Self-Portraits - 8. Pre-Ball

On Sunday morning, I wake up inspired and determined, thanks to The Bad Hats.

We’re off and we’re on, the song went, and whenever I love you, that’s when you’re gone.

Nicholas and I have been off for a couple of weeks, but we’ll be back on next weekend. I realise now that the problem has been me. I haven’t been doing anything about it. I’ve just been lying around feeling sorry for myself.

So I start making a plan. There are still seven days and six nights before the ball. That’s seven days and six nights to get perfect biceps, broad shoulders and a rippling six-pack. I sit at my desk all morning, planning my work out. Daily running, biking, sit-ups and push-ups.

In the afternoon, I put my plan into action. I go for my first run. I put on my PE shorts, an old t-shirt with hamburgers on it, and running shoes. I’m only halfway down the street when it starts raining.

That’s okay, I tell myself. A bit of rain never hurt anyone.

By the time I get to the end of the street, I get a bad stitch, and the rain starts coming down in icy sheets. I can hardly see my own hand in front of my face.

I should go home. There’s no point exercising if I catch a cold. Besides, I’ve run at least 1 kilometre – that’s a good start. I’m warming up. I decide to walk back home, and do some push-ups instead.

By the time I get home, I’m a block of ice, so I need to run a hot bath to thaw out.

After my bath, I start my push-ups. My skinny arms scream under the weight of me – they feel like a pair of toothpicks trying to hold up a truck. I can’t even do a half-push-up. I’m also feeling dizzy from my hot bath.

I try sit-ups, instead. I can do about three of those at a time. I’m already sore, though, which is a good sign. That means it’s working.

I decide to have lunch and watch TV with Mum. I fall asleep on the couch.

That night, I stand in front of the mirror and lift up my t-shirt. There’s no six-pack yet. I try flexing my skinny arms. Nothing there either, but that’s okay too. The work has begun. I still have six nights and six days left before I get Nicholas back for good.

*

At lunchtime on Monday, all I want to talk to Harriet about is The Bad Hats. I’ve become their number one fan. I want to know everything – what does their name mean, how do they write their songs, what’s it like being on stage – but Harriet is not exactly forthcoming.

“That was only our fourth concert,” Harriet says irritably. “And, as a matter of fact, we made a lot of errors. For one, I came in too early in the first song, and Benny mixed up some of the words to the last song. If you’d been listening carefully, you would’ve noticed that some of the sentences made no sense at all.”

“But what was it like up there? Could you see anyone in the crowd, or was it too bright?”

“I don’t know.” She’s got her nose stuck in a book and doesn’t even seem to be listening to me properly. “I could see some people.”

“Could you see me?” I ask hopefully.

“No.”

“Oh. Could you see your Dads?”

“Can we please focus on our homework?” she snaps. “I haven’t even started my Biology homework and it’s due first thing tomorrow morning.” Her voice is becoming shrill and anxious.

“Relax,” I say. For a rock star, Harriet is way too worried about her schoolwork. “You’ve got all of tonight.”

“No, I don’t,” Harriet says. “I have my piano lesson from four thirty to five thirty, then dinner, then we have a band rehearsal from seven. Lunchtimes are the only times I have free to get homework done.”

So that’s why Harriet is always in the library at lunchtimes. It’s not because she’s an A-plus nerd with no friends. It’s because she’s a rock star.

I do my best to be silent, and let Harriet do her Biology homework in these precious moments of free time, but I can’t resist. I lean forward and whisper, “I think you might actually be the coolest person in the whole world.”

“I think you might have lost your marbles,” she replies, without looking up from her book.

*

I haven’t set eyes on Vicky since she stormed out of the house on Saturday morning, vowing to hate Maggie’s baby forever. She stayed at Katie’s all weekend. Mum called Katie’s mum a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t causing any trouble. But today, after the final bell rings, Vicky’s waiting for me at the gate. I assume it’s to shout at me some more, but her break from us seems to have calmed her down.

“We’re having a pre-ball party on Saturday,” she informs me.

“Um, okay.”

“I was texting Stu about it all weekend. Everyone involved in the protest – we’ll have a pre-ball party at ours, then we’ll get two taxi vans to the Ball. I think we’ve got forty-four people participating. That’s twenty-two couples.”

“Okay.”

