Flunk: Social Distancing: Flunk, #1

By R. P. G. Forster

The first book in a new series based on the hit LGBT streaming series 'Flunk'. Released from hospital following a suicide attempt, heartbroken sixteen-year-old Ingrid finds herself forced to self-isolate due to the coronavirus pandemic - but when she starts developing feelings for a mysterious friend, will she take another chance on love before it's too late?

 

Audiobook also available.

 

66,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilydale Films
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393888789

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I’m just kind of in a different headspace, okay?

There’s something about the phrasing of a rejection that stays with you. Especially when it comes from someone you care about. The words marinate in your brain. The flavour gets stronger. We’re always told not to dwell on negative things, but like so much in life, that’s easier said than done. Maybe it’s so that we can learn and grow. Maybe it’s because our brains secretly enjoy self-inflicted pain. I’d know all about that.

It was five in the morning as I lay awake in my hospital room. A few weeks ago, I would have tried to get back to sleep, but I’ve since learned to embrace the insomnia. The room was nice enough. TV. Bed. A couple of chairs and a bedside table with a laptop. The faint smell of a chemical cleaning product. My nurse said I was lucky to have such a nice view out onto the street, but I don’t know if anyone who ends up here is lucky.

About this time of day, a flock of cockatoos in the tree across the road normally started squawking – though you wouldn’t think that’s what it was. You could be forgiven for thinking it was a horde of pterodactyls for the sound they make. But what was originally an annoyance became something to look forward to. How sad is that? I’d actually grown to like their horrible squawking because it meant the long night was almost over.

I’d seen very little of the outside world since the incident. Brayden and Dani had taken me out for a picnic one day. Yes, a picnic. We never used to do stuff like that. My life previously consisted of friends trying to convince me to get stoned or steal things – now they were offering me sandwiches.

It was the latest example of people being weird around me. Weirdness, of course, was standard for Brayden, but this was different. They were both on eggshells. Still, it was nice to leave this place. This four-by-four metre room that had become my home.

That day, as we walked along the lake, I tried to forget that any of this had ever happened. I told myself that I was just hanging out with my best friend. It’s kind of incredible that Brayden holds that title. A year ago, I would have written him off as a total dropkick bogan. It wasn’t just his appearance – an overuse of hair gel and loud clothes that awkwardly hung from his gangly frame – or his smell, which was either too much or too little body spray. It was his attitude. He loves winding people up, pushing their buttons. With me, he had more than enough ammunition. ‘Rug muncher’ is the phrase he used. Tact was never Brayden’s talent. But beneath the cocky attitude and claims of ‘banging two chicks last night behind the pie shop’ (he didn’t, by the way), Brayden was a surprisingly sweet, sensitive, loyal guy who, would you believe it, had a gay sister.

Dani was a couple of years older than me, which in a way is no big deal, but in other ways, a major problem. We had, shall we say, a different level of ‘experience’. She had heaps, and I had none. Brayden always used to joke that I was technically dating a female version of him, and it’s true – there were some similarities. She too had pale skin and short, mousy brown hair and was very into girls. One time, I pointed out they were basically wearing identical floral shirts. Brayden got very upset with that. Just ‘cause I think flowers look dope don’t mean anything. Like most straight males I had encountered, his biggest fear seemed to be anyone accusing him of being gay. Pathetic.

Though they were similar in some ways, in others, Dani and Brayden were miles apart. Where Brayden was offensive, Dani was smart. Where Brayden spoke before he thought, Dani was considered. Where Brayden could barely spell his own name – except as graffiti – Dani wrote beautiful letters. And, where Brayden was secretly inexperienced, Dani was... amazing.

Learning I had permission to leave the hospital for exercise, Brayden had promptly arranged a day at the lake. That it was a school day was the least of his concerns. Whenever a major new video game was released, he always seemed to mysteriously come down with a cold.

