I kept glancing out the window, attempting to summon a dark mass of tempest clouds like an army of bellicose storm troopers, and praying for a deluge. But the sky remained extraordinarily clear. The stars were out. I did my homework. I did the household chores. I wasn’t especially tired. Fact was, I didn’t have a valid excuse not to go for a walk. I hankered for another cigarette and, interestingly, as the urge to smoke intensified, I started to talk myself into going for one.
A procession of meddling thoughts trampled my brain cells, giving me a splitting headache: Somebody in this gargantuan universe is willing to share a cigarette with me. To sit beside me for a length of time and chat and…I don’t know, actually breathe the same air that I breathe.
And even though I don’t particularly like this somebody, even though for the past four years I’ve had the utmost desire to kill him, at least I won’t be alone…
And I do savour my own privacy. It’s true—I am a recluse. Yet sometimes I like to have company. I need to have company.
And let’s face it, never before this historic day have I been the recipient of such an invitation. A good-looking boy requesting to meet with me at a secluded place to do only God knows what with him…
I was excited, and somehow completely cool about it.
I washed and scrubbed my face and reapplied make-up. I put on my coat and scarf and headed out the front door; I locked it behind me.
I was early—fifteen minutes early—but that was okay. So was Caleb.
I wondered if he was eager to see me or if he had simply forgotten to wear a watch.
Jutting out from a tall cluster of reeds is a little pier that’s hardly bigger than a piece of driftwood afloat at sea. In the gloom, Caleb, who was standing on the pier with his back to me, appeared to be suspended directly over the water, approximately eight feet of it. A teenage miracle-worker in scuffed Nike sneakers and common-brand jeans, I thought jocularly. My own shoes, which are still in mint condition, were loud on the wooden planks, causing him to turn.
“I was beginning to doubt…” he said, his voice sailing off over the still landlocked water.
“I’m not even late.”
“I know, but…” He shrugged.
Is it possible that he’s more nervous than me? I wondered sceptically.
Nah.
I jammed my fists in my coat pockets, feeling the arctic wind.
“Cold?” he asked.
“I’m used to it,” I replied standoffishly.
“Yeah. You come here a lot. Don’t your parents worry?”
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I sat down, allowing my legs to dangle over the end of the pier, the soles of my shoes barely skimming the lake’s darkled surface. Caleb sat down beside me. His left knee knocked against my right one. “Sorry,” he said.
A tiny aircraft circumnavigated the sky, a flickering dot amongst the more constant ones that were the stars. The crescent moon hung crooked to the west, like a backward comma bleeding white light onto a discoloured page.
It was surprisingly luminous, because when I turned, I could see Caleb’s eyes watching me; two incandescent orbs balanced evenly in a haze of darkness. I didn’t smile at him. I refused to. I could feel my heart thumping in my temples. Lucky me, I was getting a migraine. My mouth was parched and I had to constantly moisten my lips with my tongue.
“You’re not being very subtle,” I told him accusingly.
“Oh?”
“Your eyes have been glued to me all day.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“What are you? Some kind of enamoured fan?” My voice was thick with sarcasm. “Or are you here for someone else?”
Caleb vigorously rubbed his bare hands on his thighs to warm them. “It is freezing, isn’t it?” he observed. “I’m as cold as a nun’s tits.”
I frowned. “Charming,” I muttered, looking askance at him. I extracted a cigarette and a lighter from my right coat pocket and lit it. The hot flame quivered brightly in the dark. “You’re a guy, aren’t you? Tough it out,” I said. “Besides, it was your brilliant idea to come here.” I took a drag from my fag and kept on frowning.
“And you wouldn’t have come here anyway?”
“I skip some days.”
“It’s a nice place to visit.”
“True.”
“You’re a girl. Admit it, it’s romantic.”
I blinked at him through a rising smoke-spirit, surprised that he would know anything about being romantic. He was grinning.
“I’m no tender-hearted fool,” I confided. “I puke at gooiness and sentimentality. But yeah, it’s romantic. What has that got to do with us, though?”
He opened his arms wide, as if to enfold the lake and everything else we could see in them. “I’ve set the scene for the birth of a beautiful…friendship,” he said.
“Friendship,” I echoed. “Wow.”
“You want more than friendship? Okay.”
“Hang on. I didn’t say that.”
“Your tone implied it.”
“What is it about sarcasm that you don’t understand? It implied that I want less than friendship. I want us to become less than mere acquaintances, in fact. How about we become total, all-out, look-the-other-way-as-we-pass-each-other-by strangers again.”
