‘Okay,’ said Andrew. ‘Let me summarise your argument so far.’
We’d gone back to his place after school. I hadn’t mentioned the state soccer squad offer to him because I was doing my best to forget it.
‘You’re thinking about performing in the Milltown’s Got Talent competition because your mystery texter suggested it, and for some reason you think it’s a good idea to follow his or her suggestions …’
‘It’s not so much …’
Andrew held up a hand. This was happening often lately.
‘Shush,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking, and that’s a delicate matter at the best of times. If you talk I’ll lose my thread and go and play video games instead.’
I shushed.
‘But your problem,’ he continued, ‘is that you get panic attacks when you’re the centre of attention, so you want to perform an act in front of the whole school in such a way that no one notices you. Is this fair?’
There was a long pause.
‘You can talk now, Rob,’ he said. ‘I have control.’
‘Basically, yes,’ I said.
‘Okay. Here’s what we do. I get up on stage and introduce you. I say, “Please welcome Rob Fitzgerald, the Invisible Man” and that’s it. Two minutes of no one on the stage – you can hide in the toilets if it suits – and then … thunderous applause.’
‘“Doctor, the Invisible Man’s outside.” “Tell him I can’t see him!”’
‘Is that a joke?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Okay, so that’s ruled out the stand-up comedy routine.’
‘I’ve got other jokes. Knock-knock ones, mainly.’
Andrew held up his hand again. What is it with raised hands? ‘And I’d be grateful if you’d keep them to yourself. No, it’s a tricky one, Rob. As far as I can tell you have no talents whatsoever.’
‘Oi, cut it out. I don’t come to you for insults.’ It was true. Grandad normally supplied those and he was very good.
‘You can’t sing, you can’t play a musical instrument and you can’t tell jokes. What about dancing?’
‘Well …’
‘Here.’ Andrew pulled out his phone, pressed a couple of icons and dance music spilled out at surprising volume. ‘Dance for me.’
‘What, now?’
So I did. I’m rather proud of my dancing. There’s a full-length mirror in my bedroom and I sometimes dance in front of it. It may seem immodest, but I think I’m very innovative in my dance techniques. I do moves (please note that I never bust them) that no one else has ever tried, interpreting music in new and exciting ways. After thirty seconds, Andrew switched off his phone.
‘Okay, you can’t dance either.’
‘Wait a moment …’
‘Trust me, Rob.’ Andrew got up and paced the room, his hands on either side of his head, fingers against temples. ‘Think, Andrew,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There has to be something that Rob can do. You’ve been friends for ages. Surely, you must have detected some talent, no matter how carefully hidden?’
‘Oi,’ I said, but he ignored me.
‘Soccer, true, but you can’t enact a soccer game on stage.’ He clicked his fingers and wheeled around to face me.
‘That dog you walk. Does it do tricks?’
‘You mean Trixie.’
‘Trixie the tricksy dog. Perfect. Didn’t an act like that win Australia’s Got Talent one year? Some woman and her dog that could do amazing things. Somersaults, baking a cake, performing quadratic equations and singing a medley from The Sound of Music? All at the same time.’
‘I don’t think so. Anyway, Trixie doesn’t do tricks, as far as I know. Unless you count pooing twice your body weight in one go as a good trick.’
‘Frankly,’ said Andrew, ‘I’d pay good money to see that on the Milltown High stage, but I don’t think it’ll work. Unless it does it on command?’
I shook my head.
‘Pity,’ he said.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Let’s just give up. You’re right. I have no talent and anyway, it’s crazy to think I could control my panic attacks long enough to get through an act. It terrifies me just thinking about it. I have to accept my limitations. I’m useless …’
‘GOT IT!’ yelled Andrew. He rushed over and punched me hard on my arm. It’s his way of showing affection and I wish he wouldn’t.
‘Ow,’ I said. ‘What have you got?’
‘The act you’ll do in Milltown’s Got Talent. It’s something you already do really well, according to you. And it’s perfect because it won’t be like Rob Fitzgerald will be up on stage at all, so you shouldn’t have a panic attack. It’s woeful, true, and everyone will hate it, but that’s not the point, is it? The point is, it’ll achieve the first challenge. Call me a genius, mate. Call me a genius.’
‘You’re a genius.’
‘I know.’
‘So are you going to tell me this amazing plan whereby I’ll be up on stage and not up on stage at the same time?’
He did.
‘You’re a genius,’ I said.
‘I know,’ he said.