The Yearbook Committee (16 page)

         
Gillian Cummings
is more than a little sick of numbers and percentages. And not just because of my upcoming Maths test.

Tonight, we're actually eating dinner in the dining room. There are no mobile phones in sight, Dad is participating in the conversation and the TV has been off since he came home. In our family, this could only mean one thing: he's doing well in the polls.

I don't monitor the polls like I used to — Dad pays more attention to them than he does to me. And I don't like feeling inferior to percentages. Fathers are supposed to get angry over missed curfews, seedy boys and skirts that are too short; my dad loses his cool over news reports.

But tonight, things are different. Dad is relaxed, Mum is not being her usual ‘darling' self — it's like we're a normal family.

‘So, Gillian, did the UAC book arrive?' Dad asks. ‘Have you had a look through it?'

I nod. ‘Yeah, but I still don't know . . .'

He shakes his head. ‘I knew from a very young age —'

‘— that you wanted to be the premier of New South Wales,' I finish. ‘I know. I just need more time.'

‘You don't have that much longer,' he points out.

I sigh. ‘I'll figure it out. There's a careers day at Sydney Uni on Saturday. I might ask my friend Matty if he wants to come.'

I wait for him to ask about Matty, but he doesn't. Neither does my mum, because she already established he's ‘just a friend'.

‘That sounds like a fun idea,' Mum says, taking a sip of wine. ‘As long as it's not on a Wednesday.'

‘Nope, it'll be on a weekend.'

‘I want to own a juice bar,' Sammy says wistfully. ‘Maybe Matty could work at mine.'

I smile at him affectionately and Dad nods in approval.

‘A business man,' he says. ‘A fine choice for a fine sir.'

Sammy giggles excitedly, then starts making pictures with his peas, while my mum makes worried faces.

‘Told you the chairs would be a mistake,' Dad tells her. ‘Who gets white dining chairs?'

‘It's the latest style!' she says, as if he should know better.

‘I'm supposed to represent the average Joe,' he tells her for what seems like the hundredth time, as if he really believes it. ‘I don't need the latest style.'

‘You don't need a fancy car either, but it's OK to have one of those,' she says.

I look from her to him in amusement — I've heard the same banter over and over again. I decide to change the subject.

‘I was thinking Teaching,' I say, plucking a career out of my head just to make conversation. ‘Or Childcare?'

‘Do you want to come home smelling like baby poo and
vomit?' Mum asks, looking at me like I'm an idiot. ‘Gosh, I could barely hack it with you lot.'

‘She got a nanny,' Dad says, looking at her with bemusement. ‘Even though she didn't have a job.'

‘Now you look here, Peter Cummings,' she says, pointing a fork at him. ‘Everything you achieved was with me by your side. Being an attractive wife is a full-time job. All those blowdries and charity events; having to make small talk with boring politicians at those stupid functions you drag me to . . .'

‘I could do Law!' I pipe up, wondering how I got them here.

‘Oh, don't be ridiculous, Gillian, you have no backbone,' Mum says, sculling her glass of wine. ‘Hmm, I'd say we're done here.'

‘Well, I guess I just put her in a mood,' Dad says, as she gets up to collect the plates.

He pulls out his phone and goes to his office to spend time with percentages instead.

When I grow up
, I think,
I just want to be at peace
.

On Saturday, Matty and I go to the careers day at Sydney University as planned, and we meet at Burwood Station in the morning and catch the train to Redfern. We're quiet as we make our way to the university through the suburban streets, absorbed in our surroundings. The buildings around here are old — older than the ones in Croydon — and they have plenty of character.

‘I could be an Aboriginal and I wouldn't even know it,' he says.

‘I guess the dad issue is still on your mind, then,' I say.

‘As if it wouldn't be,' he says. ‘You don't get it — your family is right there, you know them.'

‘Yeah, though sometimes I wish I didn't,' I say.

‘Things will get better after the election,' he says. ‘I'm sure of it.'

I just shrug — I'm not so sure. My mum would still be selfish, and my father would still just be wrapped up in something else, something other than his kids.

‘Could you maybe do a little digging?' I ask, changing the subject. ‘Look for old letters, legal papers?'

‘I've never gone through her stuff behind her back,' he says, looking conflicted. ‘It would feel weird.'

‘Well, it's either that, or go on without knowing.'

‘That's true,' he says, exhaling. ‘What a screwed-up position to be in.'

