Spaghetti Legs Page 10

  Eric had to force himself to think about taking out the garbage in order to prevent a huge smile spreading across his face. Jean-Paul had definitely been a big hit with the class.

  That afternoon as Eric--who, as Jean-Paul, had sawed right through the work bench--sat sandpapering in the backroom, he and Stephen thought back on the arrival of Jean-Paul.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when you started limping,’ said Stephen.

  ‘I thought it might earn me some sympathy.’

  ‘But you didn’t limp into class, only to your chair. And you haven’t limped since.’

  ‘Do you think I should start limping again?’

  ‘No! Just be consistent!’

  ‘Did you see the way Veronica Roberts looked at me in History?’

  ‘That’s because you called Mrs Banks a liar.’

  ‘She said Captain Cook discoverd Australia. What about the Aborigines? Don’t they count? They’ve been here for 40,000 years.’

  ‘Don’t get so worked up. I agree with you.’

  ‘Well, she was lying to us.’

  ‘She’s a history teacher. She gets paid to lie.’

  ‘Yeah, but because I disagreed with her and said that the Aborigines discovered Australia, I get detention this arvo.’

  ‘No, you got detention for calling her a liar. Whether she’s right or wrong, she doesn’t have to put up with that.’

  ‘I reckon I’ve made a hit, though.’

  ‘Yeah, you walked into class, told Mr Lawrence a pack of lies, limped to your desk, threatened to beat up Nelson in a half-Greek half-Mexican accent, argued with Mr Lawrence, called Mrs Banks a liar, and then you cut the Woodwork table in half. Great start, Eric.’

  ‘It’s better than being ignored.’

  ‘What are you going to do tomorrow? Run naked through D-block and trash the library?’

  ‘Maybe. Who knows? I’ve decided to let Jean-Paul do what he likes. But do you know the best thing?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I look at Veronica Roberts I don’t feel like throwing up.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When I really like girls, I can’t talk to them.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’d vomit.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I get really nervous just looking at them.’

  ‘Must be awful.’

  ‘It is. Before I started going with my old girlfriend Sunflower, I used to almost puke every time I saw her. And then when we had this artist living next door, I spent more time in the toilet than in bed.’

  ‘So why’s it any different as Jean-Paul?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Well, if it is so different, why don’t you ask Veronica Roberts out?’

  ‘Oh no. I wouldn’t have the guts.’

  ‘Why not? You said you didn’t feel like throwing up when you looked at her.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s still a big difference between not puking and asking her out.’

  ‘You’re weird, Underwood.’

  ‘Maybe. But at least I admit it.’

  For the remainder of the week Eric managed to keep Jean-Paul in the limelight by constantly arguing some minor points with his teachers. And although he was forced to wear the school uniform, he usually offset it with a pair of Jenny’s black leg warmers or some equally controversial leather gloves.

  Eric was glad that it didn’t rain once during this time. He didn’t want his black mascara to be washed off. And although the weather had been great and his change from Eric to Jean-Paul had gone very smoothly, as he relaxed in bed on the first Friday night of Jean-Paul’s life he could hear the thunder clouds gathering on the horizon and felt sure that they were in for a downpour.

  Towards the end of the following week, Eric began to notice a slight shift in attitude towards Jean-Paul. His interruptions in class no longer met with glowing approval. Instead, everyone seemed fed up with his smart-arse comments. He didn’t really care. He’d made a big hit in the playground and had become popular with the year twelve lot.

  He’d got through another week as Jean-Paul but there was no doubt that people were getting used to him. He was thinking that he might have to consider a bungy jump from the bell tower in order to attract everyone’s attention again.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Stephen, wrapping a new piece of sandpaper round his cork block.

  ‘Bungy jumping.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Do you still want me to stay over tomorrow night?’

  ‘Oh no, you can’t.’

  ‘Why not? I thought we were going to get a couple of videos and a pizza. Or better still a couple of pizzas and a video.’

  ‘This girl from year twelve’s having a party and I’ve been invited. Want to come?’

  ‘What, listen to a bunch of morons get drunk and try to show each other how clever and funny they are? No thanks, I’d rather clean the lint out of my belly button. Anyway, I thought we were going to get Alien and make mega amounts of popcorn.’

  ‘I want to go to the party.’

  ‘Who as? Eric or Jean-Paul?’

  ‘Jean-Paul, of course. They wouldn’t have invited Eric.’

  ‘Yeah, but Eric’s a nice guy, and Jean-Paul’s a dickhead, you said so yourself. Why would you want to hang around with people who invite dickheads to their party?’

  ‘Jean-Paul may be a dickhead, but he’s a popular dickhead and people like the way he looks.’

  ‘Looks aren’t everything.’

  ‘Bull.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’

  ‘If looks are so unimportant why do people spend so much money on perfume and aerobics and stuff? It’s all bullshit. Everyone wants to look good.’

  ‘So we’re not getting any videos?’

  ‘No. Next week maybe. If there aren’t any parties on.’

