Self-Portraits - 4. The Nicholas Bug

Nicholas is waiting for me at the front gates in the morning.

It’s been exactly one week since we last spoke. A week since we even made eye contact. Straight away, my hopes lift, my heart lifts. Our eyes meet and he gives me a half-smile. A single ray of sunlight has broken through the clouds. I try to do a half-smile back, but I break out into a big stupid grin.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!” I say back.

“Can we talk?” he says.

“Yeah!” I say. I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “Let’s talk! How are you?”

“Not great,” he says. His eyes dart from side to side. There are too many people around. “Let’s go over there.”

He points to the staffroom. Nobody hangs out there. It’s one place we won’t be overheard.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. If Nicholas isn’t great, then I want to make him feel better. Isn’t that what love is?

Nicholas looks me right in the eye. He’s not smiling at all now. To my surprise, there are tears in his eyes. “I only heard last night. My mum heard it from Katie’s mum, who obviously heard it from Katie, who heard it from Vicky.”

“Heard about what?”

“Your parents getting a divorce.” His voice cracks. He wipes his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. It was only an idea, what I said about us not hanging out for a little bit. You didn’t have to agree to it. You should’ve said something, you should’ve told me what had happened. You should’ve told me that you needed me. Do you have any idea how guilty I feel that I haven’t been here for you all week?”

He’s angry with me. Of course he is. He cares about me; he’s always cared about me. He would’ve been there for me if he’d known. This past week of complete loneliness has been my fault.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty …”

Nicholas wipes the tears off his face. “This is one of your biggest problems, you know. You’re too much of a people-pleaser. You don’t want to make any trouble for anyone. But it only makes things worse. I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about how horrible the last week’s been for you – and how I must’ve made it a million times worse. You didn’t have anyone there for you.”

“I’ve been okay.”

Nicholas shakes his head. “You needed me and I let you down.” He takes a deep breath. “But I don’t want to get into a stupid fight about it. What’s done is done. Now I just want to make it up to you. This weekend, I am six hundred per cent here for you.”

Happiness balloons inside me. Nicholas is back.

“Okay. Let’s go out after school on Friday.”

“Sunday morning,” he says. “First thing. Macy’s Café, ten o’clock. Lattes and chocolate log on me.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, because it does. It really does.

*

After assembly, I’m in such a good mood that, when I pass Stu in the corridor, I say, “Hey Sizzler King.”

“That’s King Sizzler to you,” he says.

When I get to Calculus, Harriet Hayes marches up to my desk. “Thank you for dropping off my book.”

“No worries.”

“I apologise for my father,” she says. “Of course, you don’t have to come over on Friday.”

I surprise both of us by saying, “Actually, I’d really like to.”

I blame the Nicholas Bug. It’s infected me. I feel silly and giggly. For a horrifying moment, I even consider giving Harriet a hug. Instead, I just grin. Harriet can tell something’s up. She stares at me for a long moment.

“You’re weird today,” she concludes, then returns to her desk.

At lunchtime, Harriet and I walk to the library together.

“Do you really play the harpsichord in an orchestra?” I ask her.

Harriet looks at me sharply, to see if I’m making fun of her. When she’s satisfied that I’m not, she says, “In a manner of speaking.” Her tone of voice tells me she doesn’t want to discuss her extracurricular activities.

We don’t say another word until we get to the library.

Before we go to our separate tables, Harriet turns to me and says, “Meet me at the gate at three-thirty on Friday afternoon, then. There’s one condition. You have to promise not to make fun of my parents.”

“I promise.”

Harriet’s concern does make me wonder, could her mother be even weirder than her father?

*

At Friday’s assembly, Mr Jane actually has the Year 11’s attention for once, when he announces tickets for the School Ball are on sale. Each year, there’s one dance for the Year 11’s and one for the Year 12’s. Tickets are $60 each, on sale from the secretary’s office. Only it’s not really $60, it’s $120, because you can only by tickets in sets of twos.

Mr Jane rattles off the usual list of rules: suit and tie for boys, knees and chests fully covered for girls. No alcohol, either before or during the ball. No inappropriate physical contact at the event. This gets a few giggles.

Mr Jane repeats the double-tickets-only rule, no single tickets. Then he says, “Now, listen, gentlemen, you will need to register your partner’s name when you get your tickets – your female partner’s name, please. No silliness with putting down your mate’s name, please.”

After assembly, Vicky pulls me aside. Her face is bright red.

“Can you believe that bullshit about the ball?” she says.

I’ve already forgotten. “What did he say?”

“He said no same-sex couples!”

“What do you care? You’re not even going.”

“A Year 11 could invite me! Boy or girl!” She’s getting loud. Kids passing us are looking.

“Please keep your voice down,” I beg her. “I don’t know why you’re angry.”

Her eyes are filling up with tears. “Because this isn’t fair. You’re so nice to everyone but everyone treats you like dog shit!”

