye-gaze. ‘Where are the grasshoppers, Ava?’ he asks as he plucks out the weeds in his veggie patch. ‘Where’s the capsicum – can you see that new little fruit?’

  I look and he smiles and life is better than ever.

  I don’t know if it’s because of Jin-Soo’s list or because I used Kieran’s computer to say she was cool, but Nic’s letting me hang out with her and Mel. Like on the last day of school holidays, when Mel comes over with her hair straightener. ‘How about a couple of curls at the bottom?’ she asks me.

  Yeah, curls would be nice.

  I look like a Lego girl with my hair so straight and boring. I try not to drool or fidget or clap while Mel practises her styles on me, and I hope, one day, I’ll get so used to her and Nic playing with my hair that I’ll stay completely still.

  ‘Hey, so, I’m thinking,’ Nic says, ‘Mum and Dad haven’t said anything about my birthday, so I’m pretty sure I’m getting a laptop.’

  Mel’s eyebrows rise.

  ‘They’re acting all like, “Birthday? What birthday?” But I know they’re up to something. What do you reckon? Am I right? Am I getting a laptop?’

  ‘I dunno. Why don’t you ask them?’ says Mel.

  ‘Seriously? I can’t ask them. Then it won’t be a surprise. Mum and Dad are birthday fanatics. They always have our presents sorted, like, months in advance.’

  Mel smiles. ‘They haven’t said anything? No hints? No “What do you want?”’

  ‘Nuh. But Ava’s getting the eye-gaze machine, so it’s only fair. Exciting, huh? Only one more month and I’ll have my very own laptop.’

  Mel’s tongue pokes out the side of her mouth as she concentrates on twirling a piece of my hair around and around her straightener. ‘Yeah, totally,’ she says. ‘Are you having a party?’

  Nic shakes her head. ‘Nuh. Don’t think so. Not with Dad still not right. But that’s okay. More money for the laptop.’ She smiles at her reflection in the mirror, and then says, ‘What type do reckon they’ve got me? A Mac? I hope it’s a Mac. I wonder if they’ve chosen a case already or whether I’ll get to pick out my …’

  ‘Nic! Here, hold this. I need to get the hairspray.’

  And that’s the last of the birthday discussions. I watch my straight hair transform to wavy, and imagine Nic and I sitting side by side at the kitchen table, Nic on her laptop and me practising on my speech device.

  I can’t wait.

  Nic and I will be the best sisters ever.

  The day my device arrives, adrenaline buzzes inside me.

  ‘Okay, Ava – this is it,’ says Kieran when he unpacks my new machine. It’s bigger than an iPad and thicker, and has its own special stand.

  ‘Right,’ he says with a smile. ‘Ready?’

  Nic, Mum and Dad crowd around as Kieran scrolls through different screens. We’re all frowning at the menus and instructions, when Nic says, ‘I think we have to calibrate it first.’

  Kieran presses some buttons, the screen goes black, then a pink circle appears on the screen. ‘Ava, watch carefully … Can you see that circle?’

  I move my eyes to the pink circle, and when the device picks up my gaze, a red dot appears in the middle of it.

  ‘Awesome. The machine is registering your gaze. Let’s finish the calibration. Now, what else can you see?’

  The first circle disappears and a new one comes up in a different part of the screen. The red dot appears again as my eyes follow each circle
to the left, the right and the centre of the screen.

  ‘Cool. Now we’re ready.’ Kieran scrolls to another page filled with square pictures of cartoon faces, sort of like emojis. Some of them smile; others look cross; one of the cartoon faces is crying. ‘Okay,’ says Kieran, ‘this screen has a bunch of different emotions. You like birds, right? How do birds make you feel, Ava?’

  I stiffen in the chair. There are more than twenty different faces. What if I look at the wrong one?

  ‘Go, Ava,’ says Nic. ‘You can do it.’

  Happy. Birds make me feel happy. I move my eyes to the smiling face, waiting for the red dot to appear.

  But nothing happens.

  ‘But you like birds, don’t you, Ava?’ Mum whispers, her hand warm on my arm.

  I stare harder at the smiley face. My eyeballs are practically popping out. But still nothing.

