Things I Don't Know

by Meredith Badger

  It’s not just me who Miss Kearns works hard that week — it’s everyone in the team. She has us sprinting from the moment we turn up to training until the moment she finally allows us to stagger back to the change rooms, sweaty and weak-kneed. It’s fine by me. Gives me a good excuse for putting off talking to Adam.

  The Adam stuff is definitely the worst part of the next few days. Not because anything happens. But because nothing does. It’s not that I’m avoiding him. Well, not really. I’m just trying to work out exactly the right thing to say before I talk to him. There’s a big difference.

  I’m sure most people wouldn’t even be able to tell that anything was wrong between us. But I can tell. He doesn’t come over and joke around with me like he used to for one thing, and he won’t meet my eye. Even worse, I get the feeling that he’s told the whole story to Josh too. It’s not a nice feeling.

  All the training means that I’m not at home much. Nana never says much when I see her — and I start to wonder if our middle-of-the-night chat was all a dream. I guess I’ll find out if she turns up to the athletics carnival. I see Jo a few times. She walks past me and Soph with her friends one lunchtime and waves, and another lunchtime she and I are in the canteen queue together. I feel a bit awkward at first, but she’s totally relaxed, like the kiss never happened. Maybe she’s forgotten about it. That’s a little bit painful because I definitely haven’t, but I remind myself that it’s good we’re still friends at least.

  The main good thing about the next few days is that Anya is in a really happy mood. She and Ethan are going to the movies on Saturday and she cannot stop talking about it. Soph keeps trying to change the topic, but it’s pointless. Anya’s like a wonky shopping trolley at the moment — one of those ones that keeps veering off on its own personal path.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m the first in our group to go on a real date!’ she keeps saying. It’s driving Soph crazy, but I don’t mind. At least it means she’s not planning to start some ‘first date’ competition.

  Then it’s Saturday again. Carnival day. I wake up really early with a jittery stomach and no chance of going back to sleep. Quietly, I pull on my dressing-gown and go down to the kitchen.

  Nana’s already there, sitting up at the table with a cup of tea, fully dressed and with her make-up on. She smiles at me sheepishly. ‘I was worried you might all leave without me,’ she says.

  ‘We’re not going for hours yet, Nana!’ I say, laughing. It’s a bit of a nervous laugh — partly because I’m always a bit nervous before a race, but it’s also because I’m not really sure how I feel about Nana coming to see me run. I’m wondering if it’ll put me off a bit. But, of course, it’s nice that she’s at least acting like she’s interested.

  I fix myself some cereal and Nana teaches me how to make the perfect cup of tea and we sit there together, chatting, until everyone else gets up too.

  Mum looks surprised to see me and Nana sitting there together when she wanders into the kitchen but I can tell she’s pleased about it.

  The car is super squishy with all of us in it, especially as we’re all balancing pies on our laps which Mum and Dad are donating to the food stall. Mum sits in the backseat with us so Nana can have the front seat — although even she has to hold a pie.

  On the way Marcus starts telling Nana about how he’ll show her the various places at the school where he’s achieved greatness — like the hall where he and his team won the debating comp. I consider saying, You can also show her the shelter sheds, where you got caught pashing Natalie Williams after the debating comp, but before I can decide if this is a good idea or not Nana shakes her head. ‘You can show me another time, Marcus,’ she says firmly. ‘Today is about Leni.’

  I feel Mum’s hand circle around mine and give it a little squeeze. Her hand is extra-warm because the pie she’s minding was the last out of the oven. I squeeze it back.

  It feels strange turning up at school on a Saturday, and as I get out of the car (carefully holding my pie) I look around for my schoolbag. Then I see a big banner has been tied up over the front gate. Welcome to the Inter-school Athletics Carnival!

  ‘Oh no!’ groans Dad loudly, and we all turn to stare at him. ‘I forgot to hitch up the trailer to bring all of Leni’s trophies home today.’

  ‘Dad!’ I hiss, feeling my face go red. There’s already quite a few people here, including some of the other girls from my aths team who walk past just as Dad says his goofy comment. I really hope they didn’t hear him or they’ll think I’ve been telling my family I’m going to win everything.

