The Yearbook Committee (14 page)

In fourth period, I get a text from Gillian, who asks if I want to come over after school while her mum's out. She must have texted Matty as well, because I hear him call out to me after homeroom, a bunch of papers in his hand.

‘Did she ask for her homework?' I ask.

‘No, but I think she'd like the distraction.'

‘You're going to make some woman very happy one day,' I tell him. ‘Such intuition.'

He shrugs, then tells me he'll catch up with me at Gill's.

By the time I have to leave for Gillian's, I'm too exhausted for her chirpy personality, but I don't have the heart to say I'm not coming any more. So it's especially irritating when she opens the door and seems utterly deflated that I'm alone.

‘Is it just you?' she asks, looking over my shoulder.

‘Great to see you too,' I reply.

‘Sorry,' she says, smiling. ‘I figured Matty would be here by now, but he's probably still working.'

‘That's weird — he said earlier he'd meet me here. Why didn't he tell me he was working at the juice bar?'

‘He isn't at his juice-bar job today. He also delivers junk mail in his area.'

I raise my eyebrows, but don't say anything. Why he would need all that extra cash? He did seem impressed with my car — is he saving up to buy one for himself? I'm making a mental note to ask him when Gillian puts some snacks on the breakfast bar in front of me.

‘Carrots and cucumbers?' I say, grimacing.

‘Blame my mum,' she says. ‘She actually cut them up and everything.'

‘Did it ruin her nails?' I ask sarcastically. She gives me an amused look and we both crack up laughing.

‘So what time is she heading out tonight?' I ask.

‘Six-ish usually,' she says, glancing at the big French clock in the living room across from us. ‘They go out for dinner, and
when she comes back she watches
Real Housewives
or
The Bachelor
episodes. It's her thing.'

Moments later, the doorbell rings. Gillian looks at the security screen.

‘Sammy! Matty's at the door,' she calls. ‘Can you go let him in please?'

I glance out into the hallway and see Sammy excitedly throw his arms around Matty. He drags him through the kitchen to the living area to show him a drawing he did. They play video games, and Gill and I chat while she prepares Sammy's dinner. Sammy chooses a DVD and takes his seat at the table, and the three of us head to the back verandah to escape the noise of the TV.

‘Your house is nice,' Matty tells her, looking around.

She shrugs. ‘Everything always seems nice on the outside.'

‘What's going on?' I ask. ‘Are you finally seeing through the staged pictures of Instagram?'

Matty rolls his eyes. ‘Can't we talk about something easy so I don't have to concentrate?'

‘What, your paper route dumbed you down?' I ask.

‘Hey, it's junk mail, and I need the money. We're not all rich, you know.'

‘Relax, I'm just mucking around,' I say, elbowing him.

‘Well, can someone please tell Pappas to stop mucking around with
me
?' Gillian asks. I look at her quizzically and she hands me her phone. It's showing Gillian's Facebook page, where Lauren has uploaded a video of Gillian sitting down on a whoopie cushion in class.

‘Woah,' I say, looking up at her. ‘She tagged you in it and everything. That's nasty. When did this happen?'

‘Yesterday.'

I clench my fists in frustration.

‘She's
such
a moll,' she says. ‘She won't leave me alone.'

‘Can I see?' Matty asks, reaching for the phone. His eyes widen in surprise as he watches the video. Then he swipes through some of Gill's pictures.

‘Wow,' he says, looking up at me. ‘Look at all these backhanded compliments she's left on your other pictures.'

‘Exactly,' she says, grabbing the phone back. ‘And on my status updates too. She wants to appear innocent.'

‘Read one,' I suggest.

‘“You're lucky your boobs are small for your body shape. Otherwise you'd look a bit skanky in that outfit.”'

Matty and I look at each other in silence.

‘OK, don't be upset by what I'm about to say,' I warn her, ‘but why do you have a public fan page? Switch to a private account and don't add her as a friend.'

‘I don't want to,' she says. ‘It's linked to my blog, which is doing surprisingly well. I just want to know why every post has to come with her commentary.'

‘Because that's what you get when you have a public profile,' I point out. ‘What did you expect?'

‘The same treatment I experienced for the past five years, when they all just ignored me,' she replies. ‘Why are they suddenly trying to ruin the first good thing that's happened to me in ages?'

‘Because that's how they are,' I tell her.

‘Yeah, well, they suck,' she says, folding her arms defiantly.

