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I walk over to the bookshelf tucked away in one corner. As I expected, there aren’t many books — not even fake books that are actually safes, like the one he has in Melbourne. He’s got random things, like a stack of university booklets from Year 12, probably from when he was deciding what university to go to.
I open the bedside table drawer, which is crammed with stuff — random papers, loose coins, a bottle of lube. That makes me smile, though I’m not sure why. It’s proof Lucas is human, I suppose. That he has needs like the rest of us.
It’s also evidence that Natalie really hasn’t gone through his things, because I doubt she’d leave this lying around. I shift the bottle out of the way. If he’s got lube, he’s probably got condoms too. It’s no secret girls in our high school wanted him. Some boys wanted him too.
But I don’t find any condoms. Well, he probably used them all.
In the rest of the drawer contents, I find a packet of tissues, a random roll of sticky tape, a bunch of beer bottle caps, batteries and sticky notes. Everything is random, but typical.
I push the drawer back in, but it gets stuck. Something must be jamming it, so I reach in and press all the items down. That doesn’t fix the issue. There must be something in the very back…
My fingers land on something flat, with a matte-like texture.
I curl my fingers around it and wedge it out, and in the process, the drawer slides inward, no longer stuck. In my hand is a book with a plain black cover.
Another book? My heart starts to race. Maybe this’ll give me a clue into Lucas’s secrets.
But it’s not a fake book-safe, like his copy of Pride and Prejudice in Melbourne. It has real pages… It’s a notebook.
I open the front page. He’s written his name, Lucas, with the graffiti style S everyone drew in primary school. Underneath is a top-secret sticker. Do not read!! he’s written. Under that, in brackets, is I’m serious.
Aww. Little Lucas is adorable. I’m about to flip the page when I pause. Should I really read Lucas’s…whatever this is. Diary? Idea book? Dream journal?
If the roles were reversed…well, firstly, I didn’t have a diary of any kind during my childhood. I know my siblings well enough to know they’d go through it without a second thought. But let’s say that I did have a journal… Okay, I definitely wouldn’t want Lucas to read it. If I had a diary in high school, it’d be full of emo stuff. I’m so alone, no one likes me, I wish I just had one best friend. Like before. And if it wasn’t full of emo stuff — if I was really bold and filled my diary with the thoughts that plagued me most of the time — then it would be full of all my horny desires.
I check the doorway, but thankfully, Natalie hasn’t returned yet.
Idly, I flick through the pages of the notebook — not because I’m planning to read anything, I just want an idea of what the book contains. Drawings? Or is it really a diary? At first, the pages are full of Lucas’s cursive handwriting I remember from primary school, when we had to learn cursive in order to get our pen licence. It’s still pretty messy, though, the words unintelligible, which is good. It means I can’t accidentally read anything.
Later in the notebook, though, the handwriting changes — grows straighter, less cursive, neater. It’s legible, and I know it is because I see my name.
My finger catches the page, and I look at the date written at the top. I count the years back — the entry was written when we were fourteen.
My conscience doesn’t have a voice. I read the entry with my name in it without thinking about it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucas
Age 14
It was House Athletics today, and I saw Charlie, and his P.E shorts were too short. They made him look like a girl. They’re probably hand me downs from his sister.
He came third in the hundred-meter sprint. The B a hundred-meter sprint. And he was smiling about it and waving around his green ribbon like it was actually something to be proud of. I came first in the A hundred-meter sprint. Let’s do the maths. If everyone in the A sprint is faster than the B boys, and there’s 10 boys in a heat…That means that I’m 12 boys ahead of him. I came first. Not that coming first even matters.
We ran into each other in the bathrooms, and when he saw me, he ignored me, like he’s so much better than me. I should’ve fought him. I keep on promising myself I’m going to beat him up, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He needs to be taught a lesson.
Oh yeah, when we were getting changed into our P.E uniform this morning, I looked for him in the change rooms, but he wasn’t there. I think he’s been changing in the cubicles ever since some of the guys laughed at his skinny legs.
I should tell him not to hide in the cubicle when he gets changed because it just makes him look even more self-conscious, which makes everyone tease him more. He needs to grow some balls.
I would tell him to change with the rest of us, so he doesn’t look so weak, but I don’t want him to think I want to watch him take his clothes off, because I don’t. I’m not a pervert.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Now
“Here they are!”
