Six (8 page)

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a monk. I’ve been out with plenty of other girls. By Year 8 I’d figured out what girls liked. I watched some of the other guys. Mostly they were loud and joked around. The girls ignored them. So I tried something different. I stayed quiet. I’d duck my head if a girl came near me. I got a reputation for being shy. Shy? Yeah, sure, whatever works. And it does. What I learned was, some girls love a challenge. They just knew that they were the only ones who could kiss me and turn the frog into a prince. And even when I broke up with them, I somehow made them think it was their idea. So we stayed friends. Which was good, ’cause usually I had my eye on their best friend.

I’ve got a talent. Can’t deny it.

I’ve never touched any of the girls at school. Not too much. It’s not part of the plan. There’s a rumour going around that I’m a virgin, and that suits me fine. I guess they don’t know what I’ve got going at work. What happens in the cool room at tea break with Claire Zimmerman from the deli is between Claire and me… and maybe Mr Keating who might have seen us when we were late back from break once. And, I guess, anyone who watches this blog.

Sorry, Claire, hope that doesn’t ruin your rep.

Eighty-nine days to the Formal.

I amped up my Virginia Sloan campaign at the start of Year 12. Nothing too forward. I loaned her a textbook in English when she didn’t have hers. She didn’t have hers because I’d stolen it from her locker. Don’t ask me how I got in. It’s easy when you know how. I did the head duck all through English. I didn’t look at her once, though I did drop my pen near the end of the lesson and managed to touch her legs. She didn’t even notice. Or maybe she did. That’s when I started thinking that maybe Virginia Sloan might have had the hots for me.

‘Thanks, Cooper,’ she said when the bell rang.

The guys on the basketball team call me Hoops, but mostly I’m called Cooper. It’s my last name but I like it better than Tom. Not even Thomas, just Tom. So Cooper’s my name. Don’t wear it out.

(Laughs)

I’ve been mowing the Sloan’s lawn for a couple of months now. Mrs Sloan offered me the job when I told her I was saving to buy a car. She seemed surprised that my olds weren’t going to give me one for my eighteenth. In fact, they probably will. But I just told her I wanted to pay my own way. She was so impressed she nearly hugged me. I think Mrs Sloan would like to hug me. A couple of times she’s touched me on the shoulder. It’s understandable. I’ve only met Mr Sloan once. He has lots of friends in politics and fancies himself as a chance next election. He asked me if I’d registered to vote yet. Maybe he was trying to joke around with me or something. Mr Sloan is really old, an uptight citizen wearing a suit — even on the weekends! Hey, note to Mr Sloan if you’re watching this. Man, you have gotta lighten up. No one was meant to wear a suit 24/7. I wouldn’t mind taking your wife on — she’s not bad for her age — but it’s your daughter that I’m after.

Virginia Sloan watches me mow from her bedroom window. I get to her house on Saturday afternoons after my morning shift at the supermarket. I don’t mind the work. I use the Sloan’s mower — it’s like the Rolls Royce of mowers — and I start at one end of the garden and work my way up and down in strips until I’m finished. Sometimes I have to take my T-shirt off because it’s hot work, but I always make sure I have a singlet underneath. It’s a tight fit and shows off my body. I think I have good arms. They’re muscled without being over the top. I’ve got weights in my room and I work out whenever I need to burn off some energy. Nothing too drastic, though — I don’t want to end up like those guys without necks.

So I get into the zone and mow the lawn. I never look at Virginia’s window. Not straight at it. Sometimes, though, out the corner of my eye, I see her curtains twitch and I know she’s there.

‘Keep looking,’ I think. ‘Get a good look at what you’re missing out on.’

Usually Mrs Sloan will make me stop for a cold drink. I hate that, because it breaks up the rhythm, but I always smile and thank her. Sometimes Virginia will walk past as if she is looking for something and then seem surprised to see me there, even though the mower’s been making the noise of a fighter jet right outside her bedroom window.

‘Oh, hi, Cooper,’ she’ll say, and I’ll duck my head and mumble.

She’s close now. I’ve just got to reel her in.

The other reason I don’t like to stop for a drink is that Virginia’s brother, Oliver, is on to me. He’s a couple of years younger than Virginia. As soon as I sit down and take that first sip of cold drink, he appears from out of nowhere. He never says much, but sits and listens to his mum and me talk. He sits close to her, like he’s protecting her or something. I always smile and try to talk to him about stuff that he likes, but it doesn’t fool him. Sometimes I see him watching me at school, when I’m shooting hoops or checking out the timetable. I feel like saying, listen Bud, it’s your sister I’m after, not your mum. I guess it’s nice that he cares.

I don’t want to make my move too soon, but I can’t leave it much longer. I don’t want Virginia hooking up with someone else before the Formal. There’s talk about the after-party already. That’s what I’m really aiming for. The Formal will be just a dull dinner with dressing up and tablecloths and mind your manners, but the after-party is where it all happens. Tamara Deng’s offered to have it at her house, which is perfect. I hear she lives in a mansion with a pool and spa and huge back garden with trees. Lots of trees. Lots of shadows to hide in.

I can’t wait to touch those legs again.

And some.

Eighty-nine days to go.

