The Yearbook Committee (10 page)

         
Matty Fullerton
He works hard for the money.

         
Mo Sharif
Come to the job site, I'll show you hard work ;)

The fourth song winds down and I debate playing a fifth. I'm lying on the grass at Burwood Park, in the shadow of the big war memorial, taking a half-hour lunch break from work. Being outside on this autumn Saturday is so much better than being stuck inside that shopping centre serving little buggers who change their order three times while there's ten people waiting behind them.

My half hour is nearly up. I think about staying a little longer, but I'm on with a newish girl, Christa, and I don't want to risk her ratting me out — I need the money. So I decide against the fifth song, put my apron back on and walk back towards the centre.

My phone pings. It's a text message from Mo.

I thought you worked Saturdays? I come to visit you and you're not even here. So much for working hard.

I text back.

Hang on, be there in 2 mins.

Back at the juice bar, Christa is making a drink, but there's no one in line. Mo's nowhere to be seen.

‘Did anyone ask for me?' I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘Nah, sorry. Can I go on my break now?'

She heads off. The next half hour flies by and before I know it Christa's back.

She heads to the front of the stall and starts serving customers, while I stay in the back peeling fruit. A few minutes later, I hear a familiar voice and Christa giggling, and I smile.

‘Mo, must you hit on everyone I work with?' I ask him, as I walk around to the front counter.

‘Well, at least she's here, bro,' he says, clasping my hand. ‘Every time I come, you're gone. Sweet-as job if you're making money without working. No wonder you won't leave.'

‘What do you mean? I told you two minutes.'

‘Yeah, and I waited seven,' he says. ‘I timed it. You exaggerate so much, bro.'

‘Yeah, I learnt from the masters,' I tease.

‘
Shu
,' he says, exaggerating the Palestinian slang. ‘Wanna go out tonight?'

‘Sure. Where?'

‘El Jannah in Punchbowl,' he says, his face lighting up.

‘Mo, getting chicken sandwiches doesn't count as “going out”.'

‘We can watch the footy at your house after. That counts.'

‘I can't, man, sorry,' I say. ‘Mum's not well.'

‘Still? Some virus, bro.'

‘Yeah, I think it's more than just a vi—'

Christa clears her throat and looks pointedly at me, and I notice the long line of customers waiting for their drinks to be made.

‘Sorry, man, I better get back to it. I'll call you.'

Mo waves as he leaves.

After we've closed, Christa tells me her car's on the other side of the park; she wanted to avoid paying for parking, which I can't blame her for.

‘I'll walk you to your car,' I tell her. ‘It's dark.'

‘That's OK,' she says. ‘I'll be fine by myself.'

The part of me that just wants to get home wants to believe her, but I know I'll feel guilty if I leave her to walk alone.

‘Honestly, I'll feel more comfortable if I go with you,' I tell her.

‘OK, thanks,' she says, looking relieved.

I'm walking back through the park afterwards when I notice a kid being flanked by two guys, who are gripping his arms. As I get closer, I realise it's Sammy.

‘Oi,' I call out, ‘what are you doing?'

‘Mind your own business, dickhead,' the shorter guy says.

‘Juice Man!' Sammy calls out. ‘They won't let me stand here.'

‘It's OK, buddy,' I tell him, approaching the three of them. ‘Come on, guys, let him go.'

‘Hey, man,' the taller one says, putting his hand up, ‘we were just trying to, um, play a game of footy, and he wanted to stand in the goal.'

Sammy shakes his head violently from side to side. ‘Nah,' he says, ‘they don't even have a football.'

The shorter guy looks to his friend in panic, but his friend calms him down with a small gesture of his arm.

‘Our mate's bringing the footy. The kid was just getting in the way, that's all. No harm done.'

I look at Sammy. ‘Did they hurt you?'

Sammy looks frightened enough, but shakes his head.

‘He shouldn't even be in the park at this time of night if he's . . . sick,' the shorter one says.

‘Yeah, we were just trying to help him,' the other says coolly. ‘Seriously.'

I'm not buying it.

‘It doesn't matter anyway, it's probably too dark to play,' the taller guy presses. ‘But still, maybe you should take him home.'

I give him a suspicious look and it makes him want to try harder.

