What do you think?
Rate this book
272 pages, Hardcover
First published April 1, 2005
“I always wonder why some paddocks are green and some are dry when they’re right next to each other”
“Different things going on underneath. Some have got better irrigation.”
It makes sense in a way I can’t explain.
He’s so relieved, he’s been crying. He just doesn’t know the right way to say it. I guess there are a lot of people who don’t know the right thing to say. You don’t notice them so much because they pretend they do.
"Who's this?" Dad asks when a catchy tune comes on my CD. We pass the skeleton tree that never has leaves, no matter what the time of the year. Bare gray branches wave us on. "No one you know, Dad," I say. It's me.
Mum's the one who understands what I really mean when I say things like that. I cried with her when I got the news about Gran. She was the one who told me to sing "Smashed-Up World" and sing it loud. I did. I punched it at the air before Dad got home. Punched it at the world. Cracked it out till there was no sound left, just an ache in my throat. Mum wouldn't tell. She's good at keeping secrets. She should be.
She's been dead for seven years.
She was two years away from knowing me. Eleven years away from dead. She was beautiful. A hundred times more beautiful than me.
Dave: "You think she'd go out with anyone because she's not like you. She's gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous. You've spent too long in this place to see."
"Un-heard of," Luke said when a little space cleared for him and Dave. "You see that, Rosie? Girls love us." "It's not you. It's Dave." "Dave?" Dave Asked. "Yeah, dickhead," I said. "You."
Dave's got his face to the wall when I sit next to him. He's half crying, half holding it in. "I said go home, Charlie. I don't want to talk about it." "So don't talk," I say. And I hold his hand while he washes the last sixteen years out.
"You notice how the moon's been coming out earlier and earlier lately? Like it's saying, 'Fuck the rules. I'm here.'"
I take a last look back. The sky opens its arms and throws out the storm like old soapy water it's used and finished with. She's soaked and alone. I leave her huddled there. Some people aren't worth crying over.
"You better hope she starts," he says. "because if she doesn't, I'm going out there and you're backup." Dave knows two songs all the way through. "J-Lo?" I ask. "Beyonce." "Shit."
Charlie's screaming under the falls and Dave's yelling and I can't hear a word they're saying and it doesn't matter. All that matters here is letting go. Fuck boredom. Fuck being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Fuck being born with Made In The Back Of A Holden stamped on you back. Fuck paddocks and plastic chairs.
“Tell me there’s somewhere other than here.”
"Who's this?" Dad asks when a catchy tune comes on my CD. We pass the skeleton tree that never has leaves, no matter what time of year. Bare gray branches wave us on. "No one you know, Dad," I say.
It's me.
The [Christmas:] tree flicks me the finger on my way throught the living room. I flick one back. Solidarity. Christmas isn't always what you'd hoped for.
I thank [Dave:] for my hat and close the door. Sure, I want to open it straight back up and yell his name but I don't. I draw a line between me and uncool and I don't cross it.
Instead I put on a Fiona Apple CD and turn her up loud.
[...:] I dance loud to my music. Oh yeah, I'm sassy. I'm hard to get, that's what I am. Hard. To. Get. Cool. I slide to the fridge and grab a Coke. I slide back. "What are you up to?" Grandpa asks, walking into the kitchen.
"I'm being sassy. Playing hard to get. Cool. Not desperate."
"Dave Robbie's riding his bike around our front yard. Any idea why?"
In case of fire, it's good to know we can all get out of the house in less than five seconds. I take a breath and open the door. "Hi. Did you forget something?"
He shakes his head. "I just didn't want to go home."
Fuck cool. Cool is overrated.
"Do whatever you like, Luke."
"I will," he said.
"Dickhead, I shot back." Things are bad with your boyfriend when every conversation ends with "Do whatever you like. I will. Dickhead."
Sure, friendship is all about believing in someone so hard they believe it, too. Sure, it's about trust. But if anyone hurts her tonight, it's about ripping them apart with my bare hands and really enjoying it.
"Whenever I'd call her Charlie Dorkin, he'd look at the ground till I stopped."D'awwww, right? Is it any wonder that when Charlie looks at him, she imagines,
"I'm sounding so sexy that my song's hitting him in the chest and stealing what he keeps there."I feel you, Charlie. I felt her longing, her isolation, her not fitting in, her wanting to scream and yell until people looked at her, really looked at her. I felt her disappointment when it seems her one true friend is growing away from her and her desperation to hold on to what was.
"I stand under the waterfall while it smashes at rocks and skin and memory. Gus and Beth take me to bands when they can, when it's underage or they know the people running the gig. You walk inside, and the music's so loud the world shatters and the things that didn't make sense before still don't make sense but they don't have to while you're in there. That's what it's like here. The water makes everything ice and cracks. I'm standing under bits of falling me. Dave and Rose are screaming, but I can't hear them. I scream back all the things I want in this world that I can't have. The water's making me cold and Dave's making me burn and I'm writing songs played with strings of sun and ice and honey." p. 113 (ARC version)