Gracie Faltrain Gets it Right (Finally) (6 page)

‘Actually, no, Alyce. What I did was bad. But your list hasn't given world leaders the power to destroy life as we know it.'

‘Maybe we should ask Gracie about that.'

‘Did something else happen this morning? You're kind of tense.'

‘No.' I'm about to change my answer to yes when the bell goes. I have a free, so there's no hurry. I was planning on proofreading my UN application one more time. I wrote it in my diary:
Check for punctuation mistakes
. I open up to today's date and draw a line through it. There's no point now.

I sat outside the counsellor's office this morning and swung my legs. I took it for granted that Mrs Davila would give my application a glowing report. My plans for this afternoon were to have a sense of satisfaction and then a biscuit to celebrate.

Ever since I can remember, New York has been my dream. I think about travelling to a new world and my skin tingles. I've been looking forward to everything: the headsets, the pictures and the little packets of food on the plane. I was even looking forward to the toilets – I find the whoosh as everything gets sucked away strangely exciting. I've been thinking
about how great it will be to stay in a hotel with little packets of soap and how great it will be to meet people like me.

When Mrs Davila opened the door, though, I knew that something was wrong. ‘Teachers smile so wide when they hand back your work they look botoxed,' Gracie said before the holidays. It's true. But today Mrs Davila looked in need of a face-lift.

‘You're a very impressive student,' she said, and her hands danced along the edges of my form. ‘But I know this program. Thousands of people your age apply and they rarely take anyone who doesn't have hands-on experience in the community.'

‘But I do.' I leant over and pointed at the section where I had, very neatly, documented all the work I'd done. ‘And I'm very, very impressed,' she said. ‘You could apply for any of the overseas scholarships and I'm certain you'll have an excellent chance. But I don't think you'll be accepted into this program without volunteer work where you've actually had contact with people. Is there anything you've forgotten to add? Perhaps you were involved in the elderly visiting program we ran in Year 8?'

I had a flashback to making little packets of potpourri for them instead of visiting. ‘Not exactly.' But their underwear smelt very good because of me.

‘What about the soup van visits that we ran in Year 10?'

‘Someone had to make the sandwiches and heat the soup. We couldn't all fit in the van.'

‘Alyce, the United Nations Program involves you going into a Third World community.'

‘I can do that.'

‘Could you, Alyce?' She said my name like I was a three-year-old who'd promised to be careful with a carving knife. Her eyes feathered at the corners because she was smiling so hard. This is the way life is, Alyce, her eyes beat out at me. This is the way things work. You are not adequately equipped to obtain your dream. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. So choose another and we'll file this one under lost.

I blinked at her because I had no words. ‘I'm not saying don't apply,' she said. ‘I'm saying don't put all your eggs in the one basket.' I blinked at her again. I only have one egg and one basket. I felt like I did the first time I rode my bike down the hill at the end of my street. I lost my footing on the brakes and the day rushed past me blurry and out of control.

‘Come back next week and we'll talk about other options.' On the way into her office the day was warm. On the way out it was cold. Tiny spits of rain dotted me.

I sat in the toilet and cleaned my glasses. I put them back on and the graffiti became clear.
Alyce Fuller rocks the boys' world – in her dreams
. I took them off again. Sometimes the world is better blurry.

Like now. When the only other person in the quadrangle with me is Andrew Flemming. We haven't really talked since he asked me out. Gracie says there are rules for times like these. ‘Even if you're staring straight at each other, you pretend the other person's not there.'

‘What's wrong with you?' Andrew calls after a while.

‘Nothing.'

‘Doesn't look like nothing. That's the look you get when a teacher gives you a B.'

‘I made a mistake on my application for the Young United Nations.'

‘What mistake?'

‘I forgot to help people.'

‘Big mistake.'

I start to cry. He stares at me and I cry some more. The bell rings to end the lesson.

‘So, you want to wag the next class and play soccer?' he asks.

‘I have a double free,' I say, blowing my nose. ‘But I'll pretend I'm wagging.'

‘That's what I like about you, Fuller,' he says as we walk across the yard. ‘You're such a rebel.'

