Like salt to my bleeding wounds, a grey Toyota Land Cruiser was parked out the front of St. FranXave, a cigarette being tapped in quick succession on the edge of the window. Canvas in arms, I stopped dead and scowled deeply.
A higher power hated me. I’m serious.
Kids dodged past me in irritation, and I realised I’d halted right in the middle of the walkway. They all were rushing to catch the 588. Would it be that bad to get squashed in the gum-coated, slagged-on bus seats and pretend that I hadn’t even noticed my girlfriend’s cheeseball boyfriend, getting coy smiles from the Year 9s as they saw him leaning back boredly, ruffling up his already messy blond hair?
The 558 made my decision for me, pulling out at that moment with what I could have sworn was a demonic laugh.
Grumpy that my free will had been snatched away by the Powers that Be, I admitted defeat and slung my schoolbag in the back of his car. The canvas earned a lot more care – I even seat-belted it in. As I tried to go around to the passenger seat, Wyatt piped up, “No way, kid. You’re driving this tank today.”
“Huh?” I spluttered. “I only drive Kate’s car. This one’s too big.”
“A car is a car,” he said, unbuckling and grabbing a set of floppy ‘L’ Plates from his pocket, unscrewing them, and pasting one on the window in front of him. He then got out and put it on the back window.
This whole arrangement had been one that I had remained firmly against since its initiation. Kate had only been on her probationary licence for a year, and as such, could not supervise a Learner driver. Dad was always too busy with work to help out – although I failed to ignore the fact that he’d found time when Kate was learning, but whatever – and so that only left her honey Wyatt, who’d had his licence for five years and was therefore legal to supervise.
Not Happy, Jan.
“I’ve never driven a four-wheel drive,” I argued. “I don’t know how.”
“And that is why the government calls you a ‘Learner Driver’, genius,” he flashed me a grin.
Two girls from my homeroom were staring at our exchange curiously. “Are you a driving instructor?” one of them asked Wyatt shyly. He laughed, looking at her good-naturedly. “Oh, uh, no, just helping my little SiL2B with her second phase.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, as one of the twitty little things giggled. God, I was so glad I wasn’t a girl. Well – I mean… at least not a Giggly.
SiL2B was an uninspired acronym that Wyatt had magicked from the unused majority of his brain. ‘Sister-in-law-to-be’, it meant. Understand why it drove me crazy? I mean… who could stand a guy like that being so…presumptuous? It was maddening.
Begrudgingly, I fell into the driver’s seat, blinking in trepidation down at the unfamiliar set up before me. He joined me on my left. “Righteo, Al, go for it.”
I sniffed, readjusting the mirrors. I didn’t need to touch the seat; he was only a few centimetres taller than me.
Wyatt sighed. “Aww, come on Allie. You’re not still upset about the other day at the cinema, are you? You know it was an accident. I would never push you into a lake on purpose – you know that.”
“Uh huh,” I said in clipped tones. I looked over my shoulder, waiting to reverse – but St. FranXave was unbelievably congested at half past three. This would be a while.
He seemed almost put out by this uncooperative response, so much so that his hand shovelled around the pocket of his jeans again until they emerged with his Winfield ciggies and a lighter, getting a little flame going. I cleared my throat loudly. “What?” he screwed his face up, offended by my offense.
“I think not,” I said coldly, swiping at the lighter and stuffing it in the centre compartment. The car already stank of the stuff. There was no way he was smoking while I was actually present. “Now, ‘butt out’.”
He ignored me, instead holding the cancer stick out the window and taking only occasional drags. The Valentinos didn’t consider smoking to be nearly as unhealthy as we did in Australia. Wyatt had argued several times that kids even younger than me smoked freely at school back in Italy. I advised him to go back there, if he’d loved this ‘freedom’ so much.
At that point, there was a break in the constant stream of frustrated parents, so I pulled out with achingly slow progress. “Take your time,” he advised, redundant as usual.
The Toyota was gargantuan compared to the Kia Rio. I threw Wyatt a critical look, continuing to back out.
A little boy with a school bag twice his bodyweight walked right behind me and I slammed on the brakes. Wyatt gave me an I-told-you-so look which made absolutely no sense. “Make sure you look carefully when you reverse–”
“Obviously, I did, or he’d be a pancake,” I retorted. I pulled out and escaped the car park quickly, taking a side road to avoid the brunt of school-time traffic. We Spencers lived a good twenty minutes away from school, so it was going to be another long trip with only the comic stylings of Wyatt Valentino to keep me entertained.