I didn’t know he was going to bring Dani along. If I did, I would have worn something a little more flattering. At school, looks and ‘style’ are so important. It’s ridiculous really, given that we all wear the same uniform and makeup is technically banned. My parents like to enforce that rule – acne flare-up be damned. One of the nice things about hospital – and I did make a list – is that nobody cares what you look like. Doctors and nurses aren’t here to judge.

I felt overwhelmed when Dani joined us at the lake, though I should have seen it coming. There’s a school of thought that says you don’t ask for permission when an apology will do. Brayden embodied that philosophy. What was I supposed to do? Tell Dani thanks for making a delicious picnic, but could you leave me alone?

It had all got a bit messy between us – an awkward breakup and exes / would-be girlfriends hanging around.

But I couldn’t help but feel touched she’d gone to so much effort. It showed she still cared. The lake was close to school and the centre of town, with a walking path about three miles long. Lilydale was only an hour from Melbourne, and there wasn’t much to do here. But being close to nature was at least one of the highlights. By the lake, there were mainly young families taking advantage of the kids’ playground, which had these fountain jets that sprayed water out of the floor, as well as turrets that kids could use to shoot water at each other. It was stinking hot that day, and Brayden tried to convince us to have a splash in the water. We settled for sitting on the artificial beach.

Like so many things, the lake was trying to be something it wasn’t – a  tourist destination, I think. But it was really a reclaimed swamp that was constructed in the 1980s. There were signs noting it wasn’t really safe to swim, but since when are they effective against people our age? With the sun shining down and the water gently lapping, it looked beautiful. But it was always in the back of my mind that it could be dangerous too. Signs warned of drowning dangers and toxic pollutants. Late-night skinny dipping was not something I was ever planning to do.

We got along great that afternoon, despite a few hiccups. There’s nothing like an idiot guy to unite two girls together. Brayden was trying to build a giant sand penis until we pointed out the small children nearby might find it upsetting. He didn’t care, citing his freedom of speech, but eventually gave up after Dani kept kicking it over. Male body positivity! he exclaimed as a justification, but she didn’t listen. He found her actions ‘typical’, as a lesbian.

Walking along the beach, with the warm water lapping at our feet, the conversation turned to more serious topics. All day, there had been not just an elephant in the room, but an entire herd. How was my mental health? Had Dani ditched Freya, her overly-obsessive fling? Was there any chance of us giving it another go?

The great thing about talking to Dani was that I could be more assertive. It was safe to tell her what I did or didn’t want. But it was still nerve-wracking, as I floated the questions, Do you not like me anymore? Is that it?

If she didn’t, then why all the effort? If Brayden hadn’t been there, tagging along to build monuments to his you-know-what, it would have been a date – for sure. But it turns out, Dani just wanted to be friends. All the effort still didn’t make sense to me until I remembered. It’s because I wasn’t well. This wasn’t a normal situation. I wasn’t a normal sixteen-year-old. The whole day was as fake as the beach we walked on.

The hardest part about being in hospital isn't being sick. It's passing the time. The uncomfortable tests, the frustrating conversations with doctors and nurses... they’re annoying as hell to begin with, but after a while, you start looking forward to them.

It's the quiet that gets to you.

Thankfully, I had the cockatoos, who, like clockwork, decided to start screaming at each other. I wonder what it all meant. What were they trying to say to each other, in cockatoo? Maybe they were having awkward conversations about how their feelings had changed as well.

Today I was due a visit from Dad and Xander. Normally, we couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other, but I now found myself looking forward to their visits. I guess that's what loneliness does to you.

There are two visiting times, one in the afternoon, and another in the evenings. They always chose the latter. After all of mum's problems, they're used to hospitals, so it's become old hat. Dad would always bring me a flask of soup from home. Normally, I would have pulled my face when I was there – soup really wasn’t my favourite. But now, it was a small comfort. A reminder of a life that, strangely enough, I wanted to get back to.