‘Relax, no one cares what they think anyway,' Matty says.

‘Actually, I do,' she tells him. ‘The more followers I get, the better. People make money off their social media.'

‘Well, there's your answer to why she's doing this,' I tell her. ‘She makes you look bad, she wins.'

‘I don't get it,' Matty says.

‘Think about the one person whose popularity could be jeopardised by your success,' I explain to Gillian. ‘Imagine if brands start sending you products and you go on trips, or you get a role on an Aussie TV show or something. It's not that far-fetched, and Lauren knows it.'

‘Yeah, but there are a lot of other nasty comments here,' Matty says. ‘It's clearly not just Lauren. No offence, Gill.'

‘People are telling me they want to tie their HSC notes to my limbs and set me on fire, and you're worried I'll get offended at what
you
said?' she asks. ‘It's the politician thing. People hate politicians. They all think that my achievements are because of who my dad is. Even though I built that blog up from nothing.'

‘But our class has known about your dad for ages,' he points out. ‘Why now?'

‘You guys still don't get it, do you?' I ask, turning to Gillian. ‘For six years you and your friend Svetlana —'

‘Sylvana,' she interrupts.

‘Whatever. For six years you were the nerds at school. No one looked at you. You were irrelevant. Then some modelling scout finds her, promises her some big career, and now your dad is hot ticket to be premier. So when you appear next to him on the news and Sylvana tags you in her pictures, people know who you are. Suddenly girls who were nothing throughout high school are becoming a kind of something, and Lauren's threatened by that.'

Gillian starts to say something but I continue.

‘Somebody noticed Sylvana. And now they've noticed you too. And Lauren Pappas still has to apply to UAC and hope her parents'
money is enough to get her into a Media and Communications degree, which she'll hate for the next four years anyway, because all she
really
wants to do is host a TV show or pash the hottie-of-the-month on
Home and Away
.'

‘It's like you have a crystal ball at home,' Matty says, looking at me admiringly.

‘Yeah,' Gillian agrees. ‘You totally belong on the yearbook committee. Not only can you read everyone so well, but you're funny too. We need that.'

I shake my head. ‘Honest and cynical, yes. Funny? I don't think so. But I will happily fake-read your future any day, my dear Matthew.'

‘It's not so much my future that I'm concerned about as my past,' he says quietly.

‘What?' I ask.

‘Nothing,' he says, shrugging.

I give him a look.

‘You talk about your stepdad a lot,' he says. ‘Have you met your real dad?'

‘My biological dad, you mean?'

He nods, as if the answer's obvious.

‘Nope,' I say.

‘And you've never wanted to?' Gillian asks.

‘Honestly?' I pause to think about it. ‘No, not really. I can't actually think of a time in my life where I've thought I needed to know about him.' As the words come out, I suddenly realise that's the first time I've said them out loud.

Matty nods his head slowly, looking down at the floor.

I bend down to face him. ‘What's this about, Matty?'

‘I've never met my dad,' he says simply. ‘I don't know who he is, how my mother met him, if they were dating . . . if he wanted me. She could have been raped, for all I know.'

‘Shush,' Gillian says, slapping his hand.

‘What?' he asks. ‘I mean it. I literally have no idea.'

‘Hmm, my mum's told me what I need to know,' I say. ‘Short relationship, he wanted her to have an abortion. She nearly did.'

‘Thank God she didn't,' Gillian says.

‘No, thank
her courage
she didn't,' I say. ‘She was seventeen when she told him she was pregnant with me. She never saw him again after that.'

‘How does that make you feel?' Gillian asks.

‘Fine,' I say truthfully. ‘I had such a happy childhood. But not all people are like me. Some of us need more.'

I meet Matty's eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

‘It's OK to want to reach out to him, you know,' I tell him after a moment's silence.

‘I don't know how,' he says.

‘Well, can't you talk to your mum about it?' Gillian asks.

Matty looks out the window and shakes his head. ‘She's . . . not in a good place right now.'

Gillian and I exchange glances. Matty stands up and pulls his hoodie over his head.

‘I gotta go home,' he says. ‘Say bye to Sammy for me, will you?'

He starts to walk off and I give Gillian a bewildered what-just-happened look.

We both get up and follow him out the front door. He's almost at the front gate when he turns around and looks at us.

‘My best friend, Mo, told me I'd never make friends at Holy Family. “You'll be too different to them,” he said.'

