by Cath Crowley
‘I watched the film.’
‘Jane said the film was completely different.’
‘That explains where I lost four marks.’
‘At least we’re on camp in two weeks.’
‘Yeah, but it’s a study camp. That’s just stupid.’ Flemming stops talking then. So do I. For the rest of the double lesson we do what we do best: we play soccer. I imagine myself into a future where I don’t have to pass English or Maths or Food Technology. I imagine myself into a world where the only pass that counts is the one that happens on the field. I imagine myself into a world where Martin didn’t dump me.
JANE
The bell goes and Corelli comes with me to find Alyce. ‘There she is,’ he says, pointing down the corridor. She looks worried. ‘You’ve seen the email?’ I ask.
‘What email? I’ve been in the counsellor’s office.’
I give her a quick recap and she turns even paler. ‘Oh dear. I’ve spent years building that list. I started in Year 7, recording every email I could find: students and teachers across the country are on it. I update it every six months.’
Saying ‘oh dear’ in this situation is like saying ‘fruit’ when you’ve severed a main artery. Alyce’s list is the snowflake that slowly grew over time to become the iceberg that sank the Titanic. Faltrain is about to crack like the side of that ship and it’s my fault. ‘Someone needs to slap me, I’m thinking thoughts that are way out of control.’
‘Faltrain’ll do it,’ Corelli says.
‘I never noticed before how funny you are. We’ll laugh later.’ If I’m still alive, that is.
We spot Faltrain in the tuckshop line. She’s got Jimmy Ferocio cornered against the back wall. ‘What email?’ I hear her asking.
‘It’s not too late to accept that money,’ Corelli says.
If I run now I’ll be running forever. Annabelle’s watching. Susan and Kally are here, too. I’d give anything to take that stupid email back. But I can’t, so the only other option is to make this quick and clean. ‘I accidentally emailed the whole state that Martin dumped you again.’ There’s no point in sugar-coating it. There isn’t that much sugar in the world.
GRACIE
Any minute now I’ll wake up. Yep. Any minute now. ‘Okay, someone slap me. I’m not waking up.’
JANE
‘I’m not slapping you, Faltrain. Relax and let go of Jimmy.’
She loosens her grip and stands very still, like what I’ve said is a killer bee and if she doesn’t move it’ll pass her by. Susan leans in and says, ‘It must be awful to be dumped three times.’ No such luck. That bee has smelled honey and it’s hanging around until it sucks the last sweet drop.
We line up in the queue. ‘Three doughnuts,’ she says when it’s her turn. The tuckshop lady pats her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, dear.’
Faltrain points at me. ‘She’s paying.’ I nod. Quite possibly for the rest of my life.
I spend my free after recess with Corelli, researching for our presentation. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ I say for the fiftieth time. ‘Did you see the look on her face?’
‘She’s had worse stuff happen. That time she tucked her dress in her undies was uglier.’
‘Yeah, but I wasn’t the one who tucked her dress into her undies.’
‘Because that would be weird.’
‘Stop it. This isn’t funny.’
‘It’s a bit funny,’ he says, turning to his computer. He stops grinning.
‘What?’
‘Log into your email.’
It turns out that when everyone in the known universe receives an email about Gracie Faltrain getting dumped, every person in the known universe wants to reply. ‘Are there no teachers policing the use of technology in their classrooms?’ I ask. ‘We didn’t have computers in every room when I left.’
‘It’s bad, I know. We should write to the local MP.’
‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but now is not the time for snappy comebacks.’
‘Now is definitely the time for snappy comebacks. Now’s the time you want to use “reply all” to send those snappy comebacks.’
‘It doesn’t seem like a great idea to get into a fight over the email.’
‘Have you read some of these replies?’
I look at them. ‘Move over. We’ll use your name.’
JASON DEAN
That is classic.
CORELLI
No, what’s classic is the time you walked into the girls’ toilets by mistake in Year 7 and sat in a cubicle to see how it felt to whiz like a girl.
JASON DEAN
How do you know that, Corelli?
CORELLI
I was in the cubicle next door, idiot.
JASON DEAN
That’s messed up, man.
SUSAN
What’s messed up is Gracie Faltrain. How many times does a guy have to dump a girl before she gets the message?
CORELLI
I don’t know, let’s ask Flemming. How many times did you have to dump Susan before she got the message?
FLEMMING
Twice.
ALYCE
This is my coat collection email. Important people are reading this.
CORELLI
Sorry, Alyce, I’m out of control. Do you want to have dinner at my place tonight?
BRETT
You’re asking my girlfriend out?
CORELLI
Jane’s using my body for emailing purposes.
FRANCAVILLA
You wish she’d use your body, Corelli.
DAN
Alyce, there must be some way of blocking these emails.
TRUCK
Dan has the hots for Gracie.
DAN
I’m sitting next to you, idiot. You don’t need to email that to everyone in the world.
NICK JOHNSON
Mate, she’s not worth it. One kiss and she wants to marry you.
