KJ Mair, of Kilaben Bay,is a finalist in the Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition 2023 with this entry, Schrodinger's HSC Results.
The air is thick with tension. It could be the budding storm on the horizon growing heavy with gloom, but much more likely it's because the school captain is a sadistic prick.
His lips pause over the whistle. He smirks as he lets the moment drag on. Having the whole of year 12 ready for his go-ahead must be the crowning achievement of his senior year.
Honestly, I'm already regretting partaking. Even with a storm rumbling in the distance, the air is humid and our team's idea of going with a denim theme is already disastrous. The sweating has begun, and I fear there's only chafing in my future.
But I look to my left and see Luke and Melanie's eager faces. Oh yeah, that's why. Sometimes friendship has stipulations that aren't covered in the fine print.
The ear-piercing whistle blasts out. Next there's a coordination of activity the PE teacher wishes we could accomplish on gala days.
Melanie reaches the table first. She snatches a piece of paper just under Jessica Lowey's hand. She swears. For the first time in all these school years, I give her the bird. There's a certain braveness that comes with final days. On the flipped side of that coin, every conversation sounds like a goodbye.
But it's best not to dwell on that now. Now that the game has officially begun.
Melanie squeezes her way out of the crowd and makes her way back to us. We form a little huddle, and stare at the contents.
"A white dog? Like, does it have to be real or a toy?"
"That's the one you're worried about? How about the boat? I have an uncle who has a dinghy, but he lives two hours away."
"At least the frozen coke is easy. Though by the way frozen is underlined we should probably get it last."
The list is for the annual scavenger hunt done by all the year twelves. The HSC was practically over with only a few exams left for the more unusual topics like, woodworking and economics. All the heavy hitters - maths (yuck), English (think I did ok) and Biology (please God, don't let me fail) were well past and left to stew in Schrdinger's box. That damn cat had it lucky in comparison.
Anyway, the solution: the school's unsanctioned (wink, wink) scavenger hunt. A roaring night where HSC students blow off steam by tearing through Newcastle searching for the obscure. Winning team gets bragging rights for the last days of term. Then most of us will never see each other again.
Why am I suddenly more nervous now than when I was squaring up against my maths exam?
"A tiger pie, Isn't that with the mash potato and gravy? No one is spilling it in my car. Dad will kill me."
"Also, peas," Luke supplies.
"What?"
"Mushy peas. It forms a little moat on top."
Mel's face screws up. "Gross."
But I have higher concerns, right near the bottom -
"No way. There's challenges too?" I gasp.
I feel the familiar burst of shame heat my cheeks. I'm not a fit person. This is going to suck.
~
Later, when we have gathered maybe 70% of things on the list (I'm so going to fail maths, aren't I?). The neighbour's dog is in my lap and I'm covered in fur and doggy enthusiasm.
The car slows to a stop in the Newcastle Ocean baths carpark. Both my friends turn to look back at me. Meanwhile, I stare at Muffin so hard it's like I'm convinced he's about to impart the secrets of the universe. What the hell do you do after high school? Will I ever see my friends again? He licks my face. Yuck.
See, I'm ignoring them because I know what they're about to say.
"Um, Sam? No pressure or anything, but it's your turn."
I sigh. Yeah, that.
Mel had done the first challenge, which involved racing around the Charlestown water tower and taking pictures of all the graffiti/mural. Mel being the star at all the athletic carnivals had done it in record time.
Luke had unfortunately for the team, got the task of finding a Geocache (a 2015 trend desperate to be relevant again) in Blackbutt Reserve. After a crawl of 45 minutes - in which I learn Mel is already accepted into Southern Cross Uni and I mentally work out the distance via public transport - Luke returns heaving for breath, clutching a dead phone and no prize.
So yeah, if we want a chance at winning this thing - it's up to me.
Add redacted swear words here.
The storm hasn't quite reached its zenith yet. Instead it rumbles angrily like an impatient toddler. But as I lean out of the car the first spit of rain hits me in the eye. Looks like the tantrum has started.
The Newcastle baths were made in the 1920s and look it. Waves crash against the concrete walls and reach up like they're trying to high-five the rain.
The school captain magically appears to lay out my tortuous challenge: race down concrete steps to the pool, jump in and paddle an inflatable floatie to the other side, retrieve a house-coloured ball, and do the whole thing in reverse to bring it back to the sociopathic captain.
All in pouring rain. And jeans.
Easy-peasy, I think numbly.
And of course, it wouldn't be a race unless it's against someone else. In the same way a hangnail is convenient, Jessica Lowey shows up, right on time.
I really, really don't want to do this. I don't think I can.
I'm about to say just that, when I look back at my friends. Both sporting huge grins and giving me a double thumbs up.
I have no idea what will happen next.
Did I do enough to pass?
Will we still be in each other's lives?
Who will I turn out to be?
For now ... I jump.