“Sorry. Been there and done that, time for something new.”
“Want a pen-pal?” I tried. “I can write letters to you, saying how much I don’t miss you.”
He laughed. He wasn’t taking me seriously.
“Caleb,” I began sternly.
“I have something to confess,” he interrupted, eyeing my cigarette.
I looked at the cigarette also. “You don’t smoke,” I guessed.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t until now. Why the falsehood?”
“I had to lure you here somehow.”
“Lure me? Is this a trap?”
“No.” He chuckled, somewhat guiltily. “Here’s to good health, anyway,” he toasted.
“And an even better death,” I thought out loud. I took another long drag and blew out a stream of smoke. “What’s this all about, Caleb? You deliberately ignored my question earlier on. Are you here for yourself or for someone else?”
“For myself, Justice. There is no one else.”
“There’s just you and me,” I said inimically.
“Mmmm.” He sounded like he was studying a tray full of pastries and cakes and had finally decided on what dessert to have.
“And?”
“Well, would you like me to be honest with you now?”
“Please, don’t injure yourself on my behalf.”
He chuckled again. “You’re an intelligent girl.”
“I don’t know about that, Caleb. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re confused,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s understandable. I’ve never given you the time of day.”
“Actually, you have. Remember the time I bumped into you in the corridor and you said, ‘Watch it, you ugly fleabag’?”
“You jarred my elbow,” he said unrepentantly.
“So you felt you had the right to cuss me? Even after I apologised to you?”
“I wasn’t about to hit you back.”
“Perhaps you should have. It would’ve hurt less. Anyway, my hitting you was an accident.”
He didn’t respond.
“You knew that,” I said.
He shrugged.
“That was just one example,” I told him. Then, shaking my head reproachfully, I said, “I don’t know why I’m here. I could’ve not shown up.”
“I understand that, too. I have been a real ’hole.”
“Among other things. I still don’t get why you asked me here.”
“You’ve changed.”
There was that word again— changed.
I uttered my own warped version of a mirthful laugh. “It’s as simple as that?”
“I’m attracted to you now.”
“Tell me you’re attracted to me because I have a knack for communicating with you.”
“All right. If that’s what you want to hear.”
“But it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“No,” he said. “Whether you believe it or not, you’re actually quite a pretty girl, Justice.” Now, I could almost hear him add again.
I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice and didn’t want to. “Don’t you dare soft-soap me.”
“You are. Don’t worry, I’m having a difficult time believing it myself.”
“So you base everything on looks. If I were still my old self, the one who pretty much repulsed everybody, you’d still be ridiculing me—and getting an almighty kick out of it.”
“Basically.”
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“I’m being honest.”
“Yeah? Well, excuse me for not appreciating your honesty. It sucks.” I added, “You suck.”
I stood. So did Caleb.
He said, “You’re not leaving.”
“Yes, I am,” I told him bluntly. I flicked my cigarette butt at the lake. I watched it hit the water, fizzle out and die. A duck might mistake it for a bread crust, I thought too late. “Because I’ve known since that horrible day I met you what you’re all about.”
*
That was last night. Today I saw him queuing for lunch at the canteen. He was talking with Maisie Roebuck, a dark-haired, sloe-eyed beauty with breasts that are bigger than mine. Caleb probably has a crush on her, too, I thought despondently. He’s probably apprising her of our meeting at the lake. Twisting the facts, no doubt, to make himself look like a hero. It’s no wonder they’re laughing.
Pain stabbed my chest, as if someone hurled a rock at me. It caused my eyelids to flutter. It wasn’t anything physical, but a feeling I sometimes get just before I cry.
I didn’t cry, however. I walked off before Caleb and Maisie could see me, before they could start pointing and make a real scene.
I tend to avoid the oval. That’s where the popular people congregate. But because it had rained this morning, the oval was wet and muddy and very few kids had elected to go on it. Only those who were willing to kick a football and get themselves thoroughly dirty.
I accidentally stumbled upon their second hangout. They were milling about the woodwork department, six girls and five guys. Two of them were missing, of course.
I managed to pass them without breaking into a full-fledged run, and had my back to them when one of the guys—Law, I think—called out. “Hey, Justice! Come here!” Not an insult, I realised, but an invitation to join them, to become one of them.
