Outside In (10 page)

There was a spare key in the backyard. Inside her brother's runner, squidgy from last night's rain. Meredith let herself in and wandered around. The light on the answering machine in the hall was blinking. She pressed the button.

‘Rhonda here, from the general office at 2 o'clock. Meredith hasn't returned to school after the lunch break. Could you please get back to us ASAP? I'll try your work number.'

Meredith put her head in her hands. It was 2.30 p.m. Her dad would have been contacted by now. He would be worried. She would have to make something up. He didn't need this, had enough on his plate. She would ring him. Think of something to say.

She was already arranging something in her mind. Already tucking down the bits of anger, the hurt. She would make out that her problem was physical so he could deal with it. It would be cramps, and overflow, and she'd forgotten to let anyone know before she left. She would save him from all the emotions. She would…

Meredith wasn't ready, though, for his key in the front door. So soon.

‘Meredith? My God. What's going on? You look terrible. Moo? Honey, what is it? What happened?'

What happened? Jesus. What had happened? Jordan hadn't wanted to confide something very special to her because she thought that Meredith would make a joke of it. And the scary thing … the really scary thing … was that she would have made a joke out of it. She probably would have.

‘Moo? Baby, talk to me.'

‘I hate her.'

Meredith didn't know where it came from. Somewhere she didn't think she had contact with anymore. But there it was. And there she was. Still in their kitchen, with the bone-handled knives and the souvenir teaspoons from different countries. In the air they breathed and the chunk out of the wall where she'd thrown a vase. In the gaping holes, the chunks out of their lives.

‘I hate her. She should be here! How can a mother not be here when her daughter becomes a woman? How can a mother just leave … and not look back … and let her daughter get so screwed up that even her friends can't talk to her because she covers up every little bit of pain! It's her fault I'm like this. She's a bitch and I hate her. '

She'd never sworn in front of her dad. Not like this. He flinched, but he didn't correct her.

Meredith was wracked with sobs as her dad pulled her close. He stroked her hair like he used to when she was little. She couldn't see his face but she knew his brow would be furrowed, his eyes would be sad. And she'd caused this. She was guilty. She shouldn't be behaving like this.

But she
was
behaving like this. She hadn't cried forever and it felt like the tears would never stop.

‘It's OK, Moo. Be angry,' he said finally. His voice was surprisingly clear. ‘You can be angry. You don't have to be strong all the time. You don't have to cover all the pain.'

Meredith kept crying, her throat aching and her nose running.

The telephone rang, again and again. First Sam's voice, and it was soothing to hear his voice, though she wasn't listening to his words, wasn't up for words yet.

Then Jordan's voice and then Lee's and Cecilia's.

They were all calling her, her friends. And she wanted to talk to them. Not yet, not right now, but she did want to explain. She wanted them to help her change. She couldn't carry it all around anymore.

It was too heavy, making light.

She was a shell, a husk, when she finished. But the boulder on her chest was gone, and there seemed to be more room inside her now.

He made tea, and stirred in sugar with one of her souvenir spoons. It was the one with the Dutch girl in clogs, a windmill behind her. The girl's yellow plaits each side of her head were like sideways question marks.

‘So,' her dad asked calmly. ‘You want to tell me what's going on? Warts and all?'

Drama is
supposed
to be an elective. But I have been conscripted because, as usual, I came to this school halfway through the term when all the other electives were filled.

I hate drama. It's too exposing, too much like life. The other subjects are fine. I have been told I am smart at books and dumb at life.

I have been told a lot of things, not all of them lovely.

It's a Trust Activity. As soon as I hear that, bad goes to worse. My skin starts to feel clammy. My heartbeat quickens, and I hope against hope that it's not going to be the one I think.

Doesn't the drama teacher sense that this is my worst nightmare? Maybe that's what he's trying for? Maybe he's delighting in my sticky skin, my pale, worried face?

‘OK, get into pairs. Find somebody your own size.'

