The Yearbook Committee (9 page)

         
Ryan Fleming
Planning the plays is definitely not the same as making them.

         
James Czalo
Hang in there, mate. You'll get there.

I don't know why, but I'm going to soccer training. It's David's idea, of course; he's still trying to convince me of it as we walk over to the field.

‘Dude, you need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get off your arse,' he says. ‘It sucks that you can't play, I know, but you're still part of the team. You can give us pointers, work out game plans, be our water boy . . .'

I shove him and he laughs, squirting me with his water bottle.

‘I don't know how many sessions I can come to, though,' I say, not wanting to admit how much the joke had really stung. I didn't get this far to be a water boy. ‘Especially now with the yearbook stuff happening.'

‘Why don't you grow a pair and leave that frou-frou stuff to the girls?'

I laugh. ‘I don't know how we're still friends, man,' I say, shaking my head.

‘Seriously, though — the yearbook? Like, what the hell?'

‘I can't let this accident screw up everything,' I say. ‘It's messing with my headspace; I need a distraction. And Mrs H said doing it might help me win the St Jerome Medal.'

‘You're still going for that?' he asks, looking at me incredulously. ‘Why? What's the point without soccer?'

‘Um, just because I can't play now doesn't mean I'll never play again, right?'

I know it's a mistake to look to him for reassurance, and my gut instinct seems to be right on track when he responds with silence. We may have been best mates for a while, but there's always been a little competition between us, and with me out of the picture David is the school's solo soccer star.

‘Plus, there are other dreams. Just because I don't know what I want to do yet, it doesn't mean I shouldn't still chase a ticket. And the St Jerome Medal is the ultimate ticket. It'll pay for whatever I want to do next — at any uni.'

He shrugs with the indifference of someone who has his whole future filed into a box marked ‘To be dealt with later'. Not to mention that whatever he wants to do, he'll have his super-wealthy parents to pay for it.

‘Whatever you want, bro,' he says. ‘You know I support you. Although that new chick from Melbourne — the one with the attitude — is super smart. She even corrects the teachers.'

‘What, Charlie? She's going to give me a run for my money?' I ask, putting on his voice. ‘Who does she think she is, bro?'

‘She better not mess with the soccer lads,' he says, playing along with me.

‘Damn straight,' I tell him.

He sits on a bench and laces up his soccer boots. Then he stands up and puts his hands on my shoulders.

‘But, bro, I still can't get over it. The yearbook committee? You're cramping our style.'

‘As far as you're concerned, Davo, your style's always cramped,' I point out, smiling. ‘You're lucky Tammi stuck around.'

He laughs, tilting his head back, a guy with no worries whatsoever.

‘I don't know. It could be good for me,' I say. ‘Plus, you know Mrs H. I agreed to do it just to get out of her office.'

He shrugs and runs out to the coach.

I sit on the bench and watch him with the ball. He heads it, bounces it between each knee, pounds it with his chest, then repeats the process again. I'm struck by how natural he looks.

If it weren't for him, I might never have discovered the game. In some ways I owe a lot to him.

But he's also a big part of the reason why it's gone away.

Which is why, despite the friendly banter, things will never be the same between us again.

Later that afternoon, I take my laptop to our little courtyard out back and start Googling careers.

Lawyer? Nope — I'm a really bad liar.

Police officer? Nope — I want to get away from morons, not chase after them.

Teacher? No way — I've seen enough from my classmates to ensure I don't ever want to be a victim of behaviour like theirs.

Finance? Er, I hate numbers. And I can't even think of an actual job title of someone in finance.

No matter what I search for, all I can think about is soccer.

I close the laptop and lie back in the chair.

Moments later, Nanna comes out with a tray holding a jug of fresh lemonade and some glasses.

‘Honey, why are you doing your work out here?' she asks. ‘You'll be more comfortable at a table. Trust me, when your back goes —'

‘— it goes. I know.'

She gives me a smile and shakes her head.

‘I'm brainstorming careers,' I tell her.

‘You'll find something, darling,' she says. ‘Don't rush it.'

‘You know, you're telling me the opposite of everyone else. I feel like I'm under so much pressure to discover my dream job right now.'

‘Well, I'm the one who knows you best,' she says. ‘You should listen to me.' She pours me a glass of lemonade. ‘So tell me, what is that no-good friend of yours planning on doing?'

‘Beats me,' I say, shrugging. ‘Right now his sole focus is being the captain of the school soccer team.'

‘He has a hide on him, I tell you,' she says. ‘I can't believe his family didn't offer to help out with the costs of the physio after your surgery. It was all his fault you injured your knee, and they couldn't even send a card.'

‘No one forced me to get on that four-wheeler, Nanna.'

‘Yes, you keep saying that,' she says. ‘But I know better. You do everything that he says just to avoid getting into an argument with him. And that time, his genius ideas got you more than just a detention.'

