The Year Nick McGowan Came to Stay (11 page)

I can't believe I'm listening to a lettuce.

This is how sad my life has become. A lettuce has become my social-life consultant. Next I'll be conferring with carrots about my hairstyle.

I look in the mirror at what I'm wearing. No matter how hard I try I never seem to look right. Kate Winter always looks perfect. Immaculate. Every month when we have a ‘free clothes day' at school, she walks through the gates as though she's just come straight from a Country Road catalogue shoot. I never do. Sometimes I've even gone so far as to buy the exact same outfit that appears on the store mannequins in Cherry Lane and it still doesn't look the same on me. Even my clothing seems disappointed.

‘What are you doing up there? Hurry up!' Zoë's voice fires through the house like a gunshot.

‘Keep your pants on! I'm coming!' I scream back with alarming alacrity.

I adjust the shoulder pads in my green-and-white striped top and fix the big, thick black belt that hangs over it and my stonewash jeans. I
sooo
don't want to go to this tonight. Still, how bad can it be? And at least they're not holding it at Cafe 104 like they did last year.

I fling open my bedroom door and say, ‘I'm only staying for an hour, so . . .'

Standing next to Zoë is Nick McGowan. He's dressed as if he's coming. With us.

I walk down the stairs to where they're standing, keeping my eyes on Nick McGowan. He smiles. But all I can think of to say is, ‘Are you coming?'

‘Yep.'

‘Technically he was stage crew last year,' says Zoë.

‘I don't remember you—'

‘Mr Jacobs got Nick and Stuart Zucker to run the coat room during the first performance.'

‘I hope you lot aren't turning up empty-handed. I've got some pretzels here if you want to take them.'

We all turn and look at my mother, who has managed to sneak up on us like a ninja.

‘S'alright, Mrs Hill,' says Zoë. ‘Sally West lives right near the Kenmore Tavern so we're going to stop in at Woolworths to pick up some soft drink and some packets of chips and stuff on our way.'

‘Okay. Well I hope you all have a good time,' says my mum.

You and me both
, I think, as I follow Zoë and Nick out the front door.

As soon as we get to the Kenmore Tavern Woolworths, we split up. Zoë to aisle six to get a few packets of corn chips, Nick to aisles four and nine to get the dip and the latest edition of
Rugby League Week
and me to aisle eleven to get the soft drinks. We pool our money and arrange to regroup in no more than ten minutes outside Woolies.

Bottles in hand, I see Zoë at the express lane register loaded up with far too much junk food. She turns her head and sees me staring and pokes her tongue out at me. I smile and hold up the bottles of soft drink. I look past her down the queue of people and realise Nick isn't with her. I walk further down past the magazine aisle and eventually spot him standing in the pasta aisle. With
Rugby League Week
jammed under his arm, he's busy reading one of the free Woolworths recipe cards. A card for bechamel sauce.

Five minutes into the party and I'm really, seriously, not having a good time. I look around and count how many people are here. There's about fifteen – not including Zoë, Nick and myself. Not everyone has turned up. Louise, Natalie, Phil and Josh, who are all in Year 9 or 10, are sitting in front of the television watching re-runs of ‘Magnum PI'. The Year 11s – Rowena, Clare, Angus, Charlie, the guy with dark hair who frequently whinged about the lack of representation of ‘stage-crews' in the Year Book and Eva – are outside laughing hysterically at some impersonation Angus is doing. Rowena, Charlie, Dark-haired Weird Guy and Angus all have cigarettes in their hands, although Angus is the only one who appears to know what he's doing. The others look like they're bum-puffing. The only other Year 12s here are Amanda Towers, Leanne Suthers, Brad Fraser, Marty Davidson, Stacey McMaster and Kate Winter, who are all on the couches next to me, engaged in some kind of heated debate about the superiority of Prince over Michael Jackson. The phrase ‘rubber-hipped dance moves' is being bandied around a lot by Brad.

Nick McGowan is – as is his specialty – nowhere to be seen. This annoys me. I'm not sure why he even bothered to come.

I stick two stale Cheezels in my mouth. I'm not sure if it's a sad inditement on me or this party that I'd actually rather be at home memorising Ophelia's ‘Hamlet's a nutter' speech. But then I've never been much of a party person. The last school party I went to was Louise Kaye's last October, out at Brookfield. Practically everyone in our grade went to that party. It was okay at first. The garage had been turned into a dance floor. There was a stack of food. The music was great. Christopher Jacks started doing some of his impersonations of the teachers at school and had everyone in fits of laughter. My mouth began to hurt from laughing so much. But a few hours later and the Kaye's bathroom smelt like vomit. And their backyard was full of spew, cigarette butts, discarded Passion Pop bottles and one or two couples having sex. Meanwhile, Louise was stressing out because someone had poured beer into her parents' pool. Naturally everyone ignored her except some girl from choir. Christian East got into a fight with some girl from St Margaret's who turned up uninvited. Natalie Swan was the worst, though. She vomited on herself and then, later, passed out on the dance floor with one of her boobs hanging out. What I remember about looking over at Natalie is that the song ‘Kick' by INXS was playing. It was like Alice stepped through the Looking Glass and into a Teen Binge Drinking commercial. Anyway, that's when I ended up sneaking to a phone and ringing Mum and Dad to come and pick me up early. Which is what I'd like to do right now. Not because this party is out of control – it's about as out of control as my nanna. But because this party is boring, and I'd rather be at home memorising Ophelia's babble or watching last week's taped episode of ‘21 Jump Street'. Or doing a dozen other things other than sit here and eat stale Cheezels.

