Things I Don't Know Page 3

  Adam, Josh and I are the first ones there — Adam wearing the ugly beanie he always wears to the early training sessions, me and Josh teasing him about it. We do a few stretches while we’re waiting and chat about this and that. What’s been on TV recently (not much) and what we think our chances are of beating the West Central kids in any events at the carnival (very slim). Sometimes I think it’s easier having guys as friends. You can kid around with them without worrying about offending them.

  Everyone has arrived by the time Miss Kearns turns up — she blasts us when we’re late — and she sets us off doing walking lunges around the track. I fall into pace beside Josh and Adam. Down, up, down, up, around the oval. Adam starts humming a tune that matches the rhythm — I’ve been working on the railroad — and soon Josh and I are humming it too.

  After walking lunges it’s high kicks, then slow lap, fast lap, slow lap. By then the sky is this really pretty light-blue colour and the trees around the perimeter fence are all shimmery, and suddenly the feeling comes over me — the running one that I’ve mentioned before — and I just feel good. I’m all light and floaty.

  ‘Hey, check that out!’ says Josh, cutting through my thoughts. I turn my head and see a familiar red convertible pulling up on the other side of the fence.

  ‘Who’s that?’ says Adam, as Jo gets out. Two kids come up and hug her hello — Kirsten and Jessie. They’re in Mrs Murphy’s homeroom class too.

  ‘That’s Jo,’ I say, and then I hear myself add, ‘she’s a friend of mine.’

  Josh gives me a surprised look. ‘You’re friends with her?’ he says. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ I say. ‘I’m even going to her place after school today. In that car.’

  Adam shrugs. ‘Well, she’s only just started, I guess. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re new.’

  Of course, I can’t let that kind of comment go unpunished so I whip Adam’s beanie off his head and sprint down the track.

  ‘Oi, Beest!’ Adam yells. ‘Give that back!’

  I run as fast as I can but I can hear Adam running too, powering along. I urge myself on. Faster, Leni. Faster …

  I’m fast, but not fast enough. Soon Adam is right behind me. ‘You should’ve given up while you had the chance, Beest.’ His breath is kind of ragged but he sounds like he’s laughing too.

  ‘Giving up is for losers!’ I yell back. I’m just about to fling the beanie over the fence when Adam catches me. His arms wrap across my shoulders and we both almost fall over. ‘Let go!’ I say, attempting to wriggle free. As I do, Adam’s arm slips down so it’s right across my chest, squishing my boobs.

  Instantly he lets go. In fact, he practically pushes me away, like I’ve burnt him or something. I lose my balance and end up sprawled on the side of the track — right in a patch of mud.

  ‘Thanks a lot, sweat-head!’ I say.

  Adam’s face has gone bright red, but he doesn’t try to help me up. He’s looking at me in this really strange way. Kind of shocked. Like I’m not the person he thought I was. Like I’ve transformed into something else. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters and he gives me this sheepish look.

  What’s with him suddenly?

  I get up and I’m attempting to brush some of the mud off my leg when Miss Kearns jogs over. ‘What’s going on here?’ she says. ‘We’ve got less than two weeks until the carnival and you two are mucking around. Get back on the track and do ten hundred-metre sprints each.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Adam. ‘Sorry.’ Then he takes off. His face is still bright red.

  Miss Kearns takes off too and I’m left, standing there all alone. The lone, mud-covered wildebeest on the open savanna wondering what the hell just happened.

  Anya is late that morning — she often is when she stays at her dad’s place. The kissing badge has pride of place on the lapel of her blazer. We’re not allowed to wear badges at school but Anya has obviously decided that it’s worth the risk. She looks so proud of it — like it’s a gold medal.

  The funny thing is that seeing her wearing that stupid badge makes me feel good. I feel like the kissing competition thing has ended in the best possible way. Anya won. She’s happy. Soph and I didn’t have to do anything. We’re happy. It’s over. All we have to do now is listen to her talk about it for a while.

  The moment the recess bell goes she drags us off to our spot on the hill and sits down, waiting for us all to arrange ourselves around her. She doesn’t tell us straight away, though. First she takes a biscuit and nibbles on it. She’s savouring the moment.

  ‘Come on, Anya!’ says Soph. ‘Spill it. Who’d you kiss?’

