Fifteen Love (3 page)

are uncertain about their future

The school counsellor, as it turned out, was also the music teacher. I don't know if Ms Stanway has any counselling qualifications, but there's obviously a connection between psychos and music – just look at Marilyn Manson. It didn't matter, though, because from the moment I sat down in Ms Stanway's big comfy chair, I knew I couldn't say I was there because of a
girl
.

‘It's spiders,' I said, instead. ‘They make me feel . . . anxious.'

Ms Stanway had long white fingers with pale-pink nails. She pressed her index finger to her chin, as if she were trying to make a dimple.

‘How do you mean, exactly?'

‘Whenever I see her coming – the spider, that is – I have to walk away.'

‘Arachnophobia,' Ms Stanway nodded. ‘It's quite common.'

‘Actually,' I said. ‘It's more like an obsession than a phobia. I keep expecting her – it! – to appear from out of nowhere. I don't know what I would do if it suddenly tapped me on the shoulder and said
Hi
.'

Ms Stanway's finger started making a circular motion, as if it were trying to rub out the dimple. ‘Obsessions,' she said, ‘are sometimes like phobias, and phobias often occur as the result of uncertainty or unfamiliarity. Often, when you have a phobia, it's best to confront the thing you are scared of, face-to-face. If it is spiders, say, you could keep one in a jar on your desk. You should try to transform them from something terrifying into something familiar, if – as you say – it's spiders that you're scared of.'

‘Jar on the desk,' I nodded. ‘Not a problem!'

Ms Stanway's fingers joined to make a white church with a pale-pink roof.

‘Of course, if it was something else – a girl, for instance – then the same principle would apply.'

I wasn't quite ready to
meet
Mia Foley yet, so I opted for the jar on the desk instead. I would have had trouble finding a jar that was big enough, of course, so the only other way of not being anxious was to keep Mia under observation at all times.

That first lunchtime when I started watching her, I felt sick in the stomach. My skin prickled with sweat. If Mia looked in my direction, I had to look away. If she stood up suddenly, I felt a desperate urge to run and hide in the rubbish dumpster, to wait for the truck to come and take me away.

Maybe that's why they call it a crush.

Gradually, day by day, it got better. It wasn't long before I could eat my lunch in front of her. I could turn my back on her. I could lie down, defenceless, staring up at the sky. I could almost forget her, unless there were clouds shaped like angels.

V
for Volleyball . . . ? Vitamins . . . ? Video . . . ? Vanilla . . . ? Vegemite . . . ?

I was making good progress, until one day I overheard some guys talking about who the top ten hottest chicks in our year were. They all agreed on Vanessa and Renata, but Mia's name didn't even come up! I sat and listened for ten whole minutes, until I figured they must have just forgotten about her.

‘What about Mia Foley?' I said, casually. ‘She's a bit of a babe, isn't she?'

‘Four-eyes Foley!' they all laughed. ‘She's a rake, mate! A scrawny little chicken.'

Maybe it isn't a phobia or even an obsession. Maybe I just need glasses.

MIA

As soon as she hears the front door open, Harriet starts whining and scratching at the back door. When I let her into the house, she tears up and down the hall, slipping on the polished floorboards as she runs from room to room.

‘Hello, girl! Did you miss me?'

As an answer, Harriet leaps kamikaze-style at my face, smashing into my jaw and almost knocking herself out as she tries to lick me.

‘Down, girl! Down!'

Harriet was my birthday present. She's a pure-bred beagle – white, tan and black – with big loving eyes, saggy-baggy skin, soft floppy ears and long white socks. Technically, Harriet is no longer a puppy, but sometimes I wonder if she will ever grow up. People say beagles are smart in packs, but stupid on their own. Harriet has already flunked two obedience schools. At six months old she still can't be let off her lead. I don't have any brothers or sisters, so for years and years I campaigned for a dog. But by the time I got Harriet, it was more like having a reckless toddler than a substitute sister.

‘Walk, girl?'

I slip on Harriet's lead and we go to the park. I tell her to stay by my side but she's too busy sniffing at trees and fences to take any notice. At the airport they use beagles as sniffer dogs because of their excellent noses, so Harriet is in her element, searching relentlessly for doggy trails and illegal substances.

Harriet and I sit by the lake to watch the ducks. The ducks know that Harriet is too young and silly to be any real threat. Harriet sits when I say ‘Sit!', but only if I push her back half down. She soon forgets, and is up and tugging on her lead again, ready to go.

If I had a boyfriend, I'm sure Harriet would be jealous. She wouldn't let us sit alone by the lake. If we held hands, I'm sure she would leap into the water and attack the ducks, just to embarrass me. If I had a boyfriend . . . How can I contemplate having a boyfriend when I can't even teach my own dog to ‘Stay'?

WILL

Imaginary Conversation # 216:

Thanks for the flowers
, Mia would say.
They were
so
beautiful!

And I would say,
It's hard to believe the whole point of flowers
is to attract bees.

And Mia would say,
Do you think that bees know how
beautiful flowers are?

Maybe they do
, I would say.
After all, bees are very intelligent
creatures.

Bees are very mysterious
, Mia would say.
Who knows what
they think?

And I would say,
Did you know that they navigate by the
angle of the sun?