I’ve already booked a car. Some kids have booked a Hummer to take them to the Formal. I’ve booked a Jaguar. I’ll have my licence by then, but you’ve got to have a zero blood alcohol level when you’re on your P-plates and there’s no way I’m not drinking that night. So, a chauffeured Jag to pick up my date. That’s class for you.

Two hundred and eleven days and this is all over.

The Formal will be over.

School will be over.

Everyone’s talking about Schoolies, but I think it’s all a bit lame. I want to start living. I don’t need to hang around with those losers any more than I have to. Hey, no offence, Silver Valley losers. Some of the girls have already had a cry in the corridors or home rooms, talking about how things are never going to be the same, how we all need to keep in touch.

Oh yeah. Like I wanna be stuck with these people for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t mind catching up with some of the girls, just for old times sake, but the rest of them…

I’m not sure how Virginia fits into my plans. I can’t really see past the after-party, but I’ll probably let her hang around for a while.

I’ve got my RAS — Responsible Alcohol Serving — certificate. The only decent thing the school has ever offered. It’s all part of the plan. I’ll probably just work my way around the world as a bartender.

A bit of money, a bit of travel, a world full of babes.

I think I’d make a good bartender. Make a lot of tips. The thing I know about is customer service. It doesn’t take much to be nice to people. You might be having a bad day, but you’ve just got to hide it. Sure, some people will give you a hard time. But most only need a smile or a helping hand to give them that warm and fuzzy feeling.

Word of mouth. That’s the key to success.

So just follow my advice, you can’t go wrong.

Eighty-nine days.

There are only eighty-nine days to go before Virginia Sloan is all mine.

Virginia, if you’re watching this, I think you’re a really hot chick.

I hope we had fun.

Oh dear

what can the matter be?

THAT AUTUMN IT was clear to me that Poppy and I were growing apart. It wasn’t that she had a boyfriend and I didn’t, because that was situation normal for the whole time we’d been friends. And it wasn’t that I was focused on study, although I was, and Poppy was being her normal laid-back self of just enough was good enough. The thing that was causing a large wedge between us was Poppy’s insistence that her Power was real.

Poppy had turned eighteen and I was sick of waiting for her to grow up; sick of the talk about auras and intuitions. Sick of the childish games she stuck with — the fortune telling, the sudden fits of illness which supposedly foreshadowed a coming tragedy. We didn’t talk about what was happening, didn’t discuss the distance between us.

It came to a head after a couple of weeks into first term. Poppy and Nico were ‘soooo in love’ and had seen each other practically every day since they got together. Poppy in love was nothing new, but this thing with Nico seemed different somehow. There were no frantic highs and lows that I could see. No major showdowns, no tearful accusations, no second-guessing his motives. It didn’t make sense to me, this strange pairing, yet watching how they were with each other would often cause my heart to twist — a little pain that I didn’t examine too closely.

Whenever I rang or texted Poppy she was with Nico. A quick catch up on the weekend meant a quick catch up for the three of us. Instant messaging online was still an option, though I always felt the shadow of Nico behind each of Poppy’s answers. If her replies took too long, paranoia would set in as I imagined them discussing my last remark. I began to take more care with what I typed. She used to be over at my house a lot, but now there was always an excuse and I gave up asking her. I wondered how much longer this intenseness with Nico would go on, because, frankly, I was over it.

On the upside, Nico and Finn were best friends, which took me into the one degree of separation territory. Whenever Poppy invited me out, Nico was usually around, which meant that Finn was sometimes there as well. Poppy promised she hadn’t told Nico about my crush on Finn and I made her promise that she never would.

Sometimes, when the four of us were together, the girl from The Woods would pop into my head, but mostly I didn’t think about her. I know that might sound selfish or harsh, but there was so much going on and I had other things to think about. And those rare times that I did think about her I felt guilty that my life was going on while hers had ended. No one likes to feel guilty.

Meanwhile, Poppy’s mum was kept busy on the case, though she never told Poppy what was going on. Poppy tried talking to me about the girl a couple of times, but I shut her down. I guess that was her way of processing things, going over every little detail, but it made me uncomfortable and it usually involved talk of her Power, which just annoyed me.

So there we were, waiting for the boys to meet us at the cinema, when Poppy started up her ramble about that day in The Woods and how obviously her Power had been tuned into the situation, when I snapped.

‘We’re not in Year 7 any more, Poppy. I mean, if your Power can’t actually help anyone, like that girl, then what’s the point?’

I felt bad as soon as the words left my mouth. Fighting with Poppy was like fighting a fluffy kitten, all soft and playful and vulnerable. And even while I was thinking that, I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of my mouth.

‘Poppy, it was fun when we were younger, but enough now,’ I said. ‘The tooth fairy isn’t real. Nursery rhymes are for babies. Spookiness and ghosts are for little kids.’

Poppy peered into my face as if searching for something then she slowly shook her head.

‘What happened to you, Sarah?’ said Poppy. ‘Are you breaking our promise? Are you turning into just another boring adult?’

Then the boys arrived and she clung to Nico and gave him an extra-long kiss, which left me feeling awkward and excluded. The excitement about sitting next to Finn in the darkness of the cinema was stamped out. I just wanted to go home.

OF COURSE I apologised. Afterwards. But I meant what I said, we both knew that, so the distance between Poppy and me remained.

And I didn’t know how to cross it.

She went to the baker

to buy him some bread

but when she came back

the poor dog was dead