  Anya takes another nibble before answering. ‘Ethan.’

  ‘Ethan Dale?’ both Soph and I say together.

  There are at least two things wrong about this. Firstly Ethan is the shyest kid in existence. I can’t imagine him being brave enough to even look at Anya let alone kiss her. The second thing is I can’t think why Anya would want to kiss him. Ethan’s lips always look really dry and peely. Even if it were a really quick kiss you’d still feel those flakes, scraping against your own lips. As Anya would say, eww.

  ‘When did it happen?’ I ask.

  ‘Last night,’ says Anya, grinning. ‘Ethan’s mum is friends with mine. They dropped over.’ Anya has mentioned Ethan coming over with his mum before but it’s usually been just so she can go on about how gay he is. She’s definitely never said anything about wanting to kiss him before.

  ‘And he was into the whole kissing idea?’ asks Soph.

  ‘Of course,’ says Anya, and she does her whatever shrug. It’s obvious there’s something not quite right about this story. Something that Anya is leaving out. I’m not going to push it, though. Let Anya have her victory and we’ll move on.

  But Soph isn’t going to let it go that easily. ‘So tell us exactly how it happened,’ she says. ‘The whole story.’

  Anya rearranges herself before starting to speak. She seems a tiny bit uncomfortable now. ‘Well, I was pretty sure that Ethan wouldn’t kiss me if I just asked him,’ she says and Soph and I grin. That’s for sure. ‘So,’ Anya continues, fiddling with her shoe, ‘I went and stood behind the kitchen door. I figured he’d come past eventually. I had to wait ages but in the end he did walk in. Then I jumped out and kissed him! Easy.’ Anya shrugs, like there’s nothing unusual about this. Like this is the way everyone kisses.

  ‘Anya!’ says Soph. ‘You ambushed him!’

  Anya frowns. ‘So?’ she says. ‘It’s still a kiss.’

  Soph narrows her eyes. ‘Where did you kiss him?’

  ‘Well … kind of on the neck,’ admits Anya. She looks a little embarrassed now. ‘He was moving so fast it was all I could manage.’

  Soph has this really catchy laugh, so once she starts it’s impossible for me not to join in. Even Anya joins in eventually. Soon we’re all laughing so hard that it’s actually painful. Finally, once we’ve stopped Anya says, ‘Does it count? The kiss?’

  Soph shakes her head straight away. ‘I don’t think so.’

  They both look at me. Of course, I agree with Soph. Ambush kisses on the neck definitely shouldn’t count. But if I say that the competition will keep going. It’s a tricky situation. ‘Well, I …’

  Anya cuts me off. ‘Okay, okay,’ she says grumpily. ‘It probably doesn’t count.’ She unpins the badge and shoves it in her blazer pocket. ‘Leni, you’re going to have to ask Adam for me,’ she says.

  My heart thumps. I don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit. Especially not after the weirdness from training this morning. ‘Ask him what?’

  ‘Whether he wants to kiss me or not, of course!’ says Anya, rolling her eyes.

  ‘No way!’ I squeak. ‘I’m not asking him that!’

  ‘You can’t ask that through someone else,’ says Soph.

  ‘Well, I’d ask him myself, but he never even looks my way,’ says Anya. ‘And Leni’s good friends with him.’ She turns to me, pleading. ‘Come on, Leni! You don’t have
to ask him the kissing thing. Maybe just … Do you think …’ she falters.

  ‘Think what?’ I say.

  Anya looks down, picking at a fingernail. ‘Do you think it’s dumb to hope a guy like Adam could seriously like me?’ she mumbles.

  I sigh. Anya’s self-esteem is way too low sometimes. She’s so desperate to be cool that she can really put herself down. I reach over and squeeze her hand. ‘Hey, this is just Adam Wilcox we’re talking about. Of course he could like you.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ I’m amazed at the sudden spark of hope and excitement in Anya’s eyes. ‘Could you ask him at training? And then tell me what he says at the DVD night on Saturday?’

  Most Saturdays we go to one of our houses to eat pizza and watch a DVD. This week it’s supposed to be at my place. But, of course, this Saturday is different. This Saturday Nana will be there. For the first time I’m actually glad about it — because maybe this will get me off the hook about speaking to Adam about Anya.