The days they didn't come were the worst. You get pretty sick of staring out of the window. I was allowed my laptop, but the hospital Wi-Fi was the slowest thing ever. It made the long days slow to a virtual standstill. There’s only so long you can wait for a website to load before you give up and are left with nothing to do but dwell on your own thoughts.

Dad was a man of few words. Average height, with thinning hair and glasses, he prided himself on quiet dignity. There’s nothing he hated more than wild displays of emotion, though sometimes, his temper got the better of him. I sometimes wish we were closer, but it really wasn’t possible. He had this idea of who I was cemented when I was aged about nine or ten, and he struggled to accept that I could change. It felt like every time I deviated from this idea he held of who I should be, I was disappointing him somehow just by being myself! Dad finding out that I’d dated girls was a terrifying prospect, and he’d never hear it from me.

This made my whole situation more complicated. If I’d been hit by a bus, the cause would be obvious. I could be treated, have my leg in a splint, and get on the mend. But the reason I was in hospital wasn’t so cut and dried. Overdose of paracetamol – Dad knew that much. He just didn’t know why. Honestly, I don’t know if he wanted to know. I’d said I was drunk – another serious offence – and just took too many for my headache afterwards. Did he really believe my excuse? Tough to say. But it was just plausible enough that we could all go along with the story and avoid talking about my mental health. That was reserved for my sessions with Adrian.

I’d had a session with him a couple of hours before Dad and Xander arrived. These conversations, or ‘chats’ as he liked to call them, happened every week. It was part of my prescribed treatment. I’d been reluctant to open up at first, but he’d repeatedly stressed the confidentiality of anything discussed, and so some of the truth had come out.

I knew what I did was stupid. A reckless, short-sighted cry for help that left me with very unpleasant consequences. I’d been left with damage to my organs that meant I’d need careful monitoring over the next few months to make sure everything was functioning normally. Of course, Adrian’s goal was to make sure I didn’t feel the need to do something like that again.

I didn’t. Trying to hurt myself like that... it was, as Adrian put it, a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I’d assured him I had no plans to attempt anything like that again. After all, I was paying the price. The last few weeks had been painful.

And it wasn’t just me. Seeing what my choice had done to everyone around me only made it worse. If you think things are bad, wait until the guilt hits you for making your sick mum break down in tears.

The session was brief and positive. We’d developed a good rapport, and it was almost like talking to a friend. Adrian was great at small talk, and not bad looking, in a scruffy way, for an older guy. I’m sure that helped him deal with other suicidal women.

Would you like to go home? he asked.

No, I want to spend the rest of my life in this room, I replied, rolling my eyes.

He smiled, though I’m pretty sure he didn’t find it funny.

Seriously, it’s bigger than my bedroom, I insisted.

When in doubt, double down. That’s what Brayden always tells me.

He became solemn for a second. Do you feel like you might be ready?

This was it. Like the moment in a jailbreak when the prisoners finally tunnel beyond the prison walls. Escape was possible. But why did I feel like there was a chance I’d be shot by one of the guards?

I was silent.

Do you need some time to think about it? he asked.

My chance was slipping away. No.

No, you’re not ready?

Communication wasn’t one of my strong suits. I knew I had to be crystal clear. No, I don’t need to think about it. Really. I want to go home.

For the longest time, home was a place I didn’t want to be. It was full of unpaid work in the shop, stocking shelves, serving customers or cooking in the kitchen. We had a small convenience store that also served chips and a few Chinese hot foods, like dim sims. It was impossible to get through a shift without emerging like a walking pile of grease – not the way a sixteen-year-old wanted to spend virtually every night of their life.

Now though, the idea of going home felt like an exciting prospect. Like when you’re on holiday for a couple of weeks, the moment when you return to your house feels like wrapping yourself in a warm jumper. All your creature comforts are there. It smells familiar. There’s something exciting about the same old place.