‘What are you so happy about?' I ask Flemming after training. ‘You smiled all the way through push-ups.'

‘The little things. No one emailed the whole school that my girlfriend dumped me.'

‘At least I had someone to dump me.'

‘That's a pathetic comeback, even for you.'

‘It's been a long day.'

‘That's why I'm not coming tomorrow.' He coughs. ‘I feel a cold coming on.' Flemming makes it a policy to be away whenever Mrs Young schedules an English assessment.

‘She'll make you do it Wednesday.'

‘Yeah, but I'll do it in the library without her stupid face staring at me. Meet you at the oval after school tomorrow?' he asks, and runs off before I've answered.

I look up and see Dan Woodbury leaning on his sky-blue station wagon. It's a Valiant Sahara, the type my dad sees and says, ‘Ah, the good old days.' Dan's like a fridge, though. Everything he touches turns cool.

‘I'm waiting for Kally and Annabelle,' he says. ‘Kick me the ball.' I like that Dan knows I don't want to talk about Martin. I like that he doesn't make stupid jokes. He concentrates on the ball, his hair half falling over his eyes, his arms out for balance. It's all going well until I start thinking.

Is he not looking because he's embarrassed for me? I know he read the emails because he replied to them. What I need to do is put a little self-esteem back in the Gracie Faltrain bank this afternoon. Soccer is what I'm good at. I look cool when I play. I look hot at the same time, which
isn't easy to do. I juggle the ball. He doesn't look up. I flick from my left to right foot. Still no eye action. I knee the ball up and head it. Hard. I don't even see Mrs Young until it's too late. Perfect.
Now
he looks.

‘Am I an idiot?' I say to Principal Yoosta as the school nurse applies an ice-pack. Okay. Let me rephrase that: would I be an idiot on purpose? ‘There's no way I'd hit my English teacher in the face with a ball deliberately. Especially when she's giving me a test tomorrow.'

He takes a breath to stay calm. ‘Wait here while I check on Mrs Young.'

‘We need to work on a better defence while he's gone,' Dan says. ‘You seem to be saying you wouldn't hit your English teacher on purpose, but you would hit her by accident if there wasn't a test tomorrow. If I was your lawyer, I'd be pushing for you to remain silent.'

‘How much trouble do you think I'm in?'

‘We're in,' he says. ‘I was playing, too.' He leans against the fence. Dan never looks worried, not now, not on the soccer field. He has one of those cool, sexy, detached stares. When I stare people think I'm a stalker.

Jane walks over while we're waiting for news.

‘What are you still doing here?' I ask.

‘Corelli's driving me home. So I missed the first half but I'm guessing Mrs Young didn't head the ball home to the backdrop of a Mexican Wave?'

‘It was an accident. Please, don't let her nose be broken. I'll fail tomorrow for sure.'

‘Like I said, don't go with that line of defence when we're
questioned. What's the essay on, by the way?' Dan asks.

‘I have absolutely no idea.'

He laughs, under his breath at first. ‘It's not funny,' I say, but he laughs even more. It turns into the silent rocking laughter that's catching. In the face of criminal charges and the aftermath of World Wide Web humiliation, I want to laugh so hard my sides ache holding it in.

‘Get a grip, Faltrain,' Jane says. ‘Yoosta will think you're a sociopath.'

‘It's not broken,' the nurse calls out.

Dan and I break into loud, hysterical laugher. It's a form of relief. But Jane's right. Yoosta does think I'm a sociopath. ‘My office,' he says. ‘Now. Ms Faltrain, I believe you can show your friend the way.'

‘Yes, Mr Yoosta.' I believe I've been there before.

‘I'm sorry,' I say to Dan, on the way to the office. ‘I'm sorry,' I say as the secretary asks his name, school and home phone number.

‘Will you stop saying that? I'm the one who told you to kick the ball.'

‘I should have stayed home today. Actually, Jane should have stayed home today.'

‘Was it as bad at school as it was on the email?'

‘The tuckshop lady patted my hand.'

‘You're not the only one having bad days. Kally's still copping the loser chant as she walks down the corridor. She didn't say much about Sunday.'

