Self-Portraits - 17. The Nicholas Plan

I stumble upstairs, fall into bed, and sleep until noon. Mum brings me coffee and toast on a tray.

“Breakfast in bed for our brilliant Michelangelo!”

“Michelangelo mostly painted murals,” I mumble.

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.

I burst into tears.

I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of Mum. She puts the tray aside and 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 a big zit.

“What’s happened, darling?” Mum asks.

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

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

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She wipes her eyes. “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?”

“No, no, I just meant I’m happy you told me about something that’s upset you. You’re such a rock for me. I really want the chance to be your rock.”

“Well, then you need to stop crying and let me cry!”

Eventually, I calm down enough to sip some coffee and take a bite of toast. I tell her about Nicholas, 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 and I just didn’t show up. I didn’t even message her. I jump out of bed and grab my phone, but it’s still flat. I plug it in and turn it on.

Straight away, it starts to beep with messages from Harriet.

Are you on your way?

The pizza has arrived.

Is everything alright?

I hope everything is alright. Let me know.

“She invited me to her place to play board games,” I explain to Mum, “but as soon as Nicholas mentioned that stupid party, I forgot Harriet even existed. She’s the only friend I’ve got in the universe and now she’ll hate me.”

“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 crying to laughing in five minutes. What’s wrong with me?

“And secondly, of course this girl will still be your friend,” Mum says. “That’s what friends are for. To put up with each other. All you need to do is tell her you’re sorry.”

*

Outside, I’m surprised to see the world hasn’t ended. Cars still whiz past. Kids are climbing over the Morris Street Playground. An elderly couple say “Good afternoon, Sir” to me. I drag myself to Harriet’s like I’m walking on the floor of the Mariana Trench with my feet tied to bricks. On the bright side, it can’t get any worse. I’ve got nothing, so I’ve got nothing to lose. When I get to Harriet’s house, I make my way up the lavender path, and knock on the door.

Nobody answers, but I can hear The Bad Hats rehearsing inside. I open the door.

“Hello?” I call out.

I follow the sound of the music to the living room. Harriet’s sitting at the piano, so her back’s to me. Penny’s sitting at a table, tapping her drumsticks on placemats, and Benny’s singing into a rolling pin. The twins smile at me, which is more than I deserve.

When they finish the song, I clap and say, “That was really good.”

Harriet turns around, surprised to see me. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi.” Suddenly I’m worried I’m going to cry again.

Harriet doesn’t look angry, just confused. Then she slaps her forehead. “Oh, did I tell you to come over on Sunday morning?”

“No – you did say last night – I’m so sorry. I’m … I …” My whole face feels like jelly and my jaw aches with the effort of holding back tears.

Harriet knows something’s wrong.

“I’ll be back in one minute,” she tells Benny and Penny, then grabs my arm and drags me into her bedroom.

“What did he do to you?” she demands.

I gulp back the tears. “What did who do to me?”

“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—”

“If you need to cry, then cry,” she says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I think I’m okay for now.” I take a deep breath. “I cried a lot this morning.”

“Okay. So, what happened last night?”

In a trembling voice, I tell Harriet everything.

“Nicholas never liked me the same way I liked him,” I realise for the first time.

“Yes!” Harriet exclaims gleefully. “Sorry, I shouldn’t sound so happy, but you’ve just had 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 has the memory of a sieve. But stay here for the rest of the rehearsal, then we can make a plan after the twins leave.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. A Nicholas Plan.”

*

For the next half an hour, I get a private concert by The Bad Hats. As far as I can tell, they’re basically perfect, but they’re even entertaining when they make mistakes. At one point, Benny forgets the lyrics and starts making them up.

“… um, my green sneakers,” he sings, “and an orange couch … there’s a 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.”

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

“You can’t do that!” Harriet barks. “You wouldn’t give up if we were on stage.”

“Maybe I would,” Penny says.

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.”

My jaw drops. I turn to Harriet but she’s not listening. She’s busy making alterations to the music.

“What did he say about the brother?” I ask.

“No idea.” 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.”

*

After Benny and Penny leave, Harriet sits down with a notepad. She clicks her biro.

“So, let’s make a plan.” She starts writing. “We will call it The Nicholas Plan.”

“The Nicholas Plan?”

“Yes. You see, you’re an addict, but instead of drugs or alcohol, it’s Nicholas you’re addicted to. You’re in Nicholas Anonymous. I’m your sponsor and this is your recovery plan. The first question is, how do you feel about talking to him?”

Heat rushes up my neck and a wave of nausea rolls over me. “Not good.”

Harriet nods. “So, the next time you feel cravings to contact him, or if he contacts you, you should call me immediately. I don’t care if it’s three o’clock in the morning. 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.”

“Call me,” Harriet says firmly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call you.”

She writes that down.

“Now, I can help you while we’re at school – leave that up to me – but after school will be tricky. You need to stay as busy as possible. Let’s plan out each day. We’re doing another rehearsal tomorrow at four, so come back here with me. I’ll tell Dads you’re staying for dinner afterwards too …”

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

While she writes, I say, “I really am sorry I didn’t come over last night.”

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

*

I walk home, lightheaded and miserable, with a copy of The Nicholas Plan in my pocket.

I’ve lost Nicholas forever but at least Harriet’s still my friend. I have a chock-full itinerary for the week. I’ve come out to my parents – or whatever the word is for how weirdly that all went down this weekend. Vicky punched Darren because of me.

I’ve painted such disturbing pictures that I’m not sure I want anyone to see them. But at the same time, I don’t think I really care what people think of me right now.

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 van. 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 more 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 the orange mug on the kitchen floor so watch where you step.”

Again, I have a strange desire to laugh.

Today is a very weird day.

*

Back home, Vicky’s admiring my mini-art gallery in the garage.

“These paintings are seriously disturbing!” she says. “I’m impressed.”

Mum’s told Vicky everything that’s happened, but Vicky still insists on hearing it from me, so I recite the story for the third time. When I tell her about Nicholas and Stu, she throws her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry. That sucks so much.”

“It really does.”

But then I change the subject, because there’s something I want to ask her.

“What did Darren say to you at the Ball?” I ask.

“You’re not going back to this again.”

“What did he say that made you punch him?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about that night.”

“He said something about me, right?” I ask.

“I don’t remember.”

But I know what happened. There’s only one word bad enough to make Vicky punch Darren in the face. It’s the same word an idiot might shout at strangers from a car window.

I feel a complicated rush of emotions: a fierce love for Vicky for standing up for me, mixed with guilt that she felt she needed to stand up for me, and underneath it all, I’m basically just embarrassed that my younger sister is fighting my battles for me.

Eventually I say, “You could’ve been expelled.”

“It would’ve been worth it,” Vicky grunts.

*

In the afternoon, Nicholas calls me.

For the first time, I don’t want talk to him, but I answer out of reflex.

“I have to talk to you about last night,” Nicholas says. “You left without saying goodbye to anyone, which was really weird, but whatever. Can you believe what happened? I’m still in shock, but in the best possible way. I totally thought he was a weirdo, but he’s really funny and super handsome. He said he’s had a thing for me since his first day at Crampton. He’s such a great guy!”

“Yeah, he’s great,” I hear myself say.

“You were the only one who saw us, but when we went back inside, Carrie was asking me a million questions about where we’d been. I’m sure you didn’t say anything to her, but I just wanted to make double sure?”

“No, of course I didn’t.”

“Okay, good. I didn’t think you would. I could be totally overreacting but when Stu and I went back inside, I felt like some of the others were looking at us funny. Stu says I’m being paranoid and maybe I am but ...”

While Nicholas keeps talking, I pull the plan out of my pocket. The very first line is If he contacts you, or you feel the urge to contact him, call Harriet immediately. Underneath that, she’s written Do not talk to him. Then, in capital letters: CALL ME! She’s even underlined it.

So, for the first time in my life, I interrupt him.

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

Then I hang up.

Oh God, 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 in my head points out. 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 that I just hung up on him.

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

“Huh?”

“You’ve had a triggering event. He called you. You need to do something to keep yourself distracted.”

“No, honestly, Harriet, there’s no need. I overreacted. I’m fine.”

I don’t want to talk to Harriet about this. I want to call Nicholas back. I was so rude to him.

Harriet can read my mind. “You’re going to call him back, aren’t you? Okay – put your sister on the phone.”

“What?”

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

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

“Yeah, cool. I will. Bye.”

Vicky hangs up and slides my phone into her pocket.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “Give me my phone back.”

But Vicky’s too quick for me. She runs down the corridor, to the house phone. She unplugs it from the wall and vanishes back down the hallway. By the time I catch up to her, she’s hidden both the house phone and my mobile phone.

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

“Then we’ll all perish,” Vicky says.

“This is silly! Give me my phone!”

“You can negotiate with Harriet when she gets here.”

“What? She’s coming here?”

“That’s right. Now come on. Let’s play Guess Who.”

*

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

Does your person have glossy brown hair? Nicholas does.

Does your person have cute pointy ears? Nicholas does.

Is your person waiting for me to call them back after I rudely hung up on them? Nicholas is.

“Does he have a bum chin?” Vicky asks.

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

Downstairs, I hear Harriet arrive, out of breath. Mum greets her at the door. I overhear Mum thanking Harriet for being my friend, as if I’ve been a massive burden. Well, perhaps I have been. Poor Harriet has had to listen to me rambling about Nicholas for weeks.

Then they start talking in hushed voices.

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

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

Eventually Harriet comes upstairs and approves our choice in board game.

“This game is definitely suitable for your current mental capacity,” she says. “Now, give me the plan – I think we should show your sister.”

I pass The Nicholas Plan to Harriet, who goes through it with Vicky. Vicky looks at the week’s itinerary.

“I can take him after school on Wednesday and Friday, if you like,” she says. “And I’ll keep him away from phones.”

“I need my phone!” I protest. “You can’t confiscate it from me. It’s my personal property.”

“You can have it back,” Harriet says, “but you should delete Nicholas’s number from it. That way, it won’t be as easy to text or call him.”

“Fine.” I don’t admit that I know it off by heart anyway.

Vicky returns my phone, and I delete Nicholas’s number.

Harriet joins in a game of Guess Who, but she Harriet declares it as “too unchallenging”. We play Cluedo, which Harriet wins – it was Mrs Peacock in the Kitchen with the rolling pin. Then we play Cards Against Humanity. Vicky howls with laughter at every card Harriet puts down.

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

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

Again, Harriet wins by a landslide.

Mum pokes her head in to ask where the house phone is. Vicky gives it to her, on the condition she hides it after she’s finished using it.

We have cokes, then snacks, then dinner.

A whole day passes.

What Nicholas is doing? I keep wondering. Is he checking his phone to see if I’ve messaged? Is he worried that I haven’t called him back yet? I doubt it, somehow.

I picture Nicholas meeting Stu after his lunchtime shift at Sizzler’s. I picture them smiling at each other, looking around to make sure nobody’s watching, then sneaking a kiss. Thinking about it makes me want to cry again, but I don’t. I’m all cried out.

Harriet leaves after dinner, but first she makes Vicky promise to continue keeping 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 tired to protest. Let me burn to death.

When it’s time for bed, Vicky gets into mine.

“Go to your own bed,” I say.

“You heard Harriet,” Vicky yawns, taking the good pillow. “You can’t be trusted on your own because of all your recent insanity.” She closes her eyes. “For all I know, you could throw yourself out the window in the middle of the night.”

Again, I’m too tired to argue. I slide into the small sliver of bed that Vicky’s not taking up and, within seconds, I’m fast asleep.