The Yearbook Committee (21 page)

         
Ryan Fleming
Hamlet, you are killing my life. #HSCEnglish

‘Mr Fleming, may I please see you before you leave?' Mr West says as the bell rings.

I walk up to him, my bag on my shoulder.

‘Ryan, I couldn't help but notice you didn't hand in your final English assessment yesterday.'

‘No, sir, I left it at home.'

‘That's unlike you,' he says, picking up the eraser and wiping down the whiteboard. ‘Not only is your HSC grade riding on this assessment, but also your chances of winning the St Jerome Medal. Charlie Scanlon is hot on your tail.'

‘I know, sir,' I say. ‘But she has plans, and, without soccer, I have nothing. That medal — well, the scholarship — it no longer makes a difference.'

He sighs and puts down the eraser. ‘You shouldn't fail your assignments to make some sort of statement.'

‘But, sir, I'm seventeen,' I reply bluntly. ‘I'm genetically programmed to want to make statements.'

He raises his eyebrows, and in the gesture I can see his ambivalence. He's not going to bother to lecture me, because whatever fire moved him to take this job has since been put out by hundreds of other thick, know-it-all teenagers before me, and he just doesn't care any more.

‘I want it on my desk tomorrow,' he says finally. ‘And I'll make you a deal — I need an additional senior representative at the Speak Now public-speaking contest on Friday morning. I have three year 11s and two year 12s, including Miss Scanlon. If you'll be the third, I won't penalise you.'

‘Yes, sir,' I say.

I think about his words as I walk through the halls. All the teachers seem to be gunning for me to win that scholarship, and I have no idea why. They obviously think some healthy competition would do me good, and from the outside Charlie is the ultimate competition for me: fierce, spirited, confident. But they can't see what's beneath the surface. She isn't just my opposition any more — she's also a part of me, occupying a part of my heart that I didn't know was there.

Is this what love feels like?
I think. Standing in the open space of the quad, I can't help but feel as though I have been backed into a corner.

The opposition and I wind up sitting next to each other on the bus on the way to the Speak Now session on Friday morning. Across the aisle, we both watch one of the year 11 students frantically making notes.

‘What do you think she's doing?' I ask Charlie.

She shrugs. ‘Beats me. I mean, how can she be preparing? We don't even know what the topics are yet.'

‘Maybe she's psychic,' I suggest.

‘I wonder if she can foresee the punishment I'm going to dish out to Lauren Pappas,' she says, looking out the window. ‘Because I can't seem to decide on one.'

‘Oh, you're going to fight fire with fire, are you?' I ask her sarcastically. ‘That's smart.'

She rolls her eyes. Things have been awkward ever since I kissed her, but they're worse than ever now thanks to the whole Gillian's-hacked-webcam thing; it's like we're back to where we started.

‘Don't talk to me about being smart,' she says after a moment. ‘Not only do you hang out with terrible people like her and David, who, by the way, is an absolute dick for the way he treated Tammi at the party — yes, Gill told me what happened — but you also let them treat you like crap too.'

‘Wow,' I say, raising my eyebrows. ‘You're even more opinionated than usual today.'

‘Stop living in denial, Ryan. You hang out with bullies and you're so blind to them bullying other people because they have so easily bullied you.'

‘What are you talking about?' I say, incredulous. ‘
You
seem to bully me more than anyone I know. I'm actually scared of coming to school because I never know what cannon you're going to fire at me on any given day.'

‘I can't offer you advice about how to deal with bullies if you don't ask for it.'

‘That's funny, because you offer me all sorts of other advice that I've never asked for.'

She gestures to my leg, and I redden.

‘That scar is nothing compared to what's going on in your head,' she tells me seriously.

I sigh. ‘I might regret asking this, but what do you mean?'

‘The scar will fade with time,' she says. ‘But if you don't start getting your dream back, then eventually it's going to be too late. Meanwhile the guy who took your dream away because of his stupid idea to ride a four-wheeler over a sand dune is now pursuing it, and you're just sitting on the sidelines watching it all unfold.'

‘How do you know how it happened?' I ask her. ‘I mean, I have a vague idea — something about girls and how much they gossip — but that's a bit sexist isn't it?'

‘Please. It's all everyone could talk about when I first got here,' she says. ‘Ryan Fleming: school captain, soccer star, gorgeous, smart, nice. Why did he have to get on that bike and ruin our prospects of winning the Sydney Schools Soccer Tournament or whatever the hell it's called? Never mind whatever personal prospects he had ruined.'

‘Not pros
pects
,' I say, turning away. ‘Pros
pect
. Just one.'

‘The biggest one, though, right?'

I just nod. There isn't anything to say.

