Drop (13 page)

I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and see Greg’s hand, the lines on it like a treasure map made of shadows, and that pill, the
X
on the map. What sort of pirate finds the treasure but doesn’t take it? I’m BAD at this rebellion stuff. I’m going to drop. I’m going to drop soon.

On Saturday I have the same dream. And again on Sunday, except this time I take the pill. What happens next is …
beeebeeeeepppp
… my alarm. Monday morning.

I’m dreading school today and facing Finn and the others. It’s not as if I can erase Friday night like a stray line on a drawing. It happened; it’s there in permanent marker.

Please don’t let Isaac have told Finn about my almost-puke.

I hardly notice the walk in. I’m thinking, reliving, replaying…
Oh God,
there it goes again, on a loop:
Not if she doesn’t want to… More for me, then. I love to double-drop…
Finn downing it, and then just leaving me there. I can’t get it out of my tiny, embarrassed head. It’s tattooed on my retinas, a constant reminder of shameful-wussy-humiliation. I thought maybe Finn might like me. I was wrong. Now all chance of that is out the window.

Luckily my locker seems intact and slogan-free. Likewise my chair and general desk area. No gum stuck underneath – well, the usual dried-on crap’s still there, but no fresh stuff, chewed, soft and sticky, ready to ambush whoever pulls themselves close to the table.

I scan the room for Finn. I didn’t see him smoking by the doctors’ on the way here.

Eagle-eyed and jumpy, I swear my heart leaps ten feet out of my body every time someone enters the classroom.

He’s not here. He’s bunking, or ill, or those pills kept him going and he’s been on a massive bender… He got in a fight, he got arrested, he, he, he… He just walked in and oh shit, oh shit,
ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit
… My heart starts jackhammering at a million miles per hour.

Finn swaggers into the classroom, talking loudly on his phone.

“Yeah. I’ll be there. OK. See you later, mate.”

It’s nine o’clock. We’re supposed to be in at eight forty-five for register and general teacherial stuff.

Havelock can be a pushover sometimes. Slight tardiness, a few minutes here or there, and you’ll get no grief. He’s pretty cool like that. But occasionally, he’s not in the mood.

My crippling embarrassment is side-lined momentarily while Havelock launches a verbal attack on Finn.

“Do you think you’re special, Mr Masterson? Do you think you can stroll into class whenever your hangover allows you to walk again? Hmmm?” Havelock looks at Finn, eyes afire. Like stars about to supernova. “Hmm? Do you?” He waits.

Finn has on these really, really lush jeans. They’re falling low and I can see that
V
that boys have, you know that pelvic
V
, through his sky-blue skater T-shirt, which has a little cartoon man on it, not like a comic or graphic novel character, more like a Banksy stencil. But that’s beside the point; his hips just look so good in those jeans. I find myself wondering about the rest of him…

I’m not a total square; I’ve kissed and messed about with boys before. I’m not a big
V
, but Finn is different. I’ve never really felt the urge, the want, the passion for anyone before. Now it strikes me like a lightning bolt. My breath catches when I see him. Like I no longer need oxygen to breathe. I need something else. I need him.

“Ted, buddy, a momentary lapse in temporal judgement. I apologize. But I’m here. I’m not queer. And I’m ready to learn,” Finn announces to the class, the school, the world.

“It’s not acceptable, Finn. You’re fifteen minutes late. You know the rule. More than ten minutes late and you don’t come in at all.”

“Sorry, I was training for the Board Battle. Lost track of time.”

“Time is a concept you don’t understand, Mr Masterson. Take a seat,” Havelock bellows. Veins appear around his temples like worms wriggling under his skin.

Finn throws me a wink before sitting down a couple of rows in front.

I feel like Havelock’s watching me. Maybe because I’m new or whatever, but he saw the wink, and I know he’s concerned, because after class he keeps me back. He gives me a look I’ve seen before: the disapproving, thoughtful pose adopted by my dad when he’s about to tell me
Be careful. He’s trouble. You don’t need that. You’re better off focusing on your studies…
And yep. That’s the gist of it…

“Carla, I looked at your Art proposal. It’s good. Really good. If you can follow it through it’ll be an excellent project.”
If
I can follow it through?

“You don’t think I can pull it off?”