We spend the next hour walking among stalls, checking out the facilities and peeking inside study halls.

‘There are so many clubs,' he says, peering at all the signs. ‘Charlie would love some of these.'

‘Too bad she's still set on Monash,' I say shrugging. ‘Though I'm sure they have feminist clubs there too.'

‘Probably,' he says. ‘Hey . . . did you know that the school soccer team is in Melbourne this weekend?'

I whip around, fast. ‘
What?!
'

He nods conspiratorially. ‘Ryan and Charlie could run into each other,' he says.

‘No way,' I say. ‘She's probably hanging out with Pete and her other Melbourne friends. She wouldn't be near a soccer field . . . It's a big city.'

He shrugs, but doesn't say anything. We just look at each other for a moment.

‘Just quietly, though,' he says, leaning over, ‘don't tell her I knew.'

‘As if,' I say. ‘She wouldn't have changed her plans anyway.' I walk off, signalling for him to follow me.

I see him mulling over my words, then he comes after me, as if he understands.

Later, we sit in the sun in the quadrangle, eating hot chips with gravy and drinking cans of Coke.

‘Thanks so much for coming with me today,' I say to him. ‘I know you only came because I was scared to come alone. Though I'm glad you at least took a pamphlet.'

‘Hey, it's no big deal,' he says, swallowing a mouthful of chips. ‘If it helps you decide, it's worth it.'

‘I think I like the idea of some of the Media courses,' I tell him, flicking through brochures I've collected. ‘It would be good for my blog. That chick I told you about — the one who sends me outfits — she said she's willing to pay if I make sure I'm pictured wearing her clothes next to my dad in the papers.'

His eyes widen in amusement. ‘Are you gonna do it?'

‘I don't know,' I say, wrinkling my nose. ‘What if there's a contract? You know, one that says photos must appear or whatever. And then no photos show up in the newspapers . . . I suppose I could put them on Insta and Snapchat but what if it's not enough? I need, like, a manager . . .'

‘Study Business — then you can do it all yourself.'

I shrug. ‘Maybe,' I say. ‘I really don't know.' I eat a forkful of chips, knowing I'll regret it later.

‘This place is massive,' he says between mouthfuls. ‘You're never going to be able to find your classes.'

I shove him. ‘My sense of direction is not
that
bad,' I say. He giggles and takes another chip.

‘It's really nice here, though,' he says. ‘It suits you.'

I smile in agreement, taking a sip of my Coke. ‘I think so too,' I say. ‘But . . . Lauren wants to come here.'

‘And?' he asks, looking me in the eye. ‘What difference does that make?'

‘I want school to be the end of my interactions with her,' I say.

‘So let it be,' he says simply. ‘Reinvent yourself. Pretend you don't know her.'

‘Do you think she'll be popular at uni too?' I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘I don't think uni works that way,' he says. ‘Plus, that depends on whether or not she gets in. Doesn't she need an ATAR of, like, 96 or something?'

‘Yeah, it was 95.5 last year,' I say. ‘But she's probably just going to pay her way in anyway.'

‘Money talks,' he says, closing the empty chip carton and standing up. He extends his hand to me. ‘Shall we do some more exploring?'

We decide to explore the quadrangle then sneak in to one of the upstairs areas, where the offices are quiet and rows of pictures line the walls.

‘This campus has so much history,' he says, looking around. ‘We should have done the tour.'

‘It would have taken us eight minutes to get lost,' I point out.

He nods, then stops to lean against a window and look out below.

‘Awesome view,' he says. ‘If you decide to come here, I'll definitely come visit.'

I smile. ‘I have no idea what I want to do, though.'

‘You're loving the yearbook,' he says. ‘Why not publishing? Or something in the care industry — you're good with Sammy, and you're kind of like the affectionate one on the yearbook committee.'

I laugh. ‘Yeah, compared to Charlie and Tammi,' I say. ‘That doesn't mean anything — everyone is more affectionate than those two. Although Charlie's control does border on care . . .'

‘Who are you kidding?' he asks, turning back to the window.

‘Woah,' I say, spotting an old picture on the wall. ‘I found your '80s doppelganger!'

He comes up behind me. ‘Where?' he says, his breath on my neck.

‘Here, look,' I say, pointing. ‘“The USYD Business School's Entrepreneurs Club 1986.”'

‘Sounds nerdy,' he says. He peers more closely at the picture, then stands up and scrunches his face at me.