“Do you and Nicholas already have a pre-ball party to go to?” Vicky asks.

I haven’t thought about that. I haven’t talked to Nicholas since last week, but I’m going with his date’s cousin, so we’ll be going to a pre-ball party together. I tell this to Vicky. She doesn’t look happy.

“Can’t you come to our party instead?” she asks.

“I have to go to the same one Nicholas is going to.”

Vicky sighs. “The thing is, Mum might not let me have a pre-ball unless you’re there. I mean, it’s technically your ball, not mine.”

“You shouldn’t be having a Year 11 pre-ball party anyway. You’re a Year 10.”

She rolls her eyes. “Technicality. But didn’t you hear what I said? We’ve got forty-four people joining in. It’s going to be in the newspaper.”

I’m not sure what makes me more nervous – the newspaper, or the number of my classmates she thinks are joining her “protest”.

On the bright side, Vicky’s Saturday morning tantrum appears to have been forgotten. She makes no mention of Dad whatsoever, so I can only hope she’s now in the Denial Stage about her unborn sibling.

*

I want to talk to Nicholas about the pre-ball party on Tuesday, but I don’t get an opportunity. Every time I see him, he’s talking to Carrie Green, or laughing with Darren Park. I finally get a chance to talk to him on Wednesday, when I catch up to him on his way between classes.

“Hi, Nicholas!” I say far too enthusiastically.

He grins. “Oh, hey.”

“How are you?”

“Tired as fuck,” he says. “We had a few beers up Lambchop Hill last night. Bad idea on a school night.”

I laugh like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I’d better get to Physics,” Nicholas says. “Even though it’s the shittiest place to be with a hangover.”

“Oh – I just wanted to ask you about the pre-ball party.”

Nicholas looks blank.

“You know, like where we’re going before the ball,” I say.

“Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” He shrugs. “We’ll go to someone’s place. Maybe Carrie’s – her cousin Marta is staying with her. I’ll tell you what the plan is when I know it – but I better run. See ya when I see ya.”

“Okay, great!” I say. “See you when I see you!”

*

I keep attempting sit-ups and push-ups. I manage three runs down the street and back, although I do end up walking the last stretch each time. Still, it counts.

“I don’t know why you’re all losing your minds over this dance,” Harriet keeps saying. “You should hear some of the nonsense the girls are coming up with. In the girls’ bathroom yesterday, I overheard Lisa Meadows telling everyone that she tried to make herself throw up her dinner on Sunday night, to make sure she can fit into her dress.”

“Well, it’s not like the Ball’s the only reason I’m trying to get in shape,” I protest. “I had been planning to start jogging again anyway.”

But deep down, I know Harriet’s probably right – we have all gone a bit mad. It’s all I hear anyone talking about in class. Girls show each other photos of their dresses. Guys talk in low voices about whose dad they can steal beer from. Everyone’s going to a pre-ball. I even hear my sister’s one mentioned by people I don’t even know, and that makes me nervous. I don’t think Mum knows there’ll be a pre-ball party at our house. It’s kind of weird to imagine some of my classmates, who I’ve barely spoken to, sitting in our living room.

There are after-ball parties, too. Darren Park is hosting the main after-ball party.

“We won’t be able to drink much at the ball,” I hear Chris and Dale talking, “but Darren’s after-ball will be epic.”

“I’ve heard some people are going up Lambchop Hill and having a bonfire.”

I find myself daydreaming about going to an after-ball party with Nicholas. In secret, of course. He’ll be pretending to be Carrie’s date, and I’ll pretend to be Carrie’s cousin’s date. But there’ll be secret smiles, holding hands in the dark, the glow of bonfire, and – I’m sure of it – our next kiss.

*

I go straight home after school on Friday. I look in the fridge for a cucumber so I can put slices over my eyes, but we don’t have one. Instead, I have a caramel-flavoured yoghurt.

Upstairs, I lay shirts out on my bed for the fourth time that week. I try to figure out which one would look best with my navy blue suit.

Then I call Dad at work, without thinking twice about it.

“Is everything alright?” he asks nervously.

I haven’t called him at work since before he’d left home. For a second, I’d forgotten anything had changed.

“I need to borrow a red tie for the dance tomorrow night,” I say. “Can you bring one tomorrow?”

“Oh – of course. So everything’s alright?”

“Yeah. Just a tie.”