“Course I think you can. From what I’ve seen, your sketches and the plan, of course you can do it. But…”

“But what?”

“It’s crucial that you give it time and avoid too many distractions.”
Distractions…

Havelock’s right. I could do something amazing. I had this idea about a butterfly sculpture in metal and coloured glass and did a bunch of pen and ink sketches over the weekend, amid all the shame and recurring visions of the pill on Greg’s hand. Actually it was kind of an escape, drifting away in my own world, just me, the inks and the colours.

“I’ll do it.” I look him right in the eye.

“I know you will, Carla. I know. But keep focused, OK?” Havelock pads down his brown cords with his palms and smiles. Positively Cheshire cat. But his eyes are unconvincing. He’s saying it, but not
sure
of it. He doesn’t think I can do it. But he’s wrong. I
will
do this project. I will Pepsi Max this project.

“OK,” I say. And mean it.

Finn’s waiting for me outside the classroom, Violet too, her hand on his arm, her smile wide. Just old friends, I tell myself. Violet reaches into her pocket and gives him something.

“What was that?” I ask as Violet disappears.

“Just some money she owed me for the beers on Friday.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I need to talk to you, but no time now.” Finn glances at his watch.

“Late for something?”

“Always,” he says. “I’ll call you tonight.”

I really did mess things up by not taking that pill. Finn and I aren’t even going out, officially, so why do I get the impression I’m heading for Dumpsville?

It seems Havelock needn’t worry about that particular distraction.

Then I realize Finn doesn’t even have my number.

This is turning into one craptacular day.

In Art, Finn’s nowhere to be seen. Havelock’s in full vein-popping-taking-no-shit mode and has commanded we work in silence. Lauren sits next to me as usual. I nudge her, try to provoke a smile, but she carries on with her work.

At lunch, I try to find Lauren and Sienna, but they’re not in the common room. I could do with someone to talk to. I text Lauren:
Where are you guys? x

I sit down at the central table.

My phone vibrates.

The question is: Where were you? Oh, that’s right. You ditched us for Finn and that lot. The Lovettes were awesome btw.

Shit. I text back.

So sorry, slipped my mind. And my phone ran out of juice. Lame excuse, I know. But true. x

I eat my sandwich alone. No Finn, none of those guys comes in. No Sienna. Not even a text back from Lauren. I feel bad about missing the dance. I’m taking a guilt trip to the bloody moon and back.

Later, I’m peeling potatoes for Dad’s famous Monday-night sausage and mash when the phone rings. I put down the knife, wipe my hands and wonder if, by some miracle, Finn knows my number, like it’s been transferred there by some sort of mind osmosis. Or if it’s Lauren or Sienna, wanting to make up. It’s just an insurance salesman.

I text Lauren again.

Pls let me make it up 2 u. x

I resume my task. The rule is, if you help cook, you don’t have to wash up.

Thoughts creep into my head.

Finn’s into drugs. WTF?

At my old schools, the druggies were total drop-outs. I don’t want to end up like that.

How could they do that to themselves?

But what if it’s not so bad? What if it’s just propaganda and most people cope fine?

It could be media scaremongering. Only extreme cases get on the news.

Do I want to risk it?

Shit. I cut my thumb. A bead of blood grows.

People use knives all the time. It doesn’t mean they’re going to die.

Oh, I don’t know what to do!

* * *

I sit pushing my mash around the plate, watching telly with Dad, a programme about lost tribes. The TV’s new, and obscenely large. It practically takes up a whole wall, but Dad loves it. “Look at the picture quality. The colours are so vivid.”

The light is off so we can enjoy the programme “cinema style”; the glow from the screen flickers over the room like we’re at a disco.

About seven o’clock, my phone jingles. It’s a number I don’t recognize. Lauren’s home number probably. I leave my plate on the coffee table and head to the kitchen for some privacy.

“Be quick. Your food will get cold.” Dad’s voice echoes down the hall.

“Hello.”

“Carla, it’s Finn.”

“Oh, hi. How did you get this number?”

“Facebook.”

“Course.”

“You really should change your privacy settings. Anyone can see that picture of you with a beard when you were little.”

“What beard?”

