Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,152
asked her to dance, I’d spent the rest of the evening convinced that Tracey would never be my friend again. I knew that if I did anything to help Malcolm escape her wrath today and Tracey found out she would never forgive me. But as the day went on I felt more and more uneasy, so that by the time our final lesson came along I realized, with sudden perfect clarity, that I did not want to see Malcolm hurt.
With only fifteen minutes left until the bell sounded the conclusion of our final lesson of the day, Tracey was finding it hard to concentrate on her work. “I can’t wait to see that little poofter’s face when he gets it,” she said as she doodled in the textbook The Wonders of Tudor England, drawing an enormous fist that looked as if it were about to punch a ruffle-collared Sir Francis Drake right in the face. “Tracey,” I said cautiously.
“What?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t get Malcolm like this. I mean, Stan and Greg—well, they’re a lot bigger than him. They could really hurt him.”
She dropped her pen and looked at me, flabbergasted. “That’s the bloody point, Jesse.”
“But why? He hasn’t done anything to anyone. He hasn’t really done anything to you. He’s just being himself, he just—”
“Jesse, he’s a poof.”
“But Ms. Hastings said—”
Tracey batted my arm. “God, don’t tell me you actually listen to what that stupid hippie cow has to say? I told my dad what she said about that stuff and he was dead mad. Said she shouldn’t be filling our heads with all that rubbish. Said she needs a bloody good hiding.” She laughed. “God, I’d like to see that, I would.”
I looked at Tracey, at her grinning hunger, and I felt defeated. Short of betraying her and telling Malcolm not to show up at the school gates, there was nothing I could do. And that, I knew, was a step I was not prepared to take.
“Maybe he won’t be there,” I said. “Maybe he’ll realize that you’re just pretending to be sorry.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Tracey said. “But, whatever he thinks, I bet he ends up showing up. I know that little nancy boy. He might be weedy, might be a big bloody queer, but he likes a challenge and, even if he’s wetting his knickers, he doesn’t like to look as if he’s scared.”
THOUGH IT HAD BEEN warm and sunny that morning, by the time we left the school building the air had turned cold. I shivered as I trudged after Tracey and the Debbies toward the school gates, pulling my coat tight around me and trying not to think about what lay ahead. It had crossed my mind to make some excuse so that I could leave them and walk instead to the car park, where I could wait for the bus. There, I could pretend I didn’t know what was about to happen, that this was just another ordinary day. No matter how tempting that prospect was, however, I felt oddly compelled to go with Tracey. Besides, I knew she expected me to accompany her, that this was another required duty of her best friend.
As we walked, swept along in the river of students exiting the school, I thought about Malcolm and what he said to me after we left detention together, how he’d been so angry at me for worrying about what other people thought. I’d considered what he said many times since then, imagining how light I’d feel if I said what was on my mind. I’d tell Tracey to stop being so petty and mean-spirited; I’d tell the Debbies that they needed to start doing their own homework and I never wanted to hear another word about the Bay City Rollers again. I’d tell Stan Heaphy that he was a coward and a bully, and I’d tell Greg Loomis that he was vain and shallow and that he looked a complete moron in his ridiculous clothes. I’d tell Mabel I thought she was a fool for marrying Frank, and I’d take great pleasure in telling Frank how much I hated him. I’d tell Uncle Ted to get up early, go out, and not come back until he had a job. I’d tell my father to stop pretending that my mother wasn’t bonkers, and I’d tell my mother that she was ruining my life. Of course, I’d tell Amanda that I loved her. I’d say all of this and more, loud and without inhibition, relishing the