But when I get to English class, there’s no sign of that dumpy, curly-haired wog.
I stand on the threshold for a minute, sussing out my options. I’d normally sit with Manny Mendoza and Caleb O’Bree, but there’s no sign of either of them, either. It looks like they both chose the same day to wag school. Probably getting high at Manny’s while his mum is out of town for work. Of course they didn’t think to invite me.
I glance around, desperate for options. Razor and Lockie have their feet up on their desks in the biggest fuck-off gesture known to man; Piera and Amber return my glance with identical don’t-even-dream-of-it faces.
In the end, I figure the safest thing I can do is sit next to the two shy female nerds of the class: Phuong and Shruthi. We may have nothing in common but they’re probably the least likely to insult me, laugh, ask questions, or in any way engage with me.
But to my surprise, as I head up to the front row to sit with the girls, a plastic chair slides out from a desk, as if by telekinesis.
I look up. Pedro and Jeremy are beside the empty desk.
‘Spare seat,’ Pedro grunts.
Without weighing it up, I slump into the chair. I’ve hardly ever spoken to these guys but I feel a rush of affection towards them both. I remind myself not to verbalise that in any way, or it will kill any pity they feel for me.
‘How’s it going?’ Jeremy asks, leaning over the plastic mess of pens that Pedro has deconstructed on his desk. ‘You okay, man?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say quickly.
‘Big week, huh?’ Pedro says, smiling.
If it were anyone else, I’d think they were smirking at me, having a private chuckle about my condition, or my situation. But I don’t get fuckhead vibes from these two. They’re quiet, nerdy guys.
‘Bit of a big one, yeah,’ I concede. That doesn’t even scratch the surface. ‘Doesn’t Zeke usually sit with you guys?’
‘Yeah, but he’s at a Summer Dance committee meeting,’ Jeremy says. ‘Loves his extracurricular activities.’
‘Yeah, he spends half his lunch times at ’em,’ Pedro says. ‘We only get like forty-five minutes to escape the teachers, why would you actively choose to spend it with them?’
‘Stockholm syndrome,’ I joke. They half-laugh. ‘He’s a good guy, Zeke.’
I don’t even know why I say that. I guess I want to let them know that I’m kind of becoming mates with Zeke now. Maybe I could become one of their group.
But Pedro’s moustache twitches and he exchanges a look with Jeremy.
‘Hey, look, just be careful with Zeke,’ Pedro says, scratching his neck. ‘He is a good guy, but he’s got some kind of traditional views.’
‘I wouldn’t say he’s homophobic, but I think his parents are old school, and Italian, and Catholic,’ Jeremy adds. ‘He’s probably just saying whatever they tell him instead of thinking for himself. Just a heads up.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. Jeez, it really is true what they say about homophobes: they’re always the closet cases. A smile flickers over my face. It’s pretty cool of them to look out for me when they hardly know me. I suppose sometimes people can surprise you in a good way.
English is thankfully a breeze: we’re watching an old movie called The Quiet American. It should be more exciting since it’s kind of an espionage movie, but I can’t get that into it. One quote does hit me hard, though. At one point, this Vietnamese dude called Hinh says: ‘Sooner or later, Mr Fowler, one has to take sides, if one is to remain human.’
It’s the only thing I write in my exercise book for the whole class. In fact, I trace my pen over that one line over and over, until the ink has soaked through to the next page and the paper is tearing itself apart.
When Mrs Montgomery pauses the movie for us to ‘work on our notes’ (ha!), the discussion inevitably turns to the dance.
‘This is getting desperately sad,’ Pedro says, doodling a cool letter S on his page. ‘It’s Tuesday. The dance is Saturday. And I still haven’t asked anyone.’
‘Not everyone is going with a partner,’ Jeremy says. ‘It’s not the Ball. We could just go solo.’
Pedro crumples up a ball of paper and ditches it at the back of Phuong’s head.
‘What the hell was that for?’ she says waspishly. I didn’t even know she had a tongue in her head, let alone that she could be snarky. Maybe nerds interact with each other differently to how they interact with the rest of us.
