Alex as Well (9 page)

WE’VE DECIDED THE best thing to do is get to school early, and that way I can sit there with my back against the wall, instead of walking into a situation all exposed.

I stomp all the way to school in my steel-capped boots. My fists are clenched. Because if someone gives me shit I’m going to punch them in the eye.

My arm is really itchy. I pull up my sleeve and there is a red rash there.

When I arrive, Sierra is sitting by herself in the empty quad. She watches me approaching. Her face tells me nothing.

‘Are you always this early?’ I ask.

‘My mum,’ she explains. Sierra travels with the lady from the front desk, of course.

I sit on the bench next to her, slipping my bag down between my feet. We are silent for a moment, and then I figure I should just say it.

‘So, umm, do you have a problem with me being’— there is only the slightest pause—’gay?’

‘What? No!’ Sierra says, blushing. ‘No! Not at all. As long as…’ Then she giggles.

‘As along as?’ I raise an eyebrow.

‘Don’t worry, I was just teasing.’ She waves her hand at me. ‘Never mind.’

‘What were you going to say?’

As long as you don’t hit on me. That’s what she was going to say.

‘Actually I think you’re pretty cute,’ Alex says, and he holds Sierra’s eye contact for a moment too long.

What the hell are you doing? I ask him.

You don’t think it would make her feel good? Thinking someone had a little crush on her? Her name is mountain, for chrissake! And I watch her. Alex is right. She’s embarrassed, but I think she’s also flattered.

You could pash her. She’s not ugly, Alex says.

I don’t want to pash Sierra. We can’t have this argument right now.

‘It’s a bit gross for me,’ Sierra confesses, and her nose wrinkles just a little bit. ‘No offence. But you’re into what you’re into, I suppose.’

I nod. Alex runs his eye over her. ‘Which part is gross?’

Stop it! I warn him.

What? We can make her say it, Alex grins.

Don’t make her say it. What the hell is wrong with you?

‘It’s ok, I’m not going to umm…’ I sigh. ‘Well, it’s like you’re into boys, but you’re not into
all
boys. You know?’

Sierra narrows her eyes.

That was the wrong thing. Now she’s pissed at me, because you’ve said she’s not attractive enough. You should have left it, Alex says.

You were making her uncomfortable, I tell him.

I was making her hot.

We don’t want to make Sierra hot.

Why not?

This time I bump her knee with my knee.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asks.

I lean across and put my arm on the wall behind her, so now she’s trapped. I lean in and lick her earlobe.

‘What the hell, Alex?’ She pushes me away. But I can see gooseflesh running up her arms.

I laugh and then I stand up and stretch. I do three cartwheels in a row across the empty playground.

This is the bit I’m not prepared for. You know what it feels like? This is like white-water rafting. If I don’t put my oar in at exactly the right moment I’ll get smashed on the rocks.

AFTER THE DRESS rehearsal, Lien asks me to stay back.

‘We’d like to take a couple of shots of you for the promo material,’ she tells me.

Lien riffles through the clothes on rack. She has me in a golden glittery skirt, and a linen shirt. While we’re talking she adds a cravat, and a camel-coloured cape-thing. It’s not my style, but the soccer mums are going to go nuts for it.

‘The boutique is going to pay you for this shoot. They will probably make up some posters, or even a billboard. Are you ok with that?’

‘I guess so.’

‘This is Givenchy, you know.’

I look down at the clothes. ‘Nice fabric,’ I say.

Lien is giving me a look, and I know I’m ignorant. I like clothes, but I haven’t really paid much attention to labels.

The photographer is draping purple material over the wall behind the hemming dais.

‘How long will that take?’ Lien asks the hairdresser, who is running her fingers through a handful of blonde extensions.

‘It doesn’t need to be perfect. We can do it while the makeup is going on,’ she replies.

They surround me. The hairdresser is tugging at my hair. The comb slides along my scalp horizontally.

‘Do you know about weaves?’ she asks me.

‘Oh yeah, of course,’ I bluff.

The makeup artist starts dotting foundation over my face.

‘You should really try to come to these things photo-ready,’ she tells me.

‘I didn’t exactly know I was going to have my photo taken today,’ I explain.

