Crashing Down (4 page)

‘What about JD? His neck's broken.'

‘That depends on spinal cord interference,' her dad says. ‘If he has none, he'll be fine. If it's been damaged, the extent of paralysis will depend on where the break is.'

‘So he could be in a wheelchair forever?' She can't bear the thought.

‘It's possible — it'll depend. Rabbit, I'm sure they'll be okay. The human body has miraculous healing powers.'

She hangs up and thinks about what she knows,
realises she knows nothing. She feels tired, is dreading school tomorrow, but she has to go and face it.

Lucy chats to Lydia and Georgia on Facebook. She can't manage a real-time conversation, and things seem so much easier over the net.

Lydia:
Hey babe u ok?

Lucy:
Yep — it's all unreal.

Georgia:
Can't believe it either — was all anyone talked about. Why didn't you txt back?

Lucy:
Sorry hon. Too stressed — didn't want to know the gory details.

Georgia:
No one knew much at all — except Wayne — he was at the crash. Went on about it for hours.

Lucy:
Finally a celeb hey?

Georgia:
Yeah — to anyone who'd listen.

Lucy:
Any goss about me?

Lydia:
Some stuff said — but don't stress. Most people know Tasha and Taylor are full of shit.

Lucy:
Those bitches — wot they sayin?

Georgia:
Tell ya tomoz — but u know wot they're like — just wanna be centre of attention. Trying to blame u for it.

Lucy:
It was my fault. We all know it.

Lydia:
Don't hon — we'll talk abt it 2moz. Try and sleep.

Lucy:
Ok c u then

Lydia:

Georgia:

She wants to go to sleep but is scared to, and clicks onto Skype. She realises she's been holding her breath as she sees her sister's face appear. Emma, thank God.

‘Hey, kid.' Her sister looks dazed and confused.

‘What's up?'

‘Carl,' Lucy says, suddenly sobbing. ‘He's in a coma.'

‘What the fuck!' Her sister looks immediately straight, flicks her beaded plaits back in a chinkling fashion and comes in close to the camera.

‘Oh, Em,' Lucy sobs, so relieved to be talking to her sister. ‘It's a nightmare.'

They talk for more than two hours, making cups of tea and discussing everything that has been said and, more importantly, everything that hasn't. As she listens to her sister, Lucy starts to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn't all her fault.

‘How could you have known,' Emma says finally, ‘that he would take off and drive like that? To be fair, you've told me before he's a bit of a rev-head. And at times a stoner.'

Lucy nods. ‘I know. It's just …'

‘Bullshit, Luce,' Emma says. ‘You couldn't have known. This isn't your fault. Don't get me wrong — I like the dude. True. He's okay. But he did this. Not you. It's fucked if you think that way.'

‘I know.' Lucy starts to feel lighter. ‘I miss you, Em.'

‘One word, kid, and I'm on the next flight back. You tell me. I'm there.'

As much as she wants her sister now, she knows it's not going to change anything. She'll still be going through it. She'll need to talk to Em, but what is the difference doing it on Skype?

‘Stay put,' Lucy says finally, ‘wait for the SOS.'

‘K.' Em yawns. ‘I know it's late there but I've been pulling all-nighters. I'm kinda operating on your time.'

‘Go to bed,' Lucy says, looking at her watch; it's just after 2 a.m. ‘I'll talk to you soon.'

‘Tomorrow, kid,' Emma says, signing off.

‘Slow down, Carl!' she shouts. The wind is ripping through the car and they speed down the road. He won't look at her. His eyes are fixed ahead and hooded, his mouth is set.

Suddenly he screams at her above the howling wind. ‘What did you mean, Lucy? Do you love me or not? Which one is it?'

‘Stop!' she screams, seeing the sign at the end of the road. ‘Stop!'

The car flies through the air.

Lucy wakes up with a jolt, sweaty and shaken. She looks at the clock: 3.35 a.m. She groans and tries to go back to sleep. But sleep eludes her. Her mind is
full of brutal images — warped and twisted metal, smoking tyres, hospital beds — and she tries to steady her thoughts, steer them back into safer waters. A simpler time. Their first date.

She'd never been on a proper date before. She'd never been interested in any of the boys at school — they'd all seemed so juvenile. Carl was different. Physically a man, not a boy. It made him seem so much more worldly than her.

She'd only ever kissed one boy — Peter Boyle, back in Year 10 — and that experience still made her cringe. So much tongue and clicking teeth and a desire to hold her breath until it was over. What if Carl wanted to kiss tonight? How would she handle that? She started to stress out and had to talk herself down.

In the car he hadn't even tried to touch her hand. So restrained, so gentlemanly. At the box office he pulled out his wallet automatically, dismissing her twenty with a wave. And then he grabbed her hand as they walked into the cinema. His touch was electric. She felt herself relax as the adverts began and he put an arm around her, dropping his hand over her shoulder. Classic move,
she thought, waiting for him to pounce on her breast. But he hadn't, he'd just left his hand where it was.

It turned out to be the single most boring film she'd ever endured. To lighten the mood, she'd started making little comments, ad libbing what the actors were thinking.

‘Just off the A list now. Career bombed,' she said as a new Hollywood star looked pensively into the distance.

Carl joined in, quipping about a sudden increase in Scientology numbers following this box office stinker, and then they had both cracked up laughing. The other patrons turned and glared and shushed them. It hadn't worked, and the last hour of the film flew with their ad-libs.

