Give Me Truth (5 page)

‘Chop. Chop. No more dallying. Hurry along now.' Miss Boyle claps her hands. ‘Let's get this rehearsal underway. Cyrano is waiting.'

If she were an animal Miss Boyle would be a rhinoceros; head down and barging. She's all bustle and business-like and her skin is so thick bullets fall away from it like snowflakes, or so she'd like you to believe. Now she glances around the room, mentally taking the roll. My friends and I have been here for twenty minutes. Present and accounted for.

‘Mr Pringle?' Miss Boyle's voice lifts to the ceiling. Her eyebrows aren't far behind. ‘Not here? Again? That lad is testing my patience.'

Lanny is usually late for rehearsals. He has a job after school at the supermarket – filling shelves – and can't
always get away on time. Or so he says. I think he's just slack. Miss Boyle isn't working with us on the lighting and sound yet, so Lanny's friend David doesn't have to be here. But he is. Hardly ever misses. Today, after saying hi to everyone and helping move chairs around, he sits quietly at the back of the hall. I wonder about him; what he thinks and feels. When he's with Lanny he melts into the background. But when he's on his own like he is now, there's a darkness that's wrapped around him, some kind of sadness. I sense it, see it fleetingly in his eyes.

‘Do you think one of us should go and talk to him?' I keep my voice low. ‘Just to be friendly.'

Megan grins. ‘How friendly do you want to be?'

‘It's nothing like that.' I frown. ‘I'm only trying to be nice.'

‘I agree with you.' Glenna has a quick peek over her shoulder at David. ‘He might feel a bit outnumbered with no other boys here. Why don't you go and talk to him, Caitlin.'

‘Me?'

‘Oh, come on.' Megan does the scoffing tone better than anyone. ‘You know you want to. Admit it.'

I think when Megan leaves school she's going to be a mind reader. She gets me right every time.

‘You're so wrong,' I lie. ‘I don't care one way or the other about him.'

‘Well, if you don't care,' she says, ‘you've got nothing to
lose. Talk to him. I dare you.'

A moment later Miss Boyle trumpets, ‘We'll give our young friend another five minutes. If he's not here by then, we start without him.'

Five minutes isn't a long time to talk, and I hardly ever say no to a dare …

 

I make the trek from the stage to near the back doors to utter this earth-shattering line: ‘Thought you might be lonely up here all on your own.'

‘Nah.' Quick shake of the head. ‘I'm not lonely.'

‘Don't you get bored?'

‘No. Got plenty of things to think about.'

It almost seems like he wants me to dig deeper. So I do.

‘Yeah? What kind of things?'

He seriously considers telling me. There's a long pause, a lot of staring off into space. But in the end he says, ‘Aw you know, just stuff. Life. Nothing important.'

‘Life is annoying, isn't it?' I take one of the chairs stacked against the wall and sit beside him. ‘It keeps getting in the way when all I want to do is have fun.'

‘Yep.' He grins. ‘I know the feeling.'

Megan waves and blows a kiss to me from the stage. I wave back and smile, while telling David out of the corner of my mouth, ‘She's so embarrassing.'

He snorts. I'm not talking about a horsy kind of snort
– it's a gentle one, like the sound a baby might make.

‘She's nice, actually,' I add. ‘So is Glenna. We've been best friends for about a hundred years.'

He nods thoughtfully. But he's looking in Megan's direction, not mine. All the boys drool over Megan. It would be mean of me to let him get his hopes up …

‘We might have to break up the act soon, though,' I say. ‘Megan wants to live with her boyfriend.'

‘Right.'

Dimly I hear the pencil in his head, scratching out her name.

There's a lull in the conversation until I mutter, ‘I wonder where Lanny's got to?'

‘Hard to say.' He twists around to look out a window just in case Lanny's in sight. ‘He's probably forgotten all about it. I reminded him, but you know what he's like … '

Yes, I do. He's Mr Corny Joke, Mr Say Anything for a Laugh. But I don't know you, David. Wish I did.

I look at my watch. Stretch my arms back behind me. I see imperfections that I didn't notice before: a bump on the ridge of David's nose, one or two zits around his forehead. They'll go away in time but the perfect mouth and lips will be there forever.

He catches me looking at him and I get his full-on gaze burning bright. Instead of turning away I gaze straight back at him. It's a moment of truth.