Like the job, I used to loathe having to deal with Xander. My older brother was in his early twenties, and he was a total pain in the neck. We’d never gotten along that well as children. Part of me thinks he was jealous of me. Like he was perfectly happy to have Mum and Dad’s attention, but then I turned up and ruined everything. He wanted the limelight. These days, he’s quite glad that I’m the focus for Mum and Dad’s complaining. He’s figured out how to manipulate them completely. He can’t do anything wrong. Not that I think I ever will, but if I did have children someday, I would never play favourites. Democracy all the way. Totally neutral. Like Sweden. Or is it Switzerland? He used to make me do all the work in the shop and then look busy when Mum and Dad walked in. Any mistakes? Blame Ingrid. He got – and this still blows my mind – a reputation for being the smart one. What does that make me? I got known as the drama queen – getting upset over ‘nothing’.

Lately, he’d seemed to back off a little. Maybe he felt bad for how upset I could really get. It didn’t stop him being a jerk though. When I told him – defiantly – that I’d had a girlfriend, he was furious. Like it actually hurt him. It was just another example of Xander hiding behind ‘our culture’ because he doesn’t like something. I’m used to copping it from Mum and Dad – they didn’t grow up here, so they’re bound to be old fashioned. Xander’s in his twenties and lives in Australia! Deal with it.

I know he’s out smoking and drinking with his friends, when he supposedly has to just ‘nip out’ for a couple of hours. Not to mention flipping second-hand graphics cards to strangers – cash only. As far as I knew, he was living at home, rent-free, blowing any money he made on sports shoes and brightly coloured baseball caps. He was a sucker for brands.

I’m not sure why I’d confessed to Xander that I had a girlfriend. Maybe it was a self-destructive thing – he was already yelling at me so why not chuck a grenade in there too.

Or maybe I just wanted him to acknowledge who I actually was. Just for one second. But he couldn’t. He insisted I shut up and never repeat what I’d told him. What a pig.

During his hospital visit, Xander sat there scrolling through his phone, making no effort to conceal how bored he was whilst Dad tried to make small talk with me. I wanted to knock that obnoxiously bright red baseball cap off his head.

What did you have for lunch today? asked Dad.

Nothing much, I said. But I knew immediately this was not going to suffice. With a sigh, I elaborated. Chicken and boiled potatoes. With peas.

Yum, said Xander sarcastically, without looking at me.

With strawberry jelly. It was a favourite of his when we were little. In reality, I hadn’t eaten it today – sick of the taste after weeks of the same meals over and over. I couldn’t figure out why hospital kitchens think people want to eat jelly, non-stop. They probably didn’t care, and it’s all part of the strategy to get you home as quickly as possible, so they can free up the bed. And jelly is cheap.

Dad nodded, accepting my version of events before offering me a homemade almond cookie from a tin. I took it.

Thanks, I said, awkwardly. I didn’t usually like them, but I was desperate for a change.

You can thank Margaret, next time you see her, he said.

Which probably won’t be long, said Xander, under his breath.

Margaret was a family friend, and very close to Mum, though I suspected Dad couldn’t stand her. She had a son, Jian, who was about my age, but I hadn’t seen him in a while.

As I chewed on the cookie, I looked around the room for Dad’s usual gift – a flask of winter melon soup. It was nowhere to be seen. Did you bring anything for dinner?

Dad shook his head.

They say you’re ready to come home, explained Xander with more than a hint of doubt.

After the incident, Xander had been one of the first ones to visit me in the hospital. He knew the line I’d spun to Mum and Dad about the overdose wasn’t the truth. I can still remember the way his voice cracked when he asked, How did you take that many pills... by accident? I could count the number of times Xander showed that he cared about me in the last few years on one hand. He didn’t normally get upset like that. He’d either get angry, or everything was one big joke. But that day, I knew I’d hurt him. Or maybe he realised how