The Life and Times of Gracie Faltrain (6 page)

kiss
verb
: to touch or caress with the
lips

Andrew Flemming is standing next to Susan and Annabelle when we pull up outside the movies. He looks at me and it's not hard to work out what he's thinking. He wants me dead.

Some of the other guys from the team are there too. They all start talking. No one says anything to me. Not even Nick. I stand with my hands in my pockets, trying to smile. I have this weird thing happening with my lips. They keep getting stuck on my teeth, so I look like I've got a set of those fake ones in my mouth. You know, the kind you get in those cheap lolly packets? Except I can't take mine out and eat them. At least in the dark I'll be able to relax, right?

Wrong.

For one thing, I didn't eat anything before I left. Nick and the rest of the guys obviously have. Either that or cool, beautiful people's stomachs don't rumble. Mine is thundering. The more I try to make it quiet, the louder it gets.

 

I'm
sure
one of her stomach grumbles is a fart. I've asked out a girl who makes me wait an hour for her and then
farts
all the way through the movie. I nudge Andrew next to me. I'm trying not to laugh out loud.

 

About halfway through the film there is a situation with my mouth and Nick's ear. It's not that I haven't kissed people before. Gracie Faltrain has seen her fair share of action.

There was Kane Dortman in Year 4. We were playing kiss chasey at lunchtime and Kane and I were running around each other, careful to play by the rules. And the rules, although not written down anywhere, are clear. Under no circumstances do you actually try to catch the person. There's a lot of running going on, there's a lot of threatening to kiss, but there is definitely
no
kissing.

Kane made a mistake that would follow us from Year 4 to Year 6. He slipped and grabbed hold of my skirt. It was a reflex action but, technically, he'd caught me.

‘You have to kiss in front of everyone now,' Annabelle shouted across the yard. I hated her for it.

Kane's lips quivered at me. They were all I could see. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed two fat wet worms against my mouth. My introduction to romance.

There were other kisses, all slightly better than the first, but all of them wet. I had a feeling – a hope, let's say – that the perfect kiss would not be so full of spit. ‘Faltrain,' I remember Jane saying to me, ‘it's just the saliva that makes it so wet.' Right, so I guess when you meet the right person you want to go swimming in their saliva.

 

I catch her looking at me, you know, like she
wants
me to kiss her. Andrew and Susan are at it beside us. I think, why not? I mean, the film's boring anyway, and she does look
good
in those jeans.

 

He leans in just as the bus is blowing up and tries to kiss me. It's not like I don't want him to kiss me, it's just a bad time of the movie to choose. I'm tense, sitting there waiting for the man with the gun to shoot the bad guy. My first instinct when he slides his arm around me is to punch him. So I do. Even in the dark I can see that he looks kind of surprised.

I can't stop laughing. I'm not laughing at him. It's a nervous reaction. I can't help it. Other people are laughing too and this is the last thing I want. This is not going well at all.

I lean over to kiss
him
, except my mouth is still dry. I lose control of my tongue. It sort of does this twisting thing outside of my mouth, so I look like I'm making an obscene gesture at him. I can't understand it. This has never happened to me before. I tell my body what to do. It does it. It's a basic rule of nature.
Tongues don't think for themselves
. Susan looks up from Andrew and says, ‘That's disgusting.' I panic. I think, I've just got to get this thing inside his mouth. The problem is, I've waited too long. He's already turned his head to the front. I stick my tongue in his ear. She's right. It is disgusting.

 

She stuck her tongue in my ear. I mean,
she stuck her tongue in my ear
.

 

Everyone at school will know. Gracie Faltrain stuck her tongue in Nick Johnson's ear. I stuck my
tongue
in his
ear
.

fallout
noun
: radioactive substance
resulting from an explosion

I need a cotton bud. No, wait – there's Gracie Faltrain.

 

Gracie, Nick told me what a great kisser you are. Can you teach me?

 

I'll
teach you how to kiss.

 

Now that
is
disgusting.

 

Faltrain, keep your mind on the game, your tongue in your mouth and your kicks to the CENTA!

 

Block and defend, Johnson, just like I do in goal. Next time, remember, block and defend.

 

Trust me, there won't
be
a next time.

 

The last piece of gossip to spread this fast was when Tony Gortmon threw up in the tuckshop line all over Alison Kaner. It was ugly. So is what's happening to me. The whole school is talking about my ‘kiss' with Nick and how I missed at the game on Saturday. Annabelle is handing it round like a chip packet, everyone is taking a handful and passing it on.

The good news is, even things like this get forgotten. Tony walks by in the yard today and I check him over. He looks happy; he's in one piece. I just have to wait for this thing to blow over. And more importantly, I have to lie low until it does.

Until then I'm on my own. And there's nothing worse than that at school. Lunchtime is only forty-five minutes long but without Jane time goes by in dog years. Forty-five minutes feels like a hundred hours. The first rule is to take your time doing things. When the lunch bell sounds I always go to the toilet. This wastes at least ten minutes and by the time I get out the crowd has cleared. Next I go to my locker, tidy it up a little and then grab my lunch. I don't go to the tuckshop. There's nothing easier to spot than a loner in a crowd. I find a quiet place to eat and here comes the highlight – I go to the library. It's my sanctuary. No one can touch me there.

I've always had Jane. I've never needed heaps of people because with her around it was enough. We used to hang out with some of the other groups, like Nick and his friends, but she was the only person I really spoke to about stuff that mattered. I never had to say to Jane, ‘Don't tell anybody.' I just knew she wouldn't.

I'm trying to avoid the guys from the soccer team, except
Martin. I run into him on my way to the library.

‘Faltrain, come and have a kick of soccer?'

‘I don't feel like it, Martin.'

‘What? You're not still worrying about what people are saying?'

‘They're saying I'm a cotton bud, Martin.
A cotton bud
. How would you like that?'

‘I wouldn't. That's why I don't go round sticking my tongue in people's ears.'

‘It's not funny. Nick'll ask Annabelle out now, just watch. What's she got that I don't?'

‘Geez, Faltrain, I don't know. Haven't you got a girl to talk to?'

‘No.' My reply is little and lonely.

‘I don't reckon he's worth it after what he told the whole school.'

‘Well I do. I just wish I hadn't been such an idiot, then he'd still like me.'

‘Look, Faltrain, everyone stuffs up. Don't let them make you feel wrong. Just tell everyone to get lost. Tell them all to just bloody get lost.'

I didn't need to tell them that. I was already alone. That was the problem.

Come home, Jane. Come home and make me laugh.

 

How do you like looking like an idiot, Gracie? How do you like sitting on your own at lunch because no one will sit with you?

There are people I hang out with sometimes. I laugh when everyone else does but most of the time, I just feel kind of stupid.

I wonder if that's how it is for Gracie. Probably not. She hangs out in the library and it seems somehow okay. When I'm there I feel like the biggest loser.

I sit at the back behind all the shelves. Books surround me. I bet most of them have never even been borrowed, pages and pages of words that no one ever bothers to read.

disappear
verb
: to leave from sight (if
you're lucky, that is)

‘I'm not going back to school, Mum. Ever.'

‘I love you, Gracie Faltrain, but get your backside out of that bed. You won't solve anything by staying there.'

‘Everyone's talking about me.'

‘In a week they'll be talking about someone else. Remember to walk on the sunny side of the street,' she says, and I want to yell at her, what if there's no sunny side, Mum? What if it's pissing down on both sides of the street?

‘I wish Dad was here,' I say. I have cut my reply neatly out from her heart.

Mum's face looked kind of like one of my old shirts when I mentioned Dad. All crumpled and grey around the edges. I hate that I made her look like that, but I can't believe she wants me to go back to school. ‘I just need to lie low for about a month, Mum,' I explained but she wouldn't listen. Sometimes I think she enjoys seeing me embarrassed.

Take last month, for example. We went to Myer to buy me
a new bra. Her first words to the saleswoman were, ‘I'm not sure if you've got one small enough for her.' Thanks, Mum. I mean, maybe we should just pop into the chemist's and buy me two bandaids for support. Mum and the woman were laughing about the fact that I'd be ‘popping out all over the place soon', when I decided to grab a few bras and try them on.

This is when it started to get ugly. And all because of two little words: swinging doors. They should be illegal in change rooms. Mum sees them and her reflexes take over. ‘Order is
very
important, Mum,' I yelled as she flung open the door. ‘
First
, you ask, “How are you going in there?”
Then
you wait. That gives me time to say, “I'm NAKED in here.” '

If she doesn't get that frontal nudity is embarrassing, then what hope have I got of convincing her that ear cleaning with a tongue is definitely a quick drop, head first, down the social ladder?

 

Gracie, no one saw anything. I mean, what's there to see?

 

You see what I'm dealing with here?

desperate
adjective
: ready to take any
risks;

desperado
noun
: Gracie Faltrain

I figure the only way up that ladder again is to win them the game today. The whole school will be there. I'll show them the old Gracie Faltrain.

I run through the rain towards the hall, feel the water seep up through the bottom of my shoes, soaking my feet. My hands beat with nerves. I need to go to the toilet. Real bad.

The guys are already there, waiting for the warm-ups before the game. There's nowhere to sit so I lean against the wall, facing everybody. Martin stands next to me. He's the only one who says hi.

‘Right.' Coach runs in. ‘Get into pairs. Give me twenty stomach crunches.'

‘You go first, Faltrain,' Martin says. ‘I'll count.'

I pretend I'm too puffed to talk.

‘You all right?' he asks.

‘Yeah. Course I am.' I don't want Martin to talk about the game. I don't want him to know I was standing outside
the change-room door last week, that I heard his silence.

‘Faltrain, do you remember that time we were playing soccer in the park and you kicked the ball into that picnic?' he asks.

‘Yeah.'

‘The look on that little kid's face when his ice-cream went flying.' Martin laughs. ‘Poor little bugger.'

‘He was pretty angry, wasn't he?'

For a second I forget why I'm upset. It's hovering in the air, though. Like mist it settles over me again on the way out to the field, soaking through my clothes and onto my skin. I run past Mum, worry smudged into every corner of her face. There's an empty seat next to her. She's saving one for Dad. Just in case.

I wait for the kick-off. The seconds feel like years. My legs are cold. My hands are numb. I have to play the best game of my life today. I need to prove to them that they need me at the Championships. The only person who looks hopeful is Martin. He gives me the thumbs-up and then it starts.

I run fast. Chase the ball. Cut Flemming off to get it. He growls. Low. Mean. I don't care. I ignore Martin's call to pass. I'm headed for the goal. I swing back and kick but the sound is wrong. I hit it on the side and it goes straight to their defence. In less than a second it's in their midfield. They score the first goal of the match. I look over at Flemming. My instincts tell me to run.

I should have listened. Coach leaves me on the field for the whole first half. The harder I try, the worse it gets. Me and the ball, the wind and my feet, we're separate. I'm moving fast but it's not enough. Finally I get the ball. Kick it towards the goal. Miss. The voice of the crowd drips downwards. The anger
of the team is everywhere. Coach takes me off in the first ten minutes of the second half. It's sweet relief.

I sit and watch us losing. The game is like a film where the actors' mouths are moving out of synch with the soundtrack. Whenever we kick, someone's just a second too slow to gain possession.

I've never felt like I did on the field today. Lost. Like my luck had completely run out. I hated the feel of all those faces in the crowd burning into me, watching me lose. I feel like I've stepped off the edge of something and below me there are acres and acres of black. I'm in that dream again but I'm not flying. I'm falling through currents of dark. The wooden seat scratches at my legs. I carve my name into it with my fingernail: Gracie Faltrain was here.

The siren goes. I wait for the team to walk off the ground before I stand up. Annabelle passes me as I'm leaving the field. For a moment we're in step together. My left leg is moving forward at the same time as hers. I slow down my pace, kick my right foot forward and move into my own rhythm. She tells Susan that she and Nick are off to see a film. She makes sure I hear every word. I smile the whole time she's speaking but I keep thinking, finish what you have to say. Go. And then I can find a quiet place. Cry on my own. I have no problem with tears. I have a huge problem letting Annabelle know that she's upset me.

