Nineteen
The cameras, the headlines
The feeling I can’t define
I’m under a microscope
A specimen
Prodded, poked, ostracised
‘Specimen’ from The In-Between
I immediately regret walking outside. It’s sunset and it’s starting to get cold. The air has a chill, but I don’t care as I angrily stomp up to the oak tree at the base of the garden. As I pass the fence, I see Ty.
He’s lying down on his front, camera pressed to his face. As far as I can tell, he’s zooming in on some blades of grass.
‘Don’t you ever stop taking pictures?’ I say.
He rolls over, so he’s facing upwards, camera still hovering over his face.
The top of his head is facing towards me, I’m looking across at him, almost like he’s in a movie still.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt, now marred by grass stains, that is pushed up past his waist, and I feel the tug of attraction again, the one I’m desperately trying to resist.
‘Do you ever stop asking questions?’ he says.
‘He asks with a question?’ I say, knowing I sound petulant.
He sits up and spins around, camera hanging around his neck.
‘What’s got you today?’ says Ty.
‘Nothing,’ I say, turning around and walking off. ‘I’m in a bad mood and I came out here for some space.’
A few moments later I can hear him jump over the fence and run over to me. ‘Hey, tell me what’s going on.’
I sit under the oak tree, ignoring his question. I really don’t feel like talking right now.
Ty sits down next to me, touching my shoulder. I shrug off his hand.
‘Come on, Writer. Use those words of yours,’ he says.
I look at him. ‘You really want to hear me moan about my problems?’
He smiles at me, taps my knee. ‘Considering how bad a mood you’re in, yes I do.’ He looks like he means it.
I sigh. ‘Everyone is on my case about the future,’ I say.
‘In what way?’
I look at the ground. ‘I haven’t figured it out . . . you know, post this year. What I want to do at university. If I even want to go to university.’
‘Do you want to go to university?’ he says. I can still feel him grabbing on to my wrist, shooting pulses of electricity up my arm.
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘But . . . it’s always been abstract, you know? Like it will inevitably happen, and I’ve not thought too much about it. What it actually means, to grow up, to move on. I don’t feel . . . I don’t feel ready for it.’
‘So you’re avoiding thinking about it?’ he says.
‘Yes, but everyone else is thinking about it for me. Kira, now Mum, Ms Harkness.’
‘Who’s Ms Harkness?’
‘My English teacher.’
‘That makes sense, surely you’re going to major in English.’
‘But even that isn’t straightforward.’ I can feel myself getting worked up about it.
‘There’s a lot of options there too. You know how I’ve started writing for the student newspaper?
For the first time, I feel I’m really good at something.
People are talking about what I’ve written.
I want to do this more. It’s made me even more confused.
Do I want to be a journalist? I’m not like Tori, who has her whole life planned out—’
‘Who is Tori?’ says Ty, cutting through my monologue.
‘This girl in my English class who’s the editor of the news-paper. She’s wanted to be a journalist forever. She was basically prepping to be editor for the past three years. I think she scared off anyone from also applying to do it, as she ran uncontested.’
‘She sounds like a lot.’
‘She is. But how can I also do journalism or something, when I haven’t spent my life preparing like Kira and Tori? They’ve had everything figured out for so long, I can’t compete. I feel I’m so behind, and I’m only seventeen.’
Ty grabs my wrist and squeezes it. For once, I don’t pull away. ‘You know what I think?’
I shake my head.
‘I think you’re trying to compete when there’s no competition here. Do it because you like doing it. Apply for it because you want to. Don’t worry about other people, worry about yourself.’
‘But what does that look like?’
Ty shrugs. ‘Only you can answer that. But whatever it is will be better than being paralysed by indecision.’
‘That’s what my mum was saying.’
‘She sounds like a wise lady.’
‘She is.’ I sigh. ‘But I got really mad at her for telling me.’
He nods. ‘You didn’t want to hear the truth. She probably understands.’
‘You’re not bad at giving advice, you know?’
‘Turns out you’re not the only person good with words. I’ll be giving you a run for your money soon.’
‘What do you want to do anyway? Photography?’
‘No, this . . .’ he says, holding up the camera, ‘this is a hobby to me, I don’t want to study it in case it becomes less fun. I want to study Chemistry.’
‘Chemistry?’ I say. ‘You’ve never mentioned anything about Chemistry before.’
‘Well organic compound reactions don’t really come into daily conversation, which is a great shame.’
‘British sarcasm really is growing on you.’
‘I would say I’m fluent now.’ He laughs. ‘I like understanding how the world works. And Chemistry does that. When you boil everything down, it’s tiny atoms making everything up. I think it’s fascinating.’
‘And do you want to be a chemist?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘But like you, I don’t know exactly what I want to do. But I know I’ve got to start, and that’ll help me figure it out.’
I look ahead. Makes sense to me. I just need to start.
Probably with apologising to Mum about yelling first.