Yes
, Mia would say.
And they communicate by dancing.

They have their own secret language
, I would say.

Did you know
, Mia would say,
that all the worker bees are
female?

Very mysterious
, I would say.

MIA

The truth is, falling in love is not high on my list of priorities right now. I have books to read and homework to do. I have Harriet to look after and orchestra practice twice a week. I don't have the time to fall in love and I don't have the right clothes. To have a boyfriend you need clothes for every occasion. One day you might get invited to the movies, then the next you might get asked to go ice-skating. I have nothing to wear to a cocktail party. I can't imagine what I'd wear to go skydiving.

Having a boyfriend means going places you've never been before. It means doing things you don't want to do, like sucking toes and jumping out of aeroplanes. I swear, I'm not ready for that kind of adventurous lifestyle.

WILL

I have discovered
V
! I have seen Mia Foley walking across the schoolyard and in her hand she was carrying a violin case.
V
is for Violin!
V
is for Victory!

Because of this, I have a whole new range of options:

a) Walk up to Mia and say,
It's good to see you remembered
your violin today. Remember me? The guy with the broken
pencil?

b) Steal Mia's violin and deliver a ransom note:
Marry me,
or else the violin gets it!

c) Plan an accidental, violin-related meeting.

Most days, Mia Foley is like a maximum-security facility. Every recess and lunchtime she sits on the same bench, guarded by her two warders. Except on Mondays and Thursdays, when Mia goes down to the assembly hall to rehearse with the school orchestra. Only the musicians are allowed in there, but I could go along, just to make a few enquiries. I might even say I'm interested in playing the triangle. I mean, how difficult can it be to
ting
on a triangle when the conductor gives you the nod?

In preparation, I go to the library and google
orchestras
. There's plenty about violins and not much on triangles, so I brush up on my basic musical terminology (notes, chords, time signatures et cetera) just to be on the safe side. But musical theory isn't really my scene. If Mia puts me on the spot, I'll tell her I have a jazz background, and that history is full of gifted triangle players who have learned to play mainly by ear.

MIA

What, in the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, is Will Holland doing here? Shouldn't he be outside on the grass?

Did something fall from the sky and hit him on the head? Surely he's not going to audition? What instrument does he play? Does he realise how surly Ms S can be? No one has
ever
turned up at rehearsal in a tracksuit before. I can't bear to watch . . .

WILL

Ms Stanway opens the door to the room where the orchestra is tuning up. If she hadn't already talked to me about arachnophobia, I'm sure she would turn me away. Instead, she gives me a ‘knowing' look and invites me in.

When I tell her I want to audition, she looks sceptical.

‘Can you read?' she asks.

‘Of course,' I reply, showing her one of my library books.

Ms Stanway frowns and shows me a book of sheet music:
The Four Seasons
by Antonio Vivaldi. ‘Can you read
music
?' she asks. ‘Can you read
timpani
?'

‘Timpani? Hmm . . . I'm familiar with
some
of his work.'

Ms Stanway wags a long finger at me. ‘There's more to playing percussion than just banging a few drums,' she says. ‘You can sit beside Allan and watch, if you like.'

I'm in!

Allan is way over in the corner, about as far from the violins as you can get, surrounded by all kinds of junk. There are xylophones and glockenspiels, glockenphones and xylospiels, but no triangles. Allan is a weedy guy to look at, but he can do an excellent drum roll with his big, fluffy sticks:
Brrrrrdummm . . . Brrrrrrdummm . . .

The orchestra tunes up and on the count of four they rip into ‘Autumn'. It's all very windy and swirly as Ms Stanway bends and sways like an old elm tree, lifting up her arms and calling out in Italian:
‘Allegro!
More
allegro
!'

I stand to the side, trying to look like Allan's drum roadie, when really I'm watching Mia. She's wearing glasses that make her look unbelievably cool, and the way her fingers slide up and down the neck of the violin is deeply disturbing. Trying not to be noticed, I inch myself slowly along the wall, hoping to get a better view of her.

In the second part of ‘Autumn', the music slows right down and the wind instruments take over. I imagine Mia being buried under a pile of fallen leaves. I imagine getting one of those industrial-strength vacuum cleaners that gardeners use and sucking all the leaves off, until she's just lying there on the grass. I can't help it. It's in the music.

All of a sudden Mia looks up and smiles at me. It gives me such a shock, my foot kicks over a cymbal that is leaning against the wall. It falls with an almighty
CRASH!
and everyone looks at me. Mia laughs and Ms Stanway points to the door, with a frown that says,
Take your spiders and
leave!

As I stumble out of the room, Mia smiles and sneaks me a goodbye wave.

It makes me so happy, I turn like a conductor to take my final bow.

MIA

Vanessa and Renata
tolerate
me playing in the school orchestra. They don't mind me talking about classical music and sometimes they even ask questions about it. But Vanessa and Renata don't listen to classical music.

‘Classical music is for dead people,' Vanessa says. ‘All those decomposing composers.' Vanessa's taste is music is strictly twenty-first century. She listens to Triple J and she buys top-ten singles. Punk, funk, rock, grunge, metal, hip-hop, rap, soul, pop. It doesn't matter to Vanessa, provided it's top ten.