Six Impossible Things by Fiona Wood Read Free Book Online Page B

dickhead, Cereal,’ Jayzo says.
    ‘It’s Cereill,’ I manage.
    ‘Cyril, next time you’re feeling faint, please sit down with your head between your knees or go out for some fresh air, okay?’ Ms Peale says.
    ‘It’s Dan, not Cyril.’
    ‘Have you fainted before, Dan?’
    ‘Yes. It’s not a big deal.’
    ‘No big deal for Cereill to act like a girl,’ says Jayzo in a laboured attempt at humour that has his friends rolling in the aisles.
    ‘You’re a real wit, Jayzo. The seven letter variety,’ says Lou. She smiles at me sympathetically. I glance over to Jayzo to see how he’s handling the stinger she’s thrown his way. He looks blank.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ says Lou. ‘He can’t count and he can’t spell.’
    Lou breaks away from some plasma companions to sit with me at lunchtime. She reminds me of Fred, and it’s not just the glasses and pimples. She gives me the lowdown on some of the people sitting near us.
    ‘First girl to put out at a party. Can get drugs from her older brother. Hooked up with five girls on New Year’s Eve and they all got glandular. Mean and stupid and a jock. (Jayzo.) Not mean, but unapproachable, keep to themselves. (Estelle and her friends.) Parents are heroin addicts. Medicated for ADHD. Parents are political advisers. Smart, but plays dumb. Frequent flyer at the Children’s Court. Nice, but uncool. Stabbed a kid with a compass in grade five. Older sister had an affair with the maths teacher who got fired . . .’
    ‘What about you?’ I ask Lou.
    ‘Smart, not mean, not popular, problem skin, will emerge like a butterfly one day and pretend not to recognise Jayzo and his moronic compadres when they carry my groceries to my smart but fuel-efficient European sports car.’ She smiles. ‘I’ll probs still be a caterpillar, but I should be able to sort out the pimples.’
    ‘What about me?’
    ‘I don’t know yet . . . Doesn’t say much, faints, new . . .’
    ‘Already unpopular.’
    ‘Only because of Pittney blabbing about your academic record and your private school. That’s more than enough reasons for you to be despised by them . . .’ She nods in Jayzo’s direction. ‘How come you changed schools?’
    ‘Expelled. Playground violence. Rampant drug use.’
    She laughs.
    ‘No, why really?’
    ‘We’re – broke.’ And broken.
    ‘And what’s with the eggs and fainting?’
    ‘It happens sometimes with stuff that’s slimy, raw, or just disgusting. I guess I’m a bit phobic. I start feeling hot and sick, and then . . . you saw what comes next.’
    ‘I don’t have any phobias, personally, but my favourites are arachibutyrophobia, which is –’
    ‘Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.’
    ‘Very good. And I like triskaidekaphobia, too. Fear of the number thirteen.’
    ‘My favourite is luposlipaphobia.’
    ‘Which is . . . ?’
    ‘Fear of being chased by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.’
    She laughs. ‘Bullshit.’
    ‘Yeah, it’s a Far Side cartoon,’ I admit. ‘But it’s still my favourite.’
    We look at each other with shy relief. It’s the look two odd socks give when they recognise each other in the wild.

11
    T HREE SHIFTS IN AT the op-shop, and it feels like a lifetime. Or a life sentence. How could I be so stupid to sign on thinking it was a paying gig? Mrs Nelson being one of the nicest people on the planet just makes it worse.
    I don’t think she needs the extra hands, either. But I can’t talk to her about it. I don’t want to seem like a quitter. Today it’s me, three women, and a guy on a community service court order. Six of us. It’s too crowded behind the counter, so Mrs Nelson gets me to tidy some shelves. I slightly overload one and it crashes. Lucky for me, only a couple of things get broken. Plus tidying up the mess gives us all something to do. We’ve had one customer in the last forty-five minutes.
    I’ve just wished for the hundredth time for