‘A girl that looks like you? You should always be photo-ready,’ adds the hairdresser.

‘You need to apply a foundation from your hair line down to your décolletage,’ the makeup artist continues.

Your what? Alex asks.

‘A little blush and a neutral gloss to your lips. With your colouring you need smoky eyes, but you should use a grey or brown rather than a black.’

‘Ok,’ I say.

‘You don’t want to look cheap, or angry.’

Lien is sliding shoes onto my feet.

‘She has huge feet,’ she says. ‘What are you, a nine or a ten?’

I don’t know what my shoe size is. Not in girl shoes. But the shoes fit, so I don’t need to answer.

The photographer has a light monitor, and he’s holding it up.

‘Close your eyes,’ the makeup artist instructs.

I sit there with my eyes closed and I can hear them all moving around me. Someone is stacking bracelets along my arms. They are all touching me on my face and on my head. They’re so close I can feel their breath and I feel like a giant doll, but I also feel special.

‘Her ears aren’t pierced,’ someone else murmurs.

Once they are finished they prop me up against the dais. I have no idea what I look like. My head feels heavy and tight from the weaves. My face is tight and heavy too. The photographer, Simon, starts giving me instructions. ‘Turn your knees this way’, ‘soft hands like a ballerina’, ‘long neck’, ‘tuck your chin’, ‘smile as though you have a secret’.

That’s not a hard one to do.

He turns to Lien. ‘I love her look. It’s quite masculine, really. Striking. I’d like to see her in men’s clothes.’ He goes back to his gear to change lenses.

‘Hey! There’s a bowler hat back here!’ he calls out. ‘We could do a whole Charlie Chaplin thing. It would be quirky and fun.’

‘Yes!’ Lien clasps her hands together. ‘Now you’ve got
me thinking!’ She flips through the rack and finds me some pinstriped wide-legged pants. The hairdresser has found a pair of braces. She ties my extensions back into a ponytail.

They’re all excited.

Simon puts the hat on me. It drops down over my eyes and they all laugh.

He gets ready to take the photo and then the makeup artist calls out, ‘Wait!’

She scribbles a little moustache on my lip with a brow pencil.

I tip the hat forward, tuck my thumbs through the braces and pout.

They go nuts for that.

Lien is looking through the pictures on the camera’s little screen. ‘This is great stuff. Can I have some of those head shots to send out?’

‘Sure, I’ll email them to you tonight.’

‘You’re going to be a superstar,’ Lien tells me, pinching my cheek.

Then they all pack up. They don’t even look at me. They are all talking to each other, discussing the next job, gossiping, so I go behind the rack and change back into my school clothes.

There is a mirror there and I can finally see myself, with long hair cascading over my shoulder. I turn my head to the side. She’s done shading with my foundation. She’s bronzed me. It’s lighter around my eyes, and across my
cheekbones, but I’m almost olive. There’s a pink blush. The eyes are really dark. She’s put false eyelashes on, and drawn on lower lashes, and black tear stains, like a cheetah.

I rub off my moustache with spit and a tissue.

That’s better. I look all plasticky like a Barbie doll. I look smooth like a Clinique girl.

I look like a model.

I like it because you can’t even see my real face under there. People can look at my face and not see me at all. They will see what they want to see.

Lien peeks around the corner. ‘Who’s going to pick you up?’ she asks.

‘I’m going to take a bus,’ I say.

‘You don’t want me to drive you?’

‘I’m ok. It’s only a few blocks.’

She considers for a minute. ‘I’m going to drive you to the bus stop.’ She hands me a roll of notes. ‘You be careful with that. Pop it in your sock.’

She has an Audi, soft top. It has leather seats that stick to the backs of my legs.

We head out into the traffic.

‘You could use these images from today in your portfolio, if you were interested in putting one together.’

Our mother is really going to go for that, Alex says.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘You should think about it. You could make good money. I did at your age. I bought a car before I was even able to drive it. It gives you a head start. Simon is willing
to give these photos to you for free.’

‘Oh,’ I say.

‘They’re usually very expensive,’ she explains.

She’s giving me a look as if I should be really grateful. So I say, ‘Ta. That would be great.’