I glanced back over my shoulder, caught Rhoda elbowing Law in the ribs. Kitty’s hatred was palpable. She glared at me like she wanted to cremate me with the fire blazing in her eyes, turning me into a screaming inferno of flailing arms and legs. I was almost scared of her, but some inner voice told me not to be—ever again. And I listened to it.
I wasn’t watching where I was going. I bumped into someone—someone warm and solid and masculine.
I turned, knocking their chin with my nose.
Mr Grills’s hands steadied me. “Whoa,” he exclaimed. His brown hair trailed over the nape of his neck like ribbons of silk. His blue eyes were shiny with unvoiced laughter. “You of all my students ought to know that we don’t have eyes in the back of our heads.”
I wanted to laugh hysterically like a crackpot and simultaneously bawl my eyes out.
“Are you okay, Justice?” he asked, because he is so aware of life that nothing seems to elude him. Not even me.
His concern for me is genuine, I thought. I have never met anyone as genuine, smart and witty as Mr Grills.
I nodded, wanting him to embrace me, but also wanting to be strong. “Fine,” I said, rubbing my nose. “Apart from a minor restructuring of the face. My fault, though. Sorry.”
“Something hold your attention?”
“Nothing important,” I assured him.
I looked over my shoulder again. Most of them, I noticed, were staring at us. Caleb was there, too. He couldn’t take his eyes off me, even when Kitty bent forward to whisper something confidentially in his ear. He looked mildly hurt.
Such an avid audience.
Other students capered about us like people-shaped kites caught in a windstorm.
“Mr Grills?” I said.
“Yes, Justice?”
“About that essay.”
“Oh, how are you going with it?”
“I’ve nearly finished.”
He winked at me. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
I blushed. “But I’m having trouble referencing it. Do you accept footnotes?”
“Yep.”
“Good, because I wasn’t looking forward to rewriting the blasted thing.”
Mr Grills laughed, making me feel good inside. “I can’t imagine you objecting to rewriting an essay.”
I wished I had science next. But I had English with plain old boring Mrs Sinclair. We always seem to have English.
About halfway through the lesson, somebody nudged my arm. I looked up from my paperback to find somebody’s hand frantically waving a note in my face. I considered ignoring it.
I knew intuitively that the note contained bad news for me.
I reached for it.
Don’t, I told myself.
I took it reluctantly and held it under the table to open it, so Mrs Sinclair wouldn’t catch me with it and tell me off. The note read: Boys your own age aren’t good enough for you? The cheeky caption crowned an illustration of a man’s penis, fully erect.
I didn’t all of a sudden become unhinged and tear the note into a thousand itty-bitty pieces. I knew it was a souvenir from Kitty and Rhoda. I sensed them watching me still, whispering and smirking.
It’s no big deal, I thought imperturbably. It’s nothing compared to what they’ve done to me in the past.
I folded the note up very carefully and tucked it into my pencil case. Next, I picked up my book and pretended to read. Pretended, because my head was altogether consumed by thoughts of Mr Grills (it was his penis they’d drawn). However, the thoughts were comforting. They made me feel important. Protected.
I managed to slip away before anyone—Kitty and Rhoda primarily—could collar me and ask more questions. I wanted to be at home in case the woman showed up.
The police had warned Shirl Toby against visiting the house without my consent. Yet the possibility of her defying them and covertly returning to the house troubles me, weighing constantly on my shoulders like a large fragment of granite. I worry, also, about Dad’s former boss calling again, perhaps to renegotiate his terms of employment. I haven’t heard from Mr Yasko since the previous Thursday—nearly forty-eight hours after I killed Dad.
There’s a small courtyard outside the principal’s office that I often walk through to reach the teachers’ car park and the arterial road beyond. Caleb must have anticipated this, because all of a sudden he was plodding along beside me, panting heavily as if he had run from one end of the school to the other. He more than likely had.
“It is true?” he demanded. Beneath an expensive pig suede jacket, his school uniform was immaculate. His tie wasn’t the tiniest bit askew.
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Is what true?”
“The rumour that’s circulating.”
“It must be true if it’s a rumour—specially if Kitty or Rhoda started it.”
He grabbed me by my coat sleeve, halting me. “Is it?”
I roughly shook him off. “I don’t even know what the rumour is!”
“You and the science teacher. What’s his name?”
“Mr Grills?”
“You and Grills. Is something going on between the two of you?”
Instead of screaming at him to mind his own business, I just sighed like a worn-out parent struggling to educate and discipline her fool nincompoop of a child. “Apparently so.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means everyone can think what they like,” I said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Go to hell,” I expanded for him.