‘I'm Mike,' he says, extending his hand. ‘I gotta run. But like I said, no harm intended. Just wanted to make sure he was safe.'

They both head off, whispering loudly. I hear the shorter one asking whether the kid saw anything, but Mike just shrugs and says no one would believe ‘someone like him'. I shake my head in disgust and turn back to Sammy.

‘Why are you in the park all alone?' I ask. ‘Come on, let's go call your parents.'

He shakes his head.

‘No?' I ask. ‘Well, you can't stay in the park on your own, buddy, it's dangerous. Does anyone know you're here?'

Another head shake.

I sigh and rub the back of my head. ‘OK, how about we get an ice-cream, and we can come back and sit on the ledge there near the statue of the ANZAC soldier? That's my favourite spot in the whole park; it always makes me feel better.'

He nods and we cross the road, heading to the gelato shop. I buy him a kid's size chocolate and get myself a crème caramel in a waffle cone, and then we cross the road again. While we eat, he talks about video games and SpongeBob SquarePants and his carer, Elliott (who plays Xbox with him).

‘Do you play Xbox?' Sammy asks.

‘Yes, I play it with my best friend, Mo, at his house, because I don't have one. I play games on my computer at home, though.'

‘I don't have a computer, but I have an iPad,' he says. ‘And I have an Xbox. Can you come over and play with me one day?'

I smile and nod. ‘Sure, and I'll bring you a Berry Bravo.'

He shakes his head as if I have insulted him. ‘No, that's only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.'

I nod my head again, stifling a laugh. ‘Of course, sorry, I forgot.'

He finishes the ice-cream and looks at me expectantly.

‘So . . . do you want to tell me why you're out here by yourself?' I ask him.

Sammy starts blabbing about a sister who was supposed to take him out for an afternoon of shopping but who never showed, so he tried walking to the mall himself. Apparently, he cut through the park and that's when the ‘bad men' started being ‘mean'.
Poor kid
, I think,
his family sounds a bit messed up
.

‘Do you have your sister's phone number?' I ask, pulling out my phone and praying I have credit.

He hands me a scrap of paper from a Superman wallet in his back pocket, and when I hear a dial tone, I'm thankful I remembered to pay my bill this month.

‘Hello?' a frantic, weirdly familiar female voice answers.

‘Hi, um, I'm here with Sammy at Burwood Park. He seems to be lost — is someone able to come pick him up?'

I hear the girl breathe a loud sigh of relief. ‘Oh, thank God,' she says. ‘I was so scared. I'm in Burwood now. Which part of the park?'

‘We're near the big war memorial, the one that says —'

‘— something about God and the victory. I know it.'

A few minutes later, a little hatchback parks across the road, its hazard lights on, and a girl runs out.

‘Gillian?' I say. ‘I thought I recognised the voice.'

‘Oh, Matty, I thought so too! But then I saw a guy with his hood on and freaked out.'

‘It's just a hood,' I tell her. ‘You should be freaked out that your brother was in the park alone in the dark.'

‘Gillie, I was scared,' Sammy says. ‘I thought you forgot me.'

‘Sammy, honey, I've been looking all over for you,' she explains slowly, throwing her arms around him. ‘Sometimes there's traffic on the big road where Daddy's office is, and that makes me late. But you still have to wait for me to come pick you up. You can't come on your own.'

‘But you were so long, and I was gonna miss SpongeBob.'

‘There was a SpongeBob Squarepants show in the centre today,' she explains, her eyes flicking to me. ‘I promised I'd bring him. The show is going to be there next week,' she says to Sammy. ‘I'll leave a day free to bring you to see SpongeBob, no matter what.'

She grabs his hand and looks at me apologetically.

I give her a half-smile.

‘Um, before you go,' I say, ‘there were these guys that were hovering around him, youngish, like nineteen maybe. I don't think they did anything, but he seemed a little scared when I found him.'

‘Well, thanks for staying with him.'

I shrug awkwardly.

‘I promise to not go walking by myself again, Gillie,' Sammy says a moment later. ‘But please don't tell Dad, I'll get in trouble.'

She swallows and shakes her head. ‘I won't tell Dad, as long as you never do that again. You scared me.'

‘Mean Mike scared
me
.'

