Self-Portraits - 12. The Nicholas Plan

I sleep until noon. Mum brings my breakfast on a tray, even though it’s nearly lunchtime.

“Breakfast in bed for our brilliant Picasso.”

“Picasso painted abstracts,” I mumble. “The thing in the garage is a self-portrait. Sort of.”

Mum’s put a little vase on the tray with flowers she’s picked from the garden. There’s a tiny beetle crawling up one of the stems.

The withering petals look so pathetic that I burst into tears.

I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of Mum. She puts the tray aside. I sob into her shoulder. Part of me thinks, Oh God, this is so embarrassing. But most of me doesn’t care. It feels good to cry, like popping an enormous wet zit.

“What’s happened, darling?” Mum asks.

I’ve got boogers hanging from my nose, strings of drool, and my face is masked in seventeen layers of tears.

“I thought Nicholas wanted to be my boyfriend,” I say, “but he doesn’t.”

Then Mum does something I’ve never seen her do – she bursts into tears.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, quickly wiping her eyes. Her nose starts running too. She laughs. “I’m happy. I’m so happy you told me that.”

This is not what I expected. “You’re happy Nicholas doesn’t want to be my boyfriend?”

She laughs and wipes her nose. We’re setting a world record for the volume of mucus we’re producing. “I just meant I’m so happy you told me about something upsetting you. You’re always such a rock for everyone. I want to be your rock.”

“Well, then you need to stop crying and let me cry,” I say, and we both laugh-sob.

Eventually, I eat my breakfast, and tell her about Nicholas and Stu, and, well, everything.

Then I realise something that makes it all worse.

Harriet. I completely forgot about Harriet last night. She invited me over so they’d have enough people for that board game.

“Nicholas invited me to a party and I forgot Harriet even existed,” I tell Mum. “She’s the only friend I’ve got in the universe and now she hates me. I don’t know what to do.”

“First of all, she’s not your only friend,” Mum says. “You’ve got me, silly.”

“Oh, great, my mum’s my only friend,” I say. For some reason, this makes me giggle. I’ve gone from tears to laughter in five minutes. What’s wrong with me?

“And secondly, of course Harriet will still be your friend,” Mum says. “That’s what friends are for – for putting up with each other. All you need to do is say sorry.”

*

I still feel like a zombie on my way to Harriet’s house but, on the bright side, I have nothing to lose. I make my way up the lavender path and knock on the door. Nobody answers but I can hear music inside, so I open the door.

The Bad Hats are rehearsing in the living room. Harriet’s on the piano, so her back’s to me. Penny’s tapping her drumsticks on placemats and Benny’s singing into a rolling pin.

Benny and Penny smile at me, which is more than I deserve.

“That was great,” I say, when they’ve finished the song.

Harriet turns around, surprised. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” Suddenly I’m worried I’m going to cry or make strange noises again.

Harriet doesn’t look angry – she just looks confused. Then she slaps her forehead. “Oh god, did I say come over on Sunday morning?”

“No – you did say last night – I’m so sorry. I’m … I …”

It’s going to happen, I realise. I’m going to cry again. My whole face feels like jelly. My jaw aches with the effort of holding back tears.

Harriet can tell something’s wrong. She tells Benny and Penny, “We’ll be a second,” then grabs my arm and drags me into her bedroom.

“What did he do to you?” she demands.

I try blinking the tears back. “What are you talking about?”

“Nicholas,” Harriet practically spits out his name. “This smells of Nicholas. You not coming over last night – you now – and look at your hands! They’re filthy.”

“Oh … that’s just paint … I tried to wash it off but … but I couldn’t …”

“What happened last night?”

In quivering bits and pieces, I tell Harriet.

Then I say, as I realise it for the first time, “Nicholas never liked me. I was just … there.”

“Yes – this is excellent.” Harriet smiles. “In therapy, you’ve just had what they call a breakthrough.” She checks her watch. “Look, we have another thirty minutes of rehearsal, and Benny really needs to work on the new songs. He’s lead vocals and has the memory of a leaky sieve. But stay and listen, then we can make a plan after the twins leave.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. A plan.”