  ‘Eric Underwood was my best friend, but you got rid of him. Give me a call when he gets back.’ Stephen turned his back and sandpapered up a storm.

  Eric slammed down the bit of wood he was sandpapering and attempted to stomp out of class. Unfortunately his grand exit was cut off by Mr Whittle.

  At about eight o’clock on the night of the party, Eric picked up the phone and dialled.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Mrs Brown, is Stephen there?’

  ‘Just a moment, Eric.’

  A few moments later Stephen came to the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi Stephen, it’s Eric.’

  ‘What do you want? I thought you were going to your precious party.’

  ‘I’ve been. You were right. They stuck me in a corner with some orange juice and then they all tried to see who had the biggest ego. I guess the novelty of Jean-Paul has worn off already.’

  ‘Thought it might. Even Mr Lawrence is getting tired of you butting in all the time. And he knows you’re getting all your facts from your father’s Time magazines. He reads them too. I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t come straight home after I left the party.’

  ‘Where’d you go?’

  ‘I walked past Veronica Roberts’ house.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just wanted to see if Jean-Paul had the guts to go and talk to her.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘No. He was sick in the gutter.’

  Stephen was trying hard not to crack up. ‘Then what?’

  ‘He walked to the video shop and hired Alien I, II and III.’

  ‘Eric.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put the popcorn on! I’m on my way.’

  The next morning Eric was woken at six by the sound of the rain pelting hard against the window. An icy wind leaked into his bedroom. The house had been permanently cold since the family left. Mr Underwood was the only one qualified to work the reverse-cycle air-conditioner.

  Eric shivered as he got out of bed to retrieve the two spare doonas from the linen close
t. He threw one over Stephen, who was still asleep like a hibernating bear on medication; the other he tossed over his own bed. He turned the electric blanket to level three and went back to sleep.

  Stephen stirred briefly round nine and asked what was for breakfast. He went back to sleep when Eric offered to make him a snot sandwich. Breakfast was not Eric’s favourite meal. He preferred to sleep instead.

  When Stephen left at midday, Eric sat in front of the tv and thought about the future. He didn’t know whether to kill Jean-Paul off and have an extra two-week holiday, or hang in there.

  In the end he went and got the scissors and his father’s razor and decided not only to let Jean-Paul live, but to update him as well.

  The next morning as Eric walked into the school grounds, loud gasps could be heard from students and teachers alike. He could feel every eye in the school trained on him. He’d got them interested again.

  ‘Don’t bother te put ye bag down, laddy. Ye can come strrraight to the principal’s office with me!’ Mr McManus had sneaked up from behind and caught him by surprise.

  After waiting in the foyer for about fifteen minutes, Eric was eventually led in to see the principal.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Mr Power. ‘I’ve seen you around. Name’s John isn’t it?’

  ‘Jean-Paul, Sir, with a hyphen.’

  ‘Well, Jean-Paul, I can’t allow you to come to school looking like that.’

  ‘Why not, Sir?’

  ‘It’s disruptive for a start.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘At this school we have a code of conduct and a code of dress. By coming to school looking like that you are undermining my authority. I have the reputation of the school to think of. I have no alternative but to suspend you until your hair grows back.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to challenge you, Sir. I only wanted to…I don’t know what I wanted.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Mr Lawrence. He told me that your parents lead a different sort of lifestyle from the rest of us, so I don’t think it would do any good to involve them in this. But I want you to go home and look at yourself in the mirror. Somewhere underneath that shield you’ve built around yourself there is an intelligent young man trying to get out. So let him out, Jean-Paul!’

  Eric dragged himself back home. It had all gone wrong. He was sure that the playground would be buzzing with the news of his suspension, but it was no good to him. His hair wouldn’t grow back for at least two weeks, so he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy his position of martyr.

  Eric crawled into bed. He was sick of Jean-Paul and couldn’t wait for Eric to come back. And with the wind and rain howling, he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

  A knock on the door woke him in the afternoon. He answered it with his doona still wrapped around him.

  ‘Stephen, what are you doing here? It’s only two thirty.’

  ‘We’re on strike. The know-alls from year twelve got together and called us all out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of you. I can’t believe you did it. Coming to school with your hair like that. What did you expect Power to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘The school’s in total chaos all because you wanted everyone to pay attention to you. Was it worth that much?’

  ‘No. I don’t want anything to do with it any more.’

  ‘Too late. There’s a meeting tonight at six o’clock. Why don’t you go round and tell them to call off the strike!’

  ‘Okay, I will.’

  Just before six, Eric followed Stephen’s map and rode round to Matthew O’Neil’s place. He was the school captain. Eric parked his bike out the front, with all the others, and knocked on the door.

  ‘Around the back!’ said the lady who answered the door. She had a wooden spoon in one hand. Eric was sure that he could hear a metronome ticking away in the background. ‘And keep it quiet! I’m trying to cook tea and give a piano lesson.’

  Eric followed the path around to the back and was greeted by a sea of faces.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Matthew O’Neil. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I don’t want you to go on strike over me.’

