Just Annoying! (5 page)

Lisa shrugs. ‘Maybe.'

I dry my sweaty hands on a piece of paper towel.

‘I have to get back to the dance,' I say. ‘It was nice to meet you.'

‘You too,' she says. ‘I hope we can be really good friends.'

‘Me too,' I say.

‘And remember what I said about Craig.'

‘Thanks,' I say. ‘I'll be careful.'

I pull open the door and go back out into the hall.

I can't see Craig anywhere. Fantastic.

 

I just want to get home, get changed and get back as quickly as I can.

I'm heading towards the exit when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

‘Hey,' says Craig. ‘Where are you going?'

‘I have to go home,' I say.

‘But it's so early,' he says. ‘How about one more dance? You really set that floor alight, you know.'

Dancing with Craig is the last thing I want to do.

‘I've got a big day tomorrow,' I say.

‘But it's Saturday. You can sleep in.'

‘I have to wash my hair.'

‘Just one more,' he begs.

I get the feeling it's going to be quicker to have the dance than to argue.

‘One more,' I say, ‘and then I really have to go.'

He leads me onto the floor. But this time he doesn't go crazy. He puts his hands around my waist and tries to pull me towards him.

 

 

I try to pull away but he is strong.

The smell of his aftershave is making me feel sick as we shuffle around the floor.

As we pass the drinks table I catch Jen's eye. Help me, I mouth silently. She winks at me. She's enjoying this.

The song finishes.

I pull away from Craig.

‘I really have to go now,' I say.

Danny comes up to me. He's the last person I want to see.

‘May I have this dance?' he asks.

‘In your dreams, buddy,' says Craig, pushing him away and grabbing me around the waist. ‘This one's mine.'

‘No, it's not,' I say, jerking out of his grasp.

For a moment Craig is stunned. He is not used to being rejected.

He grabs my shoulder.

I shrug his hand off.

‘Stop it!' I say, turning towards the door.

He reaches out to pull me back. I'm quick. But not quick enough.

Craig grabs the back of my dress.

The dress rips right down to my waist, revealing my underpants.

I guess you've probably never had the experience of standing in your sister's bra and your Action Man undies in front of the whole school.

 

If you have, then I feel very sorry for you. If you haven't, then I don't recommend it.

But my embarrassment doesn't end there.

Without the dress to support it, my bra collapses.

The floor is awash with polystyrene balls.

I try to make a run for the door but I trip on my high heels.

Craig reaches forward to stop me falling. He grabs a handful of my hair. My wig comes off in his hand.

‘I knew it was you,' says Danny. ‘I knew it all along.'

Craig looks at Danny.

Craig looks at me.

He looks at the wig in his hand.

I start to slide away on my back.

‘No hard feelings, Craig?' I say. ‘Just a bit of fun.'

He throws the wig on the floor.

‘I'm going to punch your head in,' he says.

Craig takes off his jacket and starts rolling up his sleeves as he walks towards me.

Jen runs forward. She grabs his arm.

‘Don't do that,' she says. ‘He's not worth it! He's just a kid. Come and have a drink.'

He looks at me. He looks at Jen. He looks back at me with such anger in his eyes that I wonder if he'll ever get over it.

‘Come on,' says Jen.

He turns and allows her to lead him away to the drinks table, his arm around her waist.

I think he'll get over it.

‘I knew it was you,' says Danny. ‘I wasn't fooled for a second. I just asked you to dance for a laugh.'

I look up.

Lisa Mackney is looking down at me.

‘I can explain,' I say.

‘Go ahead,' she says.

‘Um . . . er . . . I . . . ah . . . um . . .'

‘You could always try telling the truth,' she suggests.

She's right. I never thought of that.

‘Um—the truth is that I'm very immature for my age.'

‘I know,' she says. ‘And you know what else?'

‘What?' I say.

‘You have terrible taste in underpants.'

put my suitcase on top of the bed, flick the locks open and lift up the lid.
    He's lying there. Staring. He never stops. He's been staring at me day and night since I took him from Mrs Scott's garden a few days ago.

Hands on hips. Little fat belly sticking out of his shirt. And the strangest expression on his face. It could be a smile. It could be a grimace. It's hard to tell.

All I know is that he's not like the other gnomes.

Each year when I come to Mildura to visit my grandparents I borrow one of the gnomes from Mrs Scott's garden and bring it with me. I take a photograph of the gnome and send it to Mrs Scott with a little message on the back saying, ‘Having a great time! Wish you were here. Love, Gnome.'

