August, Year 12

Winter was moving towards spring. The midyear holidays passed and there was a growing tightness in Gab’s chest, which she attributed to the rapidly approaching exams. Those moments between being asleep and awake—moments Gab used to enjoy—were no longer a refuge, as each day the weight of life fell upon her again. But she told herself she could handle it. She was handling it. What choice did she have?

The wind bit their faces and their fingers as Gab and Jack whizzed down the road to school on a Monday morning in August. Gab farewelled Jack at his gate and then walked through hers. She pulled off her helmet, locked her bike in the school bike shed and headed into the study room with its lingering, mingling smells of teenage sweat, cheap deodorant and overripe bananas. She sat at her desk, shoving her bag underneath and grabbing out her Maths books. She had fifteen minutes to finish off the bonus homework questions before other students would start arriving. Concentrating was impossible once they did, especially with plans for the Year 12 formal well under way—a job in the hands of the Year Twelves themselves. It was all about colour theme at the moment—teal and black, teal and silver, pink and grey, or gold and black … this was the big question. Gab didn’t really care, but it was hard to concentrate on homework when Jen, Lauren and Mika were yelling at Jane and Candice about why teal with silver was so much better than teal with black. Inevitably, the bell would ring and they’d be no nearer deciding the colour scheme than they had been three weeks before.

Mr. Cheng stood before the Year 12 Maths class of six students and demonstrated patiently, for the hundredth time, how to find the gradient of an asymptote. Gab had got it the first time, months ago, so she raced ahead, working through the day’s revision exercises. She liked maths because of its predictability. There were logical steps that led to logical answers, and those answers were always clear: they were either right or wrong. There was no grey. The trick was simply finding where you’d gone wrong, if you had. Gab threw herself into her work and lost herself there. She forgot about the tightness in her chest, always pleased for the opportunity to test out what she’d learned. In that sense, exams wouldn’t be so bad. Only, she didn’t want to think about what would happen afterwards.

Gab was the last to leave the classroom. She wanted to finish so there wouldn’t be any homework that night. Mr. Cheng was packing up slowly, conscious of Gab’s presence, giving her time.

“Done!” Gab put her pen down and looked up at Mr. Cheng. “Sorry Mr. C. Didn’t mean to hold you up!”

“No, no, you didn’t,” he said graciously, even though she had.

Gab hastily gathered her belongings. They exited the classroom together.

“How’s Jack?” Mr. C. asked, as they walked down the corridor and then out into the schoolyard.

“He’s okay,” said Gab, enjoying the almost-spring sunshine on her face. “But getting him to do his readers at night is impossible! It’s a nightmare.”

“Keep at it,” encouraged Mr. Cheng. “He’ll take to it in his own time.”

“It’s exhausting,” Gab confessed. “I try to keep it fun, though.”

“Sounds like you’re right on track,” said Mr. C. “It’s not easy, hey?”

“I’ll say,” agreed Gab. They were nearing the Year 12 study block.

“Gab, the deadline for uni preferences is coming up.” Mr. Cheng had been curious about this for a while.

“Have you decided on your preferences?” He’d been watching Gab’s progress for years and wanted her to succeed. She was hardworking.

“I’m not sure,” answered Gab, putting her books down on the study block deck and jumped up to sit on the railings. “But I think I want to study agriculture in Melbourne.”

“Awesome!” her teacher replied with enthusiasm. “That sounds just right. But you’ll succeed at anything you put your mind to. You’re determined and focused.” If he was tentative about particular external obstacles in her way, he didn’t show it.

“Thanks,” Gab said, colouring. “I’m also thinking about psychology or data science.”

“They’re good options too,” said Mr. C. “They suit your interests and skills. You’ll get your first preference. I don’t doubt it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up Mr. C … or mine!” joked Gab, half seriously.

“I think we’re pretty safe on that one!” said Mr. C, waving and walking off towards the staff room. “I’d bet on it … and I’m not a betting man!”

Gab smiled, both resisting and relishing the confidence he placed in her. She’d known Mr. C. since primary school. He’d been her Grade 6 teacher before he began teaching at the secondary school. In a small town, they needed local teachers to fill gaps and Mr. C. was the best Maths teacher going around. When Mr. Gosford had retired after teaching for thirty years, it was Mr. Cheng who stepped into the senior Maths teaching role.

Gab was walking through the study room door when she heard her name called from outside.