I spend part of Sunday walking the long way round to Trav’s house, so I can think about The Girl. And although I know there’s something not quite right about guys going on walks – as people think you’re either smoking dope, planning a burglary, writing poetry, or just plain odd – I don’t care because I need time to think. And I come to some serious conclusions.
Conclusion One: this girl that I’ve seen is a girl I want to talk to so closely that we will share air.
Conclusion Two: if this girl wanted to go for a walk, and she had a little fluffy white dog, and I had to carry the poo-poo bags, I’d still be in.
Conclusion Three: this is a girl I’d do coffee with and enjoy it.
Conclusion Four: this girl is simply beautiful.
Conclusion Five: I will never forget Amelia-Anne Sorenson, who will stay fourteen and three quarters forever.
Conclusion Six: I think I definitely need time to chill.
We watch TV, Trav on his bed, and me on the beanbag which belongs to Dot, Trav’s dog. At the moment, Dot’s out at the park with Trav’s little brother, Dillon, who is fourteen and has no personality. So he takes Dot, in the hope she might help him meet some girls. This is win-win, because if Dot were here, she’d get nothing from watching television, and I’d have to sit on the floor.
‘Work Experience tomorrow.’ Trav turns down the volume, some Nascar silently smashing at three hundred kilometres an hour. ‘Y’all set for Car City?’
I am, and I’m nervous. Stuffing up at Work Experience isn’t hard to do.
Last year, one guy from school set the factory he was working in on fire, which was an achievement considering it made fire extinguishers. And another kid, possibly on purpose, freed seventeen pigs at a piggery, half of which were killed on the freeway, so not very successful from an animal liberation point of view. And there was some other kid who fractured his skull whilst test-playing a piano, but I didn’t really hear the finer details.
Anyway, I hope not to do too much damage at all.
‘Think positive.’ Trav stands to stretch, hitting the light. ‘We can do lunch. And you might see that girl. Things could work out.’
Immediately my heart skips a beat, which reminds me how stressful it is to be in love. Or that maybe I really am freakin’ sick.
‘Yeah, I hope so. And lunch is on.’ I give my chest a hit, which seems to fix the heart problem. ‘Yeah, that girl.’
Which is all that I can say. So I say it again.
‘Yeah, that girl.’