“No, they don’t,” I protest. “This has nothing to do with me.”

“It’s not fair,” she says again. She glares at Mr Jane striding self-importantly back to his office. “I’m going to lodge a complaint.”

“Don’t make a fuss!” I plead.

“It won’t be a fuss,” Vicky says. “I’ll just have a respectful conversation with Mr Jane before I go to English.”

*

“Is it true, Sizzler Boy?”

Later that morning, Stu catches up to me in the hallway between classes.

“Is what true, King Sizzler?” I reply.

“Your sister.” Stu’s grinning. “Did she really shout at Mr Jane about the boy-girl rule at the dance? That’s so cool.”

My heart sinks. “She didn’t shout at him, did she?”

“Yeah, apparently! Lisa was at the secretary’s desk and saw the whole thing. She said your sister was shouting at him and called him a fascist asshole. She got a weeks’ detention. It’s so cool.”

One weeks’ detention? My heart sinks further. That means Mr Jane will have called Mum. That’s the last thing Mum needs right now.

Stu howls with laughter. “She’s my hero. I owe her a – well, a something. We should protest, you know. At my last school, you could take whoever you wanted to the dance. Hell, you could go on your own, if you wanted, or with friends. The rule’s so backwards.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Last year, I went to the dance with my ex-boyfriend,” Stu says. “It was no big deal. But here, it’s this major drama. Anyway, tell your sister she’s my hero, okay, Sizzler Boy?”

I nod, but just stand there, as he walks off. I’m numb and dumb.

Sizzler Stu is gay.

I’d attributed his bleached hair and piercing to his moving here from a big city.

But that isn’t what’s stunned me most; it’s how he just dropped it into conversation, in passing, like it’s no big deal.

I can’t ever imagine it not feeling like a big deal.

*

I meet Harriet at the front gates after school. Her backpack is bulging with books; it’s nearly as big as she is.

“Have you checked out half the library?” I say.

“I’m researching other Victorian literature,” she says. “I want to get some more context around David Copperfield. I also want to read Great Expectations and Oliver Twist before the exams.”

Harriet talks about Victorian literature the whole way back to her house.

“I like the lavender bushes,” I say, when we get there.

“I don’t,” Harriet says. “I’m sick of the smell but they’re my parents’ main obsession. It’s like, plant something else, idiots.”

Inside, Harriet lets the door slam shut, and drops her backpack to the floor with a thud. She kicks her school shoes off, which land against an open closet door.

“Dad?” she calls out in a loud, very non-Harriet Hayes-like voice. When there’s no answer, she takes a deep breath and bellows, “DAAAAAAD!”

A woman pokes her head through a door at the end of the hallway. She has short hair, as black as Harriet’s.

“Are you trying to shake the house off its foundations?” she snaps.

“Sor-ry,” Harriet says in an unsorry voice. “Where’s Dad?”

“Getting the barbeque started,” Mrs Hayes says. She smiles at me. She has dark red lipstick. “So you must be this Richard I’ve heard so much about. You must excuse Harriet’s screaming. Welcome to the mad-house.”

“Hi. Thanks.”

“Come on,” Harriet commands, and I turn away from Mrs Hayes, and follow Harriet through an untidy cluttered house. There are so many paintings that there’s not enough wall-space; some of them line the floors. Outside, the back garden has even more lavender than the front.

Mr Hayes the Teddy Bear is standing next to the barbeque. “Dear sir!” he says. “I’m so glad you came! Kevin, this is the boy I was telling you about.”

A tall bespectacled man smiles at me.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” Mr Hayes says. “We’re all carnivores.”

“What time are people coming?” Harriet asks.

“Oh, I expect the guests shall commence arriving from five. Now! Would you splendid children like a glass of wine?” Mr Hayes asks.

Kevin laughs. “I don’t know about offering alcohol to minors, Barry.”

“Oh, one glass never hurt. Besides, it’ll be under parental supervision.”

“And I can drink wine without acting like a buffoon,” Harriet says, “unlike some people I won’t mention.” She turns to me. “Do you want one?”

Even Harriet drinks alcohol?

“Oh – no thanks,” I mumble.

It looks like I’m the least cool person at school after all.

*

I sit on Harriet’s bed sipping a coke. In one corner of the room, there’s a desk with a computer, surrounded by schoolbooks. There’s an enormous poster of the Periodic Table above it. But the rest of the room is covered in odd prints and paintings.

Harriet pulls her hair loose from her bun and runs a brush through it. It’s thick and curly. She takes her glasses off and drops them onto her dressing table with a clatter. She squirts some perfume on herself and undoes a button on her shirt. I hardly recognise this girl.

“I tie it back so it doesn’t get in my face when I’m at school,” Harriet explains, “and I only need my glasses to see the whiteboard.”

“You’re quite pretty,” I say, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

“Keep it in your trousers,” she says back.