I stifle a laugh. ‘Well, now that you guys are reunited I should head home,' I tell her. ‘My bus will be here soon.'

‘No, wait, I'll give you a lift,' she says. ‘Please, it's the least I can do.'

I rub the back of my neck.

‘Come on, seriously,' she says. ‘It's no big deal. Where do you live?'

‘OK, thanks,' I say gratefully. ‘I'm on the Hume Highway in South Strathfield.'

We clamber in the car and I take the back seat, trying to catch a glimpse of those guys from the park. Something about them made me uneasy.

After a few minutes, I notice that Sammy has fallen asleep.

‘He's really tired,' Gillian says, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘He likes sameness and routines, and being alone in that park would've been hard on him.'

‘I bet,' I say. ‘He comes into the juice bar all the time, so I knew that he was out of his comfort zone as soon as I saw him.'

‘It's so nice that you looked after him,' she says. ‘I honestly feel so awful. How long was he with you for?'

‘Twenty minutes or so,' I tell her. ‘I had just finished work and walked a co-worker to her car, and when I cut through the park on the way to the bus stop I saw him with those guys.'

She stops at a red light, then rubs her temples.

‘God, I was so panicked when he wasn't home,' she says. ‘I didn't think he would try to walk to Burwood on his own. And I couldn't call my parents. I just started driving around in circles looking for him. Stupid Parramatta Road traffic.'

She says nothing for a while, and neither do I, but I can tell from her driving that she's tense.

Finally she says, ‘I'm just scared they did something to him. What if they come for him again?'

‘I don't think they will. They were trying to get him out of the park — that's what was suss. Just a couple of young guys “playing footy” in the dark. It was weird.'

I direct her to my building and she drops me off in the nearest side street, then performs a u-turn. She lowers her window just as she's about to drive off.

‘Check out that poor lady in the bathrobe,' she tells me, pointing.

I look up and see my mum on the stairs, looking very much like a nutjob.

‘I know, right?' I say, forcing a smirk. ‘Some people . . .'

         
Tammi Kap
Need. To. Focus. (Srsly, studying sucks.)

‘I knew picking you for this assignment was a mistake,' I say, edging further down the bed.

‘Not my fault you're hot,' David says, kissing my lips, my cheek, my ear. ‘And that you never learn from past “study” sessions.'

‘Come on,' I say gently, one hand on his chest shoving him away, and the other flipping through the pages of my textbook. ‘I missed out on so much because of dancing so I really need to study now.'

‘Mmmhmmm,' he says, wrapping his arms around me. ‘Still sad that you didn't make nationals?'

I sigh in frustration and push his hands off me. ‘No, I'm sad that I can't study and I really need to,' I say. ‘Come on, we can't afford to screw around any more.'

He rolls his eyes. ‘That's the problem, Tammi. We don't screw around at all.'

‘Not this again,' I say. ‘
Please
just let it go.'

He pauses, then moves away, shaking his head.

‘You know I like you,' he says. ‘Love you, even. But I don't get it. We've been going out for ages — how long are you going to make me wait?'

‘I don't know,' I say, suddenly angry. ‘How long are you going to keep pressuring me about it?'

‘Tam, I'm the laughing stock of the whole grade,' he says.

‘What's the whole grade got to do with it?' I snap, standing up. ‘Are you planning on telling everyone when it happens? Filming it maybe, so everyone can watch?'

‘Why are you being so dramatic?' he asks.

‘Because you're being so forceful!' I exclaim with a stomp of my foot. ‘It's all you ever talk about.'

‘If I wanted to force it, I wouldn't be discussing it!'

I rub my face in frustration as he gets up and paces the room.

After a moment of deep breathing — the kind he does on the soccer field when he's not happy with the game's direction — he takes my hand, changing tack.

‘I thought you cared about me,' he says. ‘I want you to know how I feel. I want to show you.'

I can feel my resolve failing. ‘Look, I'm obviously not going to make you wait around forever,' I say finally, standing up to put my things in my bag. ‘But there's so much happening now. You can't even commit to picking me up when I need you. How can I give you the biggest thing I possibly have to give?'

‘Look, I told you I was sorry about that,' he said. ‘But I stayed up late with some soccer guys.'

