Love-shy (28 page)

She did have a monkey, though. His name was McGinty. I wondered if I could get a monkey. Or maybe a puppy. Something that wouldn't judge me.

I looked up. Hugh had sat down and a girl with braces from the opposition was saying something about earthquake victims in Haiti and ‘so-called administration fees'. I wondered if she had any true friends. If she'd ever tried to kiss someone. If they'd kissed her back.

‘Millions of children in Malawi, Burundi and Kenya are going to school because of government aid,' said Braces Girl. ‘Vaccination programs are wiping out diphtheria, tetanus and river blindness.'

I knew what Nick would say.
You spend your life running
around being busy, to hide the fact that you are actually totally
lonely.

Hugh scribbled on a piece of paper and passed it to Aylee, who handed it to me.

GOVT AID = STATE BRIBERY

I blinked and stared at it. Hugh nodded meaningfully at me, and I nodded back. It was probably a good time to start paying attention.

I thought about Nick's light-globe terrariums. I could see why he liked the idea of a tiny, safe, beautiful world. A world where you could be completely alone and nobody could touch you or hurt you. A world where you could just be
you
.

Aylee nudged me in the ribs. It was my turn? Really? Already? When did she talk? Had I missed it?

I stood up and looked at the panel of judges, and the crowd of people waiting to hear me speak.

‘Knock 'em dead,' whispered Hugh.

My throat was suddenly dry. I looked down at my stack of note-cards. On the first one, I'd written:

That foreign aid should be administered by NGOs rather than states.

That was the topic? I realised in horror that I had no idea whether we were on the positive or negative side. I hadn't been listening. I turned to the next note card. It was blank. They were all blank.

I heard Nick's voice in my head.
Fear of failure
is
a phobia.
It's called
atychiphobia
. Fear of losing.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Maybe I could just walk out and wake up in my bed. What was it you were supposed to do when you couldn't wake up from a dream? Blink? Jolt? I bit my tongue too, just for good measure, but nothing worked. I wasn't waking up.

This was real.

This was real and I'd spent the first thirty seconds of my talk blinking furiously and jiggling up and down.

‘Penny?' whispered Hugh.

I cleared my throat. ‘Should foreign aid be administered by NGOs rather than states?' I said. ‘That's what we're here to find out. Or is it?'

I scanned the room, hoping that it would seem like an impressive pause.

‘Maybe we are asking the wrong question,' I continued. ‘Maybe what's really at stake here is
people
. Should we be helping people?'

Hugh was staring at me as if I were insane. Maybe I could do this. Maybe it'd be like the impassioned speech that comes at the end of the movie, where the lawyer or politician or whoever throws away their notes, speaks from the heart and saves the day.

‘Helping people is supposed to make you feel better,' I said. ‘Altruism is supposed to be one of the greatest strengths of humanity. You help someone. Their life becomes better. You feel good about yourself. But what happens when that system fails? What happens when you try to help someone, but you just make everything worse?'

My voice sped up and heightened in pitch. My heart hammered. But I couldn't stop.

‘And they're unhappy, so they say things to you. Mean things. Untrue things. But then you start to wonder if those things
are
true. Maybe you
are
afraid of failure. Maybe you
don't
have any friends. Maybe you
are
lonely.'

I was crying now. The judges were exchanging mutters and concerned frowns. Hugh was desperately trying to catch my eye. The opposition looked as though they weren't sure whether to be worried or jubilant.

‘So . . . ' My voice cracked and was punctuated with little sobs. ‘So maybe you shouldn't have helped them at all. Maybe if you'd just left them alone, then they wouldn't be angry and you wouldn't have realised how terrible everything is.'

What was I doing?

‘I'm sorry,' I said, staring down at my cards, hoping that magically some notes would appear to save me. They didn't.

The clock said I had seven minutes left. I couldn't do it. ‘I'm sorry,' I said again, this time to Hugh and Aylee.

And I dropped my note-cards and ran out of the room.

I sat out on the fire escape taking big gulps of air and crying. What was wrong with me?

The door behind me banged open.

‘What the hell was that all about?'

I shook my head and tried to tell Hugh that I didn't know, but I couldn't get the words out.

‘What's wrong with you, Penny?' he asked, his voice full of disappointment. ‘It's like you just don't care anymore. About school. About anything. Are you really so much better than us that you can't be bothered preparing for a debate final?'

That only made me cry harder. I hated the idea that I'd let people down. I was the reliable one! No matter how rubbish everyone else was, I could always bring it home and save the day. Not anymore, it seemed. I'd got my team disqualified from the swimming carnival. I'd been kicked out of the orchestra. I wasn't allowed to debate anymore – not that any team would have me now. I'd missed my last two deadlines for the paper, and for what? Following a boy around, pretending to have all this journalistic integrity, all because I had a dumb crush.

I hated myself.

‘I'm so sorry,' I croaked out between sobs. ‘I don't know what to do.'

There was a confused silence from Hugh, and then, ‘Move over.'

He sat down next to me on the fire escape. ‘It's okay,' he said. ‘We all choke occasionally. It's what makes us human.'

‘I don't,' I said. ‘Not ever.'

‘Not ever except for today.'

And a few other times lately that I could think of. I put my head in my hands.

‘To be honest,' said Hugh, ‘I'm kind of relieved to learn that you're human like the rest of us. It gives me hope.'

‘What do you mean?'

Hugh paused, and I looked up at him. Was he blushing? ‘You know. That the rest of us have a chance. That you won't always be the best at everything. That maybe one day someone else will get the front page story on the
Gazette
, or come first in a swimming race, or play the oboe solo, or be class captain, or get the best-speaker award at a debate.'

