Am I in Zeke’s arms or is he in mine?
Neither of us is leading – I don’t think either of us knows how to dance to disco music – but we’re both moving – clumsy, loping, accidentally stomping on one another’s feet.
I’m too dizzy and bleary to even make out the faces staring on at us, but I know none of them are friendly: you can feel the waves of disgust radiating at us across the ballroom. I’m glad I’m half-cut. If I were sober, dancing with a boy in front of a crowd would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maybe it is and I’m just too drunk to realise it yet.
Zeke grabs my forearms in a monkey grip and pulls back against me, spinning around on the dance floor. I grip back and spin against his weight; we twirl in a circle, the only people on this lonely and incredible dance floor.
I’ve never seen Zeke like this: there’s a spark in his eyes and a confidence to his movements. It’s like the old Zeke burned down and this new one crawled out of the rubble – charred black, stained with charcoal, but reborn.
I’m glad he survived the fire, because I didn’t.
In fact, I died all week.
My first death was at Hannah’s place on Monday arvo. Rocky was on the hood of his red VT Commodore as I rolled up on my push bike, since my scooter was still painted fucking pink.
‘Hannah told me to tell you to go home,’ Rocky said.
‘I just got here.’
‘She doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Why not?’
Rocky kicked a pebble at me. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to her, do you, Charlie? She’s barely keeping it together.’
‘She’s barely keeping it together?’ I repeated.
‘Just rack off.’
‘I’m here for rehearsal. We can’t play as badly as we did at the Summer Dance. Nobody will ever want to hire Acid Rose again if we fuck up two shows in a row.’
Rocky slams his hand on the hood of his car. ‘Mate, how are you not getting this? We’re done. Acid Rose is over. We’re doing the wedding gig and then that’s it.’
‘You can’t just kick me out.’
‘We’re not kicking you out. We’re out. I’m out. Hannah’s out. We’ve left the band. There’s nobody left to kick you out. It’s over.’
‘Right.’ I got back on my bike. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t even show up on Saturday.’
‘If you don’t, we’ll lose our fee.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘It’d be good for you to know how it feels to lose something.’
I skipped school Monday and Tuesday. I couldn’t deal with any of it. And if Brother Murphy was going to expel me anyway, what did it matter if I wagged?
On Wednesday I ordered a pizza delivery for lunch, and my mobile rang five minutes later. I thought it was the pizza place, so I answered. Rookie mistake.
‘Charlie. It’s Brother Murphy here.’
‘I’m home sick, Brother. Can’t talk.’
‘I know you’re wagging, son. Listen, we haven’t been able to get hold of your mother. I’d like to invite her to meet me. You’re invited, too.’
‘She’s in Perth. Dunno when she’ll be back. Sorry.’
‘You can’t hide forever, Mr Roth. Your actions have consequences.’
‘My actions?’ I said. ‘What about the actions of Razor and all them pricks? They humiliated me.’
‘The school takes a firm line on bullying. Those responsible for that stunt will be spoken with in the harshest possible terms.’
‘But not as harshly as you’ll speak to me?’
‘We had a talk before the dance, didn’t we? I made the school’s position abundantly clear, and you deliberately committed an extremely lewd act with Mr Hammersmith in front of the entire dance. It runs against the ethos of this school.’ He paused, and I could hear him lick his lips. ‘This is the school your father desperately wanted you to attend, and look how you repaid his investment. Do you think he’d be proud?’
‘Oh, fuck no, Brother,’ I said, deadpan. ‘I think he’d be so ashamed he’d probably hang himself.’
‘That’s … not appropriate to say.’
‘Am I expelled, or suspended?’
‘Well, that’s for me to discuss with your mother. Does she have an alternate contact number?’
‘Nup. She doesn’t like you, anyway.’
‘Charlie, you need to calm down.’
‘Hey, Brother, what happens if I tell you what I really think of you? Reckon that’d be enough to get me expelled?’
‘If you used inappropriate language, it would,’ Brother Murphy said tersely.
‘Good. Because I think you’re a festy old cunt.’
‘And you, Mr Roth, are no longer welcome at this school.’
‘Cool,’ I said. ‘See you never, motherfucker.’