We pull up at the bus stop and she parks. ‘I’m going to stay here till you’re on the bus.’ Lien turns to me. ‘I could find jobs for you, if you want. People are always looking for girls with a strong work ethic, and you have a very versatile look. Any jobs I get for you would be legit. I won’t book anything weird. You need someone looking out for you in this business. How do you get along with your parents?’

‘Um, ok, I guess. Not so great, maybe,’ I mumble.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Open your own bank account,’ she instructs. ‘You’re going to make a lot of money. It’s going to look like easy money, but it’s not. Don’t let them spend it for you. Even if your relationship is fantastic, big money will be the end of your family. I’m saying it straight. I’ve been there.’

‘Thanks,’ I say again. ‘And thanks for the lift. That was really nice of you.’

She asks for my mobile number and I give it to her.

I slip around the corner of the bus stop and count the money. I peep out again. She’s still there. I wave. She waves back.

Lien has given me a thousand dollars.

Rrrroxxannne!

IT’S FRIDAY AFTERNOON and the bus is chockers. There’s a lady next to me playing Angry Birds.

The bus lurches around the corner. We’re not going the way I expected. I don’t want to be going this way. This way will take me too close to my old school. I start chewing my nails.

The bus pulls in and the Angry Birds lady gets up. A boy in a Joey’s uniform is waiting. He was in the year above me. His name is Trevor. He stands back for the lady to disembark and then he jumps up the stairs. There are other spare seats. I stare out the window, willing him not to sit next to me, but he sits next to me anyway. I have my elbow on the sill and cup my chin in my hand. It’s awkward.

He’s looking at me. I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my cheek. Eventually I have to look back.

I give him a half smile and look back out the window.

‘I know you,’ he says.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say.

‘I’m trying to figure out where from. Did we go to primary together? What’s your name?’

‘You don’t know me,’ I say, quickly.

He shakes his head. ‘No, you look really familiar—even with all that makeup you have on.’

‘I’m a model,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve probably seen me on a billboard.’

That’s your method of making him less interested? Alex asks.

‘Really?’ he asks, wide-eyed. ‘Which one?’

I shrug. ‘Oh, there’s a couple.’

‘Like what?’

‘Let me think what I’ve done recently. One for an insurance company, and there was one for a handbag. You don’t read women’s magazines, do you?’

He laughs. ‘You must make heaps of money,’ he says.

‘I bought myself a car,’ I boast. ‘I’m not old enough to drive it.’

‘What did you get?’

I glance past his head. ‘An Audi. You know the soft top ones? In silver.’

‘Sweet! How much did that set you back?’

I smile enigmatically. I have no idea how much one of those cars would be. I pick a number out of the blue. ‘Fifty thousand.’

‘That’s pretty cheap, isn’t it?’ he says.

‘Yeah, well, I know people,’ I say, airily.

The bus is slowing. ‘This is my stop,’ he says with regret. ‘But maybe I could call you sometime and we could catch up. I’d love to see your car.’

‘I’m kind of busy with work and everything.’

He throws his bag over his shoulder. ‘I guess I’ll see you on a billboard then.’

The bus pulls up outside an old people’s home and Trevor skips down the steps.

There is a little old man. He’s on the footpath with one of those walkers with wheels. He’s sitting on the seat, pushing with both feet, scooting along backwards, and every few seconds he looks over his shoulder. His face is distorted into a grimace. He’s escaping.

A nurse in a blue uniform comes running out of the gate. She skids to a stop and looks both ways like a cartoon character. She clocks the man and then she’s after him. He sees her, and now he’s going like the clappers, swinging his legs. Scoot, scoot.

Go little old man! Woot, woot! Alex yells out. People from the opposite side of the aisle are standing to see.

I’m smiling and watching the little old man. I don’t see that Trevor is standing right outside the window staring up at me. He’s recognised me. His face is purple.

He’s pointing at me. ‘He’s a…he’s a…’ He is so furious he can’t get the words out. Trevor starts hitting the side of the bus as we pull away.

‘Faggot!’ he shouts. He runs after the bus for a few strides. ‘FAGGOT!’