I blush the colour of her red wine. “No – I just meant – um—”

“Don’t worry, Richard,” she says. “I know you’re not about to throw yourself at me. Come on, let’s go back outside. We’ll want a front row seat.”

*

Harriet and I sit on the back porch drinking our wine and coke respectively, as all sorts of strange grown-ups arrive. There’s a much older man who swears more than anyone I’ve ever met, and his wife, who laughs more than anyone I’ve ever met. Then there’s a Samoan man I recognise from TV commercials. There’s a woman with a teardrop tattooed under her eye. Harriet’s mother brings out the plates and a bowl of salad, then leaves the hosting to Mr Hayes. Mrs Hayes then starts drinking wine like it’s water.

Harriet gives me a running commentary on each person as they arrive.

“That’s Matthias – he’s on his fourth marriage. We’re placing bets on how long it’ll last.”

“That’s Carlo. Last time we had a barbeque, he got so drunk that the others persuaded him to put on a dress, but he couldn’t find his clothes afterwards, so he had to get a taxi home in a bright green ball-gown.”

Right before the food’s ready, two people my age turn up – a boy and girl, both Asian, both skinny. They’re twins named Benny and Penny. Mr Hayes gives Benny a beer, but Penny has a coke too, so at least we can be equally uncool together.

“So you go to St Peters too?” Penny says. “Do you just live around the corner, like Harriet? Or are you actually religious?”

“Neither,” I say. “My dad went there, so it’s kind of a family tradition. But we never go to church or pray before dinner or anything.”

Then Benny makes me stand up. “You’re so tall,” he says. “You’re six feet, right? How tall are you? I’d sell my right arm for another few inches.”

“Where would you put those inches?” Harriet asks.

“Get out of the gutter,” Benny says.

“Yeah,” Penny agrees, “you’ll frighten away our new friend.”

I’m not used to anyone showing so much interest in me. After a few more minutes of interrogation, I ask how the twins know Harriet.

“We’re in a music group,” Benny says through a mouthful of sausage.

“Oh, right. The harpsichord,” I say.

“Shut up,” Harriet mutters.

“You should come to our concert,” Penny says.

“I’d love to.”

“No,” Harriet says firmly. “You wouldn’t.”

We watch the adults get very, very drunk. Matthias’s fourth wife asks if she can put on some music. Within minutes, Mr and Mrs Hayes are dancing, very badly.

“I hate it when they do this,” Harriet groans.

Mr and Mrs Hayes are both too drunk to clear plates, so I help their friend Kevin carry things up into the kitchen.

“It’s good to see Harriet’s got a school friend,” Kevin says as we stack the dishwasher. “You must be something special to have cracked her school armour.”

“All I did was return her maths book,” I say.

“Her most prized possession,” Kevin says. “Now, Barry told me there’s a tiramisu in the fridge. Can you bring it down? I’ll find some bowls.”

*

I must be having more fun than I expected, because I lose track of time. Benny and Penny’s Dad comes to pick them up. They make him get out of the car to meet me. Everyone’s been so friendly to me all night. It’s strange.

Outside, the leftover grown-ups are giggling like children, so Harriet and I empty the dishwasher.

“I hope you liked your evening at the asylum,” Harriet says, as she selects all the forks.

“They sure can drink a lot,” I say. “Kevin’s the only sober one left, I think. Does he have a girlfriend or anything?”

Harriet looks up at me like I’ve said something appalling.

“What?”

“Kevin’s gay, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

Before Nicholas and I came out to each other, I’d never met another gay guy – and in one short day, there’s been both Stu and Kevin.

Harriet finishes depositing the utensils, then closes the drawer. She sees me standing still, like a deer in the headlights.

“Are you posing for a portrait?” she asks.

“Sorry.” My head’s spinning. “Should we rinse these bowls first?”

“We certainly should,” Harriet says, so that’s what we do.

*

I get home after eleven. The house is warm and quiet. I try to close the front door quietly behind me, but Mum hears it with her eagle ears and calls me in. She’s sitting in bed with a book. She looks content.

“How are you, darling?”

“Good,” I say. “Is Vicky in bed?”

“She is. Mr Jane called me this morning, to tell me what she said to him. It’s very disappointing. I picked her up after her detention and we had a rather unproductive talk.” She sighs. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with that girl. Anyway, did you have a nice day?”

“Yeah, it was really good.”

“How’s Nicholas?”

“Good.”

“Is he with you?”

“No, we’re hanging out again on Sunday,” I say triumphantly.

“Good. Well, good night, darling.”

“Night.”

In bed, thoughts swirl around my head, probably thanks to all the coke I’ve had. Vicky getting a detention. Stu, Kevin. Harriet. Penny and Benny, Mr and Mrs Hayes. But they’re just the little planets orbiting one bright burning thought.

Nicholas.

Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas.

He’s the centre of my universe.

Sunday. Everything will be back to normal on Sunday. I’ve been so silly, being so miserable, over absolutely nothing. He’s cared about me all along. After Sunday, everything will be right in the world again.