Everything is Changed (7 page)

alex

Nobody else in the team ever catches public transport to the river. The rest get driven, but I like riding the tram before the sun is up and there's no way I want Mum to drive me to the boatsheds, even though she keeps offering.

The tram is always quiet at this time of the day. And there is always a seat. Each person seems to naturally take their own section, like they aren't ready to interact. Me down the back with the old guy who's snoring whisky fumes into the air, the young business guy in the middle and the woman in the jogging gear right up the front near the driver. I've seen them both before, but we never acknowledge each other. I'd like to stay on the tram one time to see where they get off, but my stop is first, so unless I skip rowing training I'll never know.

The tram takes the corner too fast and the brakes go on so hard that it feels like the carriage will lean all the way down to the ground. Straightening up, the tram jolts violently enough to bring the old guy out of his nap. He looks around, and his gaze stops on me.

‘You going to work?' he asks, half coughing as he stares at the side of my head like he can't quite focus on my face.

‘Nah. Rowing,' I say, still impressed that rowing is something I do.

But it clearly doesn't impress him because he laughs and spit flies from his yellowing mouth.

‘Why'd you want to go and do that then?'

I feel like I should answer him but I don't know why. It's not like I started the conversation and just because I'm sitting here, near him, it doesn't mean I have to talk. So I find a shrug instead, but I know it won't be enough to deter him so I turn and look out the window, and decide I'll get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to the sheds.

‘You at one of those fancy schools?'

‘Yeah,' I say, still staring out the window, tempted to point to the insignia in Latin on my tracksuit top. I'm only wearing it because I like the way it looks. It's too warm to have it on, but my rowing t-shirt is plain.

He sounds just like Jake when he's giving me a hard time about my fancy school. Don't they get that there's really nothing fancy about trying to fit in? A uniform doesn't make it any easier.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the old guy lean forward and I know he's going to keep hassling me about this, and even though I'm twice his size and he'd go down in a second, I don't feel like dealing with this today. Before he can reach me with his bony, cigarette-stained finger, I stand up and move down the corridor to the middle of the tram.

‘Enjoy your rowing,' he yells from the back. The businessman looks up at me and half smiles, and I'm not sure if it's a conspiratorial half smile about the old drunk guy or an amused smile aimed at me for being intimidated, so instead of responding, I jab at the button and wait for the tram to slow and stop. Maybe tomorrow I'll grab a lift with Tone or one of the others.

Jumping down from the tram platform, I notice it's already warm even though the sun isn't up yet. But once I reach the river, the air will drop just enough to make it pleasant and by the time I'm out on the water, the spray will flick across me and I'll forget about summer and how much I hate wearing my fancy blazer to school when it's 40 degrees.

I start to walk. As I pass under a streetlight, the yellow glow dims and goes out. And my little patch turns black. I really am the devil.

I jog down to the bend where the river surges towards the city. It's dirty and brown from up here, but down there, once you're on it, it's like nothing else. We had a river in the borough too. But it was still and bushy, and it wouldn't have held up to rowing practice.

I've only been rowing for five weeks but, because of all the footy I used to play, I'm strong enough to power through the water; it's just my technique that needs practice. Dad wanted me to play rugby but I convinced him that rowing was more impressive and part of an even longer tradition, and finally he gave in. As long as I'm doing something that involves a bunch of boys from good families he can network with, then he doesn't really care.

‘You're early, Alex,' the coach calls out from the sheds.

I walk over and drop my stuff. ‘Yeah.'

‘You can help me get the boats out, then,' he says with a smile as he heads down the back to where the boats are resting.

I know what Jake would say if he could see me now. Lifting down boats so I can spend two hours out on the water rowing in my school colours? He'd bypass laughing and go straight to being an asshole. He's always hated private school kids, particularly the ones who left the public high school in the borough for a fancy school in the city. Those were high on his list of kids to ridicule.

What he doesn't get though is if he tried this, if he sat behind me in a boat and rowed, found the rhythm and the pace to glide down the river, he might stop thinking about rowing as something only rich kids do and actually enjoy it. Out here I can escape what we did, because I have to concentrate so hard on my body. I have to move in time with the others and if I don't, if I miss just a single stroke because I'm still thinking about the man, the other rowers give me a hard time and Coach yells and I might even get dropped from the team.

I hear Tone and Macka come in, drop their stuff and then head outside, obviously trying to avoid carrying any of the boats down. Tone thinks the world should do everything for him, unless it involves skating or chatting up some girl. Beyond that he believes he should have servants. In fact, I think he does have a servant or two at home. They have a different name for them, but essentially that's what they are.

‘Perfect water this morning, Alex,' says the coach as he helps me get the firsts' boat down.