“You know, you’re wearing a gold leotard and that ‘you’ve been Tango’d’ tan. And a beard.”

“Hey! I was a lion; that was my mane! I was six years old. My first gym competition. We had to do a floor exercise to music and I picked ‘The Circle of Life’. I was really into
The Lion
King
back then.”

“Here I am, thinking you’re a tiger, but you’re a lion all along. I’m only joking. You look really cute. Bet you came first with that costume.”

“Fourth, I think. A sunflower came first.” There’s a pause. “Are you ringing to break up – and I mean, not that we’re … together… I me—”

“What are you on about, tiger?”

I lower my voice, mindful of Dad in the next room. “Because I wouldn’t take the pill. You ran off. Don’t you think I’m a total lame-ass?”

“I went to get drinks. When I got back you were gone. It doesn’t matter about the pill. I just thought you’d like it. They’re fun.”

“So you haven’t been plotting my exile from the group?”

“Not at all. Just the opposite. Have you been fretting over this?”

“No. Maybe. Just a little. A lot, actually. OK, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” Way to stay cool, Carla. “So why did you want to talk to me?”

“I thought maybe you’d give me the pleasure of your company this weekend at the Dirt Junkies mountainboarding festival. There’s loads of punk and ska music and an outdoor cinema. Plus some epic riders will be there.”

“Oh. OK. Great. Is everyone going?”

“No, just you and me. A proper date.” My stomach does a bungee jump.

“I could teach you some boarding moves, if you like? Pay you back for my cartwheel training?”

“Because cartwheel training went so well? Tempting,” I say, trying to regain some composure. To have Finn so close, helping me balance, holding me steady on a mountainboard is an opportunity too good to miss.

“Carla, dinner!” Dad calls from the living room.

“Well, it’d be rude to turn down a free lesson.”

“I’ll get my dad to drop us there on Saturday morning.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect,” he says and hangs up.

The next afternoon, in a free period, I wait for Lauren and Sienna in the school library. Last night, after talking to Finn, I called Lauren to apologize for missing the dance. I couldn’t take the silent treatment. Sienna wouldn’t answer my calls, but Lauren seemed OK when I explained about Fat Mike’s party.

“But you only get one free pass.”

“I won’t leave you in the lurch again, I promise.”

The library is always three degrees too warm and smells of pine and polish. A row of wooden tables runs down the centre of the room; ceiling-high bookshelves tower either side. A bank of ancient computers lines the far wall.

Lauren and I sit at a table halfway down, near the Science section.

“It’s understandable. Finn’s” – she searches for the right word – “charismatic. But you should’ve called.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I really like him.” I twist my bag-strap around my finger, nervously. What if I’ve ruined things with the only real friends I’ve made, for the sake of a guy?

Sienna appears with an armful of books on genetics.

“So are we doing this Biology assignment or what?”

“You’re still mad.”

“You stood us up.”

“I’m a total loser. Sorry.”

“I just don’t see what’s so great about him. Aside from his looks. He’s so into himself … and … sort of obnoxious.”

“I don’t see that. I see confidence, sure, but he’s not excessive with it. Don’t you think it’s kind of sexy?”

“I’d find a dirty sock sexier than Finn Masterson.”

It gets me thinking… Is it Finn’s confidence that I crave for myself, or is it him? I’ve got all these mixed-up feelings.

1. Lauren/Sienna vs Georgia/Violet

2. Finn vs Finn’s Confidence

3. Old Carla vs New Improved Carla

Can’t I have it all?

“I brought you something.”

After not getting through to Sienna last night, I had to do something to fix things, so I went online and ordered a book I thought she’d like. I paid the extra for next-day delivery and picked it up at lunchtime.

I hand Sienna the parcel and she rips through the packaging.

“It’s about this caver searching for the deepest cave on earth. He spent months almost two vertical miles deep,” I say.

She flips through the pages.

“All is forgiven.”

“Are we good?” I ask Lauren.

“I should’ve ignored you longer. Maybe I’d have got a present too.”

“Funny you should mention that,” I say, presenting her with a package.

“Ooh, gift time! I was only joking, you know.”

“I’ll have it if you don’t want it,” Sienna chips in.

Lauren unwraps the paper.
Gabriel Grayson: A Walk in the Clouds.