  There are a couple of buses parked at the front of the school and I guess this means that some of the competitors from the other schools have already arrived. Sure enough, as we walk down to the oval I see a whole bunch of kids I don’t know doing warm-ups in the West Central school uniform. They look huge and I instantly know why Miss Kearns was worried.

  Neither Adam nor Josh seem to be around. Technically they don’t need to be here for another hour because the girls’ races are scheduled first today. All the same, I guess I’d hoped that they’d be there to watch my race. But who am I kidding? I haven’t spoken to Adam for almost a week and Josh is Adam’s best friend. It’s dumb to expect they’d come to see me. I can’t help feeling a lurch of disappointment, though. Neither Anya nor Soph were sure if they’d make it — Anya wanted to go shopping to get something new to wear for her date with Ethan and Soph goes to the food co-op every Saturday with her mum. I understand, but it would’ve been nice to have someone here, cheering me on. I can’t even spot Jo anywhere. Maybe she decided to hang out with Ben instead. Or maybe she forgot about it, just like she’s forgotten about the kiss.

  ‘Leni! There you are!’ I look around to see Miss Kearns jogging over. Seriously, does the woman ever just walk? ‘Time to get ready,’ she says. ‘The race order has been changed — yours is up first.’

  Mum takes the pie from me. ‘We’ll go and deliver these,’ she says. ‘You get ready and we’ll see you at the finish line!’

  I nod and feel a little rush of excitement bubble up inside me. ‘Okay.’

  It doesn’t matter if my friends don’t come, I decide. It’d probably be distracting to have them around anyway. My family is here — that’s the important thing.

  The girls’ change room is full of girls I don’t know, talking and laughing together. I’m already in my running gear — all I have to do is take off my tracksuit — but I also need a moment to get focused before I head to the track. It’s a pre-race ritual of mine.

  In the end the only quiet place I can find in there is the toilet so I go into one of the cubicles, lock the door and sit down on the lid. I close my eyes and narrow my thoughts until there’s only one thing in my head. Running. I picture myself on the track, going as hard as I can. My legs pounding, pushing me on. My breath rushing into my lungs and out again. When I open my eyes I know I’m ready. Ready to run.

  There’s a PA announcement as I leave the change rooms. ‘All competitors for the girls’ 200 metres sprint please take your places.’

  That’s my race.

  There are a lot more people at the oval now — parents, friends, small kids waving homemade banners. I glance away, not wanting to be distracted by who is there. Or by who isn’t.

  Miss Kearns is at the edge of the track and hands me a number to pin on. Number three. ‘You’re in lane three too,’ she says.

  Three, that’s good. I know it’s kind of dumb, but I have a few superstitious things with races. One is about the number I get. Whenever I’ve run with an even number I lose. For some reason I always do better with odd numbers. And three is my best number of all.

  I go to my lane, making sure I don’t look at the other girls. This is another of my superstitious things — I never like to see the people I’m racing once we’re lining up. Instead I look towards the finishing line, which today is fluttering with flags. I’m stretching out any remaining stiffness when I hear a noise — a big noise — co
ming from nearby on the perimeter fence.

  Anya and Soph have pushed their way right to the front of the fence and they’re holding up a huge banner with Run Leni! Run! written across it in huge letters. They’re both dressed up in running gear too — shiny, electric green shorts and matching headbands — and when they see I’m watching they launch into this silly warm-up routine, windmilling their arms and stretching out their hamstrings. People around them start backing away, probably worried they’ll get hit. Anya tries to kick her leg up onto the railing, misses, almost falls on top of some random guy standing behind her.

  This warm feeling creeps through me then. My friends are seriously amazing.

  ‘Leni!’ I hear the warning note in Miss Kearns’s voice and look around to see her frowning at me. I know she’s worried that I’ll lose my focus. But she doesn’t need to. Now that I know Anya and Soph are in the crowd cheering me on, I know I’m going to win. Maybe that sounds like bragging. It’s not meant to. It’s just that sometimes I’m really sure I’m going to come in first — and this is one of those times. But I do take a moment to look straight ahead again, breathe deeply, and bring my thoughts back to running.

