Jasper Jones (41 page)

She and I, we go to the glade in the dead of night, like Jasper and Laura before us. I’ve devised a route to her window that means I’m unlikely to get caught. It’s the next best thing to digging a tunnel under Corrigan all the way to her street. I tap the glass with my knuckle like I always dreamed of doing, and she swipes the curtain back, pleased to see me. She even has sunflowers on the windowsill.
And we walk together, hand in hand, to that island in the bush, and it no longer feels like we’re trespassing. Sometimes Eliza takes flowers and sits by the water’s edge with her legs crossed, and I stand apart while she whispers things. Sometimes she brings her sister gifts and she drops them to the bottom like a wishing well. Sometimes she gets quiet and hard and it’s best for me to leave her be. Sometimes we muck about, we giggle and dance and have fun. We don’t ever swim in the dam. We lie down and drink in the stars and talk about books and cities and things that are important to us. The things we wish for. Who we want to be. I confide in her. I tell her about my father’s novel. I even sneak her a copy of the manuscript, which she reads in a single day, and we get giddy over the parts we liked. We talk about how famous he’ll be, how one day I might have a book that sits next to his on the shelf.

We sleep in the tree hollow, snug and safe. Eliza and I hold on to each other the same way you’d cling to a lamppost during a blizzard. I put my hand on her hummingbird heart and see that it settles.

And we kiss as we lie under the thick tent of that eucalypt. I’m not even nervous anymore. It’s the nicest thing in the world. I press my mouth to her neck and I breathe her in and our hands go places. I touch her belly, her ribs, and the warm thrill of her breasts. I was wrong to ever declare there is nothing softer than a girl’s lips.

It’s our secret. And this one is worth keeping. And I don’t feel the need to share or shuck it. This one keeps me light. In a way, this secret has helped untie the knot of the other ones. The hushed stuff in our chests seems to hum and dissolve when we press our hearts together. I look forward to seeing her so much.

Visiting the glade has softened our talk about leaving; it’s leached the urgency right out of it. We’re mostly wistful and wishful now. We may not have high tea at the Plaza, but billy tea in Jasper’s glade is just as nice.

Every so often, when she’s particularly low or sad, or thinking on horrible things, that curious accent of hers returns. But I think I understand it now. I’ve seen the film. I know the flippant and frivolous
manner, the snips of scenes. The Golightly voice, it’s a wily vice. Eliza WishArt. So I don’t ever say anything. I let it pass.

But mostly, Jasper’s glade fills our lungs and settles us down. And it feels like love. It really does. It seems to mirror everything I’ve read about it. And if it’s not, then it must be awfully close. I want to ask her to marry me. I don’t want anybody else. She’s the finest thing in this town. And I don’t want to be without her. She’s the single sliver of something good that I’ve got to hold in my hand. And I want to wrap it around my finger and make a ring out of it. One day, when I’ve got enough courage in me, I’ll tell her. I’ll say all the right words. And she might even say them back.

oday is the first day back at school. As expected, the summer’s events are foremost on everyone’s minds and mouths. The disappearance of Laura Wishart is gossiped about for hours, with the abduction of the Beaumont kids in Adelaide just a few days ago giving the mystery fresh ingredients. Nobody is safe anymore. The air drones with the murmurs of rumors.

The girls cluster and hush when Eliza appears. The boys jostle and grin and elbow each other.

Jasper Jones doesn’t turn up late to tick off his name for the football team.

Jeffrey Lu has become something of a minor celebrity, which he doesn’t mind at all. Upon receiving his first snippets of praise, he spends most of the morning reliving his heroic stand to anyone who will listen, mapping out his feats with ball-by-ball emphasis and more than a little liberty with the truth.

The day is strange. I feel as though everything has changed, and yet nothing really has. Warwick Trent is even back in uniform. After a lazy summer of booze and depravity, he failed to secure an apprenticeship but managed to knock up Sharon Noonan. So, bereft of options, he’s returned to haunt the halls.

And it’s this, the reemergence of Warwick Trent, that is the reason I find myself walking to Jack Lionel’s property right now, with a coterie of classmates in tow. The final bell has gone. It’s hot and dry. And I’ve made a wager with Warwick Trent.

If I walk to the peach tree of Mad Jack Lionel this very afternoon, in broad daylight, and steal more than four of his peaches, I will be
granted immunity for a full school year. This permits me freedom from beatings and assorted tortures, even casual derision. No matter how deep I delve into my vocabulary, no matter how far I goad, no matter how tempting it is to mention my mother, because everybody knew by now. I will have immunity. Also, Jeffrey Lu gets to play the remainder of the cricket season, and not as twelfth man either. He is also permitted to open the batting and to bowl in at least one fixture.

Trent is convinced I’ll never do it. He thinks I’ll be crippled by fear as soon as I’m there. He doesn’t believe I’ll even make it over the grid past the front gate, where so many have tried and failed.

I’ve agreed to an inhumanly cruel punishment should I fail, because I know I can deliver what I’ve promised. Should I somehow return with anything less than five peaches, my fate is clear and devastating. Not only do I consign myself to being this year’s targeted pariah, but Warwick and his coterie promise to strip me naked and chain me to the door of the Miners’ Hall overnight, not without first pelting me with eggs, flour, sugar, and water. In short, I’m promised a few hours of pain and shame followed by a lifetime of humiliating reminders.

It’s a done deal. Hands have been shaken. Witnesses have nodded sagely.

