Self-Portraits - 15. Catalysts

On Wednesday, Molly’s follow-up article is on the front page again, but thankfully it’s much shorter and at the bottom. The headline is School Stands by Anti-Gay Policy. It’s about Molly’s phone call with Mr Jane. I can practically hear the veins in his forehead pulsing whenever he’s quoted.

These Year 11 and 12 social events have been part of Crampton Collegiate tradition for more than a century. It’s not a question of discriminating against anyone, it’s a simple question of gender balance that has always been part of these events. We want to maintain the male-female gender ratio, because we use these functions to create a structured social setting where students are encouraged to practise social etiquette between the sexes.

Mum and I brace ourselves while Vicky reads it, but the explosion we’re expecting doesn’t happen. Vicky folds the newspaper in half and goes back to slurping the milk from her bowl of Coco Pops.

Mum and I raise our eyebrows at each other.

Is Vicky growing up?

*

Vicky’s behaviour gets even stranger.

I’m in the library at lunchtime, deep in the catalysts chapter of my Chemistry book, when Harriet elbows me.

“Isn’t that your sister?”

I start to laugh, because there’s no way Vicky would ever come to the library at lunchtime. But the laugh dies on my lips, because Vicky has come to the library at lunchtime. She’s sitting on the other side, on her own, half-hidden by a stack of ancient-looking books.

I speed-walk across the floor.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

Vicky shrieks, which earns us a big SSH from the librarian.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” Vicky hisses. “I’m doing an assignment for legal studies. Go away.”

On the top of her pile is a huge dusty book: Education & Ethics.

I frown. “I did Legal Studies last year and I never had to read that.”

“That’s because you’re much stupider than I am,” Vicky says. “Now, leave me alone.”

The librarian shushes us again, so I leave my sister to her assignment, and go back to Harriet and the catalysts.

*

I stop by the bathroom on my way to Art class. I’m washing my hands when Darren and Marcus Cruikshank emerge, sniggering, from a toilet cubicle. Darren’s got a pen that he’s putting a lid back on, so I know exactly what they’ve just been doing. They ignore me, which suits me fine.

As soon as they’ve left, I go into the cubicle they were in. The walls are covered in drawings and scribbles and stupid comments. But in black ink, still fresh and shining, there’s a new comment:

STU

SUCKS

DICK

HERE

EVERY MORNING B4 ASSEMBLY

I spend a few minutes figuring out how to cover it up. I’m going to be late enough to Art that Mrs Hansen could mark me officially late. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that before, though, so I figure it’s an alright risk to take. Eventually, I’ve changed it to:

STOP!

READ BOOKS!

MOBY DICK!

WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE!

EVERY MORNING B4 ASSEMBLY,

READ A NEW CHAPTER!

*

After school, Vicky’s standing with Stu at the front gates and they’re both looking very serious. She’s staring at him and he’s staring at a piece of paper. By the time I reach them, he’s handed the paper back to her and walked off.

“What were you talking to Sizzler Stu about?” I ask.

“Nothing much.” Vicky crumples the piece of paper into her school bag. “We were just chatting about Molly’s new article, then I asked him a question about my Legal Studies assignment.”

When we get home, Vicky’s strange and sudden commitment to her schoolwork continues. She disappears into her bedroom before dinner, then goes straight back there afterwards. She’s never been so invested in an assignment in her life.

Mum is delighted. “Maybe you’re being a good influence on her,” she points out.

Personally, I doubt Vicky’s capable of being influenced by anyone except herself.

*

Friday lunchtime comes around quickly. I still haven’t spoken a word to Nicholas since the Ball. I’ve only spotted him twice, both times from a distance and both times with Carrie. The first time, they were sitting on a picnic table and sharing a can of coke. The second time, he was making her laugh about something and she had her hand on his shoulder.

He wants everyone to think he likes girls – that’s all it is – but there’s something about this that worries me.

“Maybe you’re worried he’s leading her on,” Harriet says. “As far as Carrie knows, Nicholas really likes her. If she finds out he’s been pretending, even if he thinks there’s a good reason to be pretending, she could end up feeling hurt.”

