Maz met me at the bus stop the next morning. I think she was worried that I wouldn’t make it through the school gates if someone didn’t force me. She may have been right. My stomach felt like it was being twisted in a vice that tightened with every step we took towards assembly.
“It’s going to be fine,” said Maz, although the waver in her voice suggested she wasn’t so sure. “Chances are, something even more gossip-worthy happened over the weekend, and everyone’s already forgotten about Larrie and Beth. Hungry beast and all that.”
For a nanosecond I let myself believe it was possible. But the fact was, even somewhere that claimed to be as broadminded as Whitlam, the most popular girl in school hooking up with her nerdy gal pal was about as high as the gossip stakes got.
Maz said I imagined it, but I could have sworn that when we walked through the hall the usual pre-assembly chatter was replaced by an unnatural silence in our wake. I prayed my cheeks weren’t as stoplight red as they felt and kept my eyes on the floor until we got to our seats. It was hard to believe that a week ago I’d been sitting in this hall celebrating the start of my new Larrie-free life and now, thanks to her, it was over.
“You can’t spend the rest of your school life avoiding everyone,” said Maz, dragging me out of the locker room at lunchtime. “Besides, these are your friends. You’ll see, it’ll be like any other day.”
Despite Maz’s assurances, it didn’t feel like any other lunchtime at all. Usually on a Monday there’d be loads of talk about what everyone did on the weekend, and moaning about what homework didn’t get finished or how far away the next holidays were. But when we sat down between Prad and Simon, the group went quiet. Finally, Tracy broke the silence.
“Josh Turner was looking for you. He wanted to make sure you’re going to the match against Parkville High tomorrow. Something about you bringing him luck.”
I smiled for the first time since Saturday night.
“Have you forgotten that Mr Masch is letting us rehearse in the hall tomorrow?” asked Maz. “You promised you’d come.”
“But that was before I told Mr Dempster I’d cover the soccer for Whit’s Wit – I can’t let him down. Besides,” I added quietly, “I thought I’d blown my chances with Josh. Now I might have another shot.”
Maz’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. If you’d rather play cheerleader to a guy you barely know than support your real friends, that’s your choice.”
“Who’s cheerleading?” asked Simon, taking out his earbuds as the bell sounded the end of break.
I whipped round to face Maz to be sure she spotted my raised eyebrow before she answered. She sighed in acknowledgement. “No one, we were talking about a hypothetical situation.”
Simon nodded, accepting everything at face value, as usual.
It was awkward going to the game by myself but there was no way I was going to miss an opportunity to see Josh, especially since I hadn’t heard from him since Saturday’s regrettable text exchange. And I figured that if he’d gone to the trouble of making sure I was going to the game, he either didn’t care what people were saying about Larrie or – even better – he hadn’t heard.
I timed my arrival for just after kick-off, to give people less time to notice me. Thankfully, there was a big crowd of Whitlam students for me to blend into, and they were more interested in shouting down Parkville’s supporters than they were in me. I shuffled past a large group of Year Nine girls to get to the last empty seat in the front row so that I could get some photos of Josh in action.
By half-time Whitlam was winning 3–1. Josh spotted me and winked as he ran back onto the field, which made the Year Nines crane their necks to see who’d caught their idol’s eye. Including Rochelle Sullivan, who, if the graffiti on our school bus was to be believed, was a) tough, and b) skanky. She nudged the girl next to her and whispered in her ear, then the second girl nudged the girl next to her and did the same thing, and so on. When they reached the end of the row, the whole group swivelled their heads in my direction.
If Maz had been there, she would have tried to convince me that they were staring because they admired me, or because they knew Josh liked me. But Maz wasn’t around and I knew there could only be one reason for them to be so interested. By the time the whistle went and Whitlam was declared the winner I felt like some sort of freak. I’d take my place in sideshow alley between the bearded lady and the mermaid: behold, Sister of a Lesbian! (Not that it was true.)
