You Don't Even Know (6 page)

“Your father wants us to look our best.”

“Course he does.” I craned forwards to read the iPad. “What are you cooking?”

“Antipasto for starters, fillet of beef with tomato concasse, garlic butter, string beans and chat potatoes. And for dessert, fig and caramel cake with custard.”

“TV chef menu?”

“Damn!” Mum slammed her hand on the bench. “I forgot to buy figs.”

“So that's a caramel cake with custard then?”

Mum flung her apron on the bench and snatched her keys from the hook by the fridge.

“Back in a minute.”

I snap awake. My head is clearer and the room comes into focus faster. Each of the beds in the room is separated by thin curtains made from the same blue material as the bedspreads. From what I can see, I'm the only one awake. The others are lumps, rising and falling, attached, like me, to I.V. stands. The machine beside my bed starts to beep. A nurse hustles in and presses buttons.

Mr Dobson arrives with younger doctors. They remind me of simpering subjects surrounding a fairytale king. They stop between my bed and the one opposite.

Maybe if I close my eyes, they won't talk to me.

“Jeremy, what is the latest?” His voice is firm but gentle.

There's a rustle of papers. “These two are moving to room 302 today.”

“Together?” A girl's voice. “Mr Dobson, I can understand the two of them sharing a high dependency room, but a two bed room? I really don't think it is appropriate.”

I open my eyes a fraction. A small girl whose face is swallowed by enormous glasses is speaking. Mr Dobson picks fluff from his lapel. “I have reasons for my decision, Eloise, and if you cared to think about these patients and their circumstances, you would understand my thinking. Being a surgeon is not only about operating. It's about caring for the whole person.”

The girl's face reddens. “I think–”

“They will be moved today. Into the same room.” The surgeon folds his arms. “Continue, Jeremy.”

The voices mingle and merge into a jumble of noise and black …

Black controls in my hand, I sprawled on one of the leather beanbags in the rumpus room. Harvey sat on the edge of the other one beside me.

“Reckon we should get changed?” asked Harvey, as our players in the game moved in on a target. “Mum said we had to be ready by seven.”

I glanced at the time on the DVD player. “Nah, it's only six-thirty. Plenty of time.”

“But what if the Blairs and Alsops arrive before – shit!”

In a flash of orange and noise, all hell broke loose on the screen. Harvey's player died. He flung the controls to the floor.

“I suck at this game.”

“We can play something different.”

“Nah. Can't be stuffed.” Polystyrene balls scrunched and squeaked as he shifted position. “Alex, can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“How come you don't row like Dad, me and Ethan?”

“Dunno, Harv. I'd rather be in the water than on it.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Swimming is …” I searched for the right words. I closed my eyes and could smell the chlorine and feel the tingle of bubbles against my skin when I dived into the water.

“You gonna spew or something?” asked Harvey.

When I opened my eyes, his face was so serious I laughed. “No, I'm not going to spew, idiot. I was trying to find the right words to describe why I like swimming.”

His nose crinkled. “Can't be that hard. I mean, I like rowing because it's fun.”

“Swimming's fun, but it's more than that. It's like I can do anything in the water. Like I'm free and light, but strong too. The water washes away all the crap.”

“Dad yelling at you and stuff?”

“Other stuff. School, friends, you know. None of it matters when I'm swimming. Same with water polo, but the guys, they like me.”

Harvey's nod was slow. “That's kind of how I feel when I play basketball. Like nothing else matters.”

“Doesn't rowing make you feel like that?”

Harvey scratched his head. “It used to. But Dad's so full on about it.” Harvey's eyes widen. “Shit. Don't … I mean, if …”

“Relax, Harv. I won't say anything.”

He slumped back in the beanbag. “I know he's trying to help, but …”

Mia skipped into the room wearing a denim dress that was more like something Tilly would wear. Wisps of hair had escaped from Mia's braided ponytail and her painted toenails sparkled. She crossed the room and wriggled against me, thumb in her mouth.

