Cameron and I have done so much together, but it’s all the same. We get up in the mornings. We eat. We laugh. We study. But then we repeat. There’s no change, no straying off along a more adventurous path. Maybe my first day as a grade eighter will be that path. There’s always a first time for everything, I guess.
Marcus Andrews, 25th January 2010
I close the Notes app on my IPod touch with my palm and sigh inwardly. What am I playing at, writing this stupid journal? It’s not like it’s going to make me feel any better about myself. I roll over in bed to face the ceiling of the bookshelf I sleep in. I’ve had the shelf as my bedroom my whole life. When I was little, it used to go in my parents’ room for extra protection, but about a year ago it was moved outside Cameron’s bedroom in the hallway. The idea behind the thing being there is that Cam can get me in the mornings so I don’t have to trek across the entire house and get down the stairs. Although, knowing my brother, he almost always forgets to wake me up and I take the old fashioned way down to the kitchen.
I take a few deep breaths to settle the nerves building up in the pit of my stomach before rubbing my eyes and hopping out of bed. My bookshelf is pretty cool, come to think of it; I mean- I’m not the worst decorator in the world. It’s been painted black with retro style white checkers and it’s got five stories. I sleep on the top storey, so Cam can poke me awake in the mornings. I’m probably the world’s heaviest sleeper and if you were my size, then you wouldn’t blame me. You know how I just said that getting down the stairs for me is like a mountain hike? Well, picture doing that every day. I get pretty darn tired pretty darn easily.
I’m just throwing on a blue and black checked button up shirt and denim skinny jeans when my brother’s head appears in front of me like a billboard. He’s on his hands and knees like a beggar and is checking his watch.
“Come on, bro! School starts in half an hour!” He doesn’t yell around me because my ears pop at everything louder than a normal pitched voice, but he’s come pretty close. I wince for a second and grab my pair of shiny black doll’s earmuffs from my bedside table and slip them over my ears and around my messy hair. I step back to inspect myself in the reflection of my IPod screen and nod in satisfaction. (By the way, my IPod is a bit taller than me at the moment. I’m a shortie, even for my size… *groans*)
“Ok, I’m all done.” I tell Cam, who rolls his eyes mockingly.
“About time, big bro.” He says. Big bro is my nickname because Cameron has this thing where he thinks the fact that I’m older and physically smaller is funny.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.” I grumble as I step onto his waiting hand. He stands up slowly and I get the usual feeling of being on a rollercoaster/elevator as I’m lifted to the height of a skyscraper. I swear to god that every time I look over the edge of my brother’s hand when he’s standing at full height it’s like looking over the side of a 50 storey building. Yeah, I’ve never been afraid of heights. I’d actually be screwed if I was.
“You’ve still gotta have breakie, don’t you?” Cam exhales in frustration. “You do know that one: mum’s making me take all your text books as well as my own and she’s making me catch the bus!” He moans. I laugh at his expression.
“One of the few perks of being a real life midget.” I wink at him slyly, cracking a grin. Cameron grabs his backpack from the top of the stairs and slings it over one shoulder. Then he bends down and tilts his hand so I slide to the ground. I crane my sore neck to glare at him as he stands to his full height. Strange, must’ve slept on my neck funny. Cam brings his Converse clad foot over my head, casting a shadow over my entire body. He lets his leg hover over me for a moment before winking at me.
“One of the perks of having a brother who’s a real life midget.” He smiles. I raise an eyebrow from my position on the ground in front of his shoes.
“What, you mean that if I piss you off you’ll stomp on me and kill me?” I ask, confused.
“I wouldn’t kill you, big brother.” Cameron says slowly. “Damn. I’d threaten to leave you here and make you get downstairs yourself but we’re kinda late for the bus. Sorry.” He’s pulled off this face that gives the impression of genuine sorrow and I crack up. Moments later he’s picked me up and I’m sitting on his shoulder at what I like to call ‘anti-midget eye level’. My teeth chatter as he takes the stairs two at a time and I grip his shirt to keep myself upright.
My brother doesn’t take a detour through the kitchen for my breakfast, to my dismay. My stomach groans loudly in protest. “Hah! I actually heard that puny stomach of yours!” Cameron teases as he shuts the front door of the house behind him and begins walking down the pathway to our front gate. Sunlight blinds my vision for a second before I blink and focus my eyes.
“Why is my brother so mean?” I ask to no one in particular. Even Cam doesn’t answer. My body sways with the rhythm of his walking as he moves down the deserted streets of Kingaroy, Queensland. Ok, so they’re not that deserted. People pass occasionally, mostly old ladies, but no one actually sees me. That’s partly because most of the time I’m concealed by Cam’s messy hair.
Kingaroy is a cute little country town that I’ve lived in my whole life. Back at the start of my little confession, I think I may have said that I’m allergic to peanuts. Well, that was actually a huge lie. It’s virtually insane to move to Kingaroy if you have a nut allergy. Why? Because we farm freaking peanuts here. You don’t go a day without the good old peanuts here. There are farms everywhere. Oh look- speak of the devil, Cam just passed the entrance to one!
Kingaroy’s streets have a real old English vibe to them, probably because they’re lined with ancient oak trees, which have over time created a huge canopy of green leaves. The bus stop’s at the end of our street, and the school Mum’s enrolled us in is called St Agathas. (It’s Catholic). Cam sits himself down in the old wooden bus stop seat as we wait for the school bus. A hot wind blows in my face, almost knocking me off my brother’s shoulder. There’s no one else at this bus stop, so it’s pretty quiet around here.
After a few more minutes of waiting, a bright yellow bus that reminds me so much of the ones in cheesy American school movies pulls up at our stop, driven by an old guy with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. As Cameron steps on-board and swipes off his plastic go-card, as well as mine (just to be fair) the driver brings his hand up to stop him walking to get a seat.
“Why’ve you got two go cards?” He asks in a croaky voice. Thick cigarette smoke billows from his nostrils, making me cough.
“Simple.” Cameron states, gesturing to me sitting on his shoulder. I manage a small wave, earning a chorus of ‘WTFs’ and ‘Shits’ from the seated students. Kind of funny, actually, to see everyone’s reaction when they see me for the first time. In all fairness, it should be me hyperventilating when I’m confronted with so many big people. But no, it’s everyone else that thinks I’m the freak.
“Hi.” I introduce myself to break the silence from the bus driver. “Cameron and I are new to the school… so…” I purse my lips as my voice trails off. I don’t continue, in fear that I’ll make the poor guy faint. Cameron’s approach to being nice isn’t as subtle.
“Quit gawking!” He snaps. I’m silently patting myself on the back for remembering my earmuffs, because his loud voice would have killed my eardrums otherwise.
Cameron pushes the driver’s arm away roughly and sinks into one of the closest seats. I squeeze my eyes shut to blot out the stares but even with my earmuffs on I can hear the whispering. So much for making new friends…
“Did you just see what I just saw?”
“Is that another guy sitting on that kid’s shoulder?”
“How did he get so small?”
“Holy shit I’ve just been stung by a tracker jacker! I just saw a tiny kid…”
“Why is there a borrower in the bus?”
And the list goes on…
By the time the bus has pulled up at our new school, I’m really regretting my decision to brave it all and meet some real people. It looks like the people I thought were genuine, or even nice were just a bunch of losers.
Someone welcome me to high school… I’ve already introduced you to my life.