I s
hould
know better. I have long since put into action an insulating layer to dull the effects of this kind of situation. It's easy when you're fat to find a spare layer to work with. It should be easy, anyway. So why is there still that stupid little glimmer? Maybe … maybe this time it will be different. Why, when I have a litany of proof to the contrary?

I have to remind myself to stop hoping, to cut it out. I fish out one of the more recent memories, that live, ready for replay, inside me.

You felt good that Lara had asked you over to her place. That you were getting ready together. That you had a new friend to walk into the disco with, and you even had a new pair of black skinny-leg jeans that looked OK with the baggy T-shirt belted over the top of them.

‘I'm going to do my hair like this,' Lara had said. She held it up in her hands to demonstrate. Messy at the top, and falling down into two low pigtails. There was a little butterfly in your gut as she said that. The hairstyle belonged to the cool girls, the Abbeys, and they would have copyrighted it if they could. You didn't say anything about that, though. You told Lara it looked good. Anyway, a sip of Bundy and Coke, and you'd forgotten about the butterfly.

Lara was your friend, and how good was that?

It had been hard, moving schools so many times. It's not like you had a choice. It's Dad's job, and that's that. Sometimes, there would be no friends. But you'd fallen on your feet this time. Lara had taken you on.

You almost belonged.

‘Here,' Lara said, ‘can you put this in your bag? I'm not taking one, just some cash.'

You had the giggles after another swig of Bundy and Coke. It tasted awful but you were getting better at it. You even looked in the mirror before you left. Grinned at yourself, happy that your mum had finally relented and bought you those jeans. They were definitely cool, and they made you look a bit thinner. Like they tucked your legs in.

Kids are moving around the class now. Cecilia, Jack and Jordan are the only representatives from the shiny group in drama. Jack moves close to Jordan. She rolls her eyes and flicks the side of his head lightly with her hand.

‘Come on guys, stay serious,' the teacher scolds. ‘You're too big for Jordan,' he tells Jack.

The teacher folds his arms while the class scoffs at the double entendre. I watch as Jack shuffles over towards Luke, his pace slow, a tiny defiance. It's compelling, the Jordan and Jack duet. God and Goddess …

‘Da-ad. Reaady,' Lara called out, and before you knew it you had a peppermint in your mouth and you were in the back of Lara's dad's sleek BMW. You felt fantastic, like you could fly. And he was so funny, the way he opened the door for Lara, and then for you, pretending he was a chauffeur. Especially funny because Lara was embarrassed, pulling him by the arms and stuffing him back into the driver's seat.

You could hear the music thumping inside the hall. As soon as her dad's car pulled out of the car park, Lara reached inside your bag. She took a big swig, knowing there probably weren't going to be any pass-outs.

You both paid. Got a stamp on your hands, and walked into the hall together.

Strobe lights flashed onto the dance floor, though there were only a few people dancing so far. Most kids were standing around, yelling into each other's ears with cupped hands.

The Abbeys stood in the corner, looking cool. Seriously cool.

There were only two actual Abbeys in that group. A blonde one and a brunette. The other three girls were Abbeys, though. Honorary Abbeys.

Lara walked over to them, and you followed. You were glad that the music was so loud. You didn't have to say anything. You'd tried before, but they always had that look about them. Raised eyebrows, like anything you came out with would be totally lame. Maybe you just needed to give them more time? A bit more effort. Lara seemed to be having a conversation with blonde Abbey. She must've found something to talk about. But then she pulled out her pigtails after blonde Abbey yelled something in her ear.

The next song was a winner. Heaps of people tumbled onto the dance floor. You tumbled out too, mainly because you didn't want to be left on your own. You found yourself inside a giant circle – boy, girl, boy, girl. There was lots of stumbling, lots of laughter. And no-one was very good. You didn't even worry about how you looked. Just kicked your legs in time, arms around shoulders. Anyway, the strobe lighting kind of took care of the fact that you weren't a good dancer. It was weird … fun … to watch everyone's moves turn into slow motion as the lights flashed.