‘I've got this bit of a problem, Caitlin,' he says. ‘At least
I think it's a problem.' He gulps as though this is going to be hard to say. ‘Can I tell you?'

Not if it's bad news. Not if you're rejecting me before I even get to know you.

‘Sure, David. You can tell me anything.'

‘Thanks. See, the thing is, I think you're great.'

Now I gulp.

‘But …'

God, I hate that word.

‘But so does Lanny … and he's my friend.' He shrugs hopelessly.

It's almost funny, but I don't allow myself to laugh. ‘I wouldn't worry about it,' I say. ‘Lanny's everyone's friend. He's like a big puppy dog.'

‘No, it's more than that. You don't understand. He
really
likes you. He has since that first time we saw you from the bus.'

‘Is he sick?'

‘No. He thinks you like him, too … do you, Caitlin?'

‘I haven't really thought about it. He's all right. He's lots of fun. But I don't take him seriously.'

‘That's the trouble. No one does.'

 

‘
THIS WON'T DO
!'

Miss Boyle's thundering voice ends it for me and David. Just as well, too. There is no way I know what to say next.

‘Caitlin, are you intending to come up to the stage some time this year? I can't wait around here all day, you know. I only have a limited life span.'

‘Yes, Miss Boyle. Sorry. Coming.'

‘Still no sign of Mr Pringle, I see.' She glares at her watch as if it's partly to blame.

‘He shouldn't be much longer,' David calls out.

‘We've already waited long enough. We'll start without him. And if he doesn't turn up today, he's not coming back. Ever. This may be amateur theatre but I expect us all to be professionals.'

Glenna smirks – and gets caught.

‘What's so funny, young lady?'

‘Nothing, Miss.'

‘Excellent answer. We're not doing a comedy show here. I'll start you off, Caitlin – Top of Page 19. Take over from me when you're ready.'

When Miss Boyle acts she ceases being a sixty-something grey-haired little woman, interchangeable with a zillion others. She inhabits her characters. I want to be just like her when I'm old. Now she launches herself into the part. And she
is
Cyrano de Bergerac.

‘Sorry I'm late.'

Lanny stands at the door.

‘Ah. How good of you to honour us with your presence.' Miss Boyle sounds like she's addressing a bug she's about to devour. ‘And what, may I ask, is the reason for your tardiness this time? Fire? Earthquake? Flood? Or did you merely forget about our little production?'

‘I had to work late. Couldn't help it. Then I had to make a stop on the way here.'

‘I beg your pardon, lad? You knew you were already late and still you made another stop before you got here? Why on earth would you do that?'

Glenna's loud whisper interrupts.

‘Look, behind his back. Flowers.'

Lanny's face is almost as red as his hair. My heart goes out to him.

‘Oh, Lanny!' Megan gushes. ‘I didn't know you cared. Thank you! They're my favourite!'

‘Settle down.' Miss Boyle's hands form
Stop
signs, dainty but firm as steel walls. ‘If those carnations are meant for someone, young man,' she says, ‘I would kindly ask you to deliver them immediately so we can get on with the business we are here for – which is staging a play, in case it has slipped your memory.'

Lanny strides up to Miss Boyle and, as if he's getting rid of stolen goods and the law is hot on his trail, he shoves the flowers at her.

‘I'm not going to hold them for you.' She pushes them back at him. ‘Put them down somewhere so we can get
started. We're already late.'

‘But they're for you.'

Miss Boyle's mouth drops open.

‘You don't mind, do ya?'

She doesn't answer, just keeps looking at the flowers.

‘I was walkin' past a flower shop,' Lanny says, apologetically. ‘They had these ones out the front. Thought I'd get 'em for yer … to make up for bein' late.'

A round of applause booms from the back row.

‘Good one, Lanny!'

‘Thanks, Dave!'

No one on stage dares to laugh because we're all too close to Miss Boyle. She might turn into Cyrano and slice us up, with words if not a sword. But almost instantly we see a laugh would have been wrong. All the bluster has seeped out of her. The dragon has been slain by a motley bunch of flowers.

‘Thank you.' She clutches them to her chest as if they're the only flowers she's ever been given. Maybe they are. ‘This is a lovely gesture … Lanny.'

For once he's not the boy, the lad, he's not Mr Pringle. I'm amazed that she knows his name.

‘Woohoo!' cries Megan.

Lanny struts around like a rock star.