I consider sending him a text message, but he still hasn’t replied to the messages I sent him last weekend.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Harriet asks. “Apart from moping around over Nicholas?”

“I’m not moping,” I lie. “In fact, I think I’m going to finish David Copperfield.”

“Come to my house tomorrow night,” Harriet says. “Benny and Penny have this new board game, The Adventurers of Deimos, and it needs four players.”

“Okay, great! Thanks.” It’s pathetic how grateful I am for something to do.

“Come over at seven. Dads will order pizza for us.”

It’s still weird how casually Harriet says Dads. But then I think, maybe one day Nicholas and I will have a daughter who calls us Dads too.

*

Mum and Vicky are both out that night. I have an hour-long bath, read two chapters of David Copperfield, then get ready for bed. Mum comes home when I’m brushing my teeth.

“Hi sweetheart.” She comes into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid to remove her shoes. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes, thanks,” I say through the toothpaste foam. “Where have you been?”

“Out with Cheryl,” Mum says, which I could’ve guessed from the smell of perfume and white wine. “We went to The Fish and had a cocktail.” Mum’s tipsy again. “Where’s Vicky?”

I spit my toothpaste foam in the basin. “At Katie’s for the night.”

Everyone’s always out, except me.

“Well, I’m exhausted.” Mum kisses me on the cheek. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Night, Mum.”

Could my life get any lamer? I seriously doubt it.

*

Vicky reappears the next morning for the bacon-and-eggs ritual with Dad. Mum’s already up and out of the house – she texted to say she’s gone into work to catch up on a few things and will be back this afternoon.

Dad asks us how school is, as he passes us our plates. I tell him about David Copperfield and catalysts and imaginary numbers. Vicky cheerfully says, “School is shit”.

“But you’ve been working really hard on your Legal Studies assignment,” I say. I tell Dad, “She even came to the library during lunchtime to work on it.”

Vicky goes pink. “Mind your own business!”

Like Mum, Dad is impressed that both his children are being so diligent with schoolwork. He tries to get Vicky to talk about the assignment, but she changes the subject.

“Where’s Maggie?” Vicky asks Dad.

“Er, back at her house,” Dad says.

“You should bring her with you sometime.” Vicky looks at me. “Right?”

“Of course,” I say.

“We’re one big happy family now,” Vicky says. “Us and Mum and Maggie and the unborn child. Hey, will I get to name it? The kid?”

“No, you will not,” Dad says.

“I like the name Olivia,” says Vicky. “We’ve started Twelfth Night in English and that’s one of the characters in it. I like that name. I’ll tell Maggie that’s the name we’ve all agreed on.”

“Olivia is nice,” Dad admits. “Very pretty.”

“Pretty?” Vicky rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so old fashioned. Girls should have pretty little feminine names like Daisy and Frills and boys should have names like Punch and Hammer.”

“Don’t be daft,” Dad says.

“Well, it’s true! You would sooner die than name your daughter something like Blake or Kyle! Admit it, Old Man.”

“Well, have you ever met women who have men’s names?” Dad asks. “There was a woman called Jake who used to run deliveries for the hospital. It was short for Jacqueline but she just wanted us to call her Jake. She was – well, you know.”

“No, we don’t know.” Vicky’s trying to pick a fight. “Say it out loud.”

I try to break the tension. “Have some more bacon, Vicky.”

“Fuck the bacon,” Vicky says, but takes it anyway. “Dad? What was Jake?”

I intervene. “Jake was a lesbian.”

“And what was so bad about that?” Vicky demands. “Being gay is such a joke to you, isn’t it? Right? Come on, Dad. Let’s hear another one of your hilarious gay jokes.”

“Vicky, don’t,” I say.

“What if your unborn child is a lesbian?” she asks Dad.

Dad goes red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Vicky hesitates for a second, then says, “Well, I am. I’m a lesbian.”

“You are not,” I say. (This isn’t the first time Vicky’s claimed lesbianism to win an argument against Dad.)

“I am a lesbian,” Vicky says. “So, Dad, what do you have to say about that? I’m a lesbian!”

“You are not,” Dad says. “We’re not having such a ridiculous conversation.”

