Outside In (6 page)

It was about her being kind and beautiful in her own way. And loveable, like Jordan had said in the toilets.

She wasn't exotic like Jordan, or funny like Meredith, or talented like Cecilia. But maybe that wasn't really the point?

Maybe it was enough just to be Lee.

It's ironic, being large and largely invisible. I can tuck myself in among the shadows, where the canteen roof slopes and drips stale water long after the rain has stopped. I can ignore the drops that catch the wind and sleet their way onto my face with their little nuggets of dirt inside.

From here I can see groups of kids, arranging themselves with others that match them.

The nerds, circular around a tree, discussing the latest computer technology.

The sporties, substituting catch and run for life. Letting balls and legs and arms do the talking.

I can let my eyes focus in peripheral vision without moving my head as a telltale. And if I angle my body, just slightly and not enough for anyone to notice the movement, I can get the little slices of interaction between the cool group. I can use my eyes as a casting agent might, taking a mental snapshot of each of them. The shiny group: ideal for shampoo commercials, health bars. Their tag lines could be written with ease, because I know them now.

I have watched. I have listened.

I have to remind myself to focus, though. It's necessary to switch quickly from one person to another. There are always so many exchanges, and so much to take in. They are people who live publicly. Not hidden in the shadows.

I have to be careful. The temptation is to let my peripheral vision land on Jordan and stop right there.
Exotic beauty, effortless flair.
She leans against a white pole and it becomes a backdrop just for her. Jordan has perfected the art of not giving a shit, and it becomes her. It's cruel, how it all works. For her.

I have to
tear
my eyes off Jordan. I tell myself to do it the same way I would rip a bandaid off. Quickly. Instead, I slowly start pulling, feeling the wound stick to the plaster.

It's a competition between Jordan and Lee. I can tell just by their body language. I am not stupid. Just fat. I can
see
what's happening.

It's a short movie, the sound's muted, and I find myself barracking for Lee. Go the underdog.
Wholesome and radiant. The Girl Next Door.
Lee is the sweet one. She
almost
knows I exist. She even smiled my way in English. It had been a shock, and for a frightening moment I thought I'd been caught staring. I think I looked away quickly enough for her not to notice me.

The prize is Jack. Of course. A prize no red-blooded girl would be disappointed with. Jack could be used to model a trophy. He would be gold, arms outstretched, muscular. A Jack for the mantelpiece.
Masculine, athletic and a little touch of zing.

Lee won't win. I can see that already. I'd like to be her coach, advise her to pull back a little. Stop blinking. Stop letting your feelings
spurt
everywhere. Of course it's just fantasy. It will never happen, you and Jack. Except inside your head.

I know that I will never give Lee any such advice.

I use the exchange of Twisties as an opportunity to move around the group. I force my eyes to ride from hand to packet. Cecilia takes three.
Exuding delicacy and grace.
She drifts away from the group. I notice the sliding of Twisties
beside
Cecilia's mouth. Sleight of hand, a magician's trick, but if you look closely it's not hard to figure out how it works. The Twisties remain in her hand, her hand drops down, resting against her leg, and it's only a short trip to the ground.

Then my eyes are with Meredith. She's a performer, that one, roving around looking for material to use in her act.
Vivacious smile to light up any screen
. The threat of masticated Twisties, spewing out with her guttural laugh. Overdone, you think. A touch
too
vivacious. But the others laugh.

Lee screws up her nose. She tries to act grossed out by Meredith, but it's a pretty weak decoy. Her body is permanently pointed towards Jack and Jordan.

Jordan deigns to take some Twisties. Lee turns to Jack, offering him some, but he hardly notices. His eyes are glued to Jordan. His eyes are unshifting pupils full of Jordan.

I follow Lee as she steps back, accepts defeat.

Jordan: for whom the world turns.

Meredith steps back in front of them. It's as though she has received a call back from me, the casting agent. Requires a second audition, requires more attention. And it's just as well, because I don't know whether I would have been able to change focus, to rip off the last remnants of that bandaid. She is saying something to Sam.
Typical teen. Perfect in sidekick role.
Meredith is laughing. That one is always laughing.

It makes me wonder why she is sad.

The
something
she said has slapped Sam. His cheeks are burning red. I wish I could have heard it, but it's too dangerous to move within earshot.

I have a salad roll for lunch. I am starving and want to take a bite, but that is dangerous. A big girl eating will always attract unwanted attention. Still, I take the risk. I try to do it slowly, with no sudden movements. I lift the roll towards my mouth.

It's a stupid risk. I have blown it. There are eyes on me, and although they don't
see
me really, I must swerve away.

Viewing time is over.

I look down at my school shoes. Giant boats. Let them ship me down the track to the breezeway behind the canteen.

Alone.

sam

It was drizzling. Not enough to stop the game, as far as Sam was concerned. But the others were waiting anyway, hanging around under the canteen roof. Jack was eyegoggling Jordan. Probably why he wasn't in so much of a hurry to play basketball for once. In all the years they'd been friends, he'd never seen Jack so
stuck
on someone. Even when he was going out with Tylah, he didn't act like this.

But that was just the way it was. Jordan was changing his mate, and Sam would just have to keep up.

The girls were taking forever to eat one measly packet of Twisties, stringing out the time for eating. Jack was eating a sausage roll and also taking forever.

Sam raised his hands, palms up. ‘Come on, Delanty. How long are you gonna take?'

‘Come on, Delanty. How long are you gonna take?'
Meredith ducked under Sam's outstretched hands, mimicking him.