‘Wanna come to Summer Dance with me?’ Pedro says, already red in the face.
Phuong narrows her gaze, then turns and whispers something to Shruthi, the way a Secret Service adviser whispers to a US President.
Phuong turns her chair back to us. ‘Only if Jeremy goes with Shruthi. Then we can go in a group of four and meet at Shruthi’s for pre’s.’
‘Done,’ Pedro says, with an accomplished nod at both girls. They turn back around. I think they’re the only ones in class actually taking notes.
‘You didn’t even ask me,’ Jeremy mutters.
‘Like you’d turn it down,’ Pedro says. He nudges me. ‘What are you gonna do, man?’
‘For a date?’
‘Uh huh. Solo? Or gonna act straight for the night?’
‘Dunno. My band is performing, so I don’t know if it really matters since I’ll be on stage for half of it. If I could, though,’ I say, ‘I’d take a guy. Can you imagine –’
I never find out if Pedro could imagine, because there’s an outburst of guffaws from the table of meatheads behind us. Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn.
‘Charlie Roth,’ Razor says, bending a knee on his plastic chair. ‘I heard you need a date to the Summer Dance.’ He snorts. The other three snicker. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
There’s a twitter of mumbling around the classroom. Mrs Montgomery lazily raises her head from her marking. ‘Boys, come on,’ she groans.
‘Whaddaya say, Charlie?’ Razor says. ‘I’ll go with ya if you give me a blowie in the car on the way there.’
My face is hot, but my nerves are stone cold. ‘Yeah, I’m down for that,’ I say, winking like a total thot. ‘I’m pretty good at sucking cock. You’re in for a treat, Razor.’
‘Oh SNAP!’ Lockie shouts, and they all burst into hysterical laughter mixed with groans of disgust.
‘BOYS!’ Mrs Montgomery roars.
That’s the end of it until the end of the class. But, not long after we file out of class and into the hot summer air of the corridor, I see Hannah leaving her classroom and, unexpectedly, making a beeline for me.
‘We need to talk,’ she says, hands on hips. Her school jumper is on again. It’s thirty-two degrees today.
I look either side of me, and then back at her, twisting my face into mock surprise. ‘Oh, can you see me again, can you? I thought I was invisible.’
‘I heard a rumour you’ve been planning to bring a guy to the summer dance,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘Jesus, how quickly do you girls gossip? That literally just happened.’
‘You know the school will never let you, right? You can’t go to the dance with a guy, Charlie. This is a Catholic school. Come on.’
‘This is more of your super awesome support for gay rights, huh?’
Hannah clicks her tongue, as if I’m not dead right. ‘I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m just saying it won’t work.’ She tucks a ratty strand of hair behind her infected helix piercing. ‘Look, I feel bad for you. It must be hard to have nobody to go with.’
‘Well, your pity won’t help that,’ I say. ‘And anyway, we’re still performing, aren’t we?’
‘Yes,’ she says, like the band is a total inconvenience. ‘And we’ve kept the wedding gig, by the way. I managed to talk Nattie around. You’re lucky.’
‘Oh yeah. I totally feel lucky.’
‘Look, are you not getting where I’m coming from?’ Hannah says, shuffling a couple of inches towards me. ‘You can’t go with a guy to the dance. I’ll go with you, if
you want.’
‘As a friend?’
Her teeth flash into a smile. ‘Of course. That’s what I meant.’
I think about rocking up to the dance with a girl I wouldn’t even be attracted to if I were straight. Worse, spending the night with a so-called friend who rejected me when I needed her.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m bringing a guy.’
The smile vanishes from her face. Nothing changes in her hollow eyes.
‘You can’t,’ she says. ‘They won’t let you.’
‘Well, I won’t tell them,’ I say brashly. ‘It’ll be a big, epic surprise. I know everyone in this town likes talking about me behind my back. That’ll give them something new to chomp on for a bit.’
‘I was trying to be nice,’ Hannah says. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Everything,’ I say, throwing her a departing look of hate I usually keep reserved for Fitzy. ‘Absolutely everything is wrong with me.’