“Only when I’m good and ready,” he rejoined. “Is it true? Yes or no?”
“No.”
“It’s not true?”
“Why are you badgering me? I thought I made myself clear last night; I don’t like you. I will never like you.”
“That’s because you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”
“What? You’re not a tormentor and a snob?”
“Just because my family is rich and I hang with certain people, doesn’t automatically mean I’m a snob. Haven’t you heard that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?”
“Nor should you judge a sausage by its shiny overcoat.”
Mum used to say that, when I was little. It used to make me laugh.
It didn’t make Caleb laugh.
“What?” he said.
“Never mind.”
“You agree with what I’m saying, right?”
I shook my head and scowled. “No, I don’t. If you think like that, then you’re a stranger to yourself. You don’t know who you really are. You don’t know who I really am.”
“Makes no difference.”
“If I were to convey the truth to you, Caleb,” I said, “it would make a difference. It would make a big difference.”
“Marshall, you talk too much as it is.”
I spluttered, “Well, get used to it! On second thought, piss off instead.”
Caleb persevered. “I’m a nice guy. Ask anyone. Ask my mother.”
“Your mother probably doesn’t know jack about you. Is she aware of the way you treat people who are different, Caleb? Does she realise how partial her nice son is?”
“Come on, Justice. I’m sorry about all of that, but it’s in the past.” His delectable smile was strained. “We’re living in the present, and we have to make the most of it. That means holding no grudges, right?”
“Forgive and forget.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head again, saying nothing.
“Give me another chance,” he persisted.
“This is a joke. A really bad joke.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m being serious. I want another chance with you. Let’s go out again.”
“Excuse me for being literal, but we didn’t ‘go out’ last night. We met some place and argued for five minutes.”
“Then we’ll literally go out tonight,” he shot back. “We’ll go on a date.”
“I’m sorry. But you and I…Caleb, we’re incompatible. We’re complete opposites!”
Not to mention I loathe you, I thought, and wish harmful things upon you.
His grin was sly. “We’re both good-looking. That’s all that matters.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered. His overweening vanity doesn’t cease to astound and infuriate me.
Caleb was amenable. “Thanks.”
“Unbelievably stuck-up.”
His expression hardened. “Hey. You should be flattered, not insulting.”
“Flattered? Because Caleb Brack wants to be my special friend? I don’t think so.”
Caleb took a step closer and tried to tower like a bully, but it doesn’t really work when you’re about the same height. He spoke through clenched teeth. “You just be thankful that I like your mouth, rather than want to plug it with my fist.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked disapprovingly at him. “A snob and a browbeater. Careful, Caleb, you’ll get me swooning.”
His eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, he started to grin again. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “This is the way you operate. It’s a little weird, but weirdness can be good.”
I was nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re flirting with me. This is the way you flirt. You gibe and insult me, but at the same time you really want me.”
I wasn’t amused. “What if I told you to get lost? Wait, didn’t I already do that? Did you think I was flirting with you then?”
“Yep. I know you really want me to stay. And maybe even get a little…” His actions communicated the rest.
I said, “I’ve had enough,” then I turned and commenced walking across the parking lot. Caleb followed suit, not quite matching my pace.
Looking straight ahead, I saw Mr De Visa getting into his car. Then I spotted Mr Grills, and my heart trotted faster. I could hear his car keys jingling, almost musically. He saw me and waved. I waved back.
“Is that him?” asked Caleb, who was still two steps behind me but gaining on me fast.
“Yes,” I answered curtly.
“I’m better than him.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“And you’re selling yourself short.” He tried to grab me and turn me around, but I was already running from him.
“Mr Grills!” I shouted.
He was standing beside his car now, fumbling with his keys. His left knee was raised up against the rear door, balancing a plastic crate brimming with textbooks and folders. He was wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. My eyes strayed on that bit of exposed chest located below his collarbone. The porcelain-smooth skin gleamed like a very noticeable bald spot. It made me think impure thoughts about him, which isn’t like me at all. His jeans were tight, I noticed. Surely tight enough to be uncomfortable (although nobody was complaining, especially not me), hugging the smooth curve of his buttocks and—
I quickly lifted my gaze. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, so I couldn’t tell where he was looking. But I think he caught me admiring his assets.
Shamed, I ducked my head a little so that my hair partly covered my face. Like hell Caleb’s better than him, I thought.
Mr Grills smiled. “Yes?”