And then. And then Zoë, Sally and Amanda get their hands on some Bundy rum and cokes. I don't know where the alcohol came from. It could belong to Sally's parents, who are overseas, or to her brother, Tom, who's at a late uni lecture. Regardless, it's now being drunk by a group of high-school kids. Zoë skols hers through a straw and immediately goes out onto the deck (balancing the empty glass on her head) and offers to take her clothes off for five bucks. Accustomed to Zoë's frequent offers to strip, nobody pays any attention to her (except the Year 9s, who have started pooling their change). But Zoë is nothing if not persistent, and won't be put off by the group's overall indifference to her offer of nudity. In her mind, the issue is clearly fiscal, because she immediately drops her stripping fee to three dollars. Still no takers.

‘How about a dollar?' she hollers, while attempting to shimmy up against a rubber tree plant.

Someone chucks a Cheezel at Zoë's head. Zoë, naturally, takes this as encouragement and in a bewildering move shoves the Cheezel down her pants, all the while singing her own slurred striptease music.

Just as I'm moving in to stop her from unbuttoning her shirt – or eating the Cheezel – she spots the West's fish tank and cries, ‘Fishies!' She hurtles – all knees and elbows – to the lounge room fish tank like a drunken gazelle. Then she collapses onto the beanbag and starts watching ‘Magnum PI' reruns.

I'm less concerned about Zoë than I perhaps should be. But having seen my best friend display similar antics (sans Cheezel, plant and alcohol) at the Year–9 confirmation camp three years ago, I'm not entirely convinced that Zoë is actually drunk. I think she just likes the
idea
of being drunk, and so long as there's no actual nudity and no vomit to clean up, I'm happy to go along with her faux-drunk routine. Still, it's probably time for me to get her some water.

Sally's house is pretty big, and it takes me a while to find the kitchen. It's one of those fancy kitchens with slate tiles and one of those big island benches in the middle of the floor and a fridge with double doors. I wonder what it must be like to come from a rich family, a family with an island bench in the kitchen. It takes me a while to find a glass (I find one with Muppet Babies on it!) and then to find my way back out to the group. As I round the corner of the lounge room, ready to give Zoë my ‘It's time to leave' speech, someone yells out, ‘There she is!' Another voice calls out, ‘Rachel!'

I turn, eyebrows raised. Everyone is sitting in a circle on the lounge room floor. And there's a bottle in the middle of the circle.

Oh, God. They're playing Spin the Bottle.

Leanne yells out, ‘C'mon!'

I reluctantly walk over to the group. That's when I notice Nick McGowan. He's back, sitting in the circle next to Kate Winter. Ready to play.

‘We're not playing Spin the Bottle,' Amanda says, as she makes room for me to squash in between her and Angus. I am flooded with relief. ‘We're playing Truth or Dare.' Her eyes light up in a way that doesn't exactly console me.

I hate Truth or Dare. But I take a seat beside Amanda because that's what's expected. My heartbeat begins to quicken.

There's a climate of anxiousness, almost fear, every time the bottle spins. Truth or Dare is a bit like watching
A
Nightmare on Elm Street
; you really want to leave but the excitement of staying keeps you pinned to your seat. As the bottle pinpoints victims, I watch as most people opt for truth since it is a well-known fact that dares could involve naked streaks. Clare is first. Brad asks for the truth about what exactly happened between her and Jacob Wellman at the Hoodoo Gurus concert at Expo 88 last year. (A: Kissing. With tongues. She let him put his hand up her shirt during the song, ‘Like Wow – Wipeout'.) Kate Winter's next. She's asked if she's still a virgin (A: She pauses, says, ‘Yeah,' and then flashes a sly look to give the impression she's possibly lying . . . which means she probably is a virgin.) When it's Marty's turn, Clare asks him if he's gay. Marty laughs nervously, but at the same time looks devastated. Then he says, ‘No. People always ask me that. I did have a girlfriend in Year 10, you know.' I feel immediately sorry and embarrassed for him.

Marty takes his turn to spin and I get a bad feeling in my stomach. It spins. And spins. And spins. And stops. At Nick McGowan.

Nick doesn't notice at first – he's talking to Kate Winter about something to do with the new Transvision Vamp album. But everyone else has noticed and there is suddenly an atmosphere of expectation. It's a weird kind of atmosphere as though everyone is holding their breath, waiting for what happens next. Because when it comes to truths there are many unanswered questions and rumours hanging over Nick McGowan's head.

‘McGowan, you're up,' yells Angus across the circle.

Nick looks up, a little startled, as though he had momentarily forgotten where he was, only to realise he is sitting under a spotlight. He looks around the circle, the smile falling from his lips and I watch his eyes move down to see that the bottle is indeed pointing at him.

‘Truth, or dare?' Angus's tone is laced with challenge.

All eyes volley back to Nick McGowan. Nick who isn't saying anything.

Angus's voice continues. ‘Is it true that over the Christmas holidays you—'

‘Dare,' says Nick.

Nick McGowan has chosen dare. You can almost see the disappointment, watch the crowd visually deflate. Shoulders relax. People lean back again, not forward. There will be no revelations tonight. Personally, I feel a combination of relief and disappointment. I want to know Nick's secrets. I'm just not sure I want everyone else to know at the same time.

‘Alright, I dare you to choose a girl from this circle to pash for five minutes.'

‘Fine. But I'm not doing it in front of you lot. I'll kiss one of the girls for five minutes but in another room.'

‘He can do it in the study,' says Sally excitedly, pointing to a room off to the left, while at the same time fiddling with her hair.

‘It has to be on the mouth,' says someone else. I'm not sure who. Possibly Marty.

Nick rolls his eyes at this and says, ‘Obviously.'

‘So who do you choose?' asks Angus.

The circle leans forward. I look over my shoulder at the TV and pretend to watch ‘Magnum PI' even though the sound is down. My heart is in my throat.

‘I choose Rachel.'