Everything Beautiful (6 page)

On the Second Day

12
Drama Queens

I woke up to the sound of the PA squealing. There was a loud
clunk
and then Roslyn’s voice came through, bigger than life.

“Attention, campers. This is your thought for the morning:
Lord, let me live adventurously today, flinging my whole self into all I do
. ”

The PA squealed and clunked again, and she was gone. I sat up, feeling confused. Sarita was perched on the end of my bed, smiling at me.

“Oh, God.” I blinked. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You missed a good one,” she said. “Night cricket went until nine and then we had campfire singing. Craig played guitar—he’s really good—and Fleur sang harmony. She sings through her nose.”

She looked down, her mouth turned inward. “They went off somewhere. And look—her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

I ignored the lick of jealousy and rolled my eyes. “So much for ‘no coupling up.’ Are they boyfriend-girlfriend, then?”

“I think so,” Sarita said. “But it’s bad.”

“What do you mean—because of
Jesus
?” I joked.

Sarita nodded. “That. And also because last summer Fleur and Dylan were …” She laced her hands together and pressed hard. “But then he had the … accident … She hasn’t even talked to him yet. He looks so different.”

“Different how?” I asked, even though I knew.

“He used to be athletic and competitive. He and Craig were like the two sides of the same coin.”

“You mean they were nothing like each other?”

“No, I mean they were exactly like each other.”

“That would be a double-headed coin, then.”

One corner of Sarita’s mouth tilted up. “Yes.”

I thought about Dylan flying after Fleur. About Craig’s sulk when Dylan refused to umpire. “What happened to him?”

“I heard it was a suicide attempt. Richard said it was a surfing accident.”

“Has anyone actually asked
Dylan
how it happened?”

Sarita bit her lip and shook her head.

I asked, “You know him, don’t you?”

“Yes, but …” Sarita couldn’t answer. “He’s broken. I overheard Neville talking to Roslyn about him. He said he’d asked Dylan if he wanted a carer, but Dylan said no, he could look after himself.”

“God,” I said, almost to myself.

“Fleur doesn’t deserve him,” Sarita said.

“Dylan?”

“No! Craig.”

I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of Craig, how he fell into the HBNQR category (hot-but-not-quite-right), but the demented glint in her eye made me save it. Sarita was a believer. She had the woolly balaclava of bullshit stretched over her eyes. She’d see heavenly hosts of angels before she saw Craig’s trail of sleaze. Not that I was immune. I hadn’t forgotten that look the Youth Leader had given me. He’d cameoed in my dreams and I’d already decided that if he wanted to, I would. Might as well have something to brag to Chloe about.

Sarita had her head in her hands and was staring dreamily at nothing.

“Are you having lustful thoughts?” I teased her.

I thought she’d laugh with me, but she hung her head and cringed. “
Please
don’t tell anyone.” Then she pressed her palms into the bedspread and whispered, “I wish I was
dead
!”

I crawled down the bed. I knelt in front of Sarita, cleared her hair away from her face, and pressed my thumbs to her temples. This was something Mom used to do to me whenever I went over the top. “Here,” I said.

“What are you doing?” Sarita sniffed.

“I’m handing over my drama queen crown. Take it, it’s yours.”

Sarita looked at me warily. I almost ducked, just in case that was too much, just in case she was going to crack. But no. She took a breath. She drew herself up in a queenly pose and gave a little wave to me, the commoner. Then she giggled uncontrollably for a full minute.

“Steady,” I said, smiling. “It’s not
that
funny.”

Sarita sobered up. “I am glad you’re here.” She nodded and looked toward the door. “And now I’m going to perform my ablutions.”

“I don’t need to know that.”

Sarita picked up her toiletry bag and towel. As she walked out, I saw something flutter down to the floor. I called after her, “You dropped something.” Sarita either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. The screen door bounced against its frame. I stretched over the bed and reached across the floor until my fingers found the lost property, a square of mold-spotted cotton that had once been white. Holy eBay miracle! It was Roslyn’s missing shroud. I held it up to the window and the face of Jesus came through the murk. If I scrunched it a certain way it looked like He was winking. I lay back on the bed and pressed the shroud to my face. It smelled like aniseed.

13
Capsized!

In full flight Dylan’s voice had a wry backhand.

“Craig’s got a tight walk,” he observed. “More like a strut. It’s like his dick is the center of his existence. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they walk.”

“What does mine say?”

“You walk like you think people are watching.” He paused. “Only I don’t think anyone is.”

“You’re probably right.” I sighed.

We were sitting on the landing while the other Honeyeaters and Counselor Anton hauled canoes from the dock into the river. In Spirit Ranch speak this was our first “off-site activity.” We’d come down on the minibus. Dylan got on last. He had two crutches attached to the back of his wheelchair. With the exception of Craig, who was acting as man on the ground, the Honeyeaters acted like seeing Dylan ditch his chair was completely uninteresting. They talked amongst themselves or looked out the opposite window. But they didn’t fool me. I could tell each and every one was sneaking a look when they thought they could get away with it. I decided to be blatant. I pressed my face against the window, made a blow-fish, and kept watching.

Dylan’s maneuver from chair to crutches was slicker than I thought it would be. Craig rushed to help him fold the wheelchair, but it was like watching someone trying to fathom IKEA assembly. Dylan watched him with a perverse smile on his face before pointing out a release button. Dylan came toward the minibus, frowning as he pressed down on his crutches, dragging his feet in the dirt. The twins were sitting in front of me. I heard one of them say something about a marionette. I punched the back of the seat and when they turned around looking all wounded, I did it again, harder.