I spend most of the next few classes trading texts with Matt. They’re intermittent. I forget he actually works during the day.
Hey. How’s your day?
Hey. Sorry took so long to reply. Helping Dad. Farm life. I’m OK. You?
Not bad. First day back at school. It sucks arse. Couple of guys were OK with me which was cool. You building up a nice sweat, huh?
Just on smoko now. Hehe you have a one-track mind, don’t ya? Bit hot and sweaty, yeah. Think it’s like 35 today.
32. They said on the radio.
Oh right. Bit warm.
This is Matt’s level of conversation. I kind of love him for it. It’s sweet.
He doesn’t text back for a while, so I send another one:
School sucks. Wish you were here with me. X
Don’t do the X thing. It’s gay as.
It’s just meant to be a kiss.
Yeah, but it’s weird between guys. Only girls should do it. Or guys only to their girlfriends and only if they’re whipped. But not from one guy to another guy. It’s weird, man.
I make a mental note to never send him any Xs, nor any Os, for good measure.
Everyone at school is talking about who they’re gonna take to the summer dance. Lol kinda lame right?
Sorry was busy. Finally stopped 4 lunch. You goin to summer dance?
My band is playing there so yeah, by default. I don’t have a date yet. I was sort of thinking of asking this hot farm boy I met the other day … is that crazy?
That one doesn’t get a reply. Idiot. Of course he’s not going to come to the dance with me. Not with everything being how it is. Not with him being upset with even Zeke knowing about us. It’s not going to happen.
The worst part is, I can see that he’s seen my message, but he doesn’t respond. Left on ‘read’ again.
When I finally get to fourth-period music, I’m ready to just space out and play some good music on my guitar. Save for jamming in Hannah’s garage (before she turned on me) music class is my second favourite place to mess around with the instruments and just make a racket.
But before I can get started, one of the year twelve prefects pops their head in the door.
‘Excuse me, Miss Batts. Brother Murphy wants to see Charlie Roth in his office.’
Now, usually when this happens, any student within earshot would join in a general, mocking chorus of ‘oooooh’. But nobody does it this time. Seems like it makes sense to them that I’d be called to the Principal’s Office eventually.
Brother Murphy is as Irish as his name suggests: he’s fifty-odd but still has a shock of red hair and a few freckles that never quite faded; he wears a gold-and-emerald shamrock badge on his lapel, beside a little crucifix pin; and the poster behind his desk is Guinness-related. I think he thinks it helps him relate to teenagers by showing that he drinks, too, but it kind of just makes him look like an old guy – who else would drink Guinness? The stuff smells like Vegemite.
‘Have a seat, Charles,’ Brother Murphy says, closing the door. At once, I feel claustrophobic in his office. It smells like aftershave. Too much of it.
‘Charlie’s not just a nickname,’ I say. ‘It’s actually on my birth certificate. Not Charles.’
Brother Murphy raises an eyebrow. He settles his middle-aged bloat into the leather swivel chair behind his desk. ‘Right. Charlie. Do you know why I’ve called you here?’
I think about the fact that my Ramones shirt is right underneath my school uniform. It always makes me feel bolder.
‘Let me guess,’ I say, trying to look Brother Murphy in the eye. ‘Is it a lecture about how God doesn’t want me to suck dick?’
The revulsion moves through him like a seizure. I love the effect that image has on people.
‘That’s crass,’ he says, lips opening like he just tasted something sour in his tea. ‘Charlie, listen. You’ve been raised within this school and its Catholic ethos. You know the values of the school. Now, you might be expecting me to say something against your sexual preference, but I’m not going to do that. If I intervened in the personal affairs of every student who was sexually active and doing something God didn’t want them to do, I’d never get home each night.’
I’d never thought of Brother Murphy actually living in a house. I assumed he dangled upside-down from the rafters of the school chapel each night.
‘This isn’t about what you do in your own time,’ he says. ‘Though our counsellor is happy to talk to you if you have any issues to discuss.’
‘Jesus. Is she stalking me or something? Doesn’t she have anyone else’s head to mess with?’