‘You know, Ryan used to stay up late with you guys too,' I point out. ‘But even if he only had three hours' sleep, he would still make time to meet up with Lauren when they were dating.'

‘Yeah, well, look how long their relationship lasted,' he says.

‘That's not the point!' I say. ‘He made an effort for his girlfriend.'

He sighs. ‘You girls are never happy with what you have. You're always comparing us to other guys.'

‘It's not like I'm comparing you to some made-up guy,' I say, my mind wandering to the guy from the park.

‘Yeah, I know, but I think I'd rather a made-up guy than Ryan,' he says. ‘I'm so sick of being compared to Fleming. He's been off the soccer team for months and yet the coach still says “Fleming used to do this” and “Fleming once told me to try that”.'

‘Yeah, well, he's no threat to you now, is he?' I remind him, surprised at his selfishness. ‘Now the scouts can recruit you and you might wind up playing in Europe.'

‘And you'll still be a virgin,' he mutters under his breath.

I narrow my eyes at him as he rubs his forehead, wondering what I ever saw in him.

‘Look, I should go home,' I say after a moment. ‘I'm not going to concentrate here.'

‘Aww, come on, the house is empty,' he says. ‘Don't go.'

‘But I'm so worked up now, and your mum could come home at any minute.'

‘So?' he asks. ‘I told her you were coming over to study.'

‘What?' I exclaim. ‘We had a deal. I told you I didn't want either of our parents knowing I come here when your 'rents aren't home.'

‘What? Are you scared they'll think less of you?' he asks sarcastically. ‘Trust me, the whole world knows you're an angel.'

‘You're such an ass, you know that?'

He rolls his eyes. ‘Stop overthinking everything and relax,' he says. ‘You overthink your career, you overthink your family's reactions to that career choice, and you overthink sleeping with me because you're holding on to some old-fashioned ideas about God knows what.'

‘I'm not holding on to anything that's old-fashioned, thanks very much,' I tell him, hitching my bag on my shoulder. ‘If I was, then I would have told you from the start that I was waiting until I was engaged or married. But all I want is a bit of time till I feel ready. That's not too much to ask.'

He opens his mouth to say something but I continue.

‘And I really hate it when you bring up the whole career thing in that petty tone,' I say. ‘Is it that hard to be a little supportive? You know how much I want this. Dealing with my dad is hard enough; I don't need you to be a dick as well.'

‘Well, maybe your dad has a point,' he says. ‘Did you ever think about that? Like, maybe you have the type of personality that's just not cut out for that sort of job. Everything is a big deal to you. Look how crazy the thought of having sex makes you. As if you're going to be able to handle living on campus — where you can't earn any money — and waking up at five in the morning to do obstacle courses and seeing abused kids and dead bodies every day when you actually start working. Mentally, you won't be able to handle it.'

I scoff. ‘Don't be a moron,' I tell him, standing at the door. ‘I'll be fine living on my own — I've been saving my clown money for ages. I'm not the one who relies on my parents' money for everything.'

‘Why does everyone always sound so jealous when they say that?' he asks.

‘I'm not jealous,' I say. ‘I just know what I want, and I want some credit.'

I turn on my heel and walk away.

I wait for him to follow me, but he doesn't. I guess he's too pig-headed to apologise. And tomorrow he'll call me like nothing happened, and I'll let him get away with it.

Like I always do.

Two hours later, my phone rings. It's not David, but I'm glad it's not — I haven't managed to absorb any of my study notes because of him.

‘Hello,' I answer cheerfully, always happy to hear from my best friend.

‘So when I was getting dressed today I realised that my hair is now long enough to drape over each breast if I ever wanted to do a modest topless shoot,' Lauren says.

‘Ummm, okay,' I say, confused. ‘Is that on your bucket list or something? You've never mentioned it before.'

‘Oh, no,' she says, laughing, ‘it's not something I'm planning on doing. I'm just saying it's good to know in case it ever comes up.'

‘Uh huh,' I say, still confused, ‘although maybe I should mention that there's no such thing as a “modest” topless shoot, in my opinion anyway.'

‘Well, in
my
opinion, you're a prude,' she says.

‘That line is getting a little old,' I say, smiling. ‘Tell it to someone who cares. Anyway, what's up?'