‘Yeah,' I say, sounding like I have nothing else to add. And I don't. Not really. As much as I love rowing, this world is still so foreign that I'm not really sure how to be. I help Coach carry the boat to the water's edge and see the rest of the rowers arriving. Tone's laugh is so loud I can hear him but can't see him, and I bet he's round the back of the shed, talking to one of the rowing girls. He keeps trying to set me up with one of them because he reckons Ellie's not really good enough for me and I should move up in the world. If only he knew Ellie dumped me ages ago.

‘Oi, Zander,' shouts Tone, as he runs over with a crazy look on his face.

‘Hey, Tone.'

‘Just saw Laura. She said to say hi.' He winks and it makes me think of my dad when he's trying to be all blokey and friendly.

Before I can answer, the coach starts yelling instructions and Tone and Macka head off with the rest of the firsts. My lot are the seconds. We're like the old fruit that's going cheap. Not that I mind. I'm a learner and I'm lucky to be on the water at all. The first time I climbed into the boat I thought I was going to fall out. There's a wobble when you first get in that's weirdly uncomfortable, but once you sit with that for a second, and everyone's in, then the boat goes and it feels like the sturdiest ride possible.

The sun is struggling to come up and the water is still and ready, like it's waiting just for us. I'm a beat behind the others to climb into the boat. I'm the second from the front. I like it here, wedged between two rowers, facing the back of one. All I can see are his arms and the city waking up around me. I don't really know the others very well. My so-called friends all row for the firsts and think it's hilarious I'm slumming it down here. But it means I just get to be. Not talk. Not even really listen to what my team mates are going on about. Instead I can just row and feel the water pulling against the oars. And on a day like this, it seems like the only thing I've ever been supposed to do.

The guy in front of me is talking about some movie he saw on the weekend. I could join in. I've seen the film too, but then it would mean being friendly, and I quite like that they treat me differently. Like I'm a stranger blowing through.

I watch a hungry bird swoop the dirty brown river, head breaking the surface before it catches something and then takes off again. The river is always bubbling along with little moments of action. There are lots of boats out most days, because all the private schools have boatsheds down here. But there are other people too. Joggers. Cyclists. It's a tiny slice of a world that all starts before dawn.

The firsts have pulled away and are almost out of sight. Our cox starts yelling for us to speed up. I'm the back-up stroke. I know it's a bit of an honour to row down this end because our blades catch the water first so I have to be really sharp about timing and rhythm. For me it's perfect because as soon as we start, I just switch off. My arms move. My muscles work. My head goes to sleep. All those thoughts that I spend hours with every day seem to stop when I'm in the boat. For these few hours, on the brown Yarra, I'm free.

jake

I've only seen her face in the paper in black and white. Huddled next to her mother, their eyes pleading. Now I'm here. Outside her school, waiting. I scan faces as the students leave their buildings, getting ready to go home. Flick from one to the next. Their hair and their uniforms are exactly the same. I have to find her eyes. I don't know what colour they are. In the paper they looked dark, but they could be anything. They're probably red. Sad and weepy.

I wonder what these girls see when they look up. A skinny boy. Shaved head. No smile. Nothing light. Just dark jeans, black Vans and a t-shirt three sizes bigger than he needs. Do they notice anything else about me? Do they see the pimple I picked this morning because I wasn't ready to leave the bathroom and face the day? Or the skateboard at my feet that needs a new back wheel? Do they see the terror in my eyes?

It's a whole other world out here. I can see the city just down the hill, like it's a promise of where you might go if you keep your head down and pay attention. The streets are wide and lined with trees. Those big, ancient green trees that drop their leaves on cars that cost almost as much as my mum's two-bedroom flat did when she first got her divorce. But it's still the 'burbs. The shit-boring burbs that me and Alex were always going to escape when we finished school.

Three girls walk past me. One of them, her hair as golden as the sun, looks over and gives me a slight smile, like she's amused I'm standing here, waiting for something. A year ago I would have gone weird at that smile, but now I just glare back, like I'm shutting her down and telling her she's nothing, and I don't care. She flicks her head away like I burnt her, and maybe I did, but I'm not here for that. I'm here to find her, that girl with the eyes, that girl I broke without even touching.

The bell rings, and more of them rush from their buildings like ants sensing rain. They laugh, giggle, and chatter their way through the yard, bags draped over shoulders, hats on. And it's then that I see her. Dawdling. Flanked by friends like they are making sure she makes it, just in case. I want her to see me. I want her to look over. Take me in. Understand. But she moves past and out the gate, to the tram stop. And my only choice is to follow her.

I jump on the tram, pushing my way through the girls in their uniforms. I can see her, a bit further down. Someone's talking at her, but she doesn't really look like she's listening. I try and edge forward but the tram is packed; bodies squash against each other and I'm not going anywhere. All I can do is stare into the space where she is and hope that when she gets off I can too.