  But when I explain the situation, Anya is quick to find a solution. ‘We’ll have it at Soph’s place instead,’ she says. ‘Right, Soph?’

  Soph nods. ‘Sure.’

  Then Anya turns back to me. ‘Just make sure you find out from Adam before you turn up, okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, although I’m actually not feeling very sure about it at all.

  After the last bell rings, I go to the front of the school but I can’t see Jo anywhere. The red car is there, though, parked on the street. As I stop near the gate, the driver’s door opens and Jo’s mum — the same one I saw before — leans out and waves me over. She’s one of those delicate, neat people who make me feel a bit like a huge, gangly spider.

  ‘Hi,’ she says shaking my hand, like I’m an adult. She’s got a very strong grip for someone so tiny. ‘You’re Leni, right? The runner. Jo pointed you out this morning while you were training. I’m Tina.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say, then because I literally can’t think of anything else I blurt, ‘Your car is so rod.’ I think I was planning to say rocking and then I decided to say rad instead and it came out as a weird mixture.

  Tina doesn’t seem to notice, she just beams at me and starts telling me how she bought the car for a bargain and how she’s had it restored and how much she loves it.

  I’m so busy listening to Tina that I don’t see Jo until she’s right there, wrapping an arm around Tina’s neck and giving her a kiss.

  ‘Are you talking about your car again?’ she says, rolling her eyes but smiling too. ‘It’s just a dumb machine, you know.’

  Tina laughs, then she comes around and opens up the door, then flips forward the seat. The backseat of the car is very small.

  ‘Right, Jo. You get in the back of the dumb machine,’ says Tina. ‘Leni gets to ride up the front.’

  ‘Not fair!’ says Jo, but I can tell she doesn’t really mind.

  I slide into the soft seat and close the door on the noise of school. I feel like I’m in a bubble. A warm, quiet, comfortable bubble with just me, Jo and Tina inside. We glide through the streets. Tina and Jo chat about their days and I’m happy just to sit there, half-listening, watching out the window. I’d be happy just to drive around all afternoon. It’s nice to be in a car that doesn’t smell like pastry.

  As we head up the hill the houses get nicer and the fences get taller. Finally Tina parks in front of a house with a large ‘Let’ sign still attached to the fence. It’s not as grand as the other houses on the street, but it’s still cool — white and modern-looking with a flat roof and big windows. The front door is shiny and red, and when we get close it’s opened by a woman who looks just like Jo. She has the same brown hair and hazel-ish eyes.

  ‘Leni, this is my other mum, Sandy,’ says Jo. ‘Sandy, this is Leni — who I’m making the flyer with.’

  Sandy says hi to me and Jo, then she gives Tina a kiss on the lips in the same way that my parents do when they’re saying hello or goodbye. I thought that maybe I’d feel a bit strange when Jo’s mums did coupley things like this. But I don’t. It looks totally natural to see them kiss each other — I guess because they obviously love each other.

  ‘Come in, guys!’ says Sandy, pushing the door wide. ‘Anyone up for some afternoon tea?’ Jo looks at me questioningly and I say sure, and then I follow them all down the hall to a big, sunny kitchen. In one corner is a stack of flattened moving boxes and paper. On the kitchen bench is a pot of tea. Sandy pours some into what looks like a large thimble and hands it to me. It doesn’t look like the tea we have at home, which I only ever drink with tons of milk and sugar. This one is a really pale greeny-yellow colour. I sniff it cautiously.

  ‘It’s lemongrass,’ Sandy says. ‘Try it.’ Lemon and grass does not sound like a good combination to me so I just take a small sip. But it’s not too bad.

  Then Sandy produces a plate of biscuits and Jo grabs one straight away. ‘All right! Procrastination biscuits!’ she says and everyone laughs except me because I don’t get it. ‘Sandy makes biscuits when she’s putting off doing something else,’ explains Jo, handing me one. ‘They’re the best.’ Jo turns to Sandy. ‘Does this mean we can use your laptop?’

  ‘Yes! Please, take the wretched thing away from me!’ says Sandy. ‘It’s there on the kitchen bench.’

  I take a bite of my biscuit. It’s sweet but also a tiny bit spicy. Ginger, I think.

