BURNOUTS

HANNAH CLERC

Adam Grant

7 Arthur Lane

Tin Can Bay, QLD 4580

Adam didn’t often receive mail. The last letter addressed

to Adam had been in his grandmother’s spidery cursive – a card for his 17th birthday. Adam had spent the $20 inside on bait the same day at The Chandlery. But that was a couple of months ago now. At the time, Adam felt he’d wasted his gift. He and Patrick had returned home with nothing to show for their efforts but Adam’s burnt nose and a slight gash marring Patrick’s left index finger from where he’d cut himself on a fishing hook. Adam had nearly fallen into the water from laughing so hard at Patrick’s reflexive reaction to putting his finger in his mouth only to spit it out just as quickly at the taste of worm on his fingers. Then Adam actually did find himself in the water when Patrick retaliated by pushing him in. Adam didn’t stop laughing until after Patrick had joined him, the two of them bobbing with the current as Adam’s chest finally stilled. A few weeks later, Adam was still again, facing Patrick on the other boy’s bed. Patrick’s dark green covers were soft and faded from years of use. Adam and Patrick had sat on

this bed hundreds of times to play video games and talk shit. This time, though, rather than a PlayStation controller, Adam held an envelope that was near identical to Patrick’s,

apart from:

Patrick O’Donnell

9 Arthur Lane

Tin Can Bay, QLD 4580

The long-anticipated image of a red key in the top righthand corner had told Adam these letters were far more

important than his grandmother’s birthday greetings. Ever so slowly, Patrick had carefully slid his thumb under

the tab and had begun to ease the envelope open. Impatient, Adam had torn open the envelope, nearly ripping the letter in his haste to read the message inside.

Dear Mr. Grant, Your application for student accommodation in a single room at St. Peter’s College Brisbane has been accepted.

In that moment, all that mattered to Adam was the first

sentence – the one that earnt a fist bump from Patrick and his widest smile.

The subsequent sentences were more important now. Adam had budgeted for the $250 upfront amenities fee, and for the $60 administration fee. He’d put away a little extra each

week from his weekend shifts at IGA, sacrificing sides of fries and double scoops of ice-cream. But then: This year,

in response to this year’s floods and ongoing COVID-19 concerns, St. Peter’s College is requiring new lodgers to provide a $1200 deposit for their room and board. This amount must be paid on or before 30 September 2022.

Adam didn’t have that kind of cash on hand. His parents certainly didn’t. Seemingly endless travel restrictions and global pandemics had taken its toll on their dolphin cruise business.

Despite Adam’s new concerns about money, he’d hand over that $20 again in a heartbeat if it meant he could return to when he floated beside Patrick. It wouldn’t be a waste at all.

“Adam, there’s no fucking way Billy Berns agreed to that,” Patrick says with a vehemence undiluted by his hushed tone. Patrick places his dad’s empty VB bottles next to the kitchen bin and glances over Adam’s shoulder, making sure their argument hasn’t woken him. But Mr O’Donnell remains asleep on the couch, still in uniform after returning home from his nightshift at the police station. Adam aims for casual as he explains, “Look, all we have to do is help them break in and steal what’s left of Mary’s stash.” Patrick stares open-mouthed at Adam and begins to slowly shake his head, “Adam—” “It’s the last $200 I need for the deposit,” Adam tries. Even after all the extra shifts at IGA and forgoing everything from the occasional chocolate block to barista-made coffees, Adam’s still short for the deposit that’s due Monday. When Patrick sighs and looks away, Adam knows he’s won.

* * *

Billy’s been watching Patrick all afternoon, conspicuously enough that Adam notices. Adam doesn’t like the way Billy’s eyes track Patrick as he moves absentmindedly to pick up

the bottle of rum that spilled its contents all over the rug when Zach kicked it over. Maybe it wasn’t Adam’s best idea to bring Patrick along to raid Mary’s liquor cabinet, knowing how Patrick feels about alcohol because of his dad’s own

problems with self-medication.

Adam pulls out yet another bottle of gin and hands it to Zach who adds it to Billy’s backpack, the gym bag beside it already full. “That’s the last unopened one,” Zach directs to Billy who’s presiding lazily from the blanket-adorned armchair with a half-finished bottle of whiskey and a freshly lit cigarette burning between his teeth. “Good work boys,” Billy says as he joins them. “Here’s to a job well done,” Billy adds, handing over the bottle of whisky to Zach who takes a large mouthful. Zach pulls back grinning, he goes to take another but Billy interrupts him, “Zach don’t be so fucking rude and pass it down to O’Donnell.” Patrick looks up from his uncomfortably rigid position on the couch with a blank look. He doesn’t reach to take the

bottle Zach offers; he may as well be a statue. Billy stares Patrick down as he takes another drag of his cigarette but Patrick refuses to meet Billy’s eyes. Billy snatches the bottle from Zach, sloshing the liquor within. All the while, Billy’s gaze remains focused on Patrick. Replacing his cigarette with the mouth of the bottle, Billy takes a swig before wiping his mouth sloppily with the back of his hand. “See, O’Donnell? Easy as. Now you,” Billy says, extending the bottle to Patrick. Patrick finally turns his attention to Billy, jaw set. “I’m good

actually,” he responds evenly. Billy freezes, shocked that Patrick’s actually refusing him. “No?” Billy says venomously, licking his lips and turning to Adam. “Okay then, Grant. You want your $200? O’Donnell takes a shot, or you can kiss that money goodbye.” Adam looks between Billy and Patrick. Adam opens his mouth to respond but doesn’t have the chance to get any words out before Patrick rises to leave but Adam quickly blocks Patrick’s path to the door. “Come on, Patrick, just suck it up for once. Okay?” Adam whispers. Patrick recoils like he’s been struck before he tries again to shove past Adam. “Fuck you, Adam.” Adam grabs Patrick’s arm and yanks him back. Something in Patrick snaps – CRACK. Patrick swings round with a haymaker punch, walloping Adam in the jaw. The force of it causes Adam to crash into an unprepared Billy. The momentum dislodges Billy’s cigarette and ignites the alcohol-soaked rug. Adam looks up to see Patrick breathing heavily in the doorway – unmoving, as Billy and Zach flee the room with their bags. Adam is held in place by Patrick’s look of contempt – his

eyes ablaze with fury and his face awash with orