Little Bird (9 page)

‘How apologetic was he?' Tegan asked, leering.

‘It was weird. And awkward. And totally embarrassing. Honestly, nothing happened.'

‘Ruby-lee, this is so gross. I mean he's, like, completely
old
.'

I didn't answer. But I'd done the maths last night. Spence was twenty-six (according to Shandra, who knew everything about everyone) and I was nearly seventeen. Nine years. That wasn't that big a deal. There was a twelve year difference between Dad and Paula.

‘I can't believe you'd even like him after what he did.'

I hadn't told Tegan everything. I hadn't told her about Spence gathering the sleeping Maisy up in his arms and how he'd carried her as if she was lighter than air, up the steps, through the front door, down the corridor and into her room, placing her so gently into her cot that Maisy didn't even stir. I hadn't told Tegan how we'd stood there together for a moment, watching Maisy's face.

‘She really is so beautiful,' Spence had whispered, as if seeing her for the first time. He was so close that the breath of his words tickled the fine hair inside my ears.

‘She looks like you,' I'd said, bravely. (Had I just told a man he was beautiful?)

I didn't tell Tegan how, when Colette came home, I could still smell the spiciness of him in the air, or that I was frightened Colette would smell it too. I hadn't told Tegan how terrified of being caught I was, and how heady with relief I felt when I wasn't. ‘Yoohoo, Ruby-lee,' Tegan kicked me in the shin. ‘Are you even listening?'

‘Ow!' I rubbed my shin. There'd probably be a bruise. ‘Sorry, I spaced.'

‘Thinking about your lover?'

‘Don't be gross.'

‘What's gross about the word “lover”?'

‘What were you saying when I vagued out?' I asked, trying to change the subject.

‘Nothing. It doesn't matter. It's not important, anyway.'

My Memory by Ruby-lee King

Total marks deducted for lateness – 25
.

Ruby-lee, this is an evocative piece of writing
–

I particularly enjoyed the way you invest your emotional response to your parents' divorce into the multivalent image of the Barbie doll. However your punctuation and presentation are well below the standard I expect from a Year Eleven student. In order to make a passing grade, taking into consideration the marks deducted for lateness, I would like you to take it home and revise it into a more coherent piece of writing, thinking about paragraphs, commas, full-stops and consistent use of quotation marks.

‘What does multi . . . multi-
valent
even mean?' I asked Tegan as we walked to the bus stop. Blake had a dentist's appointment so for once Tegan wasn't going to his place after school. She and I would be able to ride together. I was sick of catching the bus by myself. Everybody else came in pairs, or groups, except me, alone and invisible.

‘She really does hate you, doesn't she?' Tegan said, reading over my shoulder.

‘Pass me or fail me,' I groaned at the page, which was covered in angry red slashes and dots. ‘Don't make me do extra
work
.'

Suddenly Tegan elbowed me hard in the ribs.

‘Ow! What did you do that for?'

‘Here comes your lover,' Tegan whispered.

Tegan made an innocent face, her eyes widening as Spence approached. She sang out in her best kindergarten voice, ‘Good afternoon, Mr Spencer.'

I'd been looking out for him all day, and now he was finally here I wanted to disappear into the ground.

‘Hi, girls. Ruby-lee, could I talk to you for a minute?'

‘She'll miss her bus,' said Tegan.

‘It's all right,' I said.

‘Can you catch the next one?' Spence asked.

‘There is no next one,' Tegan said.

‘It's okay,' I said quickly. ‘I can walk down to the highway and catch a bus there. I do it all the time.' I'd done it exactly once, after I'd dropped a pot of blue ink during printmaking and the teacher, Carlo, had made me stay behind and clean it up. It was a forty-five minute walk, and then I'd had to wait for half an hour for the bus to come.

‘I can give you a lift to the bus stop if you like,' said Spence.

‘That'd be great.'

‘Ruby-lee!' Tegan's eyes burned into me. ‘You were going to catch the bus home with me.'

‘I'll see you tomorrow,' I said apologetically.

‘Fine.' Tegan's face was stony as she stalked up towards the bus stop.

‘Bye,' I called out weakly, but Tegan didn't turn around. I felt a heavy sensation in the pit of my stomach. Tegan was definitely mad again. Which so wasn't fair, since she hardly ever caught the bus home anyway – it was usually her abandoning me.

‘Come on,' Spence said. ‘I have to pick up some assignments from my office first.'

It felt strange to walk back into the empty school. The quiet halls were almost spooky. Spence's office was as quiet and airy as the rest of the school.

‘I wanted to thank you for Saturday,' Spence said, as he rummaged around his desk. ‘It meant a lot to Mum. She worries. She and Colette can't be in a room together for five minutes without one of them setting the other off.'

I didn't really know what to say. It wasn't as if Spence had given me a choice, but he was talking like I'd done him some big favour.

He gathered together the pile of stapled assignments and slipped them into a plastic folder. ‘So did you . . . ?' he started casually, and then trailed off.

‘What?'

‘I was wondering if my little visit had come up, you know, with Colette.'

‘Do you mean did I dob?' I asked. ‘No! Of course not.'

‘Sorry. Of course you didn't.' Spence met my eyes. ‘To tell you the truth, Saturday meant a lot to me too.'

As I met his eyes all my anger melted away. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was still confused, but all that confusion was just background noise, like a mistuned radio.