‘Who says it's ruined?'

I look at her like she's the dumbest person I've ever met, instead of the smartest. ‘Um, the doctor who spent four hours in surgery trying to fix my knee. The physiotherapist. The coach.'

‘And did you get a second opinion? A second physio? Did you ever go into the backyard and actually try to kick a ball around?'

‘What would be the point?' I ask her.

‘To go beyond the limitations other people have set for you,' she says. ‘Don't take your injury at face value. Give yourself a chance, and if it really doesn't work, then at least you know for certain that you did everything you could.'

‘I'd never play the same,' I mumble, looking at my feet.

‘No, probably not,' she agrees. ‘But the way people spoke about you made you sound like a god on the field, so you'd probably still play better than a hell of a lot of people out there.'

I'm quiet for the rest of the bus ride, mulling over her words. She might be the exact type of person whose face I would love to smash in if she were a guy, and yet she's teaching me more than I ever thought possible.

Inside the hall, surrounded by words and arguments and speeches, I'm thinking about my own inner debate. For and against. To play or not to play. To dream or not to dream.

We get let out for a half-hour break. Mr West asks me if I know what I'm going to talk about. And even though I planned to speak about the environment, I tell him I'm going to be talking about my generation's potential to do more than download TV shows, to pursue things more important than Instagram followers and to dream about things bigger than fame.

He smiles, and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Good to see some of that old spark back,' he says.

I find Charlie outside on her iPad, looking frustrated.

‘Look at this!' she says, showing me a photo of Gillian with a crude drawing of a penis next to her smiling face.

‘That's disgusting,' I say.

She looks at me tersely, then turns away.

‘What, you think my friends did that?' I ask her.

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘But they definitely made it OK for others to get in on it. It's so infuriating.'

‘What do you have against them?' I ask her.

‘Nothing except the fact that they are just so insensitive to the people I care about.'

‘So you care about me, do you?' I ask, smirking.

Her eyes are like slits as she gives me a death-stare. ‘Ryan, get over yourself,' she says slowly. ‘I care about Gillian. How can they be so mean?'

‘It's like a witch hunt! You have no proof my friends did the webcam thing.'

‘It's not just Gillian — every single person they've put down to make themselves feel better are victims. You and Tammi included. You think I don't see how Lauren talks to Tammi? Maybe if Lauren stopped and thought about who Tammi is, she might learn a lot from her — like how to not do stuff just because it's trendy or because some guy is pressuring you to.'

‘You know about that?' I ask. ‘Jeez, nothing is private any more.'

‘Playground gossip, Ryan. Wake up! Why do you blind yourself to what's happening around you?' she asks. ‘Why can't you accept that our generation is not shiny or beautiful or smart, but completely insensitive and stupid and self-centred?'

‘Well, actually, my talk is —'

‘I just can't get over it,' she says, shaking her head. ‘No matter which way I look at it, Lauren's aspirations for fame are in no way jeopardised by what Gill is doing, so why is she treating her that way? It's crazy. And by your silence you're just letting them get away with it.'

I don't say anything.

‘I'm going to go,' she says, standing up. ‘Think I need a little bit of space.'

Her phone beeps as she starts walking off. She stops in her tracks to read the message, and by the almost imperceptible slump of the shoulders I know it's from Pete.

‘I'm not the only one who's blind, you know,' I call out. ‘If you opened your eyes, maybe you'd see that he doesn't really care about you.'

She turns to face me, her eyes narrowed. ‘Oh yeah?' she says. ‘How do you know?'

‘How many times has he ignored your messages?' I yell, walking up to her. ‘How many times has he come to visit you? How many times has he shared links he thinks you'd like on your Facebook wall? All the stuff that you do for him.'

She bites her lip.

Shut up
, I tell myself.
You can see you're hurting her, so shut up
. But I can't.

‘I mean, it's so obvious that you're the one putting in the effort,' I finish.

‘Don't you dare talk to me about effort and what's obvious,' she says.

‘Save it, Charlie,' I say. We're standing so close our noses are almost touching. ‘This is the only time that you are wrong and I am right.'

She blinks. I can't tell if she's trying to restrain her tears or her anger; I'm too mesmerised by her smell, the colour of her eyes, that little freckle on her right cheek, to care.

‘I'm never wrong,' she says defiantly, and I can't help but admire her for that. She's more of a champion than half the guys on the soccer team.

‘You're the one who's always going on about women's worth,' I tell her. ‘Why are you chasing someone who doesn't know yours?'

‘Because he's the closest thing to a man I've found in a teenage guy,' she tells me, vindictive and venomous.

And I know then that I don't have a chance in hell with her.