Brother Murphy frowns. ‘Don’t blaspheme in this office. The counselling is intended as pastoral care.’
‘I don’t need any fucking counselling,’ I snap. I grab my school bag. ‘Is that all you wanted me for? I’m good. Thanks.’
‘Sit down!’ Brother Murphy bellows. ‘And do not swear again in my presence!’
I make sure he sees me rolling my eyes, and slump back into the chair. ‘What now?’
‘Well, as much as I believe in non-intervention in our students’ private lives, I cannot exercise that principle when your beliefs run into conflict with a school event.’
‘What?’
‘I hear you’re planning to invite a same-sex partner to the Summer Dance this weekend.’
Oh wow. That got around the traps pretty fast.
‘What if I am?’ I say, jutting my chin out at him.
‘Well, you can’t. It runs counter to the school’s moral code.’ He puffs his chest out; his gut reflexively bulges out along with it.
‘I am forbidding you from bringing a male partner to the Summer Dance,’ he says with force. ‘If you attempt to do so, the dance will be cancelled on the night. You and your band won’t get your fee, either, since you’d be violating the terms of our hire agreement. Oh, and I may have to expel you.’
I shrink back into the chair.
‘Not feeling so punk rock now, are you?’ he says lightly. ‘Do I have your agreement?’
‘You suck,’ I say. My jaw is fused shut with rage. ‘Why would you try to ruin my life like this?’
‘That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? You can attend the dance. Come on your own. Enjoy the night. But don’t get any funny ideas, or you’re out.’
‘I’m not even Catholic,’ I spit. ‘You can’t hold me to your rules.’
‘Your parents chose to send you here, so yes, we can hold you to our rules,’ he says. ‘Your father was particularly keen to have you here.’
‘Fitzy isn’t my dad!’ I cry. My stomach is bubbling with fury. ‘He’s not even my stepdad. He’s just a giant leech and a cheating piece of shit.’
‘Language. And I don’t even know who you’re referring to. I was talking about your biological father.’
My stomach goes still. The breath catches in my chest. ‘What? What about him?’
‘Well, I’m just saying, it was obviously his wish that you be raised in a Catholic school environment. He wanted you to h
ave the best opportunity his money could afford.’
‘Is that a crack? Because we’re poor?’
‘You must know this already?’ Brother Murphy says, taking his spectacles off. ‘Charlie, in his will, your father left most of his money to the school, to cover your tuition fees until you graduate. He wanted you to have the best shot possible at life.’
He clears his throat. Looks away from me. Waits until I wipe my face. Dammit.
‘I’m sorry. I assumed your mother would have told you that.’
‘She didn’t.’
‘Well, you ought to know. Perhaps keep that in mind before you think about rebelling at this dance and pissing all over his legacy.’
‘Hypocrite. You just swore.’ I glare at him. ‘And that is such a fucked up thing to say to me.’ I stand up. ‘I hate you. I hate your poxy school and everything about it. I don’t give a shit if Dad wanted me to go here. You can all go to hell.’
I run out and leave him there, ignoring his calls for me to come back.
I can’t go back to music class. I’m too upset: my veins are on fire. How dare that Irish arsehole bring my dad into this? Dad would never have wanted me to put up with this bullshit.
I wander the halls aimlessly for a few minutes, which is dumb because it’s the quickest way for a teacher to catch you and haul you right back into the office. I head for the toilets and lock myself in a cubicle and my whole body starts to shake as I think about my dad. I wish he was here right now. I want him to save me.
My phone vibrates.
It’s Matt.
Oh. No. I’m already going to the Summer Dance with Kara Spumani. She’s a family friend. Think she needed a date and she asked me. Sorry. But I guess I’ll see you there?
‘For fuck’s sake!’ I shout, ditching my phone through the gap under the cubicle door. ‘Why can’t anything go right in my life?’
A belt buckle jangles in the cubicle beside me. ‘Is that you, Charlie?’
Shit. I thought I was alone.
‘It’s me, Zeke,’ the voice says. ‘Apparently I’m just always in the toilet when people are melting down. Do you want your phone back?’
Invisible Boys Page 14