Bird was looking through his binoculars. He pointed to something and jumped with excitement. “Anton! Anton!”

“This had better be good.” Anton snatched Bird’s binoculars and squinted into them. He handed them back without a word. Bird slumped. Richard threw a date at him. Craig stowed Dylan’s chair and we were away. I was not a nature girl—but already it felt great to leave the compound. As the shadow of the arches fell across my seat I waved my hands. “
Hallelujah
!”

When we arrived at the river I had the sense of other creatures scampering. The world seemed eerily still, broken only by the occasional snap-buzz of a dragonfly. The river was wide and brown and slow. There was no natural bank on the opposite side, just blackberry bush and the ancient river gums. They were huge, intimidating. They punched the sky, and the clouds hung around them like groupies.

“Get into pairs!” Anton barked. I avoided Sarita’s eye and moved backward until I was next to Dylan, who was back in his chair. He looked at me suspiciously.

“I don’t do sports,” I found myself confessing.

“Why not?”

All those summers rang: of PE teacher-slash-sadists, of trying to stand proud when no one wanted me on their team, of thigh-rub-rash and straitjacket skin and your only options being heart attack or hurl.

“I don’t like to sweat,” I said simply.

“That’s a shame,” Dylan said. “I like sweaty girls.”

“Okay, everybody!” Anton roared. “Life jackets
on
! Helmets
on
!”

Dylan and I stared at the pairs: Lisa and Laura, Richard and Ethan, Bird and Sarita. Fleur sat in her canoe waiting for Craig, but he was heading our way … again.

“Here we go,” Dylan said under his breath.

Craig squatted down next to Dylan. “You could have a go. If you want. I’ll be your partner. Or Anton could.”

Dylan shook his head.

“Okay …” Craig backed off. He went to the bank, frowning, and said something to Anton.

“Fuck it.” Dylan got his cigarettes out and lit one. “Youth Leaders should only exist out of frame.”

“Wait. I thought you were a Youth Leader.”

“Yes, well.” He frowned down at his vest. Then he passed me a cassette tape.

“Check this out. Neville made it for me.” Sure enough, it had
Neville Special
written on it. Dylan rolled his eyes. “Shame I can’t play it. It’s got Mariah Carey on it. And that girl from
Neighbours
who had cancer.”

I couldn’t speak after that. The pop starlet and my mother had had cancer at the same time. We followed her progress in the papers. But the starlet had pulled through. She had a new album out and a new look. So much hair. You’d never believe she’d once been bald from chemo.

Anton came running up. He pointed to Dylan. “Put that out, mate.”

Dylan pushed the burning end of the cigarette into his jeans, just above his knee. I squeaked in protest. “Ow! Are you crazy?” In a fifties movie about white-trash greasers, it would have been the ultimate tough-guy move. But it wasn’t a movie. All Anton did was sigh and say, “That’s great, Dylan. Really clever.”

Anton turned to me. “I need a partner. You. In the canoe. Now.”

I shook my head. “I can’t swim.”

“She’s keeping me company,” Dylan said. “Hey. If she doesn’t
want
to, she shouldn’t
have
to.”

“It’s okay,” I said. It didn’t seem fair to have Dylan fighting my battles.

Anton looked me up and down, and his eyes were saying:
Fat girl, chicken, what are you—scared?
“Have you got some kind of medical condition?” I shook my head. And now everyone was looking at me. Anton said, “Then go on—get your bathing suit.”

I stood up. “I’m wearing it.” I had on board shorts and my black skull halter. My skin was pink all over. I walked down the bank to the last canoe on the dock. Someone was making sound effects—the sound of a sumo wrestler thundering into the ring. Was it Richard? I couldn’t tell. I gritted my teeth and kept walking.

“Ladies first,” Anton said.

I stepped in. The canoe jerked around and I stumbled.

“Whoa!” Bird laughed.

“Shut up!” I hissed, even though I knew he wasn’t being nasty. Fleur, on the other hand … As water splashed around my ankles I heard her gleeful shout, “She’s going to capsize!” I went to sit down, my face burning. I couldn’t look at Dylan or Sarita. I hated every Honeyeater, but most of all I hated Anton, because the next thing he said was: “You know, Fleur, it’s a funny thing. Riley, hold on to the sides. On the count of three we’re going over. One, Two, THREE!”

The water was like ice, and it was heavy. When I first opened my eyes all I could see was black. I realized it was the bottom of the boat, and I was pressing up against it. I kicked away from it, propelling myself under and out and swam up. I came out spluttering and heaving, with a constricted feeling in my throat, like I’d just swallowed a tennis ball. I hauled myself onto the dock and sat for a second, blinking at the campers, taking in their smiles and hearing their laughter through my waterlogged ears. Sarita was gesturing at me frantically. “Riley!” she hissed. “Your top!” I looked down to see that one of my boobs had escaped my halter. I rearranged my suit and made my face as blank as possible.

“Oh, my God!” Fleur shrieked. “How embarrassing.”

Anton threw me a towel. “Great instincts, Riley.” For a second I thought he was talking about how I handled my wardrobe malfunction.

He addressed the Honeyeaters. “What Riley did was, she
used
the boat to launch herself out of danger. Like a platform, yeah?”

I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and started walking away.

“Riley?” Anton called. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I stuck my middle finger up at him and kept walking. Dylan was dozing, listening to something on his MP3. I could hear it enough to know it was hard-core—definitely not Mariah Carey. I pulled the white cord out of his left ear. “Can I have some of that?”

He nodded and I sat down next to him and put the earplug in. He smiled and turned the volume up and the singer screamed and raged against an insane beat. I blocked my other ear with my hand and let the chaos in.