I sniffed. ‘Well, you got your wish. I'm not allowed to swim or be in the band or the debate team after tonight.'

‘What?'

‘I had to see the school counsellor. She says I'm over-committed and that's why I keep dropping the ball.' I swallowed another sob. ‘And after tonight I think maybe she's right.'

Hugh was quiet again.

‘Aren't you glad?' I asked. ‘That now you'll be the best debater?'

He didn't reply.

I started to cry in earnest again. ‘Do you really all hate me that much? That you want to see me lose? Is that all I am to you? Just someone to beat?'

‘Isn't that how you see us?' asked Hugh.

I opened my mouth to deny it, but he was right. I did see everyone else as competition.

‘But if I'm not the best at everything,' I whispered, ‘what will be left of me? Why would people like me then?'

‘People don't like you because you're the best at everything.'

I let out a wet laugh. ‘People don't like me at all.'

‘Nonsense,' said Hugh. ‘
I
like you.'

I studied him. He'd started off the debate with every hair in place, but it was reverting to its usual wild, curly state. He had a weird mole on his right cheek, like a beauty spot, and his ears stuck out a little. But his eyes were dark and gentle, and they looked at me in a way that made me feel a little nervous.

‘Why?' I asked, my voice barely audible.

‘You're curious and interesting and very, very funny – even if you don't always mean to be. You care about the world, and you're fiery and ambitious and you don't let anyone walk all over you. And you're ridiculously smart, which is intimidating for some people, but it's a big turn-on for me.'

Turn-on?
Hugh went bright pink and turned away. ‘Now stop fishing for compliments,' he muttered.

I felt myself smile soggily, and suddenly everything didn't seem as bad. Perhaps I was just being a silly sausage and needed some perspective.

‘Is that why you stuck your tongue in my ear at the cast party last year?' I asked. ‘Because my incredible intellect turns you on?'

Hugh blinked. ‘What? I never stuck my tongue in your ear.'

‘Yes, you did. Just before Jamal came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a feather boa and a pair of Ray-Bans.'

Hugh frowned, then gave a yelp of laughter. ‘I really didn't,' he said. ‘I was leaning over to ask you something, and you jumped sideways to avoid Jamal's . . . well, you remember. And you kind of ear-butted me. You nearly broke my nose.'

That wasn't how I remembered it. ‘What were you going to ask me, then?'

Hugh went a little pinker. ‘Never mind.'

We sat there awkwardly for a moment, then Hugh said, ‘He's not worth it, you know.'

‘What? Who?'

‘Nick Rammage.'

I felt as though someone were squeezing my throat. ‘What?' I croaked. ‘How do you know about Nick?'

Hugh rolled his eyes. ‘Everybody knows,' he said. ‘You wait at his locker and then wag Debating or SRC to go and sit with him every single day.'

My mouth hung open. ‘But . . . ' I said. ‘No. It's not what you think.'

‘Really? Because I think you were drawn to his carefully cultivated air of mystery, the way all the other girls are. And for once he actually talked to someone, and that made you feel special, and you ended up falling for him.'

I stared at him.

‘How close am I?' he asked.

I was about to tell him that he was wrong, that he had totally misinterpreted the situation, that he didn't know the details. But . . .

‘Pretty close, actually,' I admitted.

Hugh seemed somehow disappointed, as though he hadn't wanted to be right. ‘He's just a phony. You know that, don't you?'

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘I do know that.'

‘Good. Because if you're going to throw away everything you're good at, you should at least do it for someone who isn't such a poseur.'

‘He's not a poseur,' I said. ‘He's just . . . he has a lot of stuff going on. It's complicated.'

Hugh looked away again. ‘Are you in love with him?'

Was I? I cared about Nick, I wanted him to be okay. I wanted to talk to him and for him not to be angry at me anymore. But love?

‘No,' I said, and a wave of relief swept over me. ‘I don't think so.'

I wasn't in love with Nick. I'd had a stupid crush, and had done stupid things. But Hugh was right – I'd just been flattered that he paid attention to me. That the most unattainable boy had wanted to hang out with
me
.

Hugh nodded. ‘Good,' he said. ‘Good.'

Then he stood up. ‘We'd better get back inside and find out how badly we lost the debate.'

He offered me his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet.

I have never written a
word that did not come
from my heart. I never
shall.

NELLIE BLY

17

I
FLOPPED ONTO MY BED, FEELING
emotionally exhausted.

For a moment I thought about going next door to see Rin, but it was nearly ten at night. And anyway, who was I kidding? Rin wasn't my friend. She just felt sorry for me.

Was that what everyone thought? That I was some poor pathetic loser? Did I just get invited to their parties because they felt sorry for me?

Or maybe I was nothing more than some high-school-paper hack, hanging around all the beautiful people, always observing, never belonging. Dreaming of serious journalism, when really all I was destined for was some raggy sensationalist tabloid whose greatest scoop was whether or not Katie Holmes was pregnant again.

I wished I'd never gone into the library that day. I wished I'd never heard of love-shyness.

I heard the front door open. ‘Penny? Are you home?' Dad's head peered around my door. ‘Are you okay?'

‘No.'

‘May I come in?'

I shrugged. Dad came in and sat down on the end of my bed.

‘What's going on?' he said.

‘Everyone hates me.'

Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘I'm sure that's not true. What happened?'

I sat up and explained everything. About Nick and the love-shy article and Hamish and Rin and everything. Dad listened, his head on one side.