It should be an easy game of basketball. We’re clearly the better players, no offence to Alyce’s team. We lose, though. Maybe it’s because Flemming keeps passing her the ball. I don’t bother reminding him that he’s on my side.
‘Congratulations, Alyce,’ I say at the end, shaking her hand.
‘And congratulations to you, Gracie.’
‘What for? We didn’t win.’
‘You’ve been chosen for the comedy debate. You and I are speaking in it this afternoon.’
‘What?’ The day gets about a hundred degrees colder.
‘Gracie Faltrain isn’t scared of talking at assembly, is she? They’ll love you.’
Alyce Fuller: one. Gracie Faltrain: zero.
There’s something about public speaking that bothers me. I think it’s the fear of wetting my pants in front of an audience of about a million people.
‘Alyce,’ I whisper. ‘I have to pee again.’
Gracie, some of those kids out there can probably lip-read, she writes on the paper in front of her. Good point. I smile as wide as I can.
Don’t worry, I have a plan, she writes.
I keep smiling. There’s an auditorium full of kids waiting for me to speak. A good time to let me in on the plan would be, say, NOW, Alyce. It crosses my mind that her plan might be to teach me a lesson. I don’t need to learn any more. I’ve learnt enough. But I guess that I was happy for Alyce to experience this humiliation so that she could grow as a person, so in the words of Jane, ‘Suck it up, Faltrain. You deserve this.’
I look down at the topic again. ‘School teaches us nothing. The real world is where we learn the most.’
The hardest part is that this crowd expects to be entertained. It’s not like other debates. There’s only one rule: you have to be funny or you never live it down. That’s why kids like Annabelle do it. Every-one is too scared not to laugh. She’d kill them afterwards. But Alyce and me? We really have to be funny. Either that or we’re dead. I have to admit, this was not one of my better ideas.
I don’t have a speech, I write to Alyce. My letters are shaky. I’m getting hysterical now. I’m the middle speaker.
I told you before, you don’t need one, she writes back just before her name is called.
‘The first speaker for the affirmative. Alyce Fuller.’
‘Good afternoon everyone,’ Alyce says. Her voice is shaky. She’s tapping her left foot, like she always does when she’s nervous. I concentrate on sending her every last good vibe that’s in me.
‘I’m here to prove to you today that school teaches us nothing. My team and I are differing from the standard rules of the debate where I speak first, and then the next person speaks and then the third. We would stick to those rules, but we have no idea how a real debate works. Andrew Flemming was talking too loudly during that lesson for us to hear what Mrs Wilson was saying, so we actually don’t know how to debate.’
Alyce clicks the computer and a huge picture of Flemming fills the screen above us. He’s leaning back on his chair and reaching out to hit Corelli. Everyone laughs. I can see Flemming cracking up in the back row. He loves being the centre of attention. Alyce laughs right along with everyone. Her hands have stopped shaking. Her foot is still.
‘To demonstrate how little we actually learn in school today, I’m going to use my second speaker. What is your name?’ Alyce turns to me.
‘Huh?’ I say, not catching on to my role in all of this.
Alyce shakes her head. ‘See, absolutely nothing has sunk in. Your name?’
‘Oh. Gracie Faltrain.’
‘Good.’ People are laughing, but I don’t care. They think it’s scripted. Alyce winks at me. ‘Name the last five prime ministers of Australia.’
I play up my part. Shake my head. Look dumb. It’s not all an act, I have to tell you. I have no idea who the last five prime ministers were.
‘Name the elements in the periodic table.’
‘Yeah, right. Like that’s ever going to happen.’ I start enjoying the laughter rushing up like a wave.
‘But if I asked you to name the country that won the World Cup in 2002. . .’
‘Brazil defeated Germany two–nil.’ I spin the fact off without thinking.
Alyce nods and turns to face the audience. ‘Proof that it is not school that teaches us, but the real world.’ She waits for quiet and then turns around to Fran Walker, our third speaker.