GRACIE
As if. I’d stick my tongue in my own ear before I’d kiss you again.
CORELLI
Could someone actually do that? Stick their tongue in their own ear?
JANE
Okay, for the record I want it noted that that reply actually came from Corelli.
ALYCE
Gracie Faltrain is not dictated to by the norms of a patriarchal society. Whilst she may, one day, find a partner to enjoy an equal relationship with, until then her love of soccer completes her.
GRACIE
Huh?
CORELLI
One day you’ll meet a guy you’re hot for like Martin but until then you’re happy to kick goals on the soccer field. By the way, Faltrain, I am so, so, sorry.
GRACIE
What are you sorry for, Corelli?
FLEMMING
Next person to email about Faltrain gets a fist to the face. Anyone want to try me?
FLEMMING
I didn’t think so.
JANE
‘That was fun,’ Corelli says.
‘Yeah, I have that same sort of fun getting my legs waxed.’
‘You want to drive around in my car sometime and listen to my new CD?’ he asks.
‘Okay,’ I tell him. Because strangely enough, I do.
GRACIE
Okay. So I was wrong when I said swimming with friends is safe. Swim alone. And keep your eyes open. I don’t look for Alyce and Jane at lunch. It’s not that I’m angry with Jane. She made a mistake. It’s that I’d run the risk of seeing all the kids who went crazy with the ‘reply all’ button. I go behind the sheds, to a spot where there’s enough green to kick the ball but not enough space to draw a crowd.
There’s only one other person here, today. Kally’s got the same idea as me. I guess she needs a place to hide too. I think about leaving but I’d rather share a tiny patch of grass with Kally than a whole school with people like Susan.
She looks at me and I look at her. My legs and arms ache even more than Saturday. It’s not just the email. It
’s the thought that’s been sinking into me all day, further and further down. Martin is gone. Go on, I think, looking at her. Say whatever smart thing you have to say and get it over with.
She doesn’t say anything, though. She makes room for me on the little patch of green and starts juggling the ball around. I do the same. Every now and then I see her copy one of my moves. It’s the sort of thing Jane or Alyce would do, being nice for the sake of it, not because there was a reason to be. ‘It’s a crazy, mixed-up world we live in,’ I imagine Jane saying. Yep. And it’s lucky for me this afternoon that it is.
ALYCE
‘No one is even thinking about coats,’ I say to Jane at lunch. ‘They’re thinking about what bad things they can say to Gracie next. I built that list to do good. It’s like when Ernest Rutherford and his scientists split the atom only to have their discovery used later to create nuclear weapons.’
‘Actually, no, Alyce. What I did was bad. But your list hasn’t given world leaders the power to destroy life as we know it.’
‘Maybe we should ask Gracie about that.’
‘Did something else happen this morning? You’re kind of tense.’
‘No.’ I’m about to change my answer to yes when the bell goes. I have a free, so there’s no hurry. I was planning on proofreading my UN application one more time. I wrote it in my diary: Check for punctuation mistakes. I open up to today’s date and draw a line through it. There’s no point now.
I sat outside the counsellor’s office this morning and swung my legs. I took it for granted that Mrs Davila would give my application a glowing report. My plans for this afternoon were to have a sense of satisfaction and then a biscuit to celebrate.
Ever since I can remember, New York has been my dream. I think about travelling to a new world and my skin tingles. I’ve been looking forward to everything: the headsets, the pictures and the little packets of food on the plane. I was even looking forward to the toilets – I find the whoosh as everything gets sucked away strangely exciting. I’ve been thinking about how great it will be to stay in a hotel with little packets of soap and how great it will be to meet people like me.
When Mrs Davila opened the door, though, I knew that something was wrong. ‘Teachers smile so wide when they hand back your work they look botoxed,’ Gracie said before the holidays. It’s true. But today Mrs Davila looked in need of a face-lift.
‘You’re a very impressive student,’ she said, and her hands danced along the edges of my form. ‘But I know this program. Thousands of people your age apply and they rarely take anyone who doesn’t have hands-on experience in the community.’
‘But I do.’ I leant over and pointed at the section where I had, very neatly, documented all the work I’d done. ‘And I’m very, very impressed,’ she said. ‘You could apply for any of the overseas scholarships and I’m certain you’ll have an excellent chance. But I don’t think you’ll be accepted into this program without volunteer work where you’ve actually had contact with people. Is there anything you’ve forgotten to add? Perhaps you were involved in the elderly visiting program we ran in Year 8?’
I had a flashback to making little packets of potpourri for them instead of visiting. ‘Not exactly.’ But their underwear smelt very good because of me.
‘What about the soup van visits that we ran in Year 10?’
‘Someone had to make the sandwiches and heat the soup. We couldn’t all fit in the van.’
‘Alyce, the United Nations Program involves you going into a Third World community.’
‘I can do that.’