*

Listening to The Bad Hats rehearsing is like having a private concert. They’re mostly note-perfect, but they’re even great when they make mistakes. At one point, Benny forgets the lyrics and just starting making them up.

“… um, my green sneakers,” he sings, “and an orange couch … there’s rug on the floor …”

Harriet doesn’t think it’s funny at all. “You’ve forgotten the words! You’re just singing things you can see! You promised you’d have this one memorised today.”

During the next song, Penny falls out of rhythm, but just shrugs and puts down her drumsticks.

Naturally, Harriet doesn’t make any mistakes.

After the rehearsal has finished, Penny and Benny ask me about last weekend’s ball.

“I hear it got crazy,” Penny says.

“Our cousin’s friend got punched in the face,” Benny says, with a trace of pride.

“Yeah, some girl gave him a black eye,” Penny says.

I’m almost too nervous to ask. “Are you talking about Darren Park?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. He’s an idiot,” Benny adds.

“Apparently,” Penny whispers, “the girl whacked Darren in the face because he made a joke about her brother.”

“He did what?” I ask. I turn to Harriet but she’s busy making alterations to the music.

Benny turns to Penny. “Would you punch someone if they made fun of me?”

“As if.” Penny rolls her eyes. “I’d have to punch everyone I talk to!”

*

Once we’re alone, Harriet sits down with a notepad. She clicks her biro.

“Let’s make a plan,” she says, “and some strategies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s say you’re an alcoholic,” Harriet says. “But instead of alcohol, it’s Nicholas you’re addicted to. You’re in AA, and I’m your sponsor, so the next time you feel cravings, you call me immediately. I don’t care if he’s standing in front of you telling you that he loves you. You have to call me. Alright?”

“I don’t think I’ll be that bad—”

“I can help you while we’re at school, but after school will be tricky. Let’s plan the week. We’re doing another rehearsal tomorrow at four, so you’ll come straight here with me. I’ll tell Dads you’re staying for dinner afterwards too …”

Harriet plans out the whole week for me. There’s hardly a minute spare.

“I really am sorry I didn’t come last night,” I say.

“I know you are.” Harriet doesn’t look up from her notepad. “But as far as mistakes go, at least it was a necessary one.”

*

I walk home, still miserable, but lightheaded.

I’ve lost Nicholas forever but at least Harriet’s still my friend. I have a full itinerary for the week. I don’t need to worry about coming out to my parents anymore. Vicky punched Darren in the face because of something he said about me. My hands are covered in paint but I’ve finally painted something so disturbing that Mrs Hansen might actually like it.

But I’ve lost Nicholas forever.

On the other side of the road, there’s a man and a woman loading boxes into the back of a car. The woman goes back into the house.

A passing car slows down, where the man’s now loading boxes by himself. I recognise the car – and I recognise the young guy in the passenger seat, too.

He leans out the window, towards the man on the street.

“Hey!” the young guy shouts.

The man loading boxes looks up.

“Yeah, you!” the guy in the car shouts. “You’re a FAGGOT!”

There’s laughter and the car speeds off.

The man watches the car until it goes around a corner, then goes back to packing boxes. The woman comes back outside with boxes.

“That random guy just drove past,” the man tells her, “and called me a faggot again.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever gives him a thrill. By the way, I just smashed a mug on the kitchen floor so watch where you step.”

*

Back home, I tell Mum that Harriet is still my friend, and that I’ll be at her place after school all week. Mum tells me to invite Harriet and her Dads over here.

“They’re a lot to take,” I warn her. “Well, Barry is. Kevin’s normal.”

“That’s good. A balance is nice.”

I then find Vicky, who’s decided to rearrange her cupboards. There’s debris all over her floor.

“What did Darren say?” I ask her.

She doesn’t look up. “What are you talking about?”

“When you punched him at the ball,” I say.

“I told you not to talk to me about that,” she says.

“Did he say something bad about me?” I ask.