‘Name five American poets.’
Fran looks blank.
‘Four Australian ones?’
Blanker.
‘Two explorers that climbed Mount Everest? One of the first countries to give women the right to vote?’
Blankest. Fran plays her part beautifully. She is a crisp, white, clean piece of paper that has never been written on.
Annabelle is up next. And even I can see; she has nowhere to go. People are on Alyce’s side. Finally, they can see how funny and smart she is.
Annabelle walks to the centre of the stage after she has been introduced. She smiles that smile that tells me she has something up her sleeve. ‘Firstly, I’d like to rebut some of the opposition’s arguments.’ She turns to Alyce. ‘Name four American poets.’
Oh no. Unless Alyce lies, she’ll have to answer that question. She must be the only kid in our school who has answers like that swimming around in her brain. See where education gets you? It loses a person the debate. It’s dangerous.
I look across to Alyce and wait for her next move. She smiles back at Annabelle and then faces the audience. ‘I’ll name five. Auden, Aiken, Ashbery, Bly and Cummings. . .But let’s face it. I’m the biggest nerd in the school. I want everyone out there in the audience to ask yourselves the question: would you know the answer?’
And everyone laughs. Not for Annabelle. For Alyce. I catch sight of Flemming. He’s standing up and clapping. I point him out to her. ‘Are you going to give him a second chance?’ I whisper.
‘I don’t think so, Gracie,’ she says. And as everyone’s clapping, she stands up and takes a bow.
The scores are even, Alyce, I think, as a thousand people clap for her. I couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign. Except I shouldn’t have needed one. Martin was right. I have treated Alyce like dirt. I wanted her to be like all the rest of the kids in the school. But then she wouldn’t be as great as she is. What sort of person needs the whole school to applaud her best friend to prove that she’s great? I remember last year, when no one was clapping for me, Martin and Alyce were still there, cheering me on. Because I was Gracie Faltrain. And that was enough for them.
And who’s applauding for you now? I think. Alyce turns to me and Fran and waves at us to stand up, too. Fran does, but I shake my head. Some days you don’t deserve applause. But Alyce grabs my arm and drags me up. ‘Smile, Gracie. We won,’ she says. No Alyce. You did.
44
Game over.
Martin Knight
Everyone files out of the hall. Usually most of the kids leave for home pretty quickly, but today after the debate there’s a small crowd still hanging around near the front of the school.
‘Some of your fans, Alyce,’ I tease her.
She looks at the kids. ‘Gracie,’ she says softly, and that smile of hers finally takes off. ‘Look.’
The crowd clears a little, and I see Martin, laughing with Francavilla and Singh and Corelli. Flemming is hanging around, too. Martin’s wearing the t-shirt I gave him for Christmas. His hands are hooked into the edges of his pockets like always. He still hasn’t brushed his hair. On the outside he’s exactly the same. Except now I can’t go up to him. Now there’s a fence between us.
‘Go on,’ I say to Alyce. ‘Go and say hi.’
‘You don’t want to come?’
More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say. Every step I take hurts. Because no one follows me.
The sky is messy this afternoon, cut with colours bleeding into each other. When I was a kid I remember making
paintings that looked like that. Everyone else was using a brush, but I wanted to dig my hands in and smear the colour on the page. That’s how I feel inside these days, because everyone’s telling me that I’m the one who stuffed up.
And I did. I lied. I tried to change Alyce. I fought on that field like Flemming, and I saw how ugly that was. And there was a part of me that liked it. Loved it.
There’s a part of me that’s glad Martin and his dad are talking, whatever the cost. But I know that you can’t take people’s lives and make them how you want them to be, because if you do that, then it’s not their life anymore. And what’s the point of living if someone else is calling all the plays? But it’s hard to sit on the bench and see that the people you love are hurting. Especially when you think you could fix things, push a few people aside so they can look at the view.
Alyce and Martin kept piling on those layers to block out the sun because it hurt them, I guess. And they kept telling me that it did, but I kept pushing them out there even though they were burning. Mum said that night we watched the mice on the Discovery Channel that she couldn’t bear to see them experimented on.
‘It’s for the good of science,’ I said.
‘A lot of things get done for the greater good, Gracie. It doesn’t make them right.’
I don’t hear Martin this afternoon until he’s close behind me. ‘I always know where to find you, Faltrain.’ He lies down next to me, one elbow bent beneath him so he can look out at the field.
‘So I heard you guys are through to the final.’
‘It’s on Saturday. Are you playing?’
‘I don’t know, Faltrain. I haven’t decided.’
I wait for a bit, but he doesn’t say anything else. ‘You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah. But not as mad as when I left.’ His eyes catch cars on the street and watch them till they disappear.
‘Your dad said you went to the beach.’ Every word I say is a footstep in the dark.
Martin’s voice stays steady, though. ‘It was an accident, sort of. I got to the station and saw Dromana on the destination board and bought a ticket. I guess Dad told you we had our last holiday there.’
‘He said your mum seemed happy.’
‘She did. We spent most days crouched over the rock pools. “It’s a whole other world in there, Marty”, I remember her saying. “Full of things that are too tiny to see.”
‘She loved me and Karen,’ he says, biting down on the words in case they escape. ‘Some things you have to feel, I reckon, and I felt it on that holiday. She spent every second she had with us. Reading us stories, walking along the beach, talking. One night she fell asleep on the bed with me, still holding my hand. I remember waking up, and seeing her there. I’d forgotten most of that, until I went back. I guess that holiday was her way of saying goodbye.’
‘Did you talk to your dad about it?’
Martin nods. ‘He and Karen found me lying on the beach. I haven’t seen them smile like that since before Mum left. After Karen went to bed, Dad sat up with me in the hotel. He told me stuff that hurt him to say. “She was happy, on that holiday, Marty”, he told me. “But I knew it was the last time we’d have her like that.” ’ Martin fights off tears as he talks.
‘“I knew her inside out”, Dad said. “And the saddest thing is she couldn’t have won. She’d have died if she’d stayed. And leaving would have killed her. Wherever she is, Marty, she’s broken. I can’t bear to think of her like that.” He cried, Faltrain. Do you know what it’s like to see your old man look like a kid?’
‘Martin . . .’
‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear that again.’ He pulls his knees up to his chin, and keeps chasing those cars with his eyes. If he could, he’d be in one of them. Not here.
‘I noticed you way before you noticed me,’ he says after a while. ‘I was following you around the whole time you were chasing that idiot Nick Johnson. I loved watching you play soccer. I loved watching you.’
‘We’re playing that way again, Martin, like we did at the start. Flemming and me and the rest of the team, we decided you were right. I shouldn’t have done what I did; I shouldn’t have found your mum when it was none of my business.’
‘I know you didn’t make all of this mess, Faltrain.’ His hands are trying to catch that wide ball again. They look like he’s trying to build something out of the air, a reason for the way I acted. ‘But you lied to me. All year. I told you stuff I never told anyone else. I trusted you. Why was it so important to you that I find her?’
‘I thought you’d stopped caring about soccer. I thought you’d given up.’
‘And that wasn’t good enough for you, Faltrain, was it? You couldn’t have a boyfriend in goal. What if I said you were right? I have given up on soccer. What if after I read that note from Mum all the stuff she used to tell me about life just seemed like lies, and I couldn’t play anymore, because it hurt too much imagining her at the games? Am I good enough for you now?’
‘Yes, Martin.’
‘But that’s the crap thing. It’s too late now. I know I said I couldn’t understand how you leave the people you love. But sometimes you have to. Sometimes it’s the only way to keep going.’
I know now what Martin’s mum meant when she said people are all desperate for something. They’re desperate to win, so mad for it they’d drag people back, just so it looks like they’re going forwards. But not everyone can win.
The light fades. Neither of us moves. When one of your best friends is leaving, it’s worth stretching it out as long as you can.
In the movies there’s always that bit where the person gets dumped and you see how bad they feel. In books too. They describe how their heart aches. How they feel like they never want to get out of bed again. How the sun doesn’t shine anymore.
Well, anyone who’s ever been dumped can tell you that those descriptions are a whole lot of crap. They don’t come anywhere close to telling it how it really is. One minute you’re on the soccer field, flying for goal. And then the next minute the ground is empty. It’s dark. And you’ve got no one to kick to but yourself.
‘How was practice tonight, baby?’ Dad asks when I get home.
‘I wasn’t at practice. I was with Martin.’
‘So, did you find out the end of his story now that he’s back?’
‘Yeah, I know how it ends. He dumps me.’
‘That’s not the real ending, though, is it, Gracie?’
‘No. He gets closer to his dad, and works out stuff about his mum.’
‘So the ending is happy for Martin.’
‘But it’s not happy for me.’
‘You’re not the hero of his story, Gracie. It doesn’t have to be happy for you.’
Dad looks out the window of my room. ‘Your mother planted this part of the garden especially for you. She wanted it to grow in crowded tangles all around the window. “I want her to have a life full of everything, Bill”, she said.’
‘Did she want it full of sad stuff, too?’
‘A little sad stuff is okay. As long as it doesn’t choke everything else. You’ll get over Martin, even though it doesn’t feel like it.’
‘What if I don’t want to get over him? What if I want him back?’
‘Do you think you deserve him?’
Good shot, Dad. You’ve been taking lessons from Mum. ‘No,’ I say.
‘Then maybe you have a chance. Baby, I know better than anyone, you can always turn the ship around. Look at me. Slowly change direction, Gracie. Maybe one day Martin will trust you again.’
Dad’s right. If I want Martin back, it’s going to take time. Lots of it.
‘Look,’ Dad says, pointing through a gap to the middle of the garden. ‘I think the magnolia’s about to come out.’
‘Dinner’s been on the table for ten minutes, you two,’ Mum yells from the kitchen. ‘Now move it and set the table.’
You’re absolutely right, Dad. I’d sa
y that for you, the magnolia is well on the way.
And for me? Maybe I have to wait a while longer. I pruned a little late this year. The great thing about spring is it loops like everything else. Martin will still be around next season, and the one after. I’ve got all that time to prove to him that I’ve changed.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to start straightaway.
45
It’s not over till it’s over.
Gracie Faltrain
‘So we’re all still sure this is the way we want to play it?’ Flemming asks before the final.
‘I’m sure,’ I say, and everyone else nods. There’s no other way we can go out there and win.
‘It means we have to be better than ever before. It’s Woodbury we’re up against. He still wants us dead.’ Flemming looks at us all to make sure we’re hearing him properly. ‘The scouts are out there. The match is being televised. It could be humiliating.’
‘It’s been a humiliating season,’ Singh says. ‘It’s time to turn it around.’
‘Then I guess I’ll see you all in hospital after the game,’ Flemming says. He turns to Coach, who’s smiling next to him. ‘So tell us again how you think we should play it?’
The stands are full. Alyce and Mum and Dad are right in the front. ‘I’ve got 000 plugged into my phone,’ Mum said earlier.
‘Thanks,’ I told her. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better.’
There’s still no sign of Martin.
‘Did you call him, Flemming?’
‘For the fiftieth time, Faltrain. I called. He said he’d make it.’
I guess it doesn’t matter. I’d do this even if he wasn’t here to watch.
‘Stop staring, Corelli. I told you before: they’re not real.’
‘I’m not staring at them. I’ve just never seen you nervous before.’
I’m gutsy. I’m not an idiot. Woodbury and his thugs are warming up on the field and they look ready. Our team looks ready to run more than anything else. But sooner or later you have to change the play. If you don’t, everyone keeps saying the same lines over and over again.