“Yes, yes, black, you said?”

“No, red, Dad!”

“Okay, black, sorry. See you in the morning. Any special requests?”

“For the tie?”

“For breakfast?”

“Nah, just bacon and eggs.”

“I could try pancakes or something.”

“No! Let’s keep something in our lives consistent!” I say, which makes him laugh.

*

Mum and I make paprika chicken for dinner then decide to watch a movie.

We only have about ten DVDs, each of which I’ve seen six hundred times. We sit in front of our DVD shelf, umming and aahing.

“Chicago?” Mum says.

“I watched it last month.”

“War Horse?”

“Snooze.”

Eventually, we give up on DVDs and channel surf. We end up watching Daddy Day Care.

“So Vicky’s not going to get herself expelled tomorrow night?” Mum asks during a commercial break.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “They’re just going to … protest.”

Mum sighs. “I’ll feel better once it’s all over. Got your outfit all sorted?”

“Yeah. I called Dad, he’s bringing over one of his ties tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, I was going to remind him, but it slipped my mind.” Mum sips her wine. “We really need to have them over for dinner soon.”

I turn to Mum, startled. “You mean, Dad and … her?”

“I suggested it last week but he thought we should give you two a bit more time. And by you two, he just means Vicky, of course.”

“You want to invite Maggie here? To the house?”

“She’s been over before, years ago, when she first started working at the hospital. Oh – it’s started again.”

The movie has come back on. I want to ask a million questions, but Mum’s enjoying the movie, so I have to wait until the next commercial break.

Before I can ask another question, Mum says, “Loo break!” and disappears.

By the time she comes back, the movie’s started again. I’ve never been so desperate for commercial breaks in my life.

Finally, another commercial break comes.

“Mum, when was Maggie at the house?” I demand.

“When she first started working at the hospital,” Mum says. “I heard from your father’s old assistant that a new counsellor had moved to the town for the job, and that she was lovely but didn’t know many people. So I invited her over for dinner.”

My brain’s trying to process this. “So you introduced Maggie to Dad?”

Mum laughs. “Obviously I wasn’t trying to matchmake when I invited her, but when I met her, I certainly saw potential, even that first night. Your dad didn’t want to admit it, at first. Some men can be stubborn.”

“You mean … you wanted him to …”

“He took some persuading to get to know Maggie better – and even more persuading to get things moving. He kept saying we needed to see you and Vicky through high school before anything changed. But this baby sped things along. Poor Maggie can’t be in that house alone with a baby when your father’s perfectly capable of changing diapers!”

My head’s spinning.

Mum not only knew about Dad and Maggie – she masterminded the whole thing.

“You’ll really enjoy getting to know Maggie,” Mum says. “And you’ll be a great big brother, too. Now, ssh, the movie’s back on!”

*

“I’m never meeting that woman,” Vicky tells Dad at breakfast the next morning, “and I’m never meeting her baby.”

“Tomorrow will just be a nice breakfast,” Mum says soothingly. “I’m sure Maggie would love to hear all about the ball.”

Vicky spears a bit of bacon on her fork. “Fucking breakfasts! That’s all we ever do.” I don’t see her complaining about the food itself, though.

Dad hasn’t said a word yet; tomorrow morning’s breakfast with Dad and Maggie has been entirely Mum’s suggestion – even though she won’t be there herself. Once again, Mum’s just the puppet master.

Vicky calmly declines the invitation again, finishes a second helping of bacon and eggs, then asks to be excused.

“I’ve got a lot to organise,” she announces. “Tonight’s one of the most important nights of my life. I can’t help it that the three of you insist on sitting around like useless lumps.”

Dad and I clear the plates, then go for our weekly bike ride.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow morning,” I say on the bike ride. “Vicky will come to breakfast. She always does what she’s told – eventually.”

*

Vicky starts setting up a snacks table for her pre-ball party. She’s arranging a playlist on her phone, to plug into the television speakers.

I still haven’t heard a word from Nicholas.

The house phone rings a couple of times. It’s Stu, wanting to talk to Vicky, because her mobile phone was engaged while she was talking to Katie. Then Katie calls, because Vicky was on her phone to Stuart. Then Rosemary calls to talk to Mum, then Cheryl calls, wanting to know if Rosemary’s called to talk to Mum. Vicky’s mobile phone doesn’t stop buzzing all day. Mine is as unresponsive as a corpse.