When I get home mom the holiday I put the gnome back in her garden—exactly where it was before—and leave Mrs Scott to figure out how on earth a garden gnome manages to travel five hundred kilometres north all by itself.

Sometimes I give them to Danny and other friends to take away as well. In a good year Mrs Scott's gnomes send her postcards from all around Australia.

I don't just do it for Mrs Scott's benefit, though. I also do it because I think it's a nice thing to do for the gnomes. It must be pretty boring just standing in the same spot in the same garden day after day.

They've always looked pretty happy to escape. Until now.

I take the gnome out of the case and lay him on the bed. I rummage through my clothes to find my shorts. I undo the top button of my jeans and unzip my fly. I stop. The gnome is still staring. I turn him over so that he's face down on the bed.

I know it's stupid to be embarrassed about getting changed in front of a concrete gnome but it just doesn't feel right—not the way this gnome stares.

A loud whining noise comes from the backyard.

I go outside.

Grandpa is standing next to what looks like a mini rocket launcher.

‘Hey, Andy!' he calls. ‘Come and see my new mulcher.'

Every time I visit, Grandpa's got some new garden machine or gadget. His shed looks like a garden supplies warehouse.

‘It can chew anything,' he says. ‘Watch!'

He picks up a branch thicker than his arm. He flicks the switch and the engine roars into action. Grandpa shoves the branch into the blades. There's a high-pitched whining noise. An explosion of sawdust from the exit chute. No more branch.

‘Isn't she great?' says Grandpa. His red face is beaming with pride. ‘Want a try?'

‘Yeah,' I say.

He hands me a branch. Grey knotty and gnarled. I jab the end into the blades. It makes a slight whining noise. I pull back.

‘Don't be shy,' says Grandpa. ‘Push like you mean it.'

I push the branch in hard. Whine, spit, puff! Gone.

‘Want to do another?' he says, beaming.

‘Yeah,' I say.

Grandpa hands me another branch. I push it in. Gone! He hands me another. Gone! And another. Gone!

Granny sticks her head out of the window.

‘There'll be nothing left in the backyard if you carry on at that rate,' she says. ‘Why don't you go to the pool, Andy?'

It's not a bad idea. Grandpa's mulcher is fun, but it's hot work.

‘Okay, Gran,' I say. ‘Can we do some more later, Grandpa?'

‘Yes,' he chuckles. ‘I'll cut down another tree. That should keep us going.'

I go back to my bedroom to get my towel.

The gnome is lying on top of the bed.

But not face down like I left him. He's face up. Staring.

That's weird.

But hang on. My case, which was open, has been closed and placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Granny must have come into the room while I was outside and straightened things up.

But the gnome is starting to freak me out. I'm going to take the photograph, then wrap him up and try to forget about him so that I can enjoy the rest of my holiday.

I grab my boardshorts, my camera, the gnome and head for the pool.

There's heaps of people at the swimming pool.

The diving tower is working overtime. Dives, bombs, bellywhacks, screams . . .

Hey! I could set the gnome up on the edge of one of the diving boards. It would make a cool photo.

I wonder if it's against the pool rules?

There's a sign forbidding everything else: no running, no jumping, no horseplay. It doesn't say anything about gnomes, though.

I join the top tower ladder queue. I'm holding the gnome in one hand and have my camera over my shoulder.

I hear laughter behind me. I turn around.

Two big guys are smirking.

‘Got your gnome, have ya?'

They crack up laughing.

‘Yeah,' I say.

‘Or is it your little brother?' says one.

‘Nah, couldn't be,' says the other. ‘It's too good looking.'

This cracks them up again. I ignore them. I put my hand on the thin steel of the ladder and pull myself up. My hand is shaking.

I have to admit that I'm not really a top-tower sort of guy. I'm more of a bottom-runger. I usually just put my foot on the first step of the ladder and then take it off again and go and play in the toddlers' pool. I don't really cope with heights very well. But the smirking guys are behind me. I can't back out now. And besides, I want that photograph.

My knuckles whiten as I climb. My knees feel weak, like they'll cave in if I put too much pressure on them.

Finally I reach the platform. It's so high I can practically see the whole town.

The girl in front of me runs along the plank and then pin drops to the water below. She screams the whole way down. It's horrible.