‘Thank you, fans, thank you. Who wants an autograph?'

‘That will do.' Miss Boyle deposits the flowers on a desk
and stands very straight. ‘We have had our entertainment for today. Now I would like you all to try very hard to come to your senses. And as for you, young man' – being called Lanny didn't last for long – ‘I appreciate the flowers, but they won't save you if you're late again. Do you understand me?'

‘Yes, Miss.'

‘Very well.'

Miss Boyle takes him by the shoulders and positions him in front of me. ‘Your job,' she says to him, ‘is to react to what is said to you by Cyrano.' Now she faces me. ‘And your job, Cyrano, is to give this unfortunate creature hell.'

She claps her hands once more and off I go.

‘What did I do?' Lanny interjects, earning scorn from Miss Boyle and laughs from the rest of us.

I enjoy calling him names –
‘You puerile wreck!'
– but then I come to the hard part at the end of the speech, when I have to hit him. I look at Miss Boyle, pleading with her to let me off.

‘You won't break any bones, girl. Slap him.'

I tap him lightly on the cheek.

Miss Boyle is close to having a convulsion.

‘No! No! No! The audience will never believe that,
Caitlin. Forget your feelings. It's your duty as an actor to whack him one. Do it!'

‘Go on, Caitlin!' urge my fellow actors – the rats. David's voice is in there, too. Lanny looks anxious. For good reason.

I whack him one.

‘Geez,' he says, wincing. ‘That's the last time I bring anyone flowers.'

Paul Myers didn't matter. Each of us had long ago decided we came from different planets. But Lanny was another story. It's been me and him against the world ever since I can remember.

I see him under the school tree, trying desperately to do his maths homework in the five minutes before class. Same as always. This time I don't offer to help.

‘Hope I gave you a real good laugh.' I snarl it without stopping or looking at him.

‘Aw, don't be like that, Dave. You know we were only muckin' around.'

I don't slow down.

‘You would have done exactly the same to me.'

I march back to him. ‘No, I wouldn't. You know why?
Because you're supposed to be my friend. Friends don't do that.'

I take off again before he can return fire. Not that there is anything he could say in his defence.

I don't need friends.

 

In class, Lanny sits behind me. He whispers my name but I ignore him.

‘What's up with you, Dave? You can at least
talk
to me, can't you?'

I stare at Grogan's back as he scribbles on the board. He drones on but his back is all that I can think about. If I concentrate, I can put Dad into Grogan's white shirt. It's not too much of a stretch. But it wouldn't be maths Dad was teaching. He'd spin around and spread out his arms – ‘This is our potential!' he'd say.

Then he'd bring two fingers close together – ‘And this is how much of it we use!' Dad is president of the public speaking club. Hear him talk and you think you're invincible. ‘Set your goals high! Aim for the stars!' And you know
he
is.

‘Dave.'

Lanny's foot connects with the back of my chair. Hard.

‘Dave!'

‘Nothing happens …' Dad's always saying that. He's told me so many times. ‘Nothing happens unless you make it happen.' Well, I know something I can make
happen. I'll get Mum and Dad back together. First I'll call Dad. At recess. I won't even talk about last night. Just tell him Allie and I are behind him. We have to rebuild. If the three of us can stand together, then Mum will fall into line. She'll have no choice.

‘Turn around, will ya?'

In the meantime, I have to forget about what Gran said. She's crazy. Probably has it in her head that we're going to live with her. Not a chance. I don't think Mum's completely given up on Dad yet. No matter what she says. She's ticked off, sure she is, but seventeen years together – she won't walk away from that.

A note lands on my desk. I see Lanny's scrawl.

I screw it up and chuck it back at him.

Grogan's radar spots it. His bushy eyebrows spear upwards.

‘You boys passing love letters between you?'

Perfect. Now our maths teacher's doing stand-up.

The audience rolls in the aisles.

‘I'll have that.'

Grogan scans the note quickly before waving it at Lanny.

‘Out the front, son.'

Lanny lurches forward, head in the ostrich position.

‘This a new form of maths, Mr Pringle?'

‘Um … no, sir.'

I glance around at the class. So many smart-arse grins. Life is cool when someone else is in trouble. Phillip Johnson up near the back sets up a whispered chant:
Dingle Dingle Dingle.

‘Keep it down, please, boys.'

No one but me calls him Lanny. Now, the more he squirms, the funnier it is. He and I are the only ones who aren't laughing.