‘Well, you're not,' I call out, looking at him intently.

‘Big houses, flashy cars —' he starts.

‘— mean nothing,' Gill continues. ‘Come back inside.'

He shakes his head and turns around, grabbing the gate. But a second later, Gill's at his side, slamming it shut.

‘I have a big house and fancy cars and parents with more status than they know what to do with,' she tells him. ‘And when Sylvana moved, a big hole opened up in my heart. But lately it's started to fill.'

He gives her a half-smile.

‘My friendship does that,' I say, folding my arms and smirking.

He takes a deep breath and looks at me intently. I suddenly feel guilty for making a joke.

‘My mother's in a funk and I'm working two jobs trying to pay our bills. My house is dark and smelly and depressing. It's always been me and her, and now she's falling apart and I can't save her.'

‘And you think your dad can?' Gill asks, confused.

‘No,' he whispers quietly. ‘But maybe he can save me.'

         
Matty Fullerton
is listening to ‘Steal my Sunshine' by Len on Spotify.

         
Mo Sharif
Unusual song choice. Look forward to our run tomorrow.

‘What's up, bro?' Mo asks, slowing down. ‘You can't keep up with me any more.'

‘Thought you loved beating me,' I say, panting and digging my hand into my side to try to relieve my stitch.

He jogs back to me and puts his hand on my back.

‘Sit down,' he says. ‘We might as well stop.'

‘Sorry,' I mumble. ‘I feel bad.'

‘It's OK, I'll make up for it on the job site.'

We sit down on the footpath, warm sweat drying on our bodies.

‘Go,' I tell him. ‘Before your mum finds out you're out in the cold and starts screeching that you'll get slapped by the wind.'

‘Best Arab saying ever,' he says, grinning.

I pull out my phone and try to capture the sun's morning colours rising into yesterday's darkness.

‘It's so nice, isn't it,' he says. ‘I love running before the world wakes up. I was surprised when you called me.'

‘It has been a while,' I say. ‘I've missed it.'

‘School does that to you, bro,' he says. ‘My sister's up all hours learning stuff for the HSC.
Alhumdulillah
, I got out.'

‘It's not just school,' I tell him, honestly. ‘My mum's sick.'

He looks at me, puzzled.

‘Real sick, not the flu,' I explain. ‘Depression or something. She does nothing all day. Barely even eats. It's been months.'

His eyes widen in surprise. ‘Months? And you never told me? I could've brought you food. You know how much my mum cooks.'

‘I thought it would go away,' I admit. ‘But she won't even see a doctor.'

‘You should have said something before,' he says, shaking his head. ‘I'm your mate.'

‘Yeah, I know, man, and I appreciate it. But you know me . . .'

‘The silent type, I know,' he says, giving me an amused look. ‘What are you gonna do?'

I shrug. ‘Dunno.'

We sit in silence for a few minutes longer.

‘Do you remember in year 7 when you asked me why I didn't know who my dad was?' I ask.

‘Nah, man, you know what my memory's like.'

‘I told you I didn't really care who he is.'

He nods, waiting for the rest of the story.

‘I think I want to find him now.'

He lets out a long, low whistle.

‘I don't get you Aussies,' he says after a moment. ‘It's like you guys spend your days searching for lost fathers and we just want ours to get lost.'

‘At least they care about you,' I point out.

‘It's care you'd want to run away from,' he says. ‘They're always interfering.'

‘We're never happy.'

‘No, we're not.'

I think about this conversation in the shower as I'm getting ready for school. What if I was right about people never being happy? Would I regret reaching out to him? What happens if I learn something I don't want to know? I could never unlearn it — and then I would be miserable. Maybe there's a reason she never mentioned him.

I'm getting dressed when I hear the phone ring.

‘Mum, can you get that?' I call out. But she doesn't move, and I bump my toe on the couch trying to scramble for it.

‘Ouch,' I say out loud before putting the handset to my ear. ‘Hello?'

‘Matty? It's Cherry Nguyen.'

‘Hey, Cherry,' I say, thinking how unnecessary the introduction was, I'd know her accent anywhere. ‘No change yet, I'm sorry I forgot to call you.'

‘Sorry, Matty,' she says, sighing. ‘That's what I am calling about. I can't hold her position any more. Upstairs is hounding me.'

I feel bad for lying to her initially, telling her Mum was just taking a break. Maybe if I'd been more honest, she would have cut me some more slack.