‘Don't you think he looks exactly like you?' I ask.

He stoops down again. ‘I don't see it,' he says finally. ‘Come on, let's go.'

We're making our way downstairs when he feels his pockets and declares he's lost his phone. ‘It probably fell out of my pocket upstairs,' he says. ‘Wait here; I'll run up.'

I don't buy it. I give him a head start, then quietly sneak up behind him. I hover at the entryway to the hallway and peek around the corner.

Matty is standing in front of the picture again, staring at it. After a few seconds, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture. I jerk myself away and try to make my way down the stairs quickly and quietly.

‘Find it?' I ask, when he comes back outside a few minutes later.

He holds up his phone.

‘Cool,' I say. ‘Home time?'

We don't talk much on the train ride. He listens to his music, and I play on my phone. Well, I pretend to.

I want to know if he too feels that picture could mean something, and that's why he's not talking to me.

We say goodbye at the station. As soon as I know I'm out of his sight, I punch in the name that I memorised, wondering if I have spelt it correctly.

Stanislav Reyznoliksi

Just another name from the past? Or a firm clue to the future?

         
Ryan Fleming
is stoked to have kicked another a goal. Well, not literally, but it still counts.

         
David DeLooka
PAAARRRRTYYYY.

         
James Czalo
^ This one is here for all the wrong reasons.

         
Patrick Anzilierio
What did you expect Jimbo? Esp after that plane ride #neveragain #butwestillneedtoflyhome #allthelols

‘That'll be three-fifty, thank you,' the girl at the kiosk says to David.

‘Three-fifty for water?' he asks incredulously. ‘Jeez, that's steep.'

I sigh and make an awkward, apologetic face at her as he counts the silver in his hand.

‘Not your fault, obviously, but what a rip,' he says, as he hands over his money.

She just gives him a polite half-smile.

We head off, but after about five metres, he stops again.

‘Dude, come on, you can drink it on the bus. I can barely see the team any more.'

‘Relax,
dude
, it's Melbourne, not Malaysia,' he says nonchalantly. ‘We'll find them.'

I sigh again, keeping my eye on the trail of school jerseys off in the distance.

‘That chick was cute,' he says after we start walking again. ‘Think I should go back and get her number?'

‘After you told her off? Really?'

He shrugs. ‘It's not
her
shop.'

‘You don't know that,' I point out. ‘Anyway, that doesn't change the fact that you made a pretty bad first impression.'

‘Blah,' he says. ‘I just got here. There's probably hotter chicks around.'

Even though I know David's always been all talk, I think of Tammi. How did she put up with him for so long?

We catch up with the rest of the team and board the shuttle that will take us into the city.

‘Ok, boys, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once,' Coach says, in his signature loud voice. ‘This is the first year that we've qualified for the Australian Interstate Interschool Soccer Cup, and I'd like it if weren't our last. We played hard, and we deserve it. Special mention to Fleming — a real sport doesn't abandon his team even if he can't play and I know he'll be an invaluable asset as we plan our plays. Please take some time this weekend to thank him for his off-field support.' He pauses for the collective cheers and pats on my back, then continues. ‘That's it from me. If you need anything, come find me or Mr Sheppard. And don't make me regret bringing you.'

He sits back down and we all get talking again. Before we know it, we've arrived at the hotel.

‘Stop taking up the entire footpath,' Coach bellows as we hover around the bus, trying to collect our bags.

‘Hey, isn't that that chick from school with the pole up her ass?' David says to me, gesturing across the street. I look where he's pointing and see Charlie.

‘Yeah,' I say, waving. She waves back and makes her way over.

‘Aww, man, why'd you do that? Now we have to talk to her,' he grumbles.

‘
You
don't have to do anything,' I point out.

She crosses the street and smiles. ‘I was hoping I could walk by without you seeing me,' she says honestly.

‘Hello to you too,' I tell her. ‘What are you doing here?'

She shrugs. ‘My mum and I made a deal that I could come down during school holidays.'

‘Your mum is so cool,' I say stupidly, cursing myself for not thinking of anything better.

‘What a great conversation,' David says, sarcastically. ‘Such a shame I need to go and unpack.'

‘He's such a dickhead,' she says, scowling after him.

‘Yeah, well, he's not so crazy about you either.'

‘I didn't know you guys were coming this weekend.'

‘Yeah, sorry I didn't mention it, I didn't think you'd care.'