  ‘On your marks. Get set.’

  There’s the starter pistol and I’m off, pushing through space. Leaping forward, surging ahead, on and on and on. The noise of the crowd disappears and I almost forget that there’s a crowd there at all, just me and the other competitors. The other girls are catching up, almost taking over, but they never quite do it. Because I am always inching forward, forward, till I’m one stride ahead, then another, until there’s my foot, pushing itself over the finishing line.

  It’s the crowd that confirms I’ve won. They all start yelling and screaming and waving their banners around. I feel a bit sorry for the other racers — it’s pretty tough when you’re competing at someone else’s school. If you win, no-one’s very happy. I just have time to shake all the other girls’ hands before my family descends on me. They must have been near the finish line. Mum flings her arms around me and attempts to lift me off the ground — obviously forgetting that I’ve been taller than her for a while now. Marcus thumps me on the back, maybe a little too hard, and Dad is dancing around us, making weird whooping noises like a tropical bird. It’s pretty embarrassing. But also okay.

  Nana is there too, standing just off to one side. She’s not going crazy like everyone else (thank god) but when she catches my eye she smiles and walks over to me, holding out her hand. I figure she wants to shake it, which is a little weird, but I manage to untangle myself from Mum and put my hand out towards Nana’s. And then I feel Nana push something into my hand. A small, slightly crumpled packet of cigarettes. I look at her and her smile broadens. ‘Get rid of those for me, will you, darling?’ she says.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, and I shove them into the waistband of my leggings. Then, without giving myself a chance to think about it (or Nana time to escape), I fling my arms around her. ‘I’m so glad you came, Nana,’ I whisper in her ear.

  Nana is pretty stiff and uncomfortable at first, but then her shoulders relax and she hugs me back. ‘I’m glad I did too, darling,’ she murmurs back.

  Miss Kearns somehow manages to fight her way through my family and she pumps my hand up and down. ‘Good work, Leni,’ she says and I can tell she’s really proud of me. ‘Now that you’ve got your focus back we need to start thinking about what other events we should put you in.’ Then she starts listing a whole lot of upcoming races. Looks like I’m going to be busy.

  It’s while Miss Kearns is talking that I catch sight of someone out of the corner of my eye. Adam is standing on his own, looking nervous. Like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. Like he should run away.

  There are lots of things I’m not sure about at the moment. Lots of things I don’t know. Like, whether I’ll end up deciding I only want to kiss the Jos of the world and not the Adams. Or whether it’ll be the other way around. I’ve also got no idea how long it’ll take me to work it out. There’s one thing I do know, though — if I ever want a chance at being friends with this particular Adam again, it’s time to talk to him. True, I haven’t come up with the perfect combination of words to explain how I’m feeling, but I can’t wait around until that happens. Because maybe I never will.

  I manage to escape from Miss Kearns, but only after giving her permission to sign me up for any competition she wants. This may be a mistake, but I’ll worry about that later. Then I walk towards Adam — only stopping for a moment to dump Nana’s last cigarette packet into a bin.

  I’m half-expecting Adam to take off before I reach him, but he doesn’t.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, as I get close, and he smiles. It’s a pretty awkward-looking smile but I’m glad to see it because I figure it means Adam doesn’t hate my guts completely. Maybe he just hates my small intestine.

  Adam shifts his weight to his other leg. ‘Great race.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I was lucky.’

  ‘No, you weren’t lucky,’ corrects Adam. ‘You were the best runner.’ His smile broadens out a little — it’s more like the Wilcox grin I’m used to. ‘Plus you had the home side advantage with all your mates cheering you on.’

  ‘You saw Anya and Soph then, did you?’ I say, and even though I’m super nervous I start giggling as I remember my friends prancing around like lunatics.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ says Adam. ‘But I didn’t mean them. I meant me.’ He points to his T-shirt and it’s only then that I notice what’s printed on it. Go Beest!

  ‘Did you make that’ I ask.