  ‘No biggie.’ Kieran scrolls back to the menu screen and presses several small squares. ‘Let’s try again.’

  I stare at the happy face. Come on!

  Mum gently takes my chin. ‘Ava, there. Look up there. See the smiley face … Ava … Come on, you can do this.’

  I pull my chin away. I am looking at the smiley face.

  When nothing happens, Kieran changes the screen. This time it’s a farmyard scene, like the one we saw at the expo. ‘Okay, Ava, see if you can show me the pig. Ava? Where’s the pig?’

  I sigh. The pig is right in front of me. I stare at it and wait for the dot. Nothing happens. What?

  ‘Hang on, let me just …’ Kieran takes my elbows and sits me straighter in my chair. ‘Okay, there,’ he says when he checks the position of my eyes in relation to the screen. ‘Ava, where’s the pig? Come on. Oink oink. Look at the pig.’

  I know what sound a pig makes.

  But no matter how hard I stare, the red dot won’t appear. My hands start squishing and clapping.

  ‘Mmm,’ says Kieran, fiddling with the position of the device. ‘I think it’s the calibration. Maybe when Ava’s face dips or moves a little off from centre, the laser can’t pick up her gaze.’

  ‘Come on, Ava,’ Nic encourages. ‘Give it your best shot. Sit up straight. Look at the screen. No, not at me. Not Mum. The screen.’

  I am looking at the screen.

  Mum changes my position again, while Kieran readjusts the calibration. ‘There. Now it’s right,’ he says. ‘Should we go again?’

  ‘Maybe something easier?’ suggests Dad. He’s been watching carefully from behind me, and now he leans in, his warm smell calming my nerves.

  ‘How about colours?’ says Nic. ‘Ask her which colour she likes.’

  Kieran finds a page with a row of five squares of colour across the screen.

  ‘Ava, what’s your favourite …’

  I lift my chin and move my eyes, and this time the red dot hovers over the pink square. ‘Pink,’ blurts the machine.

  Yes! I did it!

  ‘Pink?’ Mum gapes. ‘Purple, honey. See, here. There’s the square for purple.’

  I stare again at the pink.

  ‘Pink.’

  Mum looks at Nic and then Dad. ‘Eleven years I’ve been dressing her in purple,’ Mum says, shaking her head, ‘and today I find out she likes pink!’

  Once we’ve got my device up and running, Kieran uploads photos of Mum, Dad, Nic and my friends. He creates special pages so I can talk about all the important people in my life, or my feelings or places I want to go, like school and the pool and the park. There are symbols for ‘want’ and ‘like’ and ‘yes’ and ‘no’, of course.

  ‘What would you like on your toast?’ Mum asks in the mornings.

  I look at the picture of jam. ‘Jam!’

  ‘Stop,’ I say when Dad starts singing his silly songs. Then I choose the symbol for ‘something different’, which makes him laugh.

  Nic giggles when I argue with Mum and when I choose the picture for ‘meow’ after Dad picks up Little Ginger.

  Then I use my device to ask if we can invite Aimee over for afternoon tea.

  ‘What’s kickin’, little chicken?’ she says when she arrives.

  Mum’s made lemon cake and Nic’s scooping ice-cream to make us milkshakes. Kieran and Dad sit with me at the kitchen table and invite Aimee to join us.

  ‘What do you call a bear with no teeth?’ she says. ‘A gummy bear! And what do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!’

  Everyone is laughing.

  ‘How do you know if there’s an elephant under your bed?’ continues Aimee. ‘Your head hits the ceiling! Why do bees have sticky hair? Because they use honey combs!’

  Everyone’s cracking up and Aimee’s smiling.

  Then there’s a pause and I sit a little straighter. I stare at my device and concentrate on the squares that I need. ‘Aimee?’ I ask. ‘Cake? Biscuit? Milkshake?’

  Aimee’s grin is wide. ‘Awesome, Ava,’ she says. ‘Way to go! I’ll have some cake, please.’

  I spend ages practising with my device. I now choose the movies I want to watch (not Finding Nemo). I also choose the clothes I want to wear (not purple). I ask for trips to the shops and to the pool (not just sitting at home getting bored).