‘Could you, Alyce?’ She said my name like I was a three-year-old who’d promised to be careful with a carving knife. Her eyes feathered at the corners because she was smiling so hard. This is the way life is, Alyce, her eyes beat out at me. This is the way things work. You are not adequately equipped to obtain your dream. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. So choose another and we’ll file this one under lost.
I blinked at her because I had no words. ‘I’m not saying don’t apply,’ she said. ‘I’m saying don’t put all your eggs in the one basket.’ I blinked at her again. I only have one egg and one basket. I felt like I did the first time I rode my bike down the hill at the end of my street. I lost my footing on the brakes and the day rushed past me blurry and out of control.
‘Come back next week and we’ll talk about other options.’ On the way into her office the day was warm. On the way out it was cold. Tiny spits of rain dotted me.
I sat in the toilet and cleaned my glasses. I put them back on and the graffiti became clear. Alyce Fuller rocks the boys’ world – in her dreams. I took them off again. Sometimes the world is better blurry.
Like now. When the only other person in the quadrangle with me is Andrew Flemming. We haven’t really talked since he asked me out. Gracie says there are rules for times like these. ‘Even if you’re staring straight at each other, you pretend the other person’s not there.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Andrew calls after a while.
‘Nothing.’
‘Doesn’t look like nothing. That’s the look you get when a teacher gives you a B.’
‘I made a mistake on my application for the Young United Nations.’
‘What mistake?’
‘I forgot to help people.’
‘Big mistake.’
I start to cry. He stares at me and I cry some more. The bell rings to end the lesson.
‘So, you want to wag the next class and play soccer?’ he asks.
‘I have a double free,’ I say, blowing my nose. ‘But I’ll pretend I’m wagging.’
‘That’s what I like about you, Fuller,’ he says as we walk across the yard. ‘You’re such a rebel.’
GRACIE
‘What are you so happy about?’ I ask Flemming after training. ‘You smiled all the way through push-ups.’
‘The little things. No one emailed the whole school that my girlfriend dumped me.’
‘At least I had someone to dump me.’
‘That’s a pathetic comeback, even for you.’
‘It’s been a long day.’
‘That’s why I’m not coming tomorrow.’ He coughs. ‘I feel a cold coming on.’ Flemming makes it a policy to be away whenever Mrs Young schedules an English assessment.
‘She’ll make you do it Wednesday.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll do it in the library without her stupid face staring at me. Meet you at the oval after school tomorrow?’ he asks, and runs off before I’ve answered.
I look up and see Dan Woodbury leaning on his sky-blue station wagon. It’s a Valiant Sahara, the type my dad sees and says, ‘Ah, the good old days.’ Dan’s like a fridge, though. Everything he touches turns cool.
‘I’m waiting for Kally and Annabelle,’ he says. ‘Kick me the ball.’ I like that Dan knows I don’t want to talk about Martin. I like that he doesn’t make stupid jokes. He concentrates on the ball, his hair half falling over his eyes, his arms out for balance. It’s all going well until I start thinking.
Is he not looking because he’s embarrassed for me? I know he read the emails because he replied to them. What I need to do is put a little self-esteem back in the Gracie Faltrain bank this afternoon. Soccer is what I’m good at. I look cool when I play. I look hot at the same time, which isn’t easy to do. I juggle the ball. He doesn’t look up. I flick from my left to right foot. Still no eye action. I knee the ball up and head it. Hard. I don’t even see Mrs Young until it’s too late. Perfect. Now he looks.
‘Am I an idiot?’ I say to Principal Yoosta as the school nurse applies an ice-pack. Okay. Let me rephrase that: would I be an idiot on purpose? ‘There’s no way I’d hit my English teacher in the face with a ball deliberately. Especially when she’s giving me a test tomorrow.’
He takes a breath to stay calm. ‘Wait here while I check on Mrs Young.’
‘We need to work on a better defence while he’s gone,’ Dan says. ‘You seem to be saying you wouldn’t hit your English
teacher on purpose, but you would hit her by accident if there wasn’t a test tomorrow. If I was your lawyer, I’d be pushing for you to remain silent.’
‘How much trouble do you think I’m in?’
‘We’re in,’ he says. ‘I was playing, too.’ He leans against the fence. Dan never looks worried, not now, not on the soccer field. He has one of those cool, sexy, detached stares. When I stare people think I’m a stalker.
Jane walks over while we’re waiting for news.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I ask.
‘Corelli’s driving me home. So I missed the first half but I’m guessing Mrs Young didn’t head the ball home to the backdrop of a Mexican Wave?’
‘It was an accident. Please, don’t let her nose be broken. I’ll fail tomorrow for sure.’
‘Like I said, don’t go with that line of defence when we’re questioned. What’s the essay on, by the way?’ Dan asks.
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
He laughs, under his breath at first. ‘It’s not funny,’ I say, but he laughs even more. It turns into the silent rocking laughter that’s catching. In the face of criminal charges and the aftermath of World Wide Web humiliation, I want to laugh so hard my sides ache holding it in.