  ‘You know, that’s kind of how my dad ended up starting a pie shop,’ I say. ‘By procrastinating.’ I say the word carefully, making sure I get it right. It seems to go okay. ‘He used to bring work home on the weekend but end up baking pies instead. Finally he realised he liked making pies much more than doing his real work. So he quit and started the shop.’

  Then Sandy and Tina want to know what the shop is called and when I tell them they know it.

  ‘We went there last weekend!’ Sandy says. ‘We got some of the chicken and corn pies. They were so good.’

  ‘Yeah, those ones are the best,’ I say, feeling warm inside. I know my dad is a good cook but it’s nice when other people think so too.

  Jo takes another two biscuits from the plate, then picks up the laptop. ‘We’d better get started,’ she says.

  I get up, still holding my cup of tea, and follow Jo. I’m kind of sorry to leave the kitchen. It’s been nice sitting here with Tina and Sandy.

  Jo’s room is amazing — big and bright with a huge window looking out over the backyard. On one wall she’s pinned up a whole lot of photographs — mostly close-ups of people’s faces. I spot one of Tina and Sandy. They’re both laughing hard, in that way that makes your whole face scrunch up.

  ‘Did you take all of these?’ I say.

  ‘Most of them,’ says Jo. ‘I really like taking photos of people who inspire me. Especially when they’re not looking. When they’re just being themselves, you know? Not hiding anything. When I’ve taken enough I’m going to try and get them published in a book.’

  I’ve never met someone who is working on a book before — especially not someone my age — and I wonder if she’s kidding. But Jo seems serious. I see another picture of Sandy looking much younger. She’s sitting next to a guy with a goatee and they’re both looking at a baby cradled in his arms.

  ‘Is that you?’ I ask, pointing at the baby.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Jo. ‘When I was about three months old.’ She comes up beside me and points to the guy in the picture. ‘That’s my dad,’ she says. ‘Before he and Sandy split up. He lives in Singapore now, with his new wife, but we chat on Skype and stuff. They’ve just had a baby.’

  ‘Sandy was married?’ I say, totally confused. ‘But isn’t she gay?’

  Jo nods. ‘She is, but it took her a while to figure it out. Or to accept it, I guess. She really wanted to have a baby and settle down — like her friends were doing. So she married my dad and had me. I was about six months old when she decided she couldn’t pretend it felt right any more.’ Jo sits back down. ‘She said it felt like it was givi
ng her stomach cancer, pretending to be someone she wasn’t.’

  I look again at the photo of Sandy cradling baby Jo. You’d never be able to tell that she was anything but completely content. ‘Does that happen a lot?’ I ask. ‘That people don’t always know they’re gay at first?’

  Jo opens up the laptop. ‘I’m not really sure,’ she says. ‘Tina reckons she always knew she liked girls more than boys — from as far back as she can remember — but it took way longer for Sandy. I guess it’s different for different people. My mums say all that matters is that they found each other in the end.’

  The laptop plays its jangly start-up tune and there’s a soft, blueish glow on Jo’s face. ‘So how’s the kissing competition going?’ she asks as she taps away at the keyboard.

  ‘It’s a total disaster!’ I groan. I fill her in on Anya’s ‘surprise kiss’ and how Soph said it didn’t count. I also tell her how Anya now wants me to find out if Adam likes her.

  ‘Isn’t Adam your boyfriend?’ Jo asks me.

  I pull a face, shocked that Jo could’ve thought this. ‘Eww! No! He’s just a friend. At least, I think he’s still my friend.’ I tell her about how Adam was acting weird at aths training.

  ‘He’s probably got a crush on you,’ says Jo. ‘Guys often act strangely when they like you.’

  ‘He definitely doesn’t like me,’ I say firmly. The idea is just too ridiculous.

  Jo picks up a pencil from the desk and twirls it between her fingers. ‘Have you ever kissed anyone?’ she asks me suddenly.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, when what I actually mean is not at all. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I have a boyfriend,’ says Jo. ‘Ben.’ She points to one of the photos — it’s of a boy with messy, grown-out-of-its-style hair and very dark eyes. He’s smiling — I guess at Jo as she took the photo. ‘He goes to my old school so I won’t see him so much anymore now we’ve moved. We’ve done a lot of kissing so, not wanting to boast or anything, but I’m pretty much an expert now.’ The fan on the computer hums and whirrs. ‘I could give you some tips, if you want?’