Just about everyone was dancing by then. The only time you stopped was for a toilet break. You and Lara topped up in the toilets, re-did your lip gloss and raced back out into the crowd.

Into a slow song.

It was not a song for you. You knew that.

You should have known that.

They are taking ages to form pairs. I am brought back again, into the drama class, watching as Cecilia drifts over to Bonnie. I stare as Bonnie laughs and re-directs Cecilia towards Kate. Bonnie is about double Cecilia's size. Cecilia looks confused as she does her graceful ballet walk over to Kate, her petite little frame now beside another petite little frame. I wonder at her first choice, and something clicks inside me. An instinct that something is wrong with Cecilia.

The strobe lighting was switched off for the slow song. Now the only light came from the DJ's booth in a greenish glow. Lots of people had coupled off. There were hands on shoulders and hands on bums. Some of the couples were kissing. You were about to go back to the chairs at the side of the hall when you felt hands from behind, touching your hips.

When you turned around, you couldn't believe it. Hector was dancing with you. Touching you. His arms worked their way around your waist, his thumbs tucked under your red belt. You went with it.

When Hector swayed, you swayed. Each movement brought you a little closer together. Until you were against him. Your chest, his chest. Faces touching, cheek to cheek. He smelled so good. Aftershave and soap and him.

The song ended and you thought it would finish. But he didn't move on. He still had you in his arms, you still stayed there. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. You had to remind yourself to breathe. Almost didn't want to. You thought that the breaths might somehow count time along, drive it forwards, when you wanted it to slow right down.

Hector tilted his head down. Your head was turned up. And your lips … your lips moved towards his. Oh my God.

Suddenly, he jerked backwards. He said those words. You will never forget those words.

I hear footsteps. I open my eyes. The drama teacher is next to me, and I take a step backwards. Everyone else has found a pair.

‘The faller must stand upright, feet together, hands crossed over the chest like this.' He demonstrates the posture. ‘Tight butt cheeks, and keep the body stiff.' He knows this will elicit laughter. He waits for it to pass. ‘The catcher should have one leg in front of the other,' he continues. ‘Arms extended, take the weight mostly through the legs. The faller should say, “I am ready to fall, are you ready to catch me?” The catcher should reply, “I am ready to catch you.” Be clear with your communication.'

‘Er, no thanks. I am just dancing, actually. Just dancing,' Hector said, looking uncomfortable.

You sobered up very quickly. The warm, woozy feeling was sucked away by cold reality. It was almost worse that he wasn't being a prick. He kept holding you around the waist. Kept dancing, like it was no big deal. But he didn't hold you quite as close. You saw out the song, wishing, wishing, it would just hurry up and end.

Afterwards, you searched for Lara. She was nowhere. Not in the giant circle that had formed on the dance floor again. Not in the corners of the room. There was a queue for the toilets, and you joined. You were just behind the door when you heard it.

It was Lara's voice. Your friend's voice. ‘And then, she leans in for the pash –'

‘No waay!' squealed an Abbey. You could tell it was the blonde Abbey because she was one of those girls who always elongated her words. ‘Like, as if Hector is ever going to want to pash that fugly!'

The other Abbeys cacked themselves. It was the best joke ever. Lara's laugh was in there, too. You could just see their smirks in the mirror through the half-closed door. Lara's hairstyle was back in place again. Messy at the top. Two long pigtails.

‘So, I'll be your partner today!' The drama teacher's voice is artificially bright.

My teeth are clenched as I nod.

Around the hall, questions and answers are spoken. ‘I am ready to fall, are you ready to catch me?'

‘I am ready to catch you.'

It's a Trust Exercise.

The teacher doesn't object when I ask to sit it out.

jack

Jack was walking on a well-worn path. It was the track that started behind the canteen and led down to the bottom oval. The gap in the bushes that ended at ‘the love nest'. Christened by heaps of couples before them.