I wanted to find her house months ago. I wanted to write. Leave flowers. A letter or something to explain or apologise. But I was scared and then I figured this was the perfect way to see her. And now here I am. On a tram, travelling east, away from the city and into a part of Melbourne I never go. The tram stops and more girls in different uniforms cram their way on. I wonder about Alex. His school is around here somewhere.

There's a squeal of brakes and the tram stops too suddenly and we all lurch forward, crashing into each other's space. As I straighten up, I see her arrange her bag across her shoulder and get ready.

She crosses the road first. I follow. Far enough behind that she'd never notice me. She's alone now and walking at a fast pace past the big old bluestone buildings covered in vines. She turns right down the first side street and I follow. It's one of those streets where the houses drip with money, stretched so wide it's like they have three entrances. Cars are parked in driveways. The gardens are neat and manicured. There are no rubbish bins in sight. It even smells different than where I come from, and I wonder what it's like to live here. With all this.

She slows at the bottom of the hill, trudges across the road, stopping to switch shoulders with her bag, and then leans over to unlock a low wooden gate. I watch from a distance as she finally opens it and goes inside. At first I can only see her head and shoulders, and then as she moves closer to the front door, a hand comes into view.

And then she's gone. Disappearing in through the front door and out of sight. Safe. What would she do if I walked up that driveway? If I rang the doorbell? Introduced myself. Told her who I was. Would she scream? Punch me? Call the police?

I'm too chicken to ever find out. Instead, I walk slowly up to her gate, like I have business there. And then I lean down and reach inside the slot where the mail gets pushed through each day and I pull out a letter. I could just pocket it and take it with me, it would be easier than trying to photograph it with my phone and not get caught, but I've taken so much already that stealing a letter seems like a step too far.

So I pull out my phone, snap off a quick shot and slide the letter back into the slot. I just want to know the address so I don't have to follow her next time. I expect someone to yell at me, come after me or something but I start moving away from her house and nobody does. There are no people around. No one walking the streets. No bikes out riding. No cars out cruising. And I make it to the corner without seeing a soul.

I want to see Alex. I need to see Alex. So while my phone's out, I start to press the number I've rung so many times that my fingers find it without help. But before I can hit the call button, my phone rings.

‘Alex? I was just about to call you. Weird, huh?'

‘Yeah. Can we meet?'

I can hear laughing behind him in the background, around him, like he's circled.

‘Yeah. Sure,' I say, secretly pleased he's phoned me for once.

‘All right. Macca's. Hawthorn. In an hour. That long enough?'

‘Make it twenty minutes …'

I hang up without waiting for him to say anything. How would he know I'm already here? In his new world. Just down the road from his fancy new school. Still, I'm strangely pleased he wanted to check if it was enough time for me to make it. If he didn't care at all, he wouldn't say things like that.

I think Mum believes the reason I've stopped talking much is because Alex left, because I miss him. She even tried to suggest maybe I could go to his new school too. I remember laughing when she mentioned it. As if we could afford that. I do want to tell her why I'm different than I was. But it's sort of easier for her to just blame it on me missing my old friend. And anyway, maybe that is a big part of it.

I run down the street to where the tram goes.

There's no tram coming. So I leg it. Fast.

I make it to the bottom of the hill and I'm so out of breath that I can barely stand straight. It's been a while since I ran anywhere. That night. That's the last time I ran with any speed or urgency.

I hit the button at the lights with my foot, and wait for the green. A lady about Mum's age gives me a dirty look and I smile at her, as broadly as I can until she looks away. The cars slow and the green man flashes up and I jog across the road to the Macca's. It's such a strange place to meet. I didn't think Alex even ate junk food. He never used to. He was always so smug about it and Tien, Lucas and I would wind him up, saving him the leftover pickles from the burgers and sticking them to his folder in class.

Macca's smells like cheap oil and cleaning products when I get there. There's some fat guy sitting in a stool at the window surrounded by fries and sundaes. A couple of girls my age are giggling at a table in the corner, not really eating anything but just checking everyone out. Alex's not here yet. I don't want to be in here, sitting in the only place Alex trusts to meet me. It's like he thinks I'm only as good as the fast food I sometimes binge on after school.

So I lean in the doorway, not quite in and not quite out. Waiting.

Then I hear someone say, ‘Jake'. I turn just as a fist slams into my face. I fall back and hit the wall. A woman grabs her little boy and pulls him away. I can feel people watching. I cover my face with my hands waiting for another attack but it doesn't come. I look up and Alex is red-faced and pacing, and I can barely open one of my eyes.

‘You told Ellie,' he says, staring at me with the steeliest look I've ever seen.

‘I didn't tell her anything. She kept asking me why we don't see each other anymore. I told her to ask you.'

He's shaking his head like what I'm saying is lies. ‘Nah. She asked what happened last year. She knows something happened.'

I knew what I said to Ellie was risky but I didn't think she'd say anything to him. I thought she'd just forget it. I wince as I try and open my eye properly. It feels like it's swimming in blood.

‘I think you've blinded me …'

‘Why did you tell her?' he says.

‘I didn't tell her. I just said something bad happened.'

‘Yeah, well, she wanted to know what it was and obviously I didn't want to tell her so thanks to you, she's dumped me.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘No. Not bullshit. She told me we needed a break. So thanks, Jake. Thanks a lot.'

I reach out to touch his poxy blazer with its stupid Latin badge on the pocket. And he looks at my hand like it's scum and jerks away.

‘Is this because you like her?'

I shake my head. ‘No. Course not.'

‘You sure? You're always a bit weird around her.'

‘No. She's your girlfriend.' I can't believe he suspects how I feel. I've always been so careful.

‘Was, Jake. Was my girlfriend.'

A young guy in a Macca's uniform walks up and stands between us and I realise we're still in the doorway. Nobody is coming in. Nobody is going out. Everyone is watching, waiting to see what will happen next.

‘You boys need to leave. I'm calling the police,' he says in a voice that's cracking.

Alex nods, deflated. ‘Yep. Sorry. We're going now.'

‘Or we could stay and let the police sort it out,' I say, watching my friend walk off.

The Macca's guy touches my arm and I spin around to him. Then I see the concern in his eyes and I feel stupid.

‘I'm going.'

‘Do you want some ice for your eye? We've got plenty,' he says with a slight smile.

‘Nah. Thanks.'

‘You take care.'

I slink out through the automatic doors and into the busy street. It's never been clearer to me that I do not belong here. Alex is sitting at the tram stop and I'm not sure if he's waiting for me or not. I plonk down on the bench next to him. For ages we sit and watch the traffic crawling past, blaring out music and news bulletins. I'm going to let Alex talk first.

‘What'd you do to your hair?' he asks me finally.

Instead of answering I rub my hand across the stubble on my head. It's too hard to explain.

‘Sorry about your eye,' he says, almost looking up but not quite.

‘I didn't mean for Ellie to dump you.'

He shrugs and I can't read the meaning.

‘It's almost your birthday …' I say, like he hasn't just punched me in the face.

‘Yeah … sixteen.'

‘You having a party?' I regret it as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Makes me sound like I expect an invite.

‘Nah, not really …'

I know he's lying. Saw it on Facebook. I never post anything so he's probably forgotten to unfriend me. ‘How's school?'

He laughs, making his hair flop down over his face. And as he pushes it away, I see his nails. Chewed down to the quick, like they used to be way back when his dad was hassling him all the time about marks.

‘School's school,' he says cryptically.

‘You rowing yet?' I say lightly, with a smile.

He shrugs, says nothing.

‘Debating then. How's that treating you?'

The sharp look on his face tells me I've taken it one step too far.

‘So what do you want, Jake?'

Just the question I was hoping to avoid. I thought we could pretend we were meeting for fun, for old time's sake.

‘I found the girl's house,' I say quietly, not wanting any of the people walking past to stop and listen in.

‘What?'

‘The girl. His …'

Alex leans so close I can see the gold of his blazer buttons gleaming in the sun. ‘I know who you mean.' Before the man, Alex didn't get angry very often. But under that poxy fringe, his eyes are cold.

I suddenly feel defensive, like I want him to understand. ‘I wanted to see her. Talk to her. See if she's okay.'

‘And did you take her out for a coffee? Buy her some flowers?'

I shake my head, feeling ridiculous. ‘I didn't talk to her … but I could … I know where she lives now. She's just round the corner from you. You probably walk past her on your way to school.'

Alex stares at me, making me look down at the ground.

‘Jake, this isn't anything to do with me anymore. You can do what you like, but leave me out of it,' he says, slipping his hands into the pockets on his blazer like he's cold.

‘But it is, Alex. Whether you like it or not.'

He shakes his head. ‘Nah. It's not. I've moved on.'

Now it's my turn to be angry. ‘Moved on? How do you move on?'

‘I don't know. Just forget about it. You can't change it.'

‘I can fess up. So can you. Go to the police—' I start to say.

‘No. No police.' He jumps up, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and hitting me across the arm with it. Then he starts walking away, like this is over.

‘It's. Not. My. Fault!' I yell at his disappearing back in its snug-fitting blazer and ridiculous grey shorts.

He doesn't even turn around. He just raises his hand in the air and gives me the finger.

My eye is still throbbing and I know it'll be black by tonight. And even though I'm not cold at all, I wrap my arms tight around myself and start to cry. Hopefully salty tears are good for a punched eye.