There must be two dozen kids who have mustered and clustered after the bell for the journey to Mad Jack Lionel’s. I’m fairly certain they’ve all lined up to delight in my failure, but there’s a ripple of underdog hope among them: I might be the one to stick it to Warwick Trent.

I walk calmly across the oval, with Jeffrey Lu beside me. Right now I feel like Clark Kent in a gunfight. I’ve got nothing to lose. I feel invincible, because I’m concealing something powerful. I’m finally holding the aces.

Eliza Wishart intersects the crowd. I long to lean in to kiss her, but I can’t in front of everyone. She pulls me aside.

“So it’s true?”

“Yeah. I guess.” I smile and shrug.

She doesn’t smile back. She looks pale and distant. I touch her hand. She stops walking.

“Are you going to come?” I ask.

“No. I can’t. I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Just somewhere.” She looks over my shoulder.

“Will I see you tonight?”

She shifts her eyes to mine.

“I don’t know. Maybe. You might see me before then.”

“What? Where?”

“You’ll see.”

I frown and take her arm.

“I’ll see what?”

She wriggles away.

“I’ve got to go, Charlie. I’ll see you soon.”

And she strides off alone, leaving her two friends behind. Too fast and sure for me to pull or call her back. Something is wrong. I want to follow her, but I’m trapped in this procession.

Jeffrey sidles over to my side. He sighs.

“Dames,” he says, shaking his head. “Hell hath no fury like a woman’s corn. They’ll never understand, Chuck.”

“I think it’s me that’ll never understand.”

“I’m happy to concede that, because you’re an idiot. But the finest minds in the world still have no idea what women are about, so you’re in good company.”

“I don’t know, my company seems fairly poor.”

“So what’s your plan?” Jeffrey asks anxiously as we turn and catch up to the pack.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. What’s your plan? You must have a plan. How are you going to infiltrate the premises? Are you going round the back? Have you set some kind of trap that I don’t know about? A pit? Have you dug a pit? Or created a diversion? Have you rigged up explosives? Are you concealing a weapon?”

“I wish I was, Jeffrey, but not to use on Jack Lionel. You’re out of your mind. Explosives? Of course not. There is no plan, other than a brisk stroll up his driveway to take five pieces of fruit and then to walk calmly back.”

“Simple as that.”

“That’s right.”

“
Charles
, you are batshit insane. You’ll die. You’ll be
mauled
, you fucking lunatic. He probably has, I don’t know,
tigers
. Or he’s developed some new savage species of hybrid animal like Doctor Moreau. Like a shark with crocodile legs. He’ll probably come at you with a cutlass.”

“Jeffrey, he’s not a pirate.”

“And neither are you.”

“What?”

“Exactly. Listen, you don’t steal the peaches of a communist psychopath. It’s Golden Rule Number One. Understand? And if you do, if you’re foolhardy enough to attempt such a thing, then you devise a fucking plan that ensures you’re not disemboweled by his bear-wolves or whatever. You’re in trouble, Charlie. This is worse than I thought. You’re not equipped. You don’t even have a basic understanding of martial arts.”

“I won’t need martial arts.”

“You
always
need martial arts, dickhead. That’s the point. If you want to be brave, you’ve got to be smart and you’ve got to be prepared and you’ve got to
know
shit. Okay. Look. We don’t have much time. I’m going to mentor you as best I can. Here’s an infallible move, should you encounter an adversary. Are you listening?”

“No.”

“Good. Now. This will save your life one day. It’s the easiest move in the book. It’s called the Monkey Steals the Peach. Honest. It’s appropriate, right?”

“Jeffrey, you’re making this up.”

“I’m not! Okay. What you do, if you’re attacked, is, you drop down on one knee and you slap your assailant fair in the jaffas with
an open palm, like an uppercut, or an angry lawn bowler, and then you grab hold and rip the shit out of those peaches. Bang. Fight over. I’m serious, Chuck. People outside the martial arts community say it’s a cowardly act to go at the crackers. I say it’s smart.” Jeffrey taps his head.

“Well,
I
say it won’t be necessary. I’m picking peaches from his tree, not between his legs. It will be fine. Trust me.”

“Cheeses
Christ
, Chuck! What is the
matter
with you? The man is a
mentalist
. Your head’s in the sand. You’re like a fucking … 
ostridge
. You’re
king
of the fucking ostridges. This is
dangerous
, don’t you understand? Don’t do it, retard. It’s not worth it.”

“It
is
worth it.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“Don’t
do
it.”

“I’m
doing
it!”

Jeffrey tugs at his ear and shakes his head.

“Fuck it. Then let me come with you. If we go down, we go down together.”

“Jeffrey, no.”

“I will, Chuck. I’ll do it. I’ll go in with you,” he says resolutely.

He really would, too. Even though Jeffrey Lu doesn’t know what I know. I have no reason to be afraid, but he does. He’s as transfixed by the myth of Jack Lionel as anyone in this town, yet he’s willing to put that aside to see me through safely. He’s the bravest person I’ll ever know.

“You don’t need to, Jeffrey. Really. Besides, I’ll lose the bet if you come with me.”

“You’ll lose more than that if I
don’t
. Charles, you’re not
equipped.
”

“I’m equipped. Trust me, I’m equipped.”

“No, you’re
ignorant
, remember? You don’t know the first thing about combat. You couldn’t hit the ground if you fell over. And yet here you are, staging a peach mission with no preparation or reconnaissance,
with no fundamental understanding of martial arts and no fucking
plan
. You need me with you. You’ll never make it otherwise.”