By 5 o’clock, I can’t wait any longer. I call Nicholas.

When he answers, the first thing I hear is the background noise – laughing, music, a champagne cork popping out of a bottle.

“Don’t spill it, you fuckstick,” Nicholas says to someone else, laughing. “Hold on,” he says into the phone. “I’m just going into the next room.”

The next room is echoey, probably the bathroom.

“Oh my god, okay, hi,” he says. “Where are you?”

Where am I? For a horrible moment, I wonder whether Nicholas has already told me to come over to his house, and I’ve forgotten. But then I tell myself that can’t be it. I’ve memorised every word he’s said to me for months.

“Um, I’m at home,” I say uneasily.

“Cool, cool.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“The pre-ball plans are a fucking mess. I was going to have one, but Lisa’s having one and Darren’s having one, and now apparently Georgia Johns is having one too. We have to be everywhere all at once.”

“Oh, okay. What time?”

“It’s a total mess,” Nicholas says. “I’ve got no idea where we’re going to be and when.”

Someone who sounds like Lisa Meadows shrieks with laughter in the background and shouts Nicholas’s name. “Look what Darren did!” she shrieks.

“Okay, okay, coming!” he shouts. To me, he says, “Look, everyone’s being way too disorganised. It’s total bullshit. I’ll just have to meet you out the front at eight. Okay?”

“The front …?”

“Of the assembly hall.”

“Oh, okay.”

And with that, he hangs up.

*

Vicky’s transformed our living room. She’s got a pre-ball playlist playing through her speakers. She’s strung up some old Christmas lights and she’s put out bowls of potato chips and jugs of non-alcoholic cocktails.

“One of Mum’s shitty compromises,” Vicky mutters. “No booze.”

“It looks good,” I say. I feel like such a loser when I say, “I might hang out here for a bit before I meet Nicholas.”

But Vicky’s ecstatic to hear it. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you! I’ll text Stu, he’ll be happy. He’s so nervous about tonight.”

I swallow. Who isn’t?

*

Stu doesn’t look nervous. He turns up on the doorstep wearing a light blue suit. He really does look like he’s come from another planet. He’s had his hair re-dyed an even brighter, whiter blonde.

“Hey, Sizzler boy,” he says when I open the door. “Glad you could join us.”

“Not for the actual protest,” I say quickly. “Just here.”

He grins. “Hey, we’re all just lucky to get any time with Sizzler boy!”

The guests start pouring in. Despite Vicky’s optimistic predictions, I thought there’d only be twenty people, at the absolute most, but there end up being fifty kids from my school in my house. Some of them I’ve never even spoken to before. The few people who do talk to me only want to tell me what an amazing sister I have.

“Our school is totally backwards,” a boy whose name I don’t even know says. “Your sister’s the only one who’s been brave enough to do anything about it.”

The freckled girl next to him nods. “It’ll be totally hilarious to see Mr Jane’s purple face when I start lezzing out right in front of him!”

Chris and Dale have a hip flask of whiskey that they swig when they think nobody’s watching, but otherwise everyone’s behaving quite well, considering the fact that they’ve gathered to stage a rebellion.

After making me promise to “keep a very close eye on proceedings”, Mum remains a respectable distance away. Halfway through, however, Rosemary and Cheryl turn up. They’re holding six bottles of wine.

“What are you two doing here?” Vicky demands when she sees them.

“That’s not very welcoming,” Rosemary says, offended. “I used to change your diapers.”

Cheryl nods. “I got a bit of your poop on a new mink stole.”

Some kids overhear this and laugh.

“I’m having a party!” Vicky says shrilly. “Get gone! Both of you!”

She herds them into Mum’s bedroom.

Vicky and Stu have organised an entire bus to collect the guests. The bus pulls up outside our house at half past seven. Nobody says anything when I shuffle along behind them. Everyone’s sitting in their same-sex pairs – Vicky and Katie, Chris and Dale, their girlfriends, Stu and a guy called Mark Bell who’s in my calculus class.

“I’m not part of the protest thing,” I keep explaining to people who ask. “I’m meeting my actual friends at the ball.”

I sit up the front of the bus on my own. It’s not exactly Cinderella’s enchanted pumpkin-chariot, but at least it’s taking me to Nicholas.