‘Just wanted to know if you want to meet me in Burwood for coffee later?'

‘Sure, why not?' I reply. ‘It's not like I'm gonna pass this Business test anyway.'

‘Can't study?' she asks.

‘Honestly, it's like some fairies crawled into my brain last night and built a fortress to prevent anything going in.'

‘Eugh,' she replies. ‘Sounds painful.'

‘You think all study is painful.'

‘Yeah, maybe I'll just make a sex tape and build a reality-TV empire instead.'

‘I'm hanging up now,' I tell her.

She giggles. ‘OK, see you soon!'

I arrive at our favourite cafe and get a seat outside. After ten minutes of sitting alone, I check my phone and find two missed calls and a text message.

Changed my mind. Meet me at the fro-yo shop?

I shake my head and try to sneak out of the cafe.

‘Sorry,' I tell the waiter when she sees me, red-faced. ‘My friend . . . can't come any more.'

‘I'm going to kill you,' I tell Lauren when I get to the frozen yoghurt shop. ‘I was sitting there for ages.'

She shrugs. ‘Sorry, I had a craving.'

I shake my head. ‘Where are we even gonna eat these? There's no tables here.'

‘I don't know — stop getting antsy, I'll figure it out.'

We order the yoghurt (I pay, of course) and walk outside, the cold wind blowing our hair in all directions.

‘I'm
really
going to kill you,' I tell her.

‘Relax, it's not that bad,' she says.

‘You have yoghurt in your hair!'

‘Let's just sit here,' she says, gesturing to a table in front of the gelato shop. ‘They won't be able to see us.'

I look at her guiltily.

‘Just do it,' she says, sitting down. ‘We'll be done in three minutes. If they tell us to go, we'll go.'

I take a seat across from her and start shovelling the yoghurt into my mouth so we can leave.

She looks at me and bursts out laughing.

‘It's not a race, you know,' she says.

I grin at her. ‘I don't want to get in trouble.'

‘From the gelato-shop owner?' she asks, mocking me. ‘Gosh, you overthink everything.
Relax
.'

Her words remind me of my earlier conversation with David, so I decide to ask for her opinion.

‘Do you think I will be able to handle it in Goulburn?' I ask her. ‘It's going to be a lot of hard work.'

‘Do you want an honest answer?' she asks me.

I nod, biting my lip.

‘I think you're a bit wussy,' she says. ‘You don't have the backbone for it. I can't see you as a cop.'

‘What can you see me as?' I ask.

She shrugs. ‘I don't know, but policing . . . you have to be in control, strong. But you let the world get away with everything.'

I look down at my yoghurt. ‘I think I'll be good at it,' I say quietly. ‘Maybe I'm not assertive all the time. But I can do it in my work . . .'

‘Yeah, 'cause clowning gives you so much experience in being assertive,' she says, rolling her eyes.

I look at her for a moment, but say nothing. Maybe she's right.

‘My dad found the police academy pamphlets anyway,' I reveal. ‘And someone told him about the clown stuff, which means I probably won't be doing it any more. I have one party left and then I think I'm done.'

‘Good,' she says, smiling at me. ‘You hated it.'

‘That's not the point,' I say. ‘I finally felt like I had my future in sight. Now I have to work on a new plan.'

‘So do it,' she says dismissively.

I sigh inwardly, wishing I could talk to someone who got it.

‘Is the pavlova flavour nice?' she asks a second later.

‘Mmmhmmm, try it,' I say through a mouthful of yoghurt. I scoop some out with my spoon and move to hand the spoon to Lauren, but it falls out of my hand and into my lap.

‘Aww, damn,' I say, wiping away at my pants. ‘These are new.'

I'm still trying to deal with the mess when a voice behind me calls out my name. My stage name.

‘Tatty? Tatty the Clown?'

Lauren nearly spits out her yoghurt in amusement. I look at Mike in shock, then stand up really quickly, knocking my bag off the table in the process and sending lip glosses, scraps of paper, loose change and tampons flying all over the pavement.

The first time I saw Mike, I was sweaty and had remnants of face paint all over me. Now there is a splodge of yoghurt on my jeans and my feminine paraphernalia is scattered everywhere. What is it about this guy that makes me so clumsy?