‘Please? Just one more month, she might get better . . .'

‘If she doesn't see a professional, she won't change, love.'

‘Please, I will speak to upstairs,' I beg.

‘I'm sorry, it's terrible, but out of my control. If things get better, I will see what I can do, but we need to replace her formally.'

She hangs up. I can feel the anger rising like bile in the back of my throat. I hurl the phone at the wall, grab my school bag and leave, slamming the door behind me. My mother doesn't stir.

The day gets worse. Mr Broderick calls me to his office to question my lack of parental representation at the parent–teacher night.

‘You've always had at least one guardian there, Mr Fullerton,' he says. ‘But no one last night. I know there's a sense of finality to this year, but I must point out that you have not yet reached the end of the road.'

‘My mum was out of town,' I lie. ‘We don't have any other family in town.'

He leans back in his chair for a minute, and the way he looks at me makes me feel uneasy.

‘It's funny you say that,' he says, rising from his seat. ‘Because I called your mother this morning and she believes she never actually got a letter.'

I sigh. Now she's failing me at school, and she doesn't even know it.

‘It's a little more complicated than that, sir.'

He scoffs, then sits on the edge of his desk and looks at me with utter disdain.

‘I'd ask you to enlighten me, but I'm just not a fan of your attitude. So spare me the fake sincerity and go.'

I exhale and turn to leave.

‘And I'll see you for after-school detention every day for the rest of the week,' he says.

I don't turn around. I know that if I do, I'll smash his face in.

‘You got an after-school for that?' Charlie says, outraged, as she, Gillian and I are walking to class after recess. ‘Far out. In public school, stabbing the principal would get you a lunch detention.'

Gill's eyes widen in surprise.

‘I'm
joking
,' Charlie says, grabbing her arm. ‘Honestly, Gill.'

‘You have to tell him what's going on at home, Matty,' Gill says. ‘Just be honest.'

‘No way,' I say, shaking my head. ‘Not him.'

‘Mrs H then,' she says, as if it's as simple that. ‘I'll go with you.'

‘I'll see,' I say.

‘We know what “I'll see” means,' Gill says, looking at me.

‘Those parent–teacher nights are a waste of time anyway,' I say. ‘What do they even talk about?'

‘My dad told me they spoke about how our families can support us in our tough times of study,' Gill says, making a face.

‘Some good that would do me,' I say. ‘She can't even support me during the normal times.'

The girls exchange glances and I stop, just metres from our classroom.

‘You know what?' I say, looking at them. ‘I can't stay here. I have to go.'

I turn around and run down the stairs before they can stop me.

Two and a half hours later, they find me lying in the grass at Burwood Park.

‘Have you been here the whole time?' Gillian asks, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

‘It's not so bad in the sun,' I say, sitting up and pulling my headphones off my ears. I don't tell her I'm freezing and my arse is wet, and that the damp in my hoodie feels like it's seeping into my bones.

Charlie folds her arms. ‘You can't keep escaping into your music,' she tells me.

‘You can't control everything,' I retaliate.

‘I'm good at it,' she says.

Gillian smiles. I try to ignore them.

‘You'll never get the medal if you keep wagging to chase after us, you know,' I tell Charlie after a minute of silence.

‘What's the use of a free university education if I have no friends in whose faces I can rub it?' she asks, smirking.

I shake my head. She always knows what to say to break the tension.

‘How did it start?' Gillian asks. ‘Your mum's depression?'

‘I don't know. We were fine. And then eight months ago she came to visit me at work, met Sammy and Elliot, told me she was going to go to the supermarket, and the next thing I know I get a call saying she'd fainted and I should go pick her up. One week later she was a whole other person.'

‘Matty,' Charlie says, hesitantly, ‘I know you're going through a tough time, and maybe in your head your dad can help . . . but how do you know he's not part of the problem?'

My head snaps up. ‘I don't get it,' I say. ‘She's never mentioned him, or seen him. How could he be the problem?'

‘Her mum's a psych,' Gill says, piping up. ‘She knows her stuff.' Charlie and I both narrow our eyes at her. ‘Sorry,' she says, hands in front of her body.

‘Some depressions — if it
is
depression, that is — are not just clinical,' Charlie explains. ‘They could also be situational. She might have associated her relationship with your father, or some other thing, with a trigger, and that's what brought it on.'