Rev Girl (24 page)

It was now or never. Speech or no speech, there was no turning back. Clover took a deep breath, forcing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, and moved slowly down and around the end of the curtain. The light in the room momentarily rendered her blind, forcing her to take a step back. A few seconds later, when her eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlights, and the hundreds of faces in the massive gymnasium, Clover was about ready to pass out from fear. The kids, clearly, were not happy to be there. Slouched over chairs at the back, sitting cross-legged in row upon row up front, some whispering, but mostly just studying her. It was indeed a badass, punk crowd. Lots of leather, messy hairdos in a rainbow of colours, visible tattoos, multiple piercings. Some of the punks looked curious, some disgusted, envious even. But most were ambivalent, with one eye on the clock.

More lights at the back of the room didn't help. Sharp, white ones, fastened to the top of big TV station cameras, making Clover feel even sicker with nerves at the thought more people would hear what words she managed to spew up. ‘Clover!' She heard her name boom out of the PA. She looked at the man with the microphone, waving her up. ‘Here she is, everyone! Let's bid her a warm welcome!' He clapped, as did the teachers.

Clover avoided looking at the crowd, where only a few people were clapping. Someone coughed loudly. Somebody else made a farting noise, laughter followed.

‘Shut it!' The man in the suit yelled into the microphone.

Clover stared at the grimy, wooden floor of the stage, and shuffled uncomfortably to the lectern. She had to pry her hands out of her pockets to accept the man's handshake. Suddenly, Clover was struck by the thought that she should have listened to her mother, should have dressed up, instead of insisting that she would be more comfortable in jeans, her REV GIRL T-shirt and favourite sneakers, in the hope that the kids would be able to relate to her more easily if she came as herself. But, judging by the lack of enthusiasm in the room, she was sure the only way she could have gained a warm reception would have been if she'd arrived topless with a boxful of alcohol.

The man thrust the microphone at her. Clover took a deep breath, and without looking up at the crowd, stood up to the lectern. All too aware of how alone she was.

She heard someone clear their throat, forced her eyes up, and every thought she had written in her speech drained from her head like her memory had been stolen.
Just be yourself.

It was a better idea than the course she was running, which would evidently lead to total breakdown, running and screaming from this terrible place.

And, picture them all naked.

This thought, however, didn't help one bit. The creepy, plump kid in the front row seemed scarily pale and lumpy without his clothes and she didn't dare subject her mind to a survey of the teachers.

How did you think you could do this?

But, you can,
a different voice within her mind retaliated.
At the races, you give good speeches at presentation. Right, then, imagine yourself in your riding gear. The crowd, just fellow racers, after a long day out in the forest.

This was her angle, she decided. Her tactic to survive. In an instant, all the kids had muddy faces, were wearing racing caps and jerseys. Immediately, a much friendlier crowd. Familiar, like she was home.

‘Right!' she said, then cringed, instantly aware of how loud her voice was through the powerful PA.

The packed room went eerily quiet.

‘I'd like to start by thanking all of you who turned up,' Clover said. ‘If I was you, I probably would-a skipped.' She grinned, and lots of kids laughed.

Here we go … just like at a race. These people are your friends …

‘Most assemblies are a total waste of time,' Clover continued. ‘In my opinion and that of all my friends there's way better things to be doing, like skipping school and getting hammered.'

The room remained silent for a moment, and then cheers erupted. A few of the teachers had risen to their feet, and were moving towards her. She held out a hand. ‘At least, that was my opinion!' She had to yell to be heard over the crowd, and glanced nervously at the teachers. Mr. Archibald and a few of the men in suits had risen from their chairs, and were glowering with disapproval, ready to stop her.

She smiled sedately, and then looked back to the crowd. ‘That was the truth for me,' she said. ‘Like, I imagine, it is for a lot of you.'

The kids were quiet. Listening.

She took a breath, and smiled into the microphone. ‘I used to want, more than anything, to be normal. To be cool. I was willing to ignore the very thing that made me
me
, to try to fit in, to deal with the pressure that I was under. I tried to numb the pain. But losing control is no way to be free. It will only lead to your freedom being taken away.

‘I had to take control, grow up, and quit the party scene.

Give up mucking around at school, because it nearly cost me my life. That was my first major challenge, but what came next was the toughest thing I've ever had to do. To be brave enough to let go of my fears; of being alone and not fitting in, so I could stay true to my goals, to my dreams, to what makes me, me.

‘I could have easily given in, to the people who doubted me, who tried to hold me back. It would have been much easier, much safer, to stay here with my boyfriend who I love … '

Loved, Clover! Past tense, remember …

She took a sharp breath before continuing, ‘'Cos I can tell you, the thought of flying all the way to an Eastern European country to ride around in the mountains for six days could really scare the shi um, I mean, crap, out of me. If I let it. But, I chose not to acknowledge the fear.

‘Fear is what will hold you back, and keep you from achieving something with your life. There's a whole world out there, waiting for you to grab it by the balls. The most devastating thing you could do now is to sell yourselves short. By getting wasted, not finishing school or by playing up, that's what you're doing giving in.

‘Your future is beyond high school, but you do need to get through this first. You might play up to try and fit in or be cool, or maybe you're being defiant and giving your teachers hell so you get chucked out of the classroom and then you don't have to try. Because if you don't try, then you can't fail. But the disappointment will still be there and it'll be even worse if you don't even try. Because, after a while, even you start to believe there's nothing more. That you're worthless. And that isn't true.

‘Every one of you has an ‘X'-factor, that something special that makes you, you. For me, racing is the best fuel for the devil on my shoulder. What's yours? You need to find something positive to channel that energy, 'cos if you don't, you're the one who's gonna suffer. You might be a hockey player or like baseball or have a real skill for playing video games … or, maybe you're literary, love to read and write, or to help people, to teach. Or, maybe you're good at math I only just learned my times tables, but I'm sure all you guys know them perfectly, right?' She glanced nervously at the teachers. When she realised they were no longer scowling, she turned back to her audience.

‘What I'm trying to say is that you're all special in your own way and that's what you should be spending your time doing. That thing you love. I've learned so much in the past year, and I think the most important thing I've realised is this being dead isn't just lying in the dirt, your eyes rolled back in your head. You die inside when you give up on what you truly love. On yourself. Find who you are and hold onto it.

‘And if you're not sure what that thing is, take a guess. It doesn't really matter, you can always change your mind. As long as you believe and you're having fun, that thing you do will get you through high school, it will get you through life, and all its hells. It will lead to your happiness. Hey, you … ' She nodded at the plump guy in the front row. The boy's eyes went wide, his face crimson. ‘What do you like to do?'

‘Suck dick!' somebody yelled from the back of the gym.

‘No. Seriously,' Clover said quickly, in the direction of the heckler. She smiled at the boy.

‘I … I play guitar,' he said in a small voice.

‘He plays guitar,' Clover repeated. ‘In a band?'

‘I don't know anyone else who's into music.'

Clover looked out at the crowd. ‘Anyone else play a musical instrument and want to start a band with … '

‘Dennis,' the boy said slowly.

‘Dennis needs a band, guys. Any takers? Who knows, you could be the next Nickelback.'

‘I know some people.' Clover searched the crowd for the owner of the female voice, a tall brunette in the third row. ‘I didn't know you played, Dennis,' the girl said. ‘Totally should have said something.'

‘There you go,' Clover said with a wave of her hand. ‘I think we're all guilty of hiding behind our plethora of gadgets and our cyber acquaintances as opposed to making the effort to connect with real, flesh and blood people these days, huh? There's value in actually talking to your classmates, guys. And, how 'bout you?' She pointed to a dark-skinned girl in the middle of the gym, weighed down by a mop of pink and purple hair. ‘What you into?'

‘I paint.' The girl had a surprisingly firm voice. ‘But they're crap.'

‘Have you ever shown your paintings to anyone?'

‘Wouldn't dare!'

‘Then how do you know they're crap?'

The girl's face seemed to lift, but Clover couldn't be sure, as it was mostly covered by waves of hair. ‘Is painting what you love to do?'