She got his tone exactly right, the emphasis on the ‘long', the crackly voice. Sam could feel how close she came to his body. Her back to his stomach. The grey wool of his school jumper brushing against the checks of her dress.

‘Piss off, Moo,' he said mildly.

‘Piss orff, Moo.'
She swung around, laughing. She was such a stirrer, so loud. She always had so much to say that Sam never needed to say much back.

The sun came out between the clouds. There was something weird about the way Meredith was watching him. Sam felt like a pinned insect, alive and wriggling.

‘OH MY GOD! You've got BUM FLUFF, Sam! Above your lips!'

BLUSHING IS THE BODY'S RESPONSE TO STRESS. IT SENDS THE BLOOD PUMPING THROUGH THE VEINS TO REACH THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE SKIN. READYING THE BLUSHER TO RUN. TO EXECUTE THE FIGHT OR FLIGHT INSTINCT
.

The random information knocked around in Sam's head, even as he felt the blood rushing through his veins, the heat up his neck and face.

Sam registered a general sense of amusement around the gang. He didn't know where to put himself or where to look. Cecilia looked embarrassed for him. Made it worse, somehow.

Meredith, whose chatter came as fast as the Blackbird airplane.
ABOUT
3600
KM AN HOUR
. Like she was always in some kind of race. Normally it made her the girl he was most comfortable with. She never seemed to notice that Sam wasn't good at making his thoughts come out in words. That he struggled to come up with the right thing to say when Lee asked him a question. When Jordan gave him one of her withering looks, or Cecilia just let the pause in a conversation grow and gape.

Meredith filled in the gaps herself. She included Sam in her conversations, requiring only a gesture here, a word there. Sometimes Sam even felt a bit cool when Meredith was around. Not Jack cool. That was never going to happen to a guy like Sam. But cool enough.

And then a curve ball, like this. What was he supposed to do with this?

Instinctively, Sam moved into his default position. He knew it was a variation on the fight instinct. He buckled Meredith's knees with his own and spun her around into a headlock. Her back was against his chest, and she fought all the way as they fumbled through the crowd.

Sam mumbled an apology to Cecilia for making her jump backwards to avoid them. She was so skinny, so small, it was kind of scary. It was as though you'd break her in half if you weren't careful. The two of them bumped into Jack.
That
didn't matter. Delanty was indestructible.

‘No offence, Sam,' Meredith giggled. ‘I just
noticed
it, all right?'

The Chinese burn was pretty hard. Meredith was strong, for a girl. A bunch of Sam's skin went one way. Another bunch of skin went in the opposite direction. Like his thoughts.

She shouldn't have said that in front of everyone.

She
noticed
.

Sam pressed the nozzle on the shaving foam can.
RELEASED FROM THE PRESSURE INTO THE ATMOSPHERE, THE HYDROCARBON MADE IT EXPAND AND FROTH
. Sam pasted the foam onto his upper lip. He checked the lock on the bathroom door.

Meredith's comments had followed him around all day, like a shadow, and even seeped into his evening. Around the basketball court as he passed and shot the ball. Her words had melted into maths, arranging themselves around the algebra. X = flattered. Y = embarrassed. Brackets
should
tell you which part of the equation to figure out first. Where were the brackets?

This was harder than algebra to figure out. Because there was embarrassment, but there was something else too. A sort of thrill inside the humiliation that had made him shudder even as he played basketball or solved maths problems. The memory of what Moo had said jumped back at him like a zombie in a horror movie. It kept coming back. And back.

Sam was surprised that there was no knock on the bathroom door. No pleas from his big sister to let him in. No yells from his mum to come and set the table. To make things more confusing, he was surprised to find he was a bit disappointed by it.

His first shave might go completely unnoticed. It almost felt like everyone had forgotten his birthday.

Sam smoothed the foam. He lifted his nose, stretching the skin underneath. His hand was wobbly. Slow and steady, he told himself. It's not a race.

His dad shaved every morning. Every morning. How weird to think that would be the same for him, soon. Once, his dad had grown a beard. Sam's mum hated it. She had complained that he looked like a cave man. She'd vowed that 99% of females thought that beards were gross.

Sam wondered if Meredith hated beards.

He stroked the razor with small vertical movements. How strange to think that something that had taken all these years to grow, to appear, could disappear so quickly.

Sam washed the remnants of foam and short hairs and water down the plughole. He watched the foam swirling anti-clockwise. Was it true that on the other side of the world it swirled in the opposite direction?

And was his mum right, were her statistics correct? Did 99% of females hate facial hair? Sam didn't even know what one female thought.

About facial hair.

About him.

Back in his room, towel tied around his waist, Sam switched on his laptop. Broadband gave him a Google screen. He typed in his question, unsure of whether he'd get any decent hits.
How do you know if you like somebody?

Because where was the thrill coming from, the thrill inside the humiliation, if he didn't like Moo? But then, how could he be sure? He wondered whether he was doing a pale imitation of Jack. It was a no-brainer that Jack liked Jordan.
More
than as a friend. But Sam couldn't exactly ask him
how
he knew. Everything came naturally for Jack, which was pretty amazing when you thought about what Jack'd had to deal with. Jack was just one of those people who coped.

There was a surprising number of hits. At least some other sad suckers had asked the question before him.

Sam double clicked on a site.
Perfect Match
. It was written in a flowing, twirly font and decorated with hearts and arrows. It looked kind of lame, but it did seem to offer a comprehensive list of symptoms. As though liking someone might be like having some kind of disease.
THE FLU MIGHT MANIFEST IN A COUGH, OR EXCESS PRODUCTION OF PHLEGM
. Liking someone might produce its own checklist.

Is He/She
the one
?