‘Yep — a complete ban from the best thing in my life.'

‘Until you find something else,' she says, patting my shoulder.

I down the glass of lemonade and hand it to her, and she carries the tray back inside.

         
Charlie Scanlon
Just sitting here, repeating my mantra. #noroots

I find myself heading up the stairs into the library with Ryan Fleming by my side, and he nods a hello in my direction.

I ignore him. Seriously, how many ways can I say ‘I don't want to associate with you' to these people?

We walk into the computer lab and I take the computer closest to the door. Everyone else is already here — Matty has his headphones on, Tammi is reading a magazine and Gillian is typing furiously into her phone.

At this rate, we'll be working on this yearbook well into our fifties.

‘Guys,' Ryan calls out from the front of the room, ‘can we start? We only have forty-five minutes.'

‘Yes, but every month,' Matty says. ‘Forty-five minutes
every month
.'

Gillian looks at him pointedly. ‘Yes, and some of us would like to do something productive with that forty-five minutes.'

‘Maybe you should do the whole thing yourself, since you're so enthusiastic,' Tammi says.

‘It's because I actually chose to be here,' she snaps. ‘I don't take orders from people who are supposed to be my friends.'

I make an approving sound and Tammi glares me.

‘Not so tough when Lauren's not around, are we?' I mutter.

She gives me the finger and I smirk at her, just as Ryan clears his throat.

‘Just come off it, all of you,' he says. ‘Let's just do what we have to and get out of here.'

Silence descends on the room. Ryan has a point.

‘The last meeting wasn't exactly successful, so I figured working with a little bit of direction might help us,' he says. ‘I did some research and I read that magazines usually start with something called a flatplan, so I made one last night. I think.'

‘What's a flatplan?' Tammi asks.

‘It's a grid where we write what's going to go on each page,' he explains, fumbling with a clear plastic folder. He hands us all a copy of the flatplan. ‘I hope it's OK, it took me hours. I want to make sure we have something to show Mrs H.'

‘Oooh, dedication,' I say, rolling my eyes.

He gives me an icy stare. ‘Can you just piss off? I don't want to deal with you right now.'

I mock-pout and say in a sing-song voice, ‘Aww, you poor thing, you in your privileged school with your upper-middle-class upbringing. What could you possibly have been through that's so traumatic that you can't handle a little sarcasm?'

He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. ‘Forget it. Empathy is obviously something you're unfamiliar with.'

‘I just know who really needs it and who doesn't,' I mumble under my breath.

‘Yeah, we get it, you know a lot of things,' he says. ‘Can we move on now?'

‘Actually, Ryan, I think this is really good,' Tammi says, looking up from the handout. ‘Can we add more pages for photos if we need to?'

‘I guess so,' he says. ‘Depending on the budget.'

‘Are our photos going to be in colour?' Gillian asks.

‘I don't know, sorry.'

‘It's OK,' Gillian says. ‘How about I write down these questions so that when we meet with Mrs H, we can ask.'

‘Great idea, Gill,' I say. ‘How about we start with why Ryan has allocated six pages for boys' sport and only two pages for girls'?'

Ryan rubs the back of his head, while I smile up at him innocently.

‘Did you go to some feminist school or something?' he asks.

‘Yep,' I say with enthusiasm. ‘It's located at the corner of Twenty-first Century Street and Get With The Program Avenue. Seriously, what is with this?'

‘The girls' teams never win anything,' Tammi says.

I give her a death-stare.

‘Look,' he says, ‘there are only two girls' teams: soccer and netball. If you look further down there are two pages on dance comps, and another on really great Textiles projects that made it into the regional Visual Arts Display at the council.'

‘Oh my God, I can't even begin to explain how wrong this all is,' I say, putting my hands on my head as if I'm trying to keep my brain from falling out from shock.

Everyone stares at me in silence.

Just great, I think. You try to teach them something and they look at you as if you have two heads.

‘Dance competitions and Textiles projects? Is this what you want your daughters to look at in twenty years' time? A book that perpetuates the stereotype that women are good at home economics, but not competitive sport? Where's the equality? We've had a female prime minister, for heaven's sake.'

‘Yeah, and look how well that turned out,' Matty mumbles.

‘Doesn't mean you should stop pursuing equality,' I say. ‘We need to highlight all the opportunities that the girls had here. If you keep this flatplan, then you're saying you agree with putting women in their boxes.'

‘And this grid picture thing says all that?' Matty asks, confused.

Tammi opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

‘Don't tell me again about how the girl teams never win,' I warn her. ‘Maybe if we supported one another more, we would win at something.'

‘Don't lecture me,' Tammi says. ‘I'm not the one with the attitude problem.'