I halted several feet from him, unsure of what I was doing. “Um…Do you need a hand there?”
“No, I’m fine. But thanks.” He managed to find the right key and unlock the door all on his own.
“Do you go home by way of Dorsal Road?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“I do.”
“Great! I mean, would you mind giving me a lift? I’m in a hurry to get home. We’re expecting some people over.”
Looking back at the school Mr Grills hesitated, and I was sure he was going to say no, but instead he said, “Yes, I don’t mind. Hop in.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
Mr Grills dumped the books onto the back seat, got in and unlocked the passenger-side door for me. I climbed in before my brain could tell me to do otherwise.
“You’re awfully nice to be doing this,” I said to him as I fastened my seatbelt.
Mr Grills adjusted the rear-view mirror. “It’s no problem.”
“But you must be sick of me by now.”
“Sick of you?”
“Well, students in general.”
“Some students, sure. But not you, Justice.”
I blushed considerably. “Well, anyway. Thanks.”
Once we were out on the main road, gliding effortlessly through mid-afternoon traffic, he said, “You must think I have few patient bones in my body.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean …”
He laughed. “You meant well, I know. For a teacher, I’m kind and chivalrous.”
“You are,” I said.
“I’m insightful, too.”
“I know it.”
“And funny.”
“Funny like an undetectable odour.”
He laughed again. “You’re funny,” he pointed out.
Are we flirting? I wondered.
My palms were sweaty. I blotted them on my pinafore. I noticed that my legs were spread slightly apart, and quickly squeezed them together.
“And I’m extremely observant,” he said.
I assumed he was still flirting with me. I just smiled at him.
He said, “You’re not in an awful hurry to get home, are you? You were running from that boy.”
I stammered. “No. I …”
“He was harassing you?”
I hesitated. Then I nodded. “But if you hadn’t come along when you did,” I said earnestly, “I could’ve handled him.”
“I’m sure you could have.”
I wondered if Mr Grills honestly thought that, or if he was humouring me. To think that he was humouring me made me feel a tad ill.
“Anyway,” he said cheerfully, “I’m glad to be of service to you.”
“I am in a hurry,” I said woodenly.
“Who isn’t these days?”
I gazed out the window at the swiftly passing houses and shops. I felt my stomach clench shut like a drawstring bag. What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself.
Dorsal Road was a torrent of lumbering vehicles. Windshields, both front and rear, reflected the winter sunlight, stabbing the naked eyes of people passing by like winking icicles. The blustery wind sent bits of rubbish scrambling for shelter beneath parked cars.
“On which street do you live?” he asked me.
“Peachy Street. But you can just drop me off at the last intersection.”
“I don’t mind driving you all the way.”
“I’d prefer that you didn’t.”
“Suit yourself.”
I said, “I’ll feel like a nuisance.”
“That’s because you are one,” he joked.
Neither of us laughed. There was a moment of near-awkward silence.
Then he asked me seriously, “How old are you, Justice? Sixteen?”
I nodded.
“You’re very mature and smart for your age.”
“Thank you. I guess.”
“You guess? You mean, you don’t recognise a compliment when you hear one?”
“I’m not used to hearing them,” I said quietly.
He eyed me curiously. “What’s happened to you this past week?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You’ve…I don’t know, blossomed overnight, almost.”
I was negative. “Blossomed like a weed, I suppose.”
“No,” he answered soberly. “Like a beautiful flower; a rose.”
I looked out the window again and murmured, “A rose has thorns that aren’t so beautiful.”
Mr Grills eased his foot down on the brake pedal. He pulled the car over to the kerb. Leaving the indicator on and the engine running, he took off his sunglasses, turned to me and held out a hand. “That’ll be ten dollars, please,” he said.
I frowned. I couldn’t help it.
“What is it?” he asked me.
“Ten dollars,” I replied distractedly.
That’s what started it all.
Or was it getting my period?
Actually, no. It started years and years ago, even before I was born.
“I was only kidding,” he said. “I’m funny, remember?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I remember. Thank you for the lift.”
I struggled to undo the seatbelt.
“Here.”
I jumped when Mr Grills reached to undo it for me. He looked at me with teacherly concern but said nothing.
“Thanks.” I grabbed my bag and clambered out.
“Justice?”
I looked back in at him. He was still leaning forward, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
“Sure.” It sounded like a lie even to me.
“Is there something on your mind?”
“You mean, besides current electricity? No, Mr Grills,” I said. “Everything’s…ordinarily fine.”