“I don’t remember,” she lies.

But I think I know. There’s only one word it could’ve been, only one word bad enough to make Vicky punch him in the face. The same word a stupid guy might shout out of a car window.

“Well, whatever name Darren called me, violence is never the answer.” Then I add, “But thank you.”

*

In the afternoon, Nicholas calls me.

For the first time, I don’t want hear his voice.

“I have to talk to you about last night,” Nicholas says. “You left without saying goodbye to anyone. But I think Carrie knows about me and Stu, or at least suspects it. You were the only one who saw us, but when we went back inside, Carrie was asking me a million questions. So much drama. You didn’t tell anyone, right?”

“No, of course not …”

I’m holding Harriet’s plan in my hand. Don’t talk to him, she’s written. Then, in capital letters: CALL ME! She’s even underlined it.

Nicholas keeps talking. For the first time, I interrupt him.

“I can’t talk right now,” I hear myself saying. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

Then I’ve hung up. My heart’s pounding. I just hung up on Nicholas. What have I done? I should call him back.

But he wasn’t calling because he likes you, a voice (maybe Harriet’s) tells me. He was calling to talk about all the people who like HIM.

I dial Harriet’s number. My hands are shaking.

“Sorry,” I say, “but he called. So I’m just following the plan.”

“I thought he might,” Harriet says. “Tell me what happened.”

I’m horrified at myself as I tell her what I did.

“That’s good,” Harriet says. “The old Richard would’ve listened to all his bullshit. But you’re not in the clear yet. You’re still in a very dangerous time period. You could relapse at any moment – so what should we do?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve had a triggering event. He called you. We need to do something to distract you, to keep you busy. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.”

“No, honestly, Harriet, there’s no need.”

I don’t feel like being with Harriet. I feel … I feel like calling Nicholas back. Oh god, I was so rude to him.

Harriet can read my mind. “You’re going to panic and call him back before I can get there, aren’t you? Oh god … Okay – put your sister on the phone.”

“What?”

“Let me talk to your sister right now. Don’t even think about hanging up on me.”

Vicky’s in her bedroom, still at her wardrobe, pulling everything onto the floor. I pass her the phone. I don’t know what Harriet’s saying to Vicky. Vicky looks confused. Then she smiles.

“Yeah, cool. See you soon.”

Vicky takes the batteries out of the phone and puts them in her pocket.

“Are you insane? What if there’s an emergency?”

“Then whoever’s calling us will perish,” Vicky says. “Where’s your mobile?”

“In my room – why? What are you going to do with it?”

She runs into my room and pockets my mobile phone.

“Give that back to me!” I demand.

“You can negotiate this with Harriet,” Vicky says. “Now come on. Let’s play Guess Who.”

*

I play Guess Who with Vicky for twenty minutes. Every face on the board reminds me of Nicholas.

Does your character have glossy brown hair? Nicholas does.

Does your character have cute pointy ears? Nicholas does.

Is your character waiting for me to call them back after I rudely hung up on them?

“What did Harriet say to you?” I ask Vicky.

“None of your business,” she says. “Does he have a bum chin?”

“His chin is perfectly normal!” I say, then realise she’s talking about the game, not about Nicholas. “Oh, actually, yes, the guy on my card does have a bum chin.”

Downstairs, I hear Harriet arrive, out of breath. Mum greets her at the door, loudly and profusely thanking her for being my friend, as if I’ve been a burden. Perhaps I have been. Then I hear them talking in hushed voices, probably talking about how fragile I am.

“What are you two talking about?” I shout down the stairs.

“We’re talking about you,” Harriet shouts back, “not to you!”

Harriet joins Vicky and me for board games.

After Guess Who (which Harriet declares as “unchallenging”), we play Cludeo then Cards Against Humanity.

Vicky howls with laughter at every card Harriet puts down.

“You need to choose my card sometimes,” I complain. “I’m having a terrible day.”

“Then you need to be funnier,” Vicky tells me.

Harriet wins by a landslide.

Mum comes in to offer us cokes, then snacks, then dinner.

I can’t believe a whole day’s passed. I wonder what Nicholas has been doing all day. Has he been waiting by the phone for me? Is he worrying about why I didn’t call back? Somehow, I doubt it.

I picture Nicholas meeting Stu after his lunchtime shift at Sizzler’s. I imagine them smiling at each other, making sure nobody can see them, then kissing shyly. Thinking about it makes me want to cry again, but I don’t. Maybe I’m all cried out.

Harriet leaves after dinner, but first she makes Vicky promise to keep all phones away from me.

“I promise,” Vicky says solemnly. “The house could be burning down and I still wouldn’t give a phone to him to call for help.”

I’m too exhausted to protest.

That night, I sleep for eleven hours.

*

The next day, Vicky and I walk to school. Harriet’s waiting for us by the gate.

“Are they here yet?” Vicky asks.

“Yep,” Harriet says. “I’ll hide him in the library before the first bell.”

“I don’t need to hide from Nicholas and Stu,” I protest but it falls on deaf ears.

Vicky hands me over to Harriet like I’m a baton in a relay race. Harriet steers me straight into the library, which is empty. I’ve never been here before school before.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I ask Harriet.

“It’s still not safe for you.” Harriet’s peeking through the window blinds. “I know it’s inevitable that you’ll probably see them at some point, but we should minimise that risk as much as possible.”

“I’m not going to throw myself at Nicholas, if that’s what you’re implying,” I say.

“Imagine you’re an alcoholic,” Harriet says. “You gave up drinking yesterday. The last thing you want to see today is a bottle of wine.”

The first bell rings.

“Alright,” Harriet says. “Calculus. Come on, let’s make a run for it.”

“We don’t need to run.”

But she’s yanking me by the arm and we’re sprinting to Calculus. Everyone must think we’re insane.

The whole day goes like this. Harriet and Vicky don’t leave me on my own, except to use the bathroom. Even then, they stand out the front like security guards.

“Sorry, this bathroom is quarantined due to a biohazard,” I hear Vicky telling a boy through the door. “My brother is having terrible diarrhoea.”

*

After school on Monday, I go to The Bad Hats rehearsal with Harriet, then Vicky comes over to walk me home.

It’s the same drill on Tuesday. Harriet and Vicky stick to me like a shadow. I don’t see Nicholas at all and only catch a glimpse of Stu’s shiny hair at the far end of a corridor. It’s not until Wednesday morning that realise why I’m not running into either of them. I’m in the library with Harriet, waiting for the first bell to ring, when I catch her looking at a handwritten copy of Nicholas’s class timetable. At the top of the page she’s written: First period: Geography.

I’m aghast. “You’ve figured out his timetable?”

“We can’t take any chances,” Harriet explains. “Nicholas has geography first, so he’ll likely be walking past the gymnasium, so I’m planning for us to double back around behind the staff room and get to English that way.”

After school on Wednesday, I’m forced to walk around town with Vicky and her squeaky friends for an hour. I’m sure I’ll be fine if I’m left alone, but Vicky refuses to let me out of her sight, under strict orders from Harriet.

After school on Thursday, Vicky and I visit Maggie, who looks ready to pop, and on Friday, I go to dinner at Rosemary’s with Mum.

For someone with almost no friends, I’m certainly spending time with a lot of people.

Thanks to Harriet’s careful route-planning, I don’t set eyes on Nicholas all week.

He doesn’t try to contact me, either. He doesn’t wait for me at the school gates or outside my classrooms. He doesn’t call me. He doesn’t text. This is devastating, but it’s also a relief. I’m not sure I could deal with him telling me about Stu. That might truly send me off the edge.

I take my rolled-up canvass of my screaming face into Art class for the self-portrait assignment. It makes Mrs Hansen gasp.

“Now this,” she says, “is something.”

I’m actually enjoying painting so much more now that I’m not trying to get anything right. Sometimes, all I paint is a bunch of meaningless shapes, other times I paint people, but mostly I just paint screaming faces – because that’s what I feel like painting.