When he dropped her home, he kissed her goodnight. His lips, so soft and gentle, had her respond immediately — a swirling feeling in the bottom of her stomach. She pressed herself against him and he kissed her harder.

‘Bella donna.' He pulled away and looked down at her. ‘I have to go, before I can't.'

She nodded, flustered and excited by his touch.
‘Okay.' She boldly kissed him one last time. ‘See you later.'

‘You better believe it,' he said, reluctantly getting into his car and driving off.

She shakes her head at the memory, tears streaming down her face. Oh, Carl.

Lucy catches the bus to school. She hasn't had her licence long and has been slowly building up to driving to and from school, but now this whole experience has shaken her confidence. Cautiously, she enters the common room. It appears normal. Sharon, not a close friend, rushes up to her.

‘Lucy, are you okay?'

‘Yeah, I'm fine,' she says, searching for Al or Ben. ‘Just couldn't do yesterday.'

‘No, of course not. It must be terrible. Your boyfriend in hospital.'

Lucy smiles at Sharon and searches for Al. She feels so bad about yesterday, needs to talk to him today. She finds him by the urn.

‘Hey, Al,' she says softly.

‘Hey.' He looks up from his coffee and voices her exact thoughts. ‘I feel real bad about yesterday, but someone had to tell you.'

‘No.' She puts out a hand; he doesn't flinch. ‘I'm so sorry. I think I was a bit shocked.'

‘Yeah, we all were. JD is okay. Saw him last night — through the glass.'

‘You saw him?' Lucy can't believe they've already been. She hadn't even asked Mr K when she could see Carl.

‘Yeah, the nurse let us in to observation. Couldn't see much, mostly a white sheet. But we might be able to go later this week.'

‘What about Carl?'

‘Mr and Mrs K won't let anyone in yet. They're waiting for him to wake up.' Al shrugs. ‘But what if he doesn't?'

‘Don't, Al.' Lucy tries to sound confident. ‘Dad says the outcome looks good.'

‘Mate, I hope so. This is so unbelievable. I don't really know what to do with myself.'

‘I know.' She nods; her stomach somersaults. She feels nauseous.

Lucy goes through the day in automatic mode. She sits in class, trying to listen, writing down tips for the exams, but the words are foreign on the page. The whole idea of cramming for exams just seems meaningless now. The issues Carl and JD are facing are too huge to handle — life and death issues. She warns herself against being melodramatic, but her mind keeps drifting back all the time to things beyond her control.

Her Lit teacher keeps her after class. ‘Are you okay?' he asks.

She is sick of this question, even though she knows it's only because people care. But she's not the one in hospital.

‘Yes, thanks,' she says.

Mr Cruz nods. ‘I know exams probably seem trivial right now. And this couldn't have come at a worse time — although, whenever is there a good time for something like this?'

‘True,' she says, nodding.

‘I just wanted to reassure you your average will be safe. All assessments, with the exception of the mock, are in, and you are the highest achieving
student. And even if you bomb in the mock' — Mr Cruz tries not to laugh — ‘which is unlikely, I've spoken to the Deputy and the school will allow special consideration, at the discretion of the Head of English.'

‘Which is you, Mr Cruz,' Lucy says, smiling at his gesture. This is no great surprise; she has been top in Lit for the last two years, and English the three before that. Still, it's a relief to know her average is safe. She wishes her Chemistry teacher was telling her this.

‘Correct. And there is no way I'm going to let my top student bomb. If you need to talk, I'm always available.'

The day drags. The breaks are the worst. She wishes she could make herself invisible. She sees the other 12s are shattered by what's happened, but she doesn't want to talk about it. Ignoring things seems to be the best safety mechanism she has; her friends sense this and don't probe her for information. But at lunchtime she can't avoid Wayne, who is talking loudly and to anyone who'll listen.

‘So I'm watching
Masterchef.
Couldn't believe all
youse guys would go to a lame school dance instead of watching the finale. Anyway, next thing I hear the squealing of tyres and brakes being applied mega hard.'

‘Thought yesterday you said it was pissing down with rain?' someone says.

‘Yeah, it was, but the noise from the car was so loud I could hear it over the top. Anyway …' He waves his hand, annoyed by the interruption. ‘There was this awesome crashing. Bang, bang, bang, bang. That car flipped six times, bonnet over boot.'

‘The cops said three.' It was Al, sounding defensive.

‘I don't know — it was a lot. So I run out and there it is, this mashed yellow Ford upside down. So I run towards it, with, like, all the neighbours from my street. I'm thinking, man, whoever is in there is bound to be dead after that, right? So I get there and Mr Wright is saying there is someone trapped in the car, calling out his phone number and saying
Ring my dad.
It was only later I found out it was JD.' Wayne sits back, as if pleased with his part in it.

‘He was saying his number?' Lucy can't believe she's spoken, but is so shocked by Wayne's words.
JD knew to call out his number — as he was hanging upside down with a broken neck?

‘Yeah, pretty cool, hey,' Wayne says, and he truly does sound admiring.

The others who've gathered nod and murmur in agreement.

JD had been in Lucy's classes since Year 8, when he arrived at the school from Sydney (via China, the red-necks always added). He was academic and dedicated, working harder than anyone, and always vying to beat Lucy as top English student. He never did — but he always challenged.