Someone tapped on the door. I turned to see a girl, one of the dark-haired, flashing-eyed music groupies, standing in the doorway, watching us. She stepped into the room, and a boy followed her in. He was tall and jangly, like a puppet on strings, with long limbs and curly red hair. He grinned at me. I forgot to smile back. My heart was fluttering. What had Spence been going to say?
Why
had it meant a lot to him?

‘Hey, Spence,' the girl said. Her voice was deep and smoky, with just the right kind of husk to it.

‘Here's trouble,' said Spence. ‘What can I do for you, Beck?'

‘I just came to hand this in.' She held out some crisp sheets of written music, held together with a paperclip. Spence took it.

‘It's a bit late, Beck,' said Spence. ‘Two weeks late.'

‘Sorry. I've been, like, really sick and, well, I had this fight with my boyfriend and . . .'

‘And you were abducted by aliens and your dog ate your homework,' Spence teased, good-naturedly.

‘No!' Her eyes widened, the picture of innocence. If innocence was a big flirt. ‘Come on, Spence. Please?'

‘Oh-kay. But only because you asked so nicely.'

‘Thanks, Spence. You rock.'

‘Correct.' He glanced at the pages. ‘Is this the piece I heard you practising the other day?'

‘Yeah. Do you mind having a quick look through it? I'm not sure I got all the notation right. I mean,' she glanced at me, ‘if you're not too busy.'

‘Not at all,' Spence said. I deflated.

They stood so close she may as well have climbed inside his pants. They read through the mess of squiggles and lines and dots together.

‘Hang on, so this is the chorus?' Spence asked. ‘What are you singing here?'

Beck read the song lyrics out in a monotone, hurrying through them. I almost snorted. They sounded ridiculous, so silly and sentimental. ‘You live under my skin, under my skin is where you've been, slipping and sliding under my skin, under my skin, under my skin.' Spence hummed questioningly and Beck sang emphatically back, her singing voice still husky, but loud and clear. When she sang, even in the ordinary space of Spence's office, the same words took on a heightened meaning. They were electrifying, daring, totally provocative – they made me blush. I couldn't look at Spence.

‘Here,' Spence said. ‘The phrasing's awkward. Let me grab a pencil.'

If I'd known how long they were going to be I would have sat down. I watched the minutes tick by, knowing that if I missed one bus the next one wouldn't be along for at least another hour. I began to ache from standing too long, and from boredom and crushing disappointment. If Spence was surrounded by girls like Beck and Colette all day, showcasing their enormous talents, what chance did I have of being seen by him? I was just the babysitter.

Beck's lanky friend sat down on another teacher's desk, picked up more sheets of music that were just lying around and proceeded to read through it as if he were reading the Sunday newspaper. There weren't even any words – it was just clumps of notes.

He looked up and saw me watching him. He winked and went back to reading.

Finally Beck and Spence were finished. Beck took her assignment with her, even though it was already two weeks late, promising to drop it round to Spence's house that weekend. There was something about the way she said it that made me think it was because she wanted me to know she was going there. But then Spence said, ‘Oh no, Beck, you guys aren't rehearsing at my place this weekend. We've got the studio.' Then, to add insult to
her
injury, Spence lifted his keys from his desk and said, ‘Well, I better get Ruby-lee home before she turns into a pumpkin.' (I was glad he said home and not ‘to the bus stop'. Even the pumpkin comment sounded good, like we were on a date or something.) Sailing out of the office beside him, while Beck and her friend loped in the opposite direction, filled me with pure, evil satisfaction and all my doubts left me. I
was
special. I was the one he was taking home, wasn't I? Beck left without acknowledging me at all, but her friend lifted his hand in an oddly muppet-like farewell.

Spence and I walked side by side up the silent hall. He held the door open for me. We crossed the deserted quadrangle to the staff carpark. I felt like there was another me sitting on the bench where Tegan and I sat every day, watching Spence and I as we walked towards the deserted carpark, like we belonged together. I could almost see us – me and Tegan; Tegan leaning down to whisper some saucy comment about the student and the teacher leaving the school grounds together. It sent a thrill jolting through me.

‘Did Colette have a good time on Saturday?' Spence asked.

‘Yeah. She did.'

‘So she got home safe and sound?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Did someone drive her home?'

‘Yes. Her friend.'

‘Friend?'

‘Anna.'

‘Oh,
Anna
. I know Anna.' Spence nodded at a battered green station wagon. ‘This is me.' The backseat was folded down and the car was filled with music stands, guitar cases, speakers, microphones and other musical equipment. He had to clear a pile of music books and fast food wrappers off the front passenger seat before I could sit down.

The walk to the bus stop might have been long and torturous, but the drive was disappointingly brief, I didn't even get to hear the song change on the radio. Spence pulled up at the bus stop.

‘Will you have to wait long?'

‘No,' I lied. I picked up my bag from between my feet. Suddenly I blurted out, ‘I'm going to be looking after Maisy on Sunday afternoons. So if you . . . if you wanted to drop in . . . if you wanted to see Maisy, well, you know . . .'

‘Sunday afternoons? What's Colette doing?'

‘The band she used to be in has asked her to rehearse with them.'

Spence didn't answer straightaway. He gripped the steering wheel for a minute, his knuckles turning white. Finally he said, ‘When Colette told me she was keeping the baby, I couldn't believe she would do that. Why would she go through with it? I mean, it's not like there aren't alternatives. What does she want a baby for?'