  ‘What about a walk to the park?’ asks Dad one day. He’s so much better now. He can talk and walk properly again and might soon be allowed to drive. It’ll be a while before he’s back fixing air conditioners, though. Mum’s returned to work, but is set up in our lounge, since no-one wants Kieran and Banjo to leave.

  ‘Come on. We’ll go see the birds.’ Dad leans on the handles of my wheelchair and pushes me to our nearby park. There are old fig trees lining the path and beautiful views of the river. Picnicking families sit on benches, dogs run about chasing balls, and a group playing cricket cheers and shouts.

  ‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ says Dad. Three rosellas bounce on a tree with red flowers, and I smile.

  ‘Amazing,’ I say with my machine.

  We walk for a little longer before I say, ‘Dad?’

  Dad pauses. ‘Yes, Ava?’

  ‘Nic. Okay?’

  Nic’s been very quiet lately, and I’m worried it’s because of my device. I’ve been asking to do so many things and talking so much she’s hardly been saying a thing. I thought she and I would chat about everything once I got my machine. About boys and music and movies. Just like she does with Mel.

  But we’ve hardly chatted at all.

  Why aren’t you more thrilled that I can talk, Nic?

  ‘She’s fine,’ says Dad. ‘But you should ask her, if you’re worried.’

  So, when we get home, he takes me in to Nic, who’s practising on her drums. ‘Okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ She shrugs. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Then she goes back to bashing her drums.

  But something is wrong.

  I know it.

  She’s hiding another secret.

  ‘What’s happening, porcupine?’ Sam asks as he buckles me into his taxi.

  ‘Hello, Sam.’

  Sam’s eyebrows shoot to the sky. He’s still not used to me talking.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he says, smiling. ‘Aren’t you just a happy camper today?’

  I giggle as I catch him looking at me in the rear-vision mirror all the way to school, like he’s expecting me to juggle or break out into song.

  ‘You have a good day, okay?’ he says as he drops me at the gate.

  Every day’s a good day.

  Because it is. Now.

  ‘Mat,’ I say before Clare helps me dress at the pool. Standing on the mat makes me feel more secure. The slippery floor makes me nervous.

  ‘Orange,’ I say when Dan’s mixing colours in art. Not black today, please.

  And when Hayley asks what we’re doing on the weekend, I tell her, �
�Surprise. Party.’

  Because I finally worked out what’s wrong with Nic. The other night when I was lying in bed, I overheard her on the phone to Mel.

  ‘I was wrong about the laptop,’ Nic was saying. ‘I don’t even think I’m getting a present.’

  I listened harder.

  ‘It’s fine. Seriously. Yeah, Dad’s good … Yeah, he can. No, not yet, but … It’s okay Mel. Forget it. Everyone’s too busy and I don’t want to be a pain.’

  Nic thinks we’ve forgotten her birthday?

  On Saturday, Mum takes Nic to her maths tute, while the rest of us prepare the house. We’ve hired a disco ball and a juke box, and borrowed a Slurpee machine from Aimee’s dad. Kieran strings up party lights, Dad sets out chairs, and Henry blows up balloons. Mel’s invited their friends, set up the drum kit and a mike, and has promised to do Nic’s hair the way she did for the talent show.

  Mel’s hanging up a shiny banner that shouts ‘Happy 14th’ in large rainbow letters, when she looks over at me. ‘What about your hair?’ she asks.

  I stare at the pictures on my eye-gaze device. ‘Me,’ I choose. ‘Not coming.’

  Mel tips her head. ‘Seriously?’ she says. ‘But wouldn’t Nic like you there?’

  Kieran nods, and Dad agrees.

  But I’m still not sure. I haven’t got a good track record for being around Nic when she’s with her friends. So, an hour later when thirty kids are crammed into the TV room waiting for Nic to come home, I’m still deciding if I should ask to go to my room.

  There are too many voices bouncing off the walls.

  Too many arms, legs, faces.

  Too loud.

  I can’t embarrass Nic. Not today.

  My stomach swirls. The smells of rubber balloons and hot sausage rolls fill the air.

  To make matters worse, Bella’s there, staring at my drooling lips.

  But I don’t scream. I don’t pinch or throw anything or pull anyone’s hair. Instead, I focus on my device.