Mum and Fitzy came back on the Thursday morning Greyhound. They were in the middle of an argument when they got back to the house. Mum told Fitzy to go crawl up his own arse and die. Fitzy called her a fat old bitch with a loose box and slammed the door off its hinges. He took a pouch of port wine-flavoured tobacco from the chest pocket of his baggy polo shirt and began to roll a smoke. She walked past me in the kitchen and went straight for a packet of strong codeine.
She swallowed four.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘That’s too many.’
‘Piss off, Charlie. I’ve got a splitting migraine and the normal ones don’t work.’
She waddled into the lounge room, fell into the couch and turned on Dr Oz.
‘Don’t you want to know why I’m home in the middle of the day?’ I asked her.
Mum swatted her hand in front of her face, like I was an irritating blowie. ‘I don’t care if you wag a day here and there.’
‘I got expelled, Mum.’
Mum changed channels. ‘Well, what was their reason?’
‘I dropped the c-bomb on the principal.’
Mum snorted with laughter. ‘Bet that made him yip, poncy little Irishman.’
‘Mostly it was because I kissed a guy at the Summer Dance.’
Mum made a face. ‘Stupid boy. You’re at a Catholic school.’
‘Well, I’m not anymore. I’m expelled.’
‘What do you want me to do, son? I’m not going to go down there and argue about it. You did the crime, you do the time. You can’t just get off scot free, you know.’
‘So what do I do? Go to the state school?’
‘Why don’t you work it out, Charlie? It’s your mess. You work it out. Take responsibility for once. I’ve got a helluva headache. I just need some peace and quiet without you hanging around me like a bad smell.’
‘What if I don’t want to go back to school ever?’
‘What do I care? Get a job. Go on the dole for a bit. Whatever you want. You’re a big boy, now. I don’t need to hold your hand and change your nappy, do I? Lord, almighty, sort yourself out.’
‘Maybe I’ll just sort myself out like Dad did.’
Mum slammed her flabby arms on the sides of the couch. ‘Christ, Charlie, it’s bad enough that you’re a bloody queen, don’t be a drama queen, too.’
‘Fine. I’ll go to my room and never come out.’
‘Good,’ Mum said. ‘Stay there until you’ve grown up. Now, leave me alone.’
I spent Saturday morning on top of the abandoned primary school, egging some losers and listening to music.
When I got home, Mum called out from the lounge room, ‘About time. Your mate’s waiting for you in your room.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘What mate?’
‘How should I know? He’s in your room.’
‘Don’t take advantage of him, Freddie Mercury,’ Fitzy called, before wheezing a laugh.
I opened my bedroom door to see Matt laying down on the foot of my bed.
‘Thought it might be Zeke,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Matt shook some small metal objects in his open palm; they rattled like dice. ‘Left my cuff-links here after the dance,’ he said. ‘They were my pop’s. Need ’em for a do in Northampton tonight.’
I stayed on my feet. ‘You could’ve got them and left before I came home.’
‘Well, turns out I wanted to see you, doesn’t it?’
‘You gonna say sorry for last weekend?’
‘Me, say sorry?’ Matt frowned. ‘Don’t think so.’ He swallowed, his oversized Adam’s apple bouncing. ‘Listen, Charlie … we’re really different people …’
‘Yeah, we are,’ I say. ‘I text you XOXO or love hearts and you tell me you fucking hate it and that it makes me weird.’
‘I just don’t see us working out as, like, a couple or whatever.’
‘You already stormed out last weekend,’ I snapped. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m happy on the down low, man. I’ve got Dad’s farm to run, and a whole life in Northampton – and that’s not gonna change. I don’t think you’re happy with that.’
‘What are you even on about?’ I spat. ‘I never said anything about this.’
‘I …’ He swallows. ‘I really like you, Charlie. But it’s over.’
This death hurt more than any of the others combined.
‘If it’s over, then get out,’ I said, holding back tears. ‘Why even bother coming all the way here just to hurt me?’
Matt rolled into a sitting position. ‘I wasn’t planning on drawing it out,’ he said, facing me directly with grey, empty eyes. ‘Just thought it was right to tell it to your face – and actually see you as I say it.’
‘Oh gosh, thanks Matty,’ I said. ‘You’re so right. This is way better than getting stabbed in the heart via text.’