I fold my arms. ‘Yeah, but you
are
one of the ones who chuck things at innocent people's heads just for fun.'

‘Please don't bring me into this,' Gillian calls out, waving her hands in front of her face.

‘For God's sake, quit being a pansy,' I tell her. ‘If you don't stand up to her, she'll never learn.'

‘I didn't even do anything,' Tammi calls out angrily.

‘Yeah, exactly,' I say. ‘Your friend does the bullying and you don't do anything to stop her.'

The sound of a fist slamming against a table cuts through the argument. We all turn to look at Ryan.

‘I've had enough of this shit,' he says. ‘I'm telling Mrs H to either can the yearbook or get someone else to do it.'

He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head in frustration, picks up his school bag, and storms out.

The room goes silent. Everyone looks around at each other.

‘Cool, I guess we can go then,' Matty says, shrugging and standing up.

‘No, we can't,' Gill says. ‘It'll break Mrs H's heart.'

He sighs loudly and slumps back into his seat.

‘Well, what are we doing then?' I ask. ‘Should I go out and find him?'

‘Hell no,' Tammi says, looking at me like I'm an idiot. ‘Your attitude is probably half the reason he left.'

‘So what, we just hang around?' Matty mumbles.

‘Yes, we do,' Tammi calls out, without turning around. ‘He's not the type to bail. He'll come back — just give him a minute to calm down.'

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan returns, looking only a little calmer. He paces up and down the room.

‘You know,' he says after a moment, ‘I've debated the best teams in Sydney and won, I've captained our soccer team to three grand finals and won two of those, and I walked the Kokoda Track with my dad when I was fifteen — and all of that was cake compared to this stupid project.'

After a few minutes of silence he speaks up again.

‘I'm giving you guys one more shot,' he says, putting his hand up. ‘I know this flatplan thing is not perfect, but it's a start.'

‘Well, how about you just add however many women's pages Run-the-World wants so we can move on from our sexism debate and actually get somewhere?' says Matty.

‘Did you just reference Beyoncé?' Tammi asks, perplexed.

‘Why are you surprised? I know I don't move in your popular circles, but I do live in the real world,' he says very slowly.

‘Why are you talking to me like I'm stupid?'

‘Because you just asked a stupid question,' he snaps.

Gillian lets out a snort of laughter and Tammi rolls her eyes.

‘Seriously, why am I here?' she asks no one in particular, standing up. ‘Gillian's right. I'm only here because of Lauren; if she's so desperate to have a say she can be here instead.'

Gillian's eyes flick to her in horror.

‘If you leave me now, I'll tell David you're cheating,' Ryan warns.

The warning doesn't faze her. ‘Tell him whatever you want,' she mutters, picking up her bag.

‘Please don't leave,' Ryan says, stepping in front of her to block her exit.

‘Come on, Ryan,' she says. ‘Look around. Me and him have barely spoken more than three words to each other, this one hates our entire school, and this one is so enthusiastic she could burst. You need more of her and less of us.'

He stares at her. She sighs.

‘Seriously,' she says, gesturing around the room, ‘we're not a good fit.'

The alarm on Ryan's phone beeps. He silences it and shoves it back in his pocket, just as Matty, Tammi and Gillian and I all stand up.

‘Sit back down,' he says, as we look at each other. ‘Now.'

‘I don't give a shit how much we hate each other,' he says. ‘Mrs H has been good to us, so we owe it to her to finish the job. And yes, I know I am partially biased as the school captain, but there's no way in hell I am going to let this year be the only one not to have a yearbook.'

The whole room can hear Matty sigh.

‘He has a point,' Gillian says.

‘So, Charlie — can you please take the flatplan home and add your recommendations? Gillian, I'm going to rely on you to save all questions from future meetings, and Tammi, not only are you banned from leaving, but can you please set up a private Facebook group for us so we can communicate in between meetings? Gill can post the action points as a pinned post in the group, so we can all keep track of what we're supposed to be doing.'

‘What do I do?' Matty grumbles.

‘Easy,' he says. ‘Make us a playlist for meetings. And let's take turns to bring snacks. We should try to forget all the stuff that happens out there' — he points at the window — ‘and try to keep this part of the day free from everything else. Please.'

No one argues.

He gestures to the door. ‘You can go home now.'

We all stand up to leave again. But just as Ryan reaches the door, he turns around.

‘Oh my Lord, what now?' I say under my breath.

‘Don't worry too much about boxes,' he tells me. ‘Last year for International Day of the Girl, the boys' soccer team wore pink bands on the field and had a bake sale to raise funds for Girl Up. The future is not all doom and gloom.'

‘
You
arranged it?' I ask, smirking.

‘What can I say?' he says, shrugging. ‘This is what a feminist looks like.'

He winks at me, then walks down the hall, whistling Beyoncé's ‘Run the World (Girls)'.