“So,” he attempted to begin something resembling a conversation, “What are you getting Katters for her birthday?”
Wyatt had a tendency to give people irritating monikers. Until only recently, I’d been affectionately nicknamed ‘Alzheimer’s.’ Not exactly flattering, I’m sure you’ll agree.
“Painting,” I said, glaring ahead at the road. Kate had probably organised this little driving lesson, worried that I was still mad at her honey. This wasn’t exactly lessening the antagonism.
He had a drag, and blew the gust out the window. “Nice. What of?”
“Me and her,” I responded shortly. “The way it should be.”
He smiled. “Very subtle, Allie.”
“I try.”
Spinning the dial on the volume, he turned up the radio. An old Pink Floyd song was playing. He started drumming his fingertips on the back of my headrest, quietly singing along. “You know, I’m not as much of an asshole as you seem to think I am,” he mumbled after he’d finished the chorus. “It’d make Kate stress a lot less if you actually gave me a chance.”
I blinked. “Why do you even care what I think?”
Wyatt pretended to look shocked. “Of course I care, Als! Seriously though. What’s your problem with me?”
He wasn’t asking in a defensive kind of way – more just out of curiosity. I gave him a sideways look. “Unwilling passive smoking comes to mind…” I trailed off.
With an unabashed look, he stuck the fag in his mouth again and readjusted himself in the car seat. “Oh, whatever. You can’t tell me that if I was a non-smoker, you’d think I was the bee’s knees.”
“I actually don’t find bees’ knees all that impressive. I’m pretty much preoccupied with their potential to sting,” I said.
Now he looked amused. “Do I smell subtext?”
“If subtext smells like tobacco, then yes.”
With a chuckle, he stretched his legs and got comfortable, crossing his arms. He wasn’t even bothering to keep the cigarette smoke out of the car anymore. “So, I have stinging potential, do I?”
Damn it. I did not want to be having this conversation. I sank harder onto the accelerator, scaring the wits out of the old dear in the left lane. Wyatt didn’t seem to care about my speed increase. He seemed more concerned with my answer.
Stinging potential. I guess that was what you could call it. The fact that he was going to end up hurting Kate, I mean. In the long run. I didn’t know how or when, but…he would. He was too careless, too directionless. He didn’t take anything seriously. He smoked too much, drank too much, hooned too much – another flaw in the ‘Let’s let Wyatt teach Allie to Drive!’ plan – and he was just generally an off kind of guy. I couldn’t put my finger on what I hated about him so much though.
“What did you get Kate for her birthday then?”
“Wow,” he assessed. “That was a very discreet change of subject.”
“At least I changed the subject. I thought about just not talking anymore, but that kind of rudeness is beneath me.”
He laughed appreciatively. “You’re a funny kid, Al. We really would be good mates if you stopped believing that I pillage and plunder helpless virgins in my spare time. Get back into the left lane.”
I was about to argue, but then saw the wisdom in his command as our turn-off approached. “So? What’s the present, then?”
He looked smug. “It’s a surprise.”
Ugh. Great. He was trying to be intriguing. To get me to beg him to know the answer. Well, I only hoped that he enjoyed disappointment. I fell silent again, manoeuvring the wheel around the side streets. The Toyota was a lot more powerful than the Kia Rio. It made me nervous.
Realising he’d stumped the conversational flow, he added mysteriously, “My parents chipped in.”
Translation: they paid for ninety percent of it.
Wyatt didn’t get a hell of a lot on his brickie wage – but that didn’t give him an excuse to run to his parents for cash whenever he wanted creature comforts. The Valentinos were a very well-off family, as exhibited by Joss’s shiny new Calais V-Series Commodore. They made my family – a Maths teacher, a beauty therapist and a scholarship recipient – look like a third world country. They were also a very proud family, and, as much as I knew they disliked Wyatt’s ‘chubby Aussie girl,’ they would never pass the opportunity to prove that they could afford to get her a truly extravagant gift. I found myself wondering what it would be this year. Last year, they’d bought her what had turned out to be over a grand’s worth of Inglot makeup supplies for her apprenticeship. Kate’s jaw detached even more impressively than that of a snake. It made my forty dollar brush set just look…embarrassing. That was the last time I had given Wyatt present ideas.
Realising that he hadn’t snagged my interest, Wyatt just concluded with, “Well, you’ll find out tomorrow. Kate’s gonna die.”
“She’d better not,” I grumbled. “Or I promise, you will.”
...He looked annoyingly unthreatened.
Feedback? This is not the first bit, obviously. It's in the middle of the second chapter.
- Lolls.
