I may have managed to avoid Rochelle and her skankettes after the game but, short of performing a stunt deathroll out of a moving school bus, I couldn’t get away from them the next morning. Rochelle’s evil grin greeted me when I got on the bus. I didn’t have the energy for a face-off, so I took the first empty seat I came to, directly behind the driver. I gazed out the window, wishing I had my iPod so I could block out the whisperwhisperwhispers behind me.
I tried to distract myself by playing Maz’s favourite game, Lucky Cats. The rules are pretty simple: you count the number of (live) cats you pass and it determines how good your day will be. 0–3 cats = not good, 4–6 cats = quite good, 7–10 cats = excellent, 11+ cats = lottery win. I’d only spotted a couple of stripy tabbies when something landed with a soft thud near my feet. When I checked to see what it was, I couldn’t find the missile, but I did see the graffiti written at knee height on the back of the driver’s capsule:
Larrie + Beth = lusty lezzos 4 eva
Cornflakes rose threateningly in my throat. This bus may have been the School Special in the morning and afternoon, but between school runs it was the 592 from Kingston to Parkville Metro. All it’d take was for one of Mum’s patients to sit in this seat and word would get back to her by lunchtime.
The ink looked fresh but it wouldn’t rub off, even with spit. I took the thickest, blackest marker from my pencil case and coloured in a solid rectangle over the words. You could still read what it said if you really tried, but it’d do until I could get back with some sort of solvent to do the job properly.
The look on Maz’s face when I told her about the graffiti told me it wasn’t the worst thing written on a wall about Larrie.
She quickly changed the subject. “I think the banner needs more glitter – we’ll see how it comes up under the lights at the stage rehearsal on Friday. You are coming on Friday, aren’t you, Al? We really need you there.”
After the week I’d had, the thought of turning up to Whitlam outside of school hours, for an event I wasn’t even participating in, was about as appealing as being shut inside Prad’s locker on PE day. I was about to suggest we compromise and Maz take photos of the banner set up onstage so we could review it on the weekend when Josh approached us.
“Hey, Al. I looked for you after the game, but you’d disappeared.”
My cheeks flushed with pleasure. All those girls lining up for his attention and Josh was looking for me. Still, I couldn’t tell him I nicked off because I was scared of a few Year Nines. “Sorry, I had to get home straightaway.”
“More slaving for your sister?”
“How did you guess? It was a great game, though. You were the man of the match.”
Maz made kissy faces behind Josh’s back. I concentrated on his blue-grey eyes to stop myself from laughing. It wasn’t that hard.
“As your post on Whit’s Wit this morning said – thank you. Anyway, I came over to ask if you’re going to the SkoolDaze rehearsal. I was hoping maybe we could hang out.”
I weighed up the risk of going to the rehearsal resulting in my utter humiliation versus the opportunity to spend a few hours with Josh. Josh won. “Sure, I’ll be there. I’m helping Vertigo Pony with their backdrop and stuff.”
Josh grinned. “Great, I’ll see you then.”
My eyes followed him as he walked away. How was it possible for someone to look that good in knee-length grey flannel shorts and long socks?
Maz put her arm through mine and steered me towards rollcall. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be grateful to Josh Turner, but if that’s what it takes to get you to the rehearsal.”
“Of course I’m coming, Mazzle. I’m the president of your fan club, remember?”
“Oh, right, I forgot your dedication to Vertigo Pony,” said Maz before her face dissolved into laughter.
The thought of spending time with Josh at the rehearsal was a welcome distraction from thinking about Larrie constantly, but not enough to make me forget that she (and I, as her proxy) was still the centre of attention at Whitlam. So when Prad spotted Mitch Doherty heading for the canteen at lunchtime on Thursday, I ducked my head. The last thing I needed was for him to spot me and come over to ask after “Larrie the Lesbonator” (as she was now being referred to, if the conversation I overheard in the lower girls’ toilets at recess was anything to go by).
“What’s Mitch doing at school during study break?” asked Nicko.
“It’s his punishment for leading the muck-up day pranks,” said Simon. “I was updating the anti-virus settings in the office on Monday and I overheard Mrs Turner saying he has to sign in every day and study in the Year Twelve common room during school hours.”
“Poor guy,” said Prad. “First his girlfriend ditches him for a chick, then he has to come back to this dump while his whole year’s at home – ow! Watch it, Nicko, you almost kicked me in the goolies.”
Nicko and Simon both glared at Prad. I kept my eyes fixed on them to avoid making eye contact with Prad myself.
“What? Oh, whoops – ixnay on the esbian-lay, I forgot. Sorry, Maz, my bad,” said Prad. “Still, now that it’s out in the open, why don’t you fill us in on the gory details, Al? Do they ever let you watch?”
I picked up my bag and walked away with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances. I could hear Prad’s cries of “What’d I say?” most of the way to the Learning and Leadership Centre.
Simon found me in the library, where I was searching the internet for schools within a ten-kilometre radius of Kingston.
“Maz and I have been looking for you everywhere.”
“Well, I’m here, so you can call off the search party,” I muttered as I clicked on a link to Our Lady of Sorrows, which sounded like the perfect school to match my current mood.
Simon didn’t take the hint. “Are you okay?”
“What’s not to be okay about? I mean, besides the fact that the whole school’s talking about me behind my back? Except for people like Prad who prefer to humiliate me to my face. I couldn’t be better; thank you very much for asking.”
“Ahem,” Maz faux-cleared her throat to announce her arrival shut me up. “I see you found her, then.”
“Yep. And she seems like her usual self to me.” Simon walked away with his head hung.
I could tell Maz was preparing to give me a lecture. “What did you say? I haven’t seen him that sad since they cancelled the remake of Battlestar Galactica.”
“I know, I know. I’m mean. I’m a bitch. I should be punished.”
“Yep. But first you should apologise. I know Patchouli says we take out our anger on the people who we know love us unconditionally, but I think I just heard the poor guy’s heart snap in two.”
My face grew hot with rage. “You may not have noticed, but I’ve got bigger things on my mind right now than Simon Lutz’s heart, broken or otherwise.”
“You’ve got to get off the tragedy train and get a grip, Al. Yes, people are talking about your sister and, yes, they’re talking about you, too, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat your friends like dirt. And for your information, Simon almost decked Prad after you ran off.”
For some reason, the thought of Simon defending me tipped me over the edge, and before I could bite my lip or count to ten or pinch myself or any of the other tricks you learn to stop yourself from crying in public, there were tears in my eyes.
Maz put her arm around my shoulder and stroked my hair. “You’ll get through this,” she whispered in my ear. “I promise.”
“Oi, oi,” bellowed a voice across the room. “Looks like it runs in the family!”
Maz and I sprang apart, but not before Mitch’s yelling had attracted the attention of the entire library.
“Get stuffed, Mitch,” said Maz. “You can see Al’s upset.”
“I would be too if I found out my sister was a raving lezza. Worse luck, Larrie’s little sister.” He laughed all the way to the Year Twelve common room.
“You’ll get through this,” repeated Maz, handing me my books and leading me towards the Science block.
Al Miller needs a rock to hide under.