  ‘This is not about you. It’s about our rights as students.’

  ‘But I just want to forget about it and go back to school.’

  ‘They’ve said you can go back to school when you hair grows back or you can go back to school immediately if you wear a cap. But it’s too late for that.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I’ll wear a cap.’

  ‘I’ve said this isn’t about you. Just stay home!’

  ‘Are you saying I can’t go back?’

  ‘Yeah. How can we fight for your rights to go to school if you’re already there?’

  ‘It’s just like it is with the Aborigines.’

  ‘What have they got to do with it?’

  ‘Everyone tells them what’s best for them. Nobody ever asks them what they want.’

  ‘The Aborigines weren’t doing anything with the land. It was there to be nicked. Anyway, this has got nothing to do with them, or you, it’s about us. So piss off home and don’t come to school until you hear from me.’

  For the second time that day Eric dragged himself back home. He was going to kill off Jean-Paul there and then. But on second thoughts, why should he let a Nazi in a brown jumper boss him round? He was determined to go to school the next day even if it meant having the teaching staff all to himself.

  The following day Eric sat in his English class and was delighted to see that it was a full house. Just about everyone thought that Matthew O’Neil was a dickhead before Eric’s haircut. Now they were certain.

  Eric had to keep the peak of the baseball cap very low now. He didn’t want the secret of the Jean-Paul/Eric exchange discovered at this late stage.

  When the class was dismissed at the end of the lesson, Mr Lawrence asked Eric to stay behind.

  When the last of the students had filed out, Mr Lawrence told Eric to take a seat.

  ‘When’s Eric coming back, Jean-Paul?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’

  ‘When are you bringing Eric back?’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘I’ve known from the start.’

  ‘Did Stephen tell you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how’d you know?’

  ‘Oh c’mon, Eric. War-torn France? Occasional limps? An accent that wavers between Latvian and Bolivian?’

  ‘If you knew, why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘Because I wanted you to find out for yourself.’

  ‘Find out what?’

  ‘Who you like best. Eric or Jean-Paul.’

  ‘Eric I suppose.’

  ‘Before you can get others to like you, you’ve got to like yourself first. Eric isn’t such a bad guy after all, is he?’

  ‘Yeah, I realise that now. But I was sick of being ignored and I’m fed up with being thirteen.’

  ‘Don’t try to grow up too fast. Being an adult is overrated. These are some of the best years of your life.’

  ‘They don’t feel like it.’

  ‘They definitely are. But you only realise it when you get to my age. Now’s the time to enjoy yourself while you’ve still got the world at your feet. You are a very talented bloke, Eric.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You created a fictional character and brought him to life. Everybody, including the principal, believed that Jean-Paul was the real thing. Channel that talent, Eric!’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘That’s for you to figure out.’

  ‘But what’ll I do now? Should I come to school or what?’

  ‘Are your parents really in England?’

  ‘Yeah, that was the truth.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll arrange with your other teachers for Stephen to take work home to you. When your parents get back we will be starting holidays for two weeks, that’s plenty of time for your hair to grow back.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Lawrence.’ />
  ‘Don’t take everything so seriously, Eric. Even an old fart like me enjoys life.’

  ‘But you’re not even married.’ As soon as he’d said it he wanted to die. He’d forgotten about Mr Lawrence’s war wounds.

  ‘What’s not being married got to do with not enjoying yourself? I come from a long proud line of bachelors, Eric.’

  Eric didn’t understand the joke. He was too busy trying to work out how he could get out of the conversation without further embarrassment. ‘Sorry, Sir. I forgot about your, well, you know?’ He pointed to his teacher’s groin to support his argument. He couldn’t believe that he did it. End now, world! Please.

  ‘Forget about what? Don’t tell me that rumour is still going around?’

  ‘Rumour?’

  ‘The only thing I lost during the Vietnam War, Eric, was a bit of sanity, and a lot of sleep.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t get your whatsies blown off?’

  ‘No, I did not. I got shot in the backside.’

  ‘Did the enemy sneak up from behind?’

  ‘No. I was trying to tear-arse away from him. A dead hero isn’t much use to anybody, least of all himself. I volunteered to fight for my country, not to crash tackle machine-gun nests.’

  For some reason Eric found great relief in discovering that Mr Lawrence still had all his bits. The world needed a few more William Lawrences, and it was still capable of producing them.

  For the first time in weeks Eric practically skipped home from school.

  When he got home he grabbed the scissors from the kitchen drawer, went into the bathroom and took out his earring. He looked at his hair in the mirror. His blond roots were starting to come through. He hacked what was left of Jean-Paul’s hair down to meet them.

  On the drive back from the airport Eric was delighted to hear that his grandmother was well again even if she did have to walk with the aid of a walking frame. He was also pleased to learn that his father’s broken leg, the result of a tangle with the walking frame, was on the mend too. On the other hand his parents were miffed to learn that he’d been staying at home rather than with Auntie Dot. Their anger subsided a bit when they got home and saw that he hadn’t completely trashed the place.