  ‘Well, yeah,’ says Adam. ‘With a little help from the local colour-printing shop.’ Then he pulls something from his back pocket and puts it on his head. It’s his beanie, except that now it’s got two horns taped onto it. ‘I was going to wear this too, but I changed my mind,’ he says. ‘Good decision?’

  I nod and grin. ‘Yep, good decision.’

  We both fall silent as the PA system announces the next race — girls’ 500 metre relay. Then it’s like I hear a PA system inside my head, telling me to freaking well hurry up and talk to Adam before I lose him forever. It’s a pretty bossy PA system. But it’s also right.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. And I’m sorry I yelled at you at training.’ The words tumble out of me, like something falling from a badly wrapped parcel. ‘I guess I was pretty spun out by what happened,’ I add. ‘The kiss, I mean. It was kind of … unexpected. I needed time to think about how I felt.’

  ‘And let me guess,’ says Adam. He doesn’t sound mad, exactly. Just sort of down in the dumps. He flattens a weed with the toe of his runner. ‘You’ve worked it out. And you want to be just friends, right?’

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘Let’s get something straight,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing “just” about being friends with me, okay? And being friends has worked out pretty well for us so far, don’t you think?’

  Another weed is pressed down under his shoe. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

  I know Adam doesn’t hate me. He wouldn’t have made and worn the Go Beest! T-shirt if he did. And I’m pretty sure he does want to stay friends with me. But I know I’ve really squashed his feelings and I have to think of something that will unsquash them if I want to save our friendship.

  My internal PA system butts in again. You know what you should tell him, it says. I do know, but I don’t want to say it. It’s very embarrassing. Say it, commands my internal PA system. Say it now. Before he runs out of weeds to flatten and walks away. I swallow, steel myself.

  ‘Adam?’ He looks up at me.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m glad you were the first person I ever kissed. Because you’re a really good kisser.’

  Adam looks at me silently for a moment, then nods. He doesn’t say it but I know the nod means thanks.

  ‘You’re a good kisser too, Beest,’ he says. Then he shrugs, thoughtfully. ‘Maybe not quite as good as me, but if you keep practising …’

 
; ‘Adam Wilcox!’ I say. I have to pretend to be mad at least. Even though what I’m actually feeling is relieved.

  ‘You are so …’

  But Adam cuts me short by pointing at something behind me. ‘Isn’t that your friend with the cool car?’

  Sure enough, when I turn I see Jo, sitting on the grass with her camera slung around her neck. Next to her is a guy I don’t recognise and my stomach does a little jump. That must be her boyfriend.

  Jo sees me and does a come over wave.

  ‘I’ve gotta go meet Josh,’ says Adam, scrunching his beanie into his pocket so that only the horns are sticking out. ‘Catch up with you later?’

  I nod. ‘For sure.’

  It feels like maybe everything is back to normal between us. Or almost normal. I mean, obviously things can’t be exactly like they were before the kiss. We’re not little kids anymore — and I’m starting to think that this is probably a good thing. There are only so many times you want your runners filled up with wet sand, after all.

  ‘Leni,’ says Jo as I walk over, ‘meet Ben. Ben — Leni.’ They’re not holding hands or anything, but it’s obvious from the way they’re sitting there together, their shoulders lightly touching, that they like each other a lot. I would’ve thought this would make me feel worse — jealous — but it doesn’t. I guess it’s just good to see that Jo’s happy. Ben looks like he does in the photo on Jo’s wall, except his hair is more grown-out now. He smiles as I sit down.

  ‘You should take a look at Jo’s photos of your race,’ he says. ‘There are some awesome ones.’

  I look at Jo. ‘You were watching? I didn’t see you.’

  ‘Of course I was there,’ says Jo. ‘My mums too. Did you not hear them yelling their heads off?’

  I laugh. ‘No. Too focused, I guess.’ Jo hands me her camera. On the display screen there’s a shot of me after the race, with my mum trying to lift me into the air and Marcus’s hand about to whack me on the back. I scroll back through the photos, watching myself run the race in reverse. Right at the start is a close-up of my face, just before the race begins. I’m wearing this expression that’s hard to describe. I’m staring off into the distance, focusing on something out of view, and I look kind of nervous, but I look really determined and excited too.