There are a couple of reasons I can't tell Dan the truth about trials. One, Kally was nice to me today when she didn't have to be and two, he already thinks I'm brutal, a fact that's
hard to deny since I just slammed my English teacher in the face with a ball. ‘She did okay.'

‘She was trying too hard, though?'

‘A little.'

‘She's doing that when we train together. I've known her since I was a kid. In the country she plays like you. When I was six or seven I remember getting goose bumps watching her.'

Yoosta comes around the corner before I can answer. ‘Okay, repeat after me,' Dan says. ‘It was an accident.'

‘It was an accident,' I say to Yoosta when we're sitting in his office. ‘It had nothing to do with the essay she's giving us tomorrow.' Dan kicks me. I get it. I should shut up now on the grounds that I'm an idiot.

‘I know it was an accident,' he says. ‘But I can't ignore that you were playing soccer near the Performing Arts Centre windows, an area you know full well should be ball free. It's written in your school diary, which I know you use on a regular basis.'

‘Yes, Mr Yoosta.'

‘However, Mrs Young has asked me to treat this as a minor infringement of the rules. That would normally mean a detention on Wednesday, but I'm assuming you'd rather yours on Friday so it doesn't interfere with soccer.'

‘Thanks, Mr Yoosta.'

‘Thank Mrs Young.' He looks at Dan. ‘Young man, you're free to come on Wednesday. I know your principal quite well. I believe he will be behind me on this.'

‘I'll take my detention on Friday,' Dan says. ‘With Gracie. If that's okay.'

‘That will be fine.'

We leave the office and walk to the front of the school. ‘So, if Annabelle and Kally are still here I'm giving them a lift home. Annie's car is at the mechanics. You want one too?' Dan asks.

Today has been weird, I think, as Dan starts the car. Who could have predicted at the end of the last season that at the start of this one I'd be sitting in a car with Dan Woodbury, actually looking forward to detention with him on Friday? Who could have predicted that Jane would tell the whole school about Martin and Kally would make me feel better about it? Who could have predicted that Annabelle and me would be in the same car, unbound and ungagged, travelling together of our own free will?

I can't think of anything to say and the quiet's getting to me. Jane would tell me to go for something relaxed and funny. ‘So if we all died on the way home, people would wonder why we were in the car together, wouldn't they?' Okay. I didn't quite hit the relaxed and funny note. But it's been a long day.

Corelli and Jane are waiting for me when I step out of the car. ‘Where have you two been?' I ask.

‘Trapped in a car with Britney Spears,' Jane says.

‘You loved my new CD.'

‘Yeah, Corelli, in the same way I love having my toenails ripped out, one by one.'

‘You want to drive around again sometime?'

‘Absolutely. See you tomorrow,' she says, and he waves goodbye.

‘So, Dan and I have detention on Friday night,' I tell her after he's gone.

‘You say that with a very big smile. Are you sure you're not interested?'

‘I'm still recovering from a broken heart. Even if I did like him, which I don't, can you imagine the trouble there'd be if we dated? Flemming still hates him because of what happened last year. And then there's Annabelle.'

‘The course of true love never did run smooth.'

‘I definitely don't love the guy, Jane.'

‘I'm quoting from the play we've been reading in class for the past term, Faltrain.
A Midsummer Night's Dream
? The one you have a essay on tomorrow. Say you've read it.'

‘Okay. I've read it. Dan has good hair, doesn't he?'

‘Something tells me this is going to be a long night of study.'

‘Maybe, but after that email you owe me. Just give me the good bits.'

‘Okay, Faltrain. You'll relate to it. There are a lot of misfires when it comes to romance.'

Brett drives me home this afternoon and all I can think about is Andrew. Brett is the sensible choice. I know Brett is the sensible choice. He's nice and he likes me and I can count on him taking me to the formal at the end of the year. I have my dress picked out already.

Andrew is the wrong choice. I thought that this afternoon when I pretended to skip class with him. But watching him makes me feel like I do when I watch Colin Firth come out of the water in
Pride and Prejudice
.