A different game plan

I went through the week wondering what the next move was. Chris was all for me coming down after training to meet Mark—apparently the guy was good enough for the reps side as well as the Sunday comp. But I told him I thought we’d established it wasn’t Mark I was after.

I knew I was becoming a pain in the arse, like Chris had said. I had to stop complaining and get on with it. I went to the next rehearsal ready to rip off what I knew was going to be a really scabby Band-Aid. It would hurt. But hopefully it was going to be worth it.

I waited until the end of the day. Andrews and Mark were going over the last scene, which meant Elizabeth was finished and on her own. I stood and watched her laughing with the other girls. She talked to everybody, including the adoring Year 7 chorus girls. I figured that would have to work in my favor: if she talked to everyone, then the odds were she would talk to me.

I began to walk toward her on three occasions and chickened out each time. I was on the fourth attempt and about two meters away when her mobile rang. It was right about then I tried really hard to look casual, like I wasn’t trying to talk to her at all. I focused intently on the wall and kept walking. Idiot!

I got to the wall. I knew I needed a reason for being there, and fast. I was dead certain she’d watched me walk all the way to the other side of the hall and was retelling the whole story to whoever she was on the phone to. I was desperate. A discarded St. Andrew’s Angles was lying on the floor near where I was standing. I haven’t in my whole school career found a newsletter so fascinating. Let’s face it, it was probably the first time I’d ever read one. I walked back across the hall reading every word of it. As I passed her I was determined not to look. I repeated in my head, Don’t look up, don’t look up. Just as I reached the point of intersection, I looked up. And, even worse, I was mouthing the words Don’t look up when I did. Elizabeth was looking directly at me. In fact she didn’t take her eyes off me as she continued her conversation. She could have got an instant tan I was giving off so much heat.

Then I had one of those déjà vu moments. I was positive I had done this before—stood in front of her like an openmouthed idiot. But there was no going back now. I’d made myself look like a prize dickhead so I might as well sit it out and wait till she was off the phone. My heart began to make dangerously loud drum noises and I was breaking into a sweat.

Yes, Mum. OK, Mum. Yeah, I’ll be waiting out the front of the hall.

This was my chance.

The phone call was drawing to a close. I began to walk closer. She half watched my approach. Nearly there. I opened my mouth to speak when … 

Will?

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! That was the wrong voice and it was definitely coming from the wrong direction. Sighing, I turned around, still clutching the St. Andrew’s Angles. There standing in front of me was the Romeo to my Juliet, and Juliet was now walking out of the hall to meet her mother. Bloody typical! I felt the same intensity of heat from three minutes before start to radiate from my body as I wondered if he’d been witness to everything I’d just done. It was then I became aware of the St. Andrew’s Angles newsletter I was clutching. I dropped it and watched as Mark’s eyes followed its path to the floor right in front of his feet. He decently made no comment, although I could have sworn he had a grin on his face.

Yeah … Hi. I stared at him for a moment and then realized he was waiting for me to shake his hand.

Mark Newman.

I shook his hand.

Yeah, I know.

Look, I was at training on Thursday and Chris was telling me to come and introduce myself seeing as we seem to be the only seniors in the place.

So this was all Chris’s fault!

Yeah, he mentioned something like that to me too. Except I wasn’t having any of it.

Jock and Tim have been sharing some stories …

I could just imagine.

Don’t listen to Jock and Tim, they compete with one another to see how much shit they can talk.

I noticed. You should hear the crap I get about being in the musical. Playing football and being in the musical are mutually exclusive activities according to Jock. He’s convinced I’m only doing it for the girls.

For the first time in his life Jock may actually be right.

That’s why I introduced myself. They’ve just texted me to say they’re throwing the footy around at the park.

I thought about it for about two seconds. I wasn’t in the mood to bond with the competition.

Thanks, mate, but I’ve got to get home.

My first reaction was to be pissed off. Why would the boys text Newman and not me? Just then the phone beeped. It was Jock. I proceeded to text him where he could shove his football and felt just a little bit better.

I watched as Newman drove away and waved from his cozy, warm car as I put on my beanie and climbed onto my beaten-up old bike. Just once I would like a rehearsal to end with me coming out on top. Just once.