Gracie Faltrain Gets it Right (Finally) (12 page)

It makes me feel better, hearing that. ‘Do you think we'll always be friends?' I ask.

‘Nothing will change that.'

‘I can help you with analysis. I'm pretty good at it,' Kally says, and then lets out a scream that makes Alyce rocket to a standing position.

‘It's me. I was grabbing your hand to say thanks.'

‘I watch a lot of horror films. Give a little notice next time.'

‘What did you write about, Kally?' Alyce asks.

‘I wrote about how I want to study astronomy. Annabelle's dad took us to a field in the country before he died and made us memorise all the constellations he could find. I've been hooked ever since. In my letter I wrote how I worry that if I don't make it he'll somehow be disappointed.' Kally goes through a few constellations for us. I see a sky packed full of patterns I never knew were there before.

‘When did he die?' I ask.

‘In Year 6.'

For the second time tonight I'm glad it's dark and I can hide. I can't say for sure whether I knew the answer to that question before Kally told me. I'd like to think I didn't because I fought with Annabelle that year as hard as ever. But with Kally's answer comes a memory of Annabelle in Year 6. She's sitting on an old wooden seat in the schoolyard, the grass brown at her feet. Her face reminds me of how my house felt in Year 10 when my mum and dad nearly got a divorce. Empty. In Year 6 Annabelle must have ached a million times more
than I ached in Year 10. ‘That's so awful,' I say, and feel like a liar. It's no secret how I've treated Annabelle.

Kally squeezes my hand and a tiny light blinks between us. ‘What's that?' Alyce asks.

‘It's my phone,' I say. ‘Jane's calling. I put it on silent so Mrs Wilson wouldn't know I had it. What?'

‘If you have your phone, Gracie, we can call people,' Kally says.

‘You're right. I could call Dan.'

‘Or Mrs Wilson.' Alyce sounds cross again.

‘I guess we're not as lost as we thought. Jane, I'll talk to you soon. I have a feeling we'll be home ahead of schedule.'

After a while lights bounce across us. We walk back to the camp in the dim tunnel of Mrs Wilson's torch. ‘At least teachers found us and not chainsaw-wielding crazy men,' Kally says.

‘When you say it like that our fears seem stupid.' She laughs. She's letting me off the hook for what I did to Annabelle. You've changed, her voice says. You wouldn't act like that now, that's why I'm your friend.

I have changed. I'm not saying I want to be Annabelle's best mate. But if she was ever hurting like that again, I wouldn't kick her. ‘Concentrate, Gracie,' Mrs Wilson says when I trip. ‘Or you'll knock us all down.'

‘Grab my shirt,' Kally says. I do. Behind me Alyce does the same thing. And we all step carefully across the darkness, feeling our way towards home.

‘Some people are born rebels and some people have rebellion thrust upon them,' Jane says when we get out of the car.

Mum shakes her head. ‘I'm definitely in the second group. Alyce, Kally, why don't you call home and tell them I've got you but I need a coffee. I'll drop you round later.' She walks into the kitchen and I follow.

‘Are you angry?'

‘Gracie, your father and I drew straws before you left to see who'd drive up to that place in the middle of the night.' She sits next to Dad and rubs her eyes. ‘I worry one day you'll do something that can't be fixed.'

I see her, then. I mean, I really see her. She looks tired and worried. She drove all that way in the dark to bring me home and the first thing she said at camp was, ‘I'm so glad you're all right.' Okay, then she said, ‘Get your butt in the car or I'll kill you.' But at least murder was her secondary instinct. Her first was to hug me.

I've been worried that she doesn't see me the same way
she did before I lied to her last year. But I know she loves me. I see why she thinks school is important but I need her to see how important soccer is to me. ‘There are some things I haven't told you,' I say. And I hand them my camp letter.

They don't say, ‘No more soccer.' They don't say, ‘No more life.' They hug me. Squeeze harder, I think. I feel good. I feel safe. But it can't last forever. It'd be a bit embarrassing walking into exams or onto the soccer field with my parents attached to me in a bear hug.

Mum lets go before me. Then Dad. We stay sitting close, though, around the kitchen bench. ‘I remember leaving home for the first time,' Mum says. ‘My mother didn't want me to go but I was desperate to live in the city. She put me on the train. She smiled the whole time. If I hadn't looked back I would never have seen her crying. I sat on that train and wondered who I was going to be.'

‘I wonder that a lot, lately. I wonder it so much sometimes I can't sleep.'

‘We'll help you catch up in English,' Dad says. ‘From what I've seen, you've been working pretty hard, staying up late studying.'

‘Thanks for noticing.'

‘I think it's important for you to make decisions on your own, now, baby. But I'm always here if you need me. Why do you think I bought Foxtel? I knew there'd be some late nights waiting until you were in bed. I can't go to sleep until you do.' I forget, sometimes, that Dad's as worried about me as Mum. He has a different worrying style, that's all.

