‘BRUCE Board likes you.’
‘I’ve never seen ’im but.’
‘He’s seen you.’ Kim had cornered me in the canteen.
‘You’ll like ’im. You really will Debbie.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s got long blonde hair,’ said Kim, sinking her teeth into a cream doughnut and spraying icing sugar all over both of us.
‘But does he like me?’
‘Yeah. You’ll make a roolly good couple.’
‘Who told you but?’
‘I can’t tell ya … but believe me.’
‘Yeah, but what if he doesn’t like me?’
‘He does. Ask Tracey. Trace!’
Tracey sauntered across the canteen. She had long blonde hair, a good figure and a top boyfriend. She was pretty, but she was tough.
‘Want a bite?’ I asked, eagerly extending my finger bun—a long, thick, usually stale bun with a strip of pink icing.
‘Thanks.’ Tracey took a huge bite and opened up the bun.
‘Oh, mint of the margarine. Check out how much they give ya.’
She displayed two measly dabs of margarine inside the slobbery yellow bun.
‘Scabs,’ I agreed.
‘She won’t believe me,’ said Kim.
‘I do!’
‘Wot?’ asked Tracey.
‘That Bruce Board likes her.’
Tracey turned on me seriously. ‘He does,’ she said, her mouth full of pineapple doughnut. ‘Look, we’ve arranged it.’
‘What?’
‘Be down the paddock this Friday afternoon.’
‘Why?’
‘Bruce wants to meetcha.’
‘But what if he doesn’t like m …’ Bbbbrrring. It was the end of lunchtime. Masses of kids full of cream buns and Coca-Cola began to move out of the canteen into the quadrangle. Tracey, Kim and I stuffed our used cake wrappers into the bubbler and gave the drink machine a kick.
Jeff Basin rushed over. ‘Lend us three cents will ya?’
‘Nu. Haven’t got none. Comin’ down the paddock on Friday?’ asked Tracey.
‘Bloody oaf. Gunna meet Boardie, Debbie? … Ha, ha, ha, ha …’
Friday morning I packed black, straight-legged Levis and blue jumper into my school bag. I buried a packet of Marlboro in the depths of my bag and went to school. I was packin’ shit all day.
‘What’ll I say but?’
‘You’ll be all right.’
‘What if he doesn’t like me?’
‘Oh, shut up.’
I changed in the back of the bus, dodging cigarettes and airborne orange peels. I pulled my jeans up under my uniform. I left on my white school shirt, tucked it in and pulled the tunic over my head. The bus driver grinned at me in the rear-vision mirror.
‘Lend us ya brush Sue.’
‘Here ya.’
Sue had changed into straight-legged Levis and a green jumper.
Tracey, Sue and I got off at Waratah Street and made the trek to the paddock.
‘Do I look all right?’ I kept saying.
We walked past Kim’s place. Her elder brother Danny was out the front washing the car. He checked us out as we walked past.
‘Hey, Debbie?’ he called.
‘Hi Danny.’
‘Come here.’ I went over. ‘Is that Susan Knight?’ he said, eyeing Sue up and down.
‘Yeah.’
‘Is she goin’ round wiv anyone?’
‘Oh … um … ah … No.’ They were both short with long blonde hair and would make a good couple.
‘Yews goin’ down the paddock?’
‘Yeah.’
‘See yas there later.’
We walked off down the highway.
‘He likes you Sue.’
‘He does not.’
‘He does.’
‘How would you know?’
‘He wants to know if you’re going’ roun’ wiv anyone.’
‘I don’t like him. I’m goin’ roun’ wiv Wazza anyway.’
‘Sue!’ I shrieked in disgust. ‘Drop Waz! Danny can surf almost as good as Deakin. Don’t you know?’
The flame trees in the paddock were swaying and tossing. It was a cold and windy afternoon. The whole gang was waiting for us—Dave Deakin, Wayne Wright, Seagull, Johnno, Glen Jackson, Steve Strachan and Hen. All the girls were on their horses.
‘Ah, Kim’s a good bucker!’ cried Steve Strachan as Kim rode Cochise into the scene. The boys sniggered and nudged one another. It was well known a girl was a better root if she rode a horse.
Everyone checked us out as we walked across the paddock. We’d learnt the special walk—small swivel of the bum, head hanging, hands glued to sides and a terribly casual bounce.
‘That’s him over there,’ whispered Tracey. Bruce Board was tall, blonde and drove a panel van. He’d left school early, like some of the boys in the gang. He was a top guy ’cause he had money, a car and a brand-new board. Now all he needed was a brand-new chick.
Bruce and I sauntered towards each other. The gang circled the chosen two, jeering and prodding.
‘Go get ’er Brew.’
‘Kiss ’er Boardie. Go on.’ The ring closed in around us. My heart was thumping.
‘Come on … We’re waitin’ …’
‘Rip in Brew. Don’t be shy …’ Sneer, snigger.
This was it. He took me by the shoulders and we kissed.
‘Yyaaaay.’
‘Ooooooh. Woo.’ Whistle.
‘We’re goin’ for a walk,’ he told me, leading me off to the bushes by the hand.
‘It only takes ten minutes,’ called out Strack after us. The boys roared with laughter.
Behind the lantana we kissed again.
‘Will you go round wiv me?’ he said.
And that was the courting ceremony in Sylvania Heights, where I grew up. Everyone was ‘going around’ with somebody. If a guy didn’t have a girlfriend, he’d just pick one from a distance. Someone about his height, his hair colour, not too fat, not too skinny and always wearing a pair of straight-legged Levis. Danny picked Sue that way.
You didn’t necessarily have to like a guy to go out with him. If he was part of the gang and he chose you, you felt privileged. You’d go out with him about three times … well, you wouldn’t actually go out with him. You’d go out with his gang to a party and when everyone else paired off, he’d lead you outside for a pash on the front fence, or a ‘finger’ behind the Holden, or a ‘tit-off’ down the other end of the hall nearly in the linen press. You wouldn’t talk, you’d just ‘be with’ him. From that night on, you’d know you were going around with him.
At South Cronulla we’d let the boys ‘tit-us-off’ and occasionally get a hand down our pants. At North Cronulla we’d progressed to dry roots. When we graduated to our new gang at Greenhills, we’d hit the big time. It was time for the spreading of the legs and the splitting up the middle.
You had to ‘go out’ with a guy for at least two weeks before you’d let him screw you. You had to time it perfectly. If you waited too long you were a tight-arsed prickteaser. If you let him too early, you were a slack-arsed moll. So, after a few weeks, he’d ask you for a root, and if you wanted to keep him, you’d do it.