Mr Grills—Bryce—told me to go home and get some rest. We kissed again, promising to meet the following evening. “I’ll pick you up at your place at eight,” he said, “and we’ll decide where to go and what to do from there.”
He handed me a yellow notepad and, plastering a smile on my face, I tried my best not to show that I had any misgivings about jotting down my address.
I won’t let him into the house, I thought anxiously. No, the house is definitely off-limits—to everyone. At least until I can figure out what to do with the body.
Do I actually want to move it? Dispose of it?
Too much of a hassle.
Maybe later on.
Today was a new day and, all in all, a sublime day. I felt fantastic! But I told myself I had to suppress my happiness because it wasn’t normal. I had to act as though nothing had changed.
At one stage I felt I would rupture like a volcano. Because how can anyone not overtly exhibit the feelings I was having? How can anyone bottle them up inside like something that’s hideous and offensive, something to be ashamed of?
Science wasn’t scheduled for today. I saw Bryce only once, and once was better than not at all. I just managed to avoid colliding with him in the corridor. I was emerging from the toilets and had to stop suddenly when I saw him. I was that transfixed by him, I stared unblinkingly.
As Bryce slid past me, his eyes stared straight ahead.
Other girls gazed lustfully at him as I did. I wondered how many of them had a crush on him too. But he’s mine, isn’t he? All mine.
I felt not an ounce of hurt, as I believed he didn’t even notice me. Not really. He was too busy chatting with Mr Weevil, the Year Eleven coordinator.
Mr Weevil is a fast-gaited beanpole, and Bryce was forced to keep up with him.
“I think this year we’ll have to take two trailers up there,” I heard Mr Weevil say.
“As well as the skiff?” I heard Bryce reply.
I wondered what they were talking about, specifically. But I didn’t get to wonder for long.
The corridor was swarming with students before I could remember to exhale again. Most of them were older than I. Most of them were bound for the south exit, including Bryce.
I brazenly walked against the tide, cutting a swath through the undulating crowd, at the same time getting whacked by bulging school bags and art folios. Then I heard a girl shout, “Justice! Hey, Justice! How are you?”
I turned. “Oh. Hi.”
Pander veered to the right and walked alongside me. “Where are you headed?” she asked.
“Computer lab. Mrs Sinclair said we could play games today instead of doing work.”
“Seriously?” She let out a low whistling sound. “I’m destined for the library to study for my exams. While you lot are holidaying next week, I get to sit in a stuffy room, in the company of an unfit walrus with an obvious respiratory disorder.”
The holidays! I had totally forgotten about them.
“Sounds like fun,” I said, containing my excitement.
She turned to me and clutched my arm as if she were about to pull it out of its socket. “Don’t get me started,” she warned, not being unfriendly.
“Sorry.”
“So am I.” She threw her hands up in the air, being melodramatic. “I’m sorry I live!”
“You’ll be fine.”
“You think? Hey, do you want to join me for lunch? Bain’s unwell and I’m here to suffer alone. And, you know, I may need a sympathetic ear,” she said, self-consciously pulling at her lower lip.
“Um…sure, but what about your friends?”
Pander snorted. “What friends?”
I nodded, more to myself. “I don’t have too many friends either.” I don’t know why I said it, it’s not like it’s news to anyone.
“My friends stopped making an effort when they realised Bain came first in everything. Can’t say I blame them, but they still could’ve depended on me for other things and chose not to.”
Towards the end of our conversation I was beginning to feel sorry for her, which was a complete turnabout.
“Where do you usually sit for lunch?” I asked her.
“There’s a little hill beside the gym covered in trees…”
“I know it. I’ll meet you there.”
She grinned. “Terrific. See you, Justice.”
I watched Pander walk down the corridor with an extra bounce to her step. I smiled, wondering if she was feeling the way I was feeling, like she was drifting on currents of air rather than solid ground.
The smile was in full bloom by the time Pander reached the door, pushed it open and slipped outside. I felt so happy that I started to giggle like a kid on her birthday with a squillion presents to open. A couple of students shuffled past, turning their heads to look at me. I remembered then what I’d told myself earlier, that I had to keep a straight face no matter what. Straightaway my mouth closed like a steel trap, amputating the sound.
I’m pretty, I thought exuberantly. Pretty enough to gain a boyfriend even, a great boyfriend. Even pretty enough to steal the heart of a popular boy named Caleb Brack.
And now I have a real girlfriend. A girlfriend to talk and eat lunch with, who is a self-proclaimed loner without the man she loves and who also craves companionship.
Which, I thought, isn’t entirely unlike myself.
I ached to be with Mr Grills—Bryce—but I sensed I was capable of surviving his absence. Because that’s what I am, I thought—a survivor, through and through.