They read the letter again before they give it back. ‘I wish we could fix the other things you've written about in here.
But those things have to fix themselves,' Mum says. ‘And they will, with a bit of time.'

Dad drives Alyce and Kally home. Mum puts on the kettle. ‘We need coffee,' she says. ‘And all the old newspapers from the laundry. We can do an hour of study before bed.' Jane sits with us and together we go over the techniques of analysis.

‘So, I have to discuss how people put a spin on the truth?' Someone should have told me that before. This is one English assignment I might actually be able to do.

‘Good, Gracie,' Mum says, looking over my work after a while. I can't remember a time when I needed her and she didn't drop everything to help. Even when Dad was away in Year 10, I knew I only had to call. It always took him a few days to make it home, but if I waited, one afternoon I'd hear his keys in the door.

I think about Annabelle before I sleep. I think about the look on her face as she sat on that bench. She'll never hear her dad's keys in the door again. For the first time ever, I wish that things were better for her. I actually wish that she's happy.

I wake early. It's still dark but I know it's nearly morning. I hear the birds. Last night, when I was lost in the bush with Gracie and Kally, I remembered that I did this when I was young. I would lie in bed listening, searching for a way to describe how the birds sounded in the second before the sun rose. They bobble, I thought, but it wasn't right. Before dawn birds know the sky is about to explode with velvet light. There's no textbook to describe the excitement.

Last night Gracie made me believe that New York is possible. She has a way of talking that sweeps people up and pushes them to new places. I heard the dawn in her voice, all the colours that soak the sky in that first moment of sun. Her views are so strong sometimes they blow mine away. Maybe that's why I told her about New York but I didn't tell her about Andrew. I'm not sure I want to leave Brett. He might not make me excited, but I can predict him. Gracie would talk about fate and love and I don't
want to make a decision about those things, yet.

I dress quietly and write a note for Mum and Dad explaining that I'm going to school early. I wait until it's light outside and then I leave. I let myself imagine what it will be like to walk along the streets of New York next year. I'll arrive after Christmas and it might be snowing. There will be lights and the giant tree I've seen in all the pictures. There will be Central Park and museums and cafes where I can sit and order and no one will know that I was the girl everyone teased through primary school.

I'm at the neighbourhood house by seven-thirty. I don't mind waiting. At eight a woman unlocks the door. ‘You're an early bird,' she says. Birds make me think of planes and that makes the excitement bubble inside me. I'm really doing this. I'm really making the first step towards leaving.

‘Can I help you?'

‘My name's Alyce Fuller. I want to volunteer.'

‘I'm Janet. How old are you, love?'

‘Seventeen.'

‘We always need help. Come into the kitchen and have a cuppa. I'll explain the sort of things we do.'

‘We're open nine to about seven Monday to Friday and nine to five on Saturday and Sunday. We have paid workers but mostly we're staffed by volunteers.' She smiles. ‘People come in and use the Internet. We offer classes some nights, like English or computers, yoga, that sort of thing. Most of the time people drop in for a chat and a cup of tea. We have a lot of elderly in the area who like a bit of company. You might be interested in the kids' club. I need a bit of help there.'

‘The kids' club sounds good,' I say, and she hands me a form.

‘Why don't you fill this out? We need your details, things like a police check and parent's permission. Drop it back when you're ready and we'll go from there.'

While I wait at the bus stop I write the details of the neighbourhood house in the space marked ‘community work' on my Young United Nations application. I forge Janet's signature because I've written that I've been working there for a year. I might have until I'm twenty-five to apply but I don't want to wait that long. By the time the organisers of the United Nations ring Janet, she'll know me. She'll see why I needed to lie. It's not even a lie, really. It's a smudge on the truth.

It is time I took a chance. Gracie gets the things she wants because she's willing to risk everything. All my dreams of New York will stay in my head if I don't do this. I want them to spill out of me next year and become real. Being brave is hard but being scared is harder. I cross my fingers and stand in front of the post box. I mail my application. And all the way to school I hear the sound of birds.

Okay, this is a message for anyone who was dumb
enough to listen to me before. Stock up on the Tim Tams,
turn off the TV and stop wasting time tidying your desk.
Get your butt into gear or YOU ARE GOING TO
FAIL ENGLISH. It's almost the second half of the game.
It's time to start scoring goals.
Gracie Faltrain

I've come back from being lost in the wilderness at camp only to get even more lost in the wilderness of my analysis essay. I'd rather be stuck in the dark facing a man with a chainsaw than stuck in a room facing a teacher with an essay question. I thought I'd be good at this sort of task and maybe I would be if I'd listened last year. Or the year before. Or the year before that. Let's face it. I wasn't even listening in primary school when they explained how to finger paint.

The Year 12 advice book that Mum bought me explains that it doesn't do any good to panic. I agree. Panic gets you nowhere. But when your future is lying in the middle of the road about to be run over by a truck with a Year 12 English examiner at the wheel it's pretty hard to stay calm. ‘If I fail English my life is over,' I say to Mrs Young in our second lunch study session.

‘I thought we decided not to panic.'

‘This is me not panicking.'

‘Gracie, it's only Wednesday. You have four more days and this is only one assessment task. It is important but the key thing is to pass the end-of-year exam.' She smiles. ‘Now, concentrate. When you say that your future is being run over by a truck it's called “hyperbole”.'

‘The truck has a name?'

‘The truck isn't called “hyperbole”. The technique is. I mean you're exaggerating. Let's start from the beginning.'

And she does. She starts from the beginning and goes over everything again. She talks slowly. And by the end of the session I think I understand. ‘We'll move on to another definition tomorrow,' she says. ‘You can do this, Gracie. I know you can.'

Of course that would be easier to believe if I could remember the definition of hyperbole five minutes after I've walked out the door. My life is definitely over.

‘The key to study is to link the word and meaning to something you'll remember,' Kally says Thursday before school. ‘Like, remember alliteration by linking it to Dan.'

‘He's damn, damn hot', Jane says. ‘Double D. Alliteration.'

‘Like, cute Corelli,' I say.

‘Freaking not funny, Faltrain. I've spent almost every lunch this week hiding in the toilets so I don't have to talk to him. The more I hide the more I obsess. If I have one more dream about him in his Superman suit I'm changing my name to Lois.'

‘Love is a form of slow, painful torture.'

‘I'm in lust, not love, Faltrain. But good work on the hyperbole. Where's Alyce, by the way? She's going to be late for school.'

‘She's at the neighbourhood house. Imagine how great next year will be if I pass English and qualify for the state and Alyce gets into the Young United Nations and you get into Journalism.'

‘If I get into Astrophysics, between the four of us we could rule the world,' Kally says.

Jane looks at Corelli who's walking across the quad. ‘I'd love to be a part of your plans for world domination. But I have to go hide in the toilets.'

Sometimes you can have all the fancy English terms at your fingertips and still, the best word to describe hiding in the toilet because the boy you like doesn't like you is that it sucks.

‘Focus on the posts,' Mrs Young says Friday afternoon. She's supervising the detention Kally, Alyce and I have for wandering off at camp.

‘I think you mean focus on the goal, Mrs Young. “Posts” are in Australian Rules football, not soccer.'

‘Focus on the goal of a clear essay, then, and you'll be fine.' She packs up her books and signals for us to do the same. ‘I'll be at school early on Monday if you need anything. Take tonight off and work on Saturday and Sunday.'

‘Thanks, Mrs Young.' It turns out I did smack her in the face for a reason. I'd still be lost in the wilderness of English if I hadn't got her attention.

Dan's waiting out the front of the school to take Kally and me to the practice training sessions with the girls. ‘I'm worried we won't win the bet,' Kally says in the car. ‘Are you worried?' she asks me.

I am. But sometimes a person needs to hear that they can win. Mrs Young showed me that this week. ‘Relax. Tomorrow we'll sub four of the girls plus you into the school game to give you all a taste of what it's like to play against boys. Sunday we'll work hard at state trials. Dan will bring some guys along to extra training. We have a solid plan. I think we'll be okay.'

‘I'm glad I'm not in this alone.'

‘You're not,' I say, and Dan nods. It's all right for him. He's not the one who might lose his hair, I think. But I don't say anything. I smile like I don't have a care in the world.

I watch Kally and the girls train tonight. Please let them win. Please. ‘Go, Char,' I yell. ‘Go Esther.' I call out things to help them. I write down where they might have trouble. At the end of the session I tell them they've done a great job. I remind the players who are on for the school game tomorrow to be early. And the last thing I do is cross my fingers.

‘I want to show you something on the way home,' Dan says after we drop Kally at the Orions'. He grins as we drive along the highway.

‘You're excited,' I say.

‘Yeah, I am.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘Some place I love as much as you love the soccer field.'

‘It's funny. I do love soccer. Every other year it's been the only thing I've focused on. This year, when I'm so close to my dream of playing for the state, other things are crowding in. I want to pass school. I want those girls to win the bet.
I want to win the school soccer competition but I'd rather the girls I'm subbing in tomorrow play well. Life's confusing.'

‘And it wasn't last year?'

‘It was. But at least for a while I thought things were clear-cut. I knew I wanted to win at soccer no matter what. I wanted to help Martin and Alyce and I was willing to put everything on the line to do it. I was so sure of myself.' Okay, in the end I was wrong. But is being wrong but confident worse than being right without a real clue what you're doing?

Dan stops at the airfield. ‘We're here.' We walk up to the wire fence and stare through. ‘I fly one like that,' he says, and explains how to take off and how to fly. I imagine him, looking down on a world that looks small enough to move with his hands.

‘You'd see everything from up there, wouldn't you?'

‘More than you see from down here, that's for sure. But you can't see everything.'

I think of last year and the year before. ‘It would be so much easier if you could.'