I wanted to congratulate Josh after the game but he was surrounded by a sea of admirers, including Rochelle and her skank posse. I figured hanging around would leave me open to attack in front of Josh, so I decided to send him a message while I waited for the bus instead. There was already a queue at the bus stop.
I’d got as far in my texting as:
Congrats on the game, sorry I didn’t get to
when I heard the Year Eleven guy in front of me say to his mate, “That’s her – the lezzo’s sister.”
I didn’t need to lift my eyes from my phone to know who they were talking about.
I rummaged in my bag so that I could make an obvious show of going back to school to get whatever it was that I hadn’t found. My cheeks and eyes stung. I couldn’t go back to the sports field, so I stopped halfway, at the car park, to consider my next move.
“Need a lift?” asked Simon, who must’ve come straight from rehearsal. “Mum’s picking me up for a driving lesson in five minutes.”
My first instinct was that I’d rather walk the thirty minutes home in the dark than spend five making polite conversation with Simon, but I figured the less time I was out on the streets of Kingston, the fewer chances for people to point and stare, so I went against my gut and accepted.
I’d hoped our wait for Mrs Lutz would be in silence, but Simon didn’t take the hint from my crossed arms and refusal to make eye contact that I was in no mood to chat. “Tough week, eh?”
I grunted in response, which he misinterpreted as an invitation to keep talking.
“Maz told me you’re worried about what people are saying, but I reckon you should throw it back at them. I mean, Larrie’s gay, not a terrorist or a murderer. Who cares what she and Beth do together, right?”
Wrong. So wrong.
“Anyway, I want you to know that it doesn’t make any difference to me. I mean, to what I think of you.”
“Thanks,” I replied flatly, stopping myself from adding that he was the one person at Whitlam whose opinion of me I couldn’t care less about. “But Larrie’s not gay.”
Simon carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. “If anyone hassles you about it, just let me know. I may not be a tough guy like Mitch Doherty, but being this tall does have its advantages when there’s a point to be made.”
The thought of Simon rushing to my side like a ginger-afroed knight in shining armour made me shudder. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but you have no idea what it’s like to have the whole school looking at you funny because of something that’s completely outside your control.”
“Um – hello, I’m six-foot-four and my hair has been compared to Ronald McDonald’s. I think I have some idea what it’s like to be looked at funny.” Simon paused, waiting for me to laugh. When I didn’t, he continued, “Besides, you said you wanted all of Whitlam to see what Larrie’s really like.”
Was it possible for someone to actually be so clueless or was this an act Simon put on to annoy me?
“What Larrie’s really like is a selfish, overrated diva,” I said. “As proven by the fact that she’s left me to deal with this mess while she’s conveniently on study leave.”
Simon shifted from one (ginormous) foot to the other. “I get that you’re upset about finding out about Larrie and Beth and everything, but it’s just gossip. People will lose interest in it soon enough. I mean, no one talks about Prad streaking at the athletics carnival any more, do they?”
“That was different,” I said. “Besides, Tracy and Lily set up a fan page for Prad after those photos came out, so it didn’t exactly hurt his reputation, did it?”
Simon sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t get it.”
If Mrs Lutz was surprised to see me again, she didn’t show it, perhaps because she was so wound up in anticipation of Simon’s driving lesson. I slumped in the back seat in case anyone from school saw me in the Lutzmobile, peeking up as we drove through the village. Say Cheese’s lights were out, but someone was using Jay’s nemesis payphone. It astounded me how many people didn’t have mobiles. How did they survive, having to hunt down public phones all the time?
When we got to my house I made sure I said thank you for the lift, knowing if I didn’t it’d get back to Mum before you could say “mind your manners”. I took a deep breath before turning my key in the front door, preparing myself to march straight up to Larrie’s room and force her to sort out the mess she’d made of everything.
“Hello, love,” said Dad when I walked in. “Do me a favour and go help Mum with dinner. She and Larrie had a tiff this afternoon and your sister stormed off to Beth’s.”
Al Miller is sick of picking up the pieces.