Grogan points to me.

‘You might be able to shed some light on this, Mr Curtis. Up here, please.'

Cheers and whistles as I join Lanny in front of Grogan's desk.

He reads the note again, scratches at his ear to draw out the laughs from his audience.

‘Perhaps it's some baffling algebraic formula?'

This one cracks the class up.

‘Come on. Who'd like to answer first?'

I see my class as I've never seen them before. We're slaves stuck in the middle of the Colosseum and they're cheering for the lion.

Lanny runs a hand through his hair. He always does this when he's about to be eaten alive.

‘Well? I'm waiting. Mr Pringle, please tell me what this note has to do with mathematics.'

‘Nothing, sir.'

‘Very good. I think that may be the first time you've answered a question correctly in my class.'

That earns a round of applause.

Grogan brushes Lanny away like a pesky fly. ‘Back to your seat. And pay attention.' His glare shifts to me now. ‘That goes for you too, Mr Curtis. You'll pay attention from now on, I trust?'

Decisions, decisions.

I know Grogan isn't really all that bad. He's only having a bit of fun. You can usually talk to the guy and he'll listen. He's not a hardhead. And all he wants from me is an easy, ‘Yes, sir', then I'm on my way and it's over.

But I don't want to make it easy for anyone today. Including me.

I'm standing right in front of him. There's nothing to hide behind. Nowhere to run. And he'll hear the smallest mumble. But I don't care.

In my head I'm roaring, ‘Bring on the lion,' as I tell him big and loud –

‘stuff you.
Sir
.'

 

Mrs Flanagan is our Year Coordinator. I'm sitting in her office and she's searching my eyes for answers to what
she calls my ‘bizarre behaviour'.

It really wasn't so bizarre. I went looking for something to shut Grogan up with and that's what I found. Tough.

‘It isn't like you to talk to a teacher that way, David. What on earth got into you?'

What did people do before shrugs were invented?

Mrs Flanagan plays the stare game again. My eyes fix on the photo on her desk. Her and a guy with a small boy between them. Big smiles all round. The happy family.

We've got photos like that at home but they're ripped right up the middle now – or soon will be. What would she know about how I feel?

‘I'm here to help you. That's all. You're not in any trouble. Is there something you'd like to talk to me about?'

‘Not really.'

I don't give a thing away. My words are cold slabs straight from the morgue. But she presses on.

‘How are things at home?'

I shake my head as I look out the window.

She leans forward.

‘What happened to your lip?'

‘Nothing.'

‘I'm a very good listener, you know. Anything you say won't be repeated. It stays between us.'

Leave me alone.

‘Whatever it is, it's not going to get any better unless you talk about it.'

‘I don't want to talk about it because there's nothing to talk about. Nothing's wrong. I'm doing great! I don't need your help! Okay?'

There's silence between us but I hear my own words echoing in my head, too loudly.

And now when Mrs Flanagan looks in my eyes she sees everything.

It's there in my trembling chin, my face breaking apart.

I'm on my feet, pushing the chair out of my way.

‘David, please sit down.'

‘I've gotta go.'

I burst out of the room gasping for breath as if I'm coming up from the ocean floor. And I look up and see Lanny.

‘You all right, Dave?'

It takes me all of two seconds to recover.

‘Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?'

Lanny's not fooled but he leaves it alone.

‘What are
you
doin' here?' I say.

‘Same as you. Grogan sent me. After you got kicked out I called him a power freak. Actually, I think I said a friggin' power freak. Yeah, that was it. He wasn't real happy.'

‘Thanks, Lanny.'

‘That's all right. I owed ya.'

The office door opens and Mrs Flanagan walks out.

‘David, I want you to at least think about talking to me. Perhaps later. Will you do that?'

‘Yeah, I'll think about it.'

But I knew I wouldn't.

‘Thank you. Now go back to your class. Mr Grogan is waiting for an apology.'

She turns to Lanny – ‘Not you again' – and rolls her eyes. ‘I should charge you rent. In you come.'

 

A different teacher might have made me apologise in front of the class. Not Grogan. He walks out into the corridor with me and instead of a lecture he rests a hand on my shoulder.

‘Let's try to get along. Okay, David? You might not believe this, but I am on your side.'

Grogan never calls any kid by their first name. Never lets anyone get close. But I always feel there's a real person in there, somewhere. And now I see him.