I wrapped an arm around her. “You tired, Mi?”

She pulled out her thumb with a squelch. “Nope. Mum said I had to stay up here while she finished setting the table.”

“Should we go help her?” asked Harvey, not moving.

“Nah, she'll yell if she wants us, won't she, Mi?”

“Yup!” Mia slipped her thumb back into her mouth. “Let's wait here.”

“Right, Alex – phone is on the cabinet beside the bed.” Jenny holds a white control in front of me. “This works the light, lowers and raises the bed and turns on the TV. And the big orange button is the call button. Press it if you need anything. And when you are able to move about, the toilet and shower are over there.” She points to the closed door in the corner and places the control by my left hand. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah.” Considering Jenny and another nurse had only wheeled me, in my bed, from one room to another, I didn't feel any different.

Still vague and sleepy.

A rap on the door draws our attention. Melinda the psycho-psych creeps into the room. “Luxurious new digs, Alex.”

“Melinda–” begins Jenny.

“Just a few minutes, Jenny.”

Jenny's lips draw into a straight line.

Melinda scans the room for a chair. When she can't find one, she perches on the side of the bed. Pain sears my ribs. I gasp.

“Move, Melinda,” snaps Jenny.

Melinda scurries off the bed.

The pain eases.

“As well as a fractured skull and broken arm, Melinda, Alex has broken ribs.” Jenny's voice is clipped. “I'll find you a chair.”

When Jenny returns with a vinyl-padded chair, Melinda settles on it like a nesting hen. “So, Alex,” she says, as though talking to a toddler. “Up to a little chat?”

The stab of pain has drained my energy. The walls seem to move like curtains in a breeze.

“Good,” says Melinda, even though I haven't answered. “Is there anything you'd like to –?”

“No.” My eyes are shut, but the world is still moving.

“Okay – tell me about M–”

A flash of white fills my head. I grit my teeth. “Don't say her name.”

Jenny steps out from behind Melissa's chair. “Alex, what's wrong?”

“My head. My chest.”

“We may have removed that drip too early, Alex. I'll go organise pain relief. Melinda, you need to leave.” Jenny's voice is firm. “Now.”

Melinda huffs and puffs but leaves.

But there is no relief strong enough for what I feel. I close my eyes …

I closed my eyes and stood under the shower. The warm water sluiced the chlorine and residue of the crappy school day from my skin. Beside me two kids about Harvey's age kicked water from the open drain at each other. They reminded me of Bash and Coop.

I twisted off the taps.

Instead of going straight home, I'd swum laps at the rec centre until my arms were too heavy to lift. I figured if I worked myself beyond exhaustion, I could bury what had happened. Clearly that hadn't worked, because it was all I could think of.

The day had started off okay, double economics, a subject Dad insisted I take, with Miss Macaffer. She was the only good part of eco.

At recess, I dumped my stuff in my locker and grabbed the fruit bun I'd bought on the way to school. I was heading to the quadrangle when Coop and Bash galloped up.

“You should have been in PE,” said Coop, face glowing. “You missed out.”

I swallowed a sigh. “I have economics when you do PE, remember? What'd I miss?”

“The reffo totally dissed Amado.” Bash was all twitchy and fidgety like the time he skolled two caffeine drinks. He sucked in air. “We were doing these soccer drills, right? Scotty kicked the ball to the reffo, and next thing, he's doing these sick as tricks.”

“So?”

Coop's face was blank. “What do you mean, ‘so'? That's it. No one is better at soccer than Amado. You coming or not?”

Before I could answer, Bash and Coop were running to the back stairs, shoving students out of their way. I followed, as though they'd lassoed me with invisible rope, two steps at a time. At the top of the stairs they turned right to the area that was out of bounds, except to year twelves.

The breeze on the balcony was fresh after the dank air of the stairwell. Below, I could see the guys on the oval playing kick to kick and the geeks and freaks hanging out on the grassed space near the science wing. The junior classrooms were to the left and to the right, the locker and rec rooms.