She shrugs. ‘Meh. It wouldn't have made a difference,' she says. ‘I was coming anyway. And who would've thought we'd run into each other?'

I look away, unsure of what to say.

‘So this is where you're staying?' she asks.

‘Yeah. You?'

‘Just around the corner. Oaks on Collins.'

‘On your own? I figured you'd stay with friends or family.'

‘I don't have much family, and my friends love an excuse to come to the city. Plus I prefer being on my own.'

‘Is it safe, though?'

She looks amused. ‘Same as everywhere else really. I'm going to be moving here in a few months; I better get used to it.'

‘So you're not even giving Sydney a chance?' I ask.

‘It's just not my cup of tea.'

‘Well, Melbourne's not mine, then.'

‘Gee, I hope I'm never on your debating team.'

‘The feeling's mutual,' I tell her. ‘Actually, it's not. I'd never want to be on an opposing team to yours.'

‘Wise choice,' she says, looking at her phone. She slips it back into her pocket and gives me a sincere smile.

‘You should check out the city if you have free time,' she says. ‘It's pretty awesome.'

‘I have a ton of stuff to do — team bonding, helping Coach out with plays, stuff like that,' I say. ‘Speaking of team bonding, want to work on the yearbook since we're both down here? We're a little behind . . . Monthly meetings were a big mistake.'

She rolls her eyes, pulling a Sharpie out of her bag. ‘Forget the work and go exploring. It will be worth your while. Buzz if you need some tips.'

I look at the scribbled digits on my forearm, as Charlie walks away.

‘Fine, don't say bye,' I call out after her.

‘Well, I didn't say hi either,' she calls back without turning around.

She has a point
, I think, heading through the doors of the hotel.

Inside, the rooms are decent and spacious, with a basic kitchenette and a sizable bathroom. David has already spilled the contents of his bag on the floor. He emerges from the bathroom in a robe.

I laugh. ‘You look like a douche.'

‘Best part of a hotel stay,' he says. ‘Feel it, it's like magic.'

‘I'm not feeling the robe.'

‘There's another one. You should wear it,' he whispers. ‘We can be robe buddies.'

‘Yeah, because that doesn't sound seedy.'

He laughs and hurls himself at the bed by the window, his robe flying up.

‘Aww, man, wear something underneath it at least,' I say, grimacing.

‘So when are you gonna bone that chick and get it over with?' he says.

I whip around. ‘Don't ever say that in front of her,' I warn him. ‘She'll go on a never-ending feminist rant.'

He shakes his head. ‘Chicks like that just need a good, hard —'

Thankfully, a knock at the door interrupts him.

‘Boys, meeting in the lobby in ten minutes. Don't be late,' Coach says.

‘Looks like you're gonna have to get dressed again,' I say to David.

‘How much slack will I get from Coach if I go down like this?' he asks mischievously. ‘It'll be funny, yeah?'

‘Yeah — and it'll be even more hilarious when he bans you from playing the first game,' I point out. ‘Don't be an idiot; the team needs you.'

‘Yeah, especially because you're so wussy about your leg and won't get on with it.'

I turn away so he doesn't see the murderous look on my face. ‘I've told you, man,' I say. ‘Doctor's orders.'

‘Then why come down?' he calls out from the bathroom, where he's putting on his pants.

‘Because I haven't stopped being part of the team,' I tell him. ‘And I don't need to remind you why it is I can't play.'

‘Here we go again,' he mumbles as we walk out the door. ‘How many times do I need to say sorry?'

However many times it takes to mean it
, I think, following him down the hall.

He walks nonchalantly before me into the lift. I take a deep breath and count to three, just like Nanna had told me to, as I press the button for the ground floor.

Next to me, David snaps a selfie in the mirror, oblivious to the chaos he leaves in his wake.

The bitterness builds up inside me, and I clench and release my fists, trying not to let it get to me.

‘One day, it could spill over,' Nanna warned me once. ‘And David shouldn't be around when it does.'

‘Dude, wake up, you've been asleep for hours.'

I wake up to find David standing above me, dressed in a collared shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and chinos.

‘Have you really taken off that robe, or am I dreaming?'

He chuckles. ‘Get dressed. We're going out.'

‘Now?' I yawn. ‘What's the time?'

‘7.30, and Melbourne is waiting for havoc,' he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling, a twinkle in his eye.

‘I don't think I have the energy to get out of bed, let alone wreak havoc,' I tell him. ‘We've had a big few days.'