Matt moved for the door. As he passed me, he leaned in suddenly to kiss my cheek. I held my hand up to deflect him and his wet lips pressed into my empty palm.
‘Don’t even,’ I said. ‘Piss off.’
And he did.
After Matt leaving, nothing would ever hurt me again, and I knew that with certainty.
Not my band dumping me.
Not my school expelling me.
Not my heartless mother.
And definitely not dancing to some gay disco music in front of two hundred strangers. That was barely a scratch.
The Kylie Minogue song finishes and me and Zeke are left, sweaty and arm-in-arm, in the middle of the dance floor. He’s panting; his face more alive than I’ve ever seen it.
I think I’m panting, too.
Suddenly, strong hands clamp down on my shoulders. A man who smells like olives pushes my head down and shoves me off the dance floor.
‘This way, Gino,’ a male voice says. ‘Get them out of sight.’
‘Dad, get off me,’ Zeke splutters nearby.
‘Don’t say another word, Zeke,’ the male voice growls.
People murmur around the fringes of the ballroom. For these sheltered adults, two boys dancing together is an untold scandal.
Zeke and I are shunted into the corridor that leads to the ballroom, and then into a storeroom that smells of fresh paint. Zeke’s dad closes the door. The older guy stands back, folding his arms and fixing me with a look of disgust.
‘You completely humiliated yourself,’ Zeke’s dad says, standing rigidly with his fists balled at his side. ‘You humiliated me and your mother. You have ruined your brother’s entire wedding. You have made me more ashamed than I have ever been in my whole life.’
‘Dad, stop it,’ Zeke says. ‘It was just a dance.’
‘Shame on you!’ his father spits. ‘How could you do this to us, Zeke?’
‘Do what?’ Zeke shouts. ‘Dad, I can’t help it! I’m gay!’
His dad winds up and punches Zeke square in the face – the thud of it whacks my eardrums just before Zeke’s cry of pain does. His dad rubs his knuckles as Zeke shrinks into the corner, sobbing and grabbing at his face. A drop of blood falls from his nostril to the thin grey carpet.
‘You are not a homosexual!’ Zeke’s dad shouts. ‘Listen to me.’ He grabs his son by the shoulders and shakes them. ‘You’re a good boy. You’ve always been a good boy. You’ve just been confused by this –’ he rounds on me ‘– faggot.’
‘Don’t call him that,’ Zeke whimpers. There’s a lot of blood on his white shirt now. His nose doesn’t look broken, but his right eye is swelling up fast.
‘Gino, take Zeke to the car,’ the dad says to the other guy. ‘Zeke, you can wait there until this wedding is over.’
Zeke doesn’t move. The older guy grabs him gruffly by the shoulders and steers him out of the storeroom and into the corridor. He doesn’t even blink in my direction.
The door shuts. I’m alone with Zeke’s dad.
‘What did you do to my son?’ he demands. ‘Did you touch him? Did you do anything to him?’
When Fitzy first started getting aggro, I used to imagine what I would do if he ever tried to lay a finger on me. I’d square up to him and punch him back twice as hard as he could punch me. Thankfully, we’d never physically come to blows like that. And now, tonight, I realise that it never would have gone the way I thought, because, when you’re a skinny sixteen year old and there’s an angry, fully-grown man staring down at you ready to beat the shit out of you, you realise how weak you actually are.
So I back myself against a shelf as Zeke’s dad towers over me. Some punk I am.
‘I didn’t do anything to him. He asked me to dance. That’s it. We’ve never done anything.’
‘And it better stay that way!’ he yells. He raises his fist to my jaw and holds it there, the muscles and sinew in his forearm tensed. ‘If you ever come near my family again, I’ll end you. I mean it. I’ll kill you. I don’t care if I go to jail for it. You understand me?’
‘Yes.’
He glances sideways at the spots of Zeke’s blood on the carpet. His fist uncurls slightly, but then he wraps his hand around my shoulder and squeezes it hard, until I cry out with pain.
‘You ever see Zeke again, you’re dead,’ he growls. ‘Now, get the fuck out of here.’
He lets my shoulder go, and I don’t waste time in running for the doorway. A death threat is just one more death for my week. I run down the hotel corridor, each day of the past week flashing before my eyes – a whole row of tombstones in the cemetery my life has become.