A few metres ahead of me, a huddle of guys from my year, including Amado, Coop, Bash and Zane, chilled against the metal railings.

Michael Kolo, “the reffo”, loped out of the stairwell.

“Michael, over here,” called Amado. Behind him Zane leered.

A ripple of fear ran from my shoulders to my fingertips.

I had to get him out of there. I grabbed Michael's arm. “Michael, have you seen the new soccer goals?”

He shrugged me off. “Today in PE.”

“So let's take another look.”

“After I have spoken with Amado. He said he wanted to show me something.” Michael strolled towards the others. Amado clapped a hand on his shoulder and began pointing out landmarks: the river, girls' school, city, shopping centre.

Despite the churning in my stomach, I told myself everything was fine.

Amado, Zane, Coop and Bash lurched forwards and wrestled Michael. They lifted him and somehow hung him, head first, over the balcony. Amado and Zane held one leg above the knee. Coop and Bash the other.

Michael grunted. His hands flailed for purchase, grasping air.

“Hey, is his face red?” yelled Zane.

“Who can tell?” said Coop.

The guys huddled around them, peering over the balcony at Michael, hooted and cheered.

“Hey, Amado,” I said, stumbling forwards. “That's enough. Pull him up.”

“He's fine, aren't you, reffo?” Amado winked and the four of them lowered Michael further.

“He'll fall.” I tried to quell the panic bubbling through me.

“Ease up, Huddo. We're just mucking around,” said Amado.

Coop lost his grip and released Michael's leg. Bash struggled to hold him alone.

I shoved Coop aside and clutched Michael below the knee. I tried to haul him up, but the motion slammed Michael into the cement. The thud made my stomach lurch. Michael cried out.

“Jesus, Huddo, ruin everything, why don't you,” bellowed Amado.

The four of us hauled Michael to safety. The other guys who'd been standing around us stepped back to give us room to lie Michael on the balcony. When they moved, I noticed Ethan, Stav and Lee leaning against the year twelve rec room window, laughing.

And that was when De Jong arrived.

Short report of a very long session in his office was suspension and a phone call to Dad. Again.

Even though De Jong had insisted the five of us: Amado, Zane, Coop, Bash and me, go straight home after he suspended us, I'd come to the rec centre to burn off my anger.

My phone buzzed in my bag as I wrapped my swimmers in my towel.

A text from Dad.

Where the hell r u?

There were also five missed calls from him and three from Mum.

I tossed the phone back into my bag.

The two kids had finished in the shower and were now flicking towels at each other. The skinny one weaved to escape his mate's lash and crashed into me. His face twisted in fear.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and backed away, as though I would sink my teeth into his bare arm.

“S'all right.” I scooped my bag from the change room bench and walked through the pool area and outside. After the cloying atmosphere of the pool, the biting freshness of the air was sharp.

By the time I reached the iron gates and massive fence that surrounded our house, a weight, like a wet towel, had settled on my shoulders. Dad's beamer was parked at the front door. Two in the afternoon and Dad was home. He never came home before seven, and if he did, he always, absolutely always, parked in the garage.

I shifted the strap of my backpack and continued to the front door. Dad stood in the foyer, muscles twitching, poised to strike. That image of a wolf stalking prey flashed through my mind.

“Hey,” I said, as though it was completely normal for him to be smouldering in the foyer.

“Where have you been?” he snarled.

I pointed to my damp hair. When I tried to slip past him to the stairs, he blocked my way. “I want an answer.”

“Where do you reckon? The rec centre. Gotta rinse out my swimmers.”

“You're a piece of work, you know that?” Dad's lip curled. His new veneers were shiny and white.

“Why, thank you.” I tried to sound braver than I felt.

Dad raised his hand and for a moment I was sure he was going to hit me. Instead, he squeezed his fist so tight it quivered. “He dislocated his shoulder and has concussion.”