‘Coach, you got a minute?'

‘Make it quick, Faltrain. What's up?'

‘I'm thinking about quitting the team.'

‘And why would that be?'

‘I've just had enough of soccer.'

‘WHAT?' His hands are flexing. His nostrils are flaring.

‘What's the real reason, Faltrain?'

‘That's it.'

‘Listen up, because you're only going to hear this once from me. When you ran onto the field that first day you played I thought, what on earth have I done?'

‘Thanks, Coach.'

‘Shut up and listen. But, Faltrain, you play like you belong out there. At least you did. You're one of the reasons we're going to New South Wales. I know why you're quitting. I've heard the guys talking. They're not too happy. Think about why that is. The little kid who ran out onto that field three years ago had guts. If you find her, let me know. I'd like to bring her to New South Wales. I need her there. You, though, well if you don't have the guts, I don't want to take you. Now what do you say?'

‘I won't change my mind, Coach. You'll need to replace me.' I couldn't change my mind, even if I wanted to. Whenever I played now, I'd see the faces of the guys on the team. I'd hear that voice. When Coach called me off, even though we were losing, every player except Martin was smiling.

‘See you later, Gracie Faltrain,' Flemming said, just quietly, so that only I would hear.

 

I don't know anything about soccer, Nick. Explain to me again exactly
why
Gracie was put on the bench?

 

I thought I had Faltrain with the bit about the guts. I've never seen a kid that stubborn.

One day we're playing brilliantly and the next day my left midfielder's gone left field and my team's calling for her blood. Blood, sweat and tears, I tell them. Not her blood, though. Not my tears.

‘Knight!'

‘Coach?'

‘Get her back before the Championships. We'll never win without a strong midfield. And make sure she understands – she comes back, she plays as part of the team.'

 

‘Get her back,' he says. Like it's as easy as buying some milk. I'd have more chance trying to win the lottery.

‘It's not fair, Martin. Other guys miss and don't get forced out of the game,' she says to me after the match. ‘I've won the game for us so many times and this is the thanks I get.'

‘Don't you get it? You were on the bench because you wouldn't pass the ball, Faltrain, not because you missed the shot,' I say as her mum pulls up in the car beside us. She gets in and locks the door.

‘Quitting's not the answer,' I shout through the glass. I hate it when she ignores me.

You play soccer like no one I've ever seen before, Faltrain, scooting along like you're on wheels. You go so fast no one can catch you – they don't have a hope and they know it. You're not even on the ground most of the time.

You have to come down sometimes, though. People get tired of watching from below.

Something about her reminded me of Dad. She looked like she'd been cut in two. One part of her had stepped one way and the other part was lying on the ground. Don't just lie there, Faltrain. Get up. Change things. If you don't then life just moves over the top of you.

Like Dad. The real him went for a swim one day and didn't come back. He's just a pile of clothes on the beach now, sagging and warm after he took them off. I see him staring at the TV, but he's seeing nothing. He looks at me, but it's like I'm on the screen too. Karen steps around him quietly. Sometimes she lies next to him on the couch. His arms look like they've lost their bones. She lifts them around her but they just fall to the side. If his arms won't work then there's no way he's going be able to swim back.

 

Martin gets smaller as we drive away and I'm glad. What does he know about losing?

‘Do you want to talk about it, Gracie?' Mum asks.

‘No.'

‘It might help.'

‘Nothing will help.'

Water rises up from the tyres, spraying into the gutter. Everything I see is dripping. Soaking. Our breath coats the windows, fogging them over. The smells of mud and sweat and soccer fill the car. I wind the window down and let the rain spatter in.

 

I feel like crying for her today. For the jumper dragging on the ground. For the look of confusion on her face. She has no idea how to fail. My moth's flown out of the hothouse and the winds are cold. You've got to lie in that bed now you've made it, Gracie, I think as she walks past me after the game, people calling out to her, making a hundred little fingerprints on her wings.