Just after midday I ambled past the noisy quagmire to the little hill covered in trees. Pander was already comfortably seated, voraciously ravaging a sausage roll and a steaming bucket of chips. She looked up as I approached her, sheltering her eyes from the sun blazing high above us like a catherine-wheel. “Hey, there,” she greeted.
“Isn’t the grass wet?” I asked.
“No. No, sit.”
I sat down in the shade. The ground was patchy; prickly where there was grass, dirty where there was dirt. I crossed my legs, making sure no one could see my underwear. Pander was less discreet, I noticed.
“Sorry I didn’t wait for you to join me,” she said between mouthfuls. “I was starving.”
“That’s okay.”
She licked her fingers greedily. “Mmm. You know, I think studying burns more calories than jogging.” She added, “I certainly hope so.”
I smiled. “You’re the skinniest person I know.”
“Then my theory must be correct.”
“What subjects are you studying?”
“Bio and Chem. Blah! I hate them. But I need them more than I hate them. English and Lit. They’re okay. And Advanced Math. That’s a real hoot.”
“You sound to me like you have enough brains to give yourself a headache.”
Pander chuckled. “Yeah? Well, I do have a headache. But I think it has more to do with eye strain than too much brain.” She grinned puckishly. “I’m certainly no shmo. But I’m no wunderkind, either. I struggle to fully understand things, and I get stressed. Boy, do I get stressed! Sometimes I feel like chucking it all in and becoming a professional bum. Have myself a perpetual break, you know? But where will that get me?”
“It’ll be a waste,” I agreed.
I zipped open my bag and took out my lunch container, which used to contain Dad’s coffee grounds. Pander, who had demolished the sausage roll and chips, was now tucking into a sizable portion of homemade mud cake. Where does it al go? I wondered enviously. She watched me peel back the lid of my lunch container. She leaned forward and frowned at its contents.
“Fruit salad. That’s all you’re having?”
I shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”
“So how’s life been?”
I was half honest with her. “It’s improved a little.”
“When did I see you last? Was it two Saturdays ago?”
I nodded. “At the library.”
“We’re pathetic, aren’t we?”
“Are we?”
“Well, we spend at least ninety-nine per cent of our time at school anticipating the weekend so we can party or bludge. And when the weekend finally arrives, what do we do?”
“We go to the library to study.”
“Pathetic, right?”
“You don’t enjoy studying?” I asked her, incredulously.
“What? You got the impression that I did?”
I blushed. “Maybe not.”
“What do you think I am? A self-loathing, self-murdering masochist?”
“You think we’re killing ourselves by studying?”
“We’re certainly not making things easier for us.”
“It’ll all pan out well in the long run,” I assured her. “Do you know what you want to be?”
Pander shrugged. “I love plants and animals. Maybe I’ll become a biologist or something. I’m still indecisive. How about you? What are your love-interests?”
“Human anatomy and physiology.”
“In other words: blood and gore.”
“I suppose,” was all I said.
“You call for more brains than I do, honey. Think you’re up for it? All that hard work?”
“Sure.” I sounded confident.
“I don’t envy you. Unless you become a clinical practitioner some day, earning mega bucks.”
“That’s just about what I’m aiming for.”
“Yeah? Well, good on you, Justice. And good luck.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
She leaned forward again, somewhat conspiratorially. “Have you ever seen a dead person, Justice?”
It was a question that caught me totally off guard.
I sank my teeth into a sliver of orange and a fountain of juice squirted Pander’s elf-like face. But the girl didn’t even notice. It seemed that all she wanted was a direct answer from me. So I nodded.
“Me, too,” she said. She licked icing off her hands and pitched her rubbish into a nearby bin. Then she changed the subject.
But I was profoundly disturbed. I couldn’t focus on her words. She was saying something about her boyfriend, about an argument they recently had. Time to be sympathetic, I thought. I stared at her innocent-looking face, occasionally nodded my head—and found myself questioning her motives.
It was ludicrous to even think that she knew about Dad, yet the thought nevertheless preyed on my mind.
Or maybe it’s guilt my mind harbours.
But I have no reason to be feeling guilty, I think now. No reason at all. I did everything I was put here to do, and the world is a far better place for having done it. My actions were highly honourable. I truly believe that.
Caleb paid us an impromptu visit. “I just came by to remind you about tonight.”
I shook my head at him. “I’m sorry. I’ve made other plans.”
“You’ve what?”
“I can’t get out of them,” I lied.
“But we made plans first!” he griped.
“I know. But this is more important. I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Like hell you are,” he growled, and stalked off.
“What was that all about?” Pander enquired, shocked at his outburst.
“Nothing. He’ll get over it.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Caleb? God, no. I wouldn’t even call him a friend.”
“He’s just a guy who has a thing for you.”
“He’s just a pest, actually,” I said.
“He was awfully steamed-up. Seems to me like he really wants you.”
“Like I said, he’ll get over it.” I stood. “I’m going for a cigarette.”
“I’ll come.”