The girl nodded.

‘Then it won't even matter if that someone you finally show your stuff to does think it's crap. You persist. If you like what you do, there's bound to be someone else out there who likes it, too. There's a lot to be said for perseverance and being proactive, guys. Rev it up! There are a lot of riders who have gotten to the top by training, and working hard. They had to, because they didn't have as much skill or talent or money as some of the other racers. They just worked harder than everybody else. You do that, too. Just work harder and you'll reap the rewards. No excuses. If you fail, who cares? But if you fail to try, then you're already dead.'

The dark-skinned girl brushed back a wave of hair, revealing lovely, high cheekbones. ‘You said all this will lead to happiness,' she said. ‘Are you happy?'

Clover considered the question. ‘To be honest, I'll be happy when I finish the World's. At the moment, I'm pretty much just shit scared.'

The gym rumbled with laughter.

‘No, seriously, it is scary, I do my best not to think about it, but it still is,' Clover said. ‘I don't know what's gonna happen. I might not even finish. It could be a huge waste of my time, like some people have tried to tell me. But I have to try. Who knows, it could just open some doors. And to be honest, deep down, that's what my gut's telling me will happen.'

At that moment a boy's voice, coarse and deep, cut from the side of the gym, ‘What about a boyfriend?' he asked. Clover's eyes darted to the speaker, a boy with a tangle of dirt-coloured hair.

The boy smirked, and Clover was struck by his handsomeness.

‘In need of one?' he asked, loud enough for the entire gym to hear.

Clover couldn't help but smile, then leant back, eyeing the boy up and down. ‘Not too bad,' she said with a nod. The whole gym cracked up. ‘But, no, seriously,' she said, feeling herself blush. ‘My main goal right now has to be my racing. But I am like everybody else. I know that person's out there for me. I thought I found him, actually. But anyone who asks you to change who you are, to give up on what makes you, you, isn't the one. They can't be.'

The room fell silent.

‘Ah, sorry for the rant,' she said, with a shake of her head. ‘I don't imagine that last bit really fits with the curriculum. Certainly wasn't in my speech. Not much of it was, I don't think, but, anyway … '

‘How old were you when you started racing bikes?' a boy yelled from the back of the gym.

Clover grinned, and then launched into a story, about how she and Jasmine used to bash around the fields on their family's CT-70, back in Canada, and how, after they moved to Colorado, Ernie brought home her first proper bike, a second hand WR250F. She recounted how, in her first race at Highstone, she'd crashed every few metres going up, and coming back down every one of the series of steep, rocky cut lines in the 50-kilometre course. Ernie told the story the best, she explained. He said he'd been sure that she would hate him for life and never want to see another dirt bike again, after only just managing to get her back to camp, and then having to save her from drowning in a swollen creek just before the finish line. Ernie loved to tell this story, mainly because of how baffled he was when Clover was still wearing a smile at the end of the day, and begging to be allowed to ride the next race.

The kids seemed to like this story, so Clover continued, into a short history of her racing career to date, and talked a bit about school and how she'd managed to turn her grades around. ‘Well … ' she said, looking out over the now eager faces. ‘My name's Clover Kassedy. I race dirt bikes. I'm going to the World Championships, to try and become the first Women's Enduro World Champion. My ultimate goal is to make the sport I love my profession. Because, to be honest, I'd be a real dumbass if I didn't do everything within my power to make a living out of the thing I love doing best.'

Clover was stunned when nearly every kid in the audience rose to their feet, cheering, clapping. Even the teachers gave her a standing ovation.

The only speech Clover did with the assistance of some scribbled notes was at Silvertown High. She was twisted into a knot with nerves, having to face all of her classmates, and fearing Dallas would be in the audience she certainly didn't want to mention him or anything people would relate to their relationship and what had happened. So she did her talk, along the same lines as her first at Phoenix, void of the parts about finding love and the choice she'd had to make. Much to her relief, she was unable to spot Dallas in the crowd. Sydney was in the front row, and cheered loudly. Sera even messaged her straight after she was finished, to tell her ‘great job' and that she was dying to see the footage on the local news that night.