By the time Mum arrives at the car park, my boner has thankfully disappeared. Silently, I follow her to her car, a sensible Hyundai, and slip into the passenger seat.
She drops her handbag and a pile of paperwork into the back. Once she’s in the driver’s seat and has left the school, she says, “how was your day?”
“Good.”
“What did you learn today?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sure you didn’t learnnothing.”
“How was work?”
“Fine. Busy as usual.”
We have practically the same conversation every day. I’m sure I can predict every interaction I have with my mother. When we return home, she says dinner will be ready in half anhour. And five minutes before, she’ll tell me to set the table. Once a week, she’ll ask me if I’ve heard from my sister, and I’ll say no. I haven’t spoken to Winona since last year.
Twice a week, as I’m leaving the table, she’ll tell me to wait and hand over my phone. She already knows my passcode, so she just taps it in and goes through various apps while I stand in our new house, which is as plain and boring as a display home.
If Mum enters my bedroom when I’m at my desk, she’ll ask what I’m doing, and I’ll say studying, and then she’ll leave. But if I’m lying on my bed, scrolling on my phone, she’ll say that I should be studying and that Year 12 is very important, and that what I do reflects on her, as if I didn’t already know that.
Life is so monotonous. Maybe that’s why I look forward to R’s letters so much. It’s not even been a week since I met him, and yet everything feels different. Exciting, for once.
“Mum?” I ask while staring out the passenger side window. We’re on the outskirts of town, so there’s nothing to see except wire fences, gum trees, and sheep.
“Yes, Jude?”
“You know how I study in the library after school? Well, it’s always so noisy. Even the area that’s supposed to be for Year 12s. Most of my peers just stand around and gossip.”
“That’s how it is, sometimes. Not everyone is as academically minded as you.” Her voice is dry, so different from her encouraging tone at school.
“Do you know if there’s anywhere else I can study? I thought about using an empty classroom, but they’re always locked after school. Anywhere will do, even an old office, or, I don’t know, just anywhere.”
“The classrooms are locked after school because they’re no longer in use. I can’t let you use one because that’d be showing you favouritism. Besides, you’d have to ask a staff member to lock and unlock it every time, which would be a hassle.”
“You could just give me a key.”
Mum lets out a bark of laughter, which is the first hint of true emotion I’ve seen in, I don’t know, weeks? “Certainly not.”
“Okay then.” It was a long shot, anyway. “Maybe I could just study in your office then?” Hopefully, she’s so averse to the idea of me invading her work space that she relents and gives me a key to a spare classroom.
She gives me a look that suggests she’s wondering whether I’ve tripped and knocked my head against concrete, thus halving my IQ. “My office is where I work. I can’t have you in there distracting me.”
“I’ll be quiet.”
“No.” She turns the car into our suburban neighbourhood, boring like the rest of this town, with the same pale stone houses, neat front lawns, and white and black SUVs. “I’m sorry, Jude, but you’ll just have to tolerate the library. Perhaps you can use some headphones.”
“I already do,” I mutter.
I’m disappointed but not surprised. Mum was never going to hand me a room on a silver platter. I suppose I’ll have to find one myself.
Usually, I spend lunchtimes in the library or sitting with Tim and his friends, talking about uni and teachers and upcoming tests.
This lunchtime, however, I walk around the campus, poking my head into various rooms. Easton Grammar is split up into lots of different buildings. There’s the gym, which also includes changing rooms and the offices of the P.E teachers. There’s the art gallery and studio. There are the science rooms, with spaces to conduct experiments, and the music rooms, filled with instruments. The rest of the buildings are for various classes that don’t require anything special in the room: English, Humanities,Maths and LOTE. I walk through the English and Humanities building, which is long, like a snake. There’s no chance of getting a key, so I’ve thought that we could use an open room but barricade it with a few desks.
I glance inside a classroom through the window in the door. I don’t think a classroom will work. They’re too big and bright, and even if I pull down all the blinds, I doubt it will provide enough darkness to hide our identities. Besides, the windows in the doors are a problem. I don’t want a teacher passing by to glance inside and see two boys making out.
I’m starting to lose hope. I considered the bathrooms, but there’s no way to make that work. Even if the lights were turned off and the windows were somehow covered, other guys will surely come in. I could put up a fake “out of use” notice, but I don’t want to draw attention. I try opening a few janitor’s closets, but as I expected, they’re all locked. There’s a tin sports shed, and I heard a rumour that Noah Rosselli and Henry Cross used to make out in it last year, but I don’t know whether there’s any truth to it. I did try it, though, but it was locked. Damn it.