“I absolutely am a lesbian,” Vicky says. “I kiss Katie all the time.”

“Only when boys dare you to,” I point out.

“Maybe I liked it sexually,” Vicky says.

“Don’t be disgusting,” Dad says.

“So lesbians are disgusting?” Vicky asks. “I just pray baby Olivia is a lesbian, then. I would love to have a lesbian sister.”

“You’re being impossible,” Dad says.

“You’re the impossible one!” Vicky says. “Old man, you don’t even know what you don’t know.”

“You are not a …” Dad’s getting angry, too. “You’re not.”

“Well, fine I’m not, but I fucking well could be!” Vicky shouts.

Then, before I know it, I’ve joined in. “Stop this stupid fighting!”

“I’m making a point!” Vicky shouts. “Dad needs to be ready.”

“Ready?” Dad frowns. “Ready for what?”

“Ready for me!” I shout.

Dad looks at me like he’s only just noticed I’m there. “Ready for you?”

“Vicky’s not a lesbian,” I say. “It’s me. I’m gay.”

Vicky looks from me, to Dad, then down at her bacon. Dad just stares at me with his mouth open.

“I can’t stand any more of your stupid fighting,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like my own.

I stand up – it feels like I’m standing on someone else’s legs, too – and I walk out.

*

I jump on my bike and start pedalling, without putting on my helmet. I speed down our street, towards the river. There’s nobody else down here. Just birds and wind and the rush of the river.

I get all the way to the end of the track. I get off the bike and let it tip over. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back home. I can’t go there ever again. My heart pounds. I pace up and down the bike path, wondering what to do, wondering what Dad’s doing. Is he going to call Mum? How did I let it happen like that? I fretted and worried and planned about coming out the right way, then that happened.

Then I see Dad. He’s on his bike, wobbling down the path towards me. He followed me all the way down here. I wanted to get away from him, but now he’s got me cornered.

“You went like the wind!” Dad’s gasping for air as he reaches me. “I’m seeing spots.”

I don’t know what to say. Dad comes to a stop on his bike, gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You mustn’t let your sister provoke you like that.”

“Provoke me?”

“She tries to provoke me, not you. You mustn’t let her upset you, especially not about a thing like that.”

“A thing like what?”

He puffs more air out. “Maybe I should’ve talked to you about it sooner and told you not to worry. I just wanted to let you take your time.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dad has a funny sort of half-smile. “I saw you and Nicholas, months ago, at the end of the driveway.”

“The driveway?” My head’s spinning.

“Yes. I certainly don’t kiss my friends like that.”

I realise what he’s talking about. Nicholas and I had our fourth kiss on our driveway while he was waiting for his parents to pick him up. It only lasted for about ten seconds, but that was enough time for Dad to see us. So he’s known. He’s known for months. All that time I spent practising how to come out in front of the mirror, but he already knew.

“Does Mum know too?”

“We haven’t spoken about it, with everything that’s been going on, but I know she wouldn’t want you to worry about it, either.” He sighs. “I’m sorry if it’s been causing you any stress. That’s the last thing we would want.”

“Um, well, it’s not causing me stress. Well, not too much.”

“Good.” He smiles. “So, you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So, you won’t let your sister upset you. Alright?”

“Alright,” I mumble.

“Shall we go back?” he asks. “At half the speed, please. As your sister never lets me forget, I’m an old man.”

*

Back home, Vicky’s pacing around in my bedroom.

“I am so sorry!” She rushes up to me, crushing my fingers in her cold hands. “He was annoying me so much, I couldn’t help myself. I had no idea you were going to flip your lid.”

I get the giggles from the sheer weirdness of the last hour. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, which only makes me laugh more. Eventually I wipe the giggle-tears from my eyes, take a deep breath, and tell her what happened.

“So, you ... came out?” she asks uncertainly.

“Sort of. But not really.” I shrug. “Either way, he knows.”

“So, Dad knows, but Mum doesn’t?”

“As far as I know, yeah.”

“Wow.” Vicky flops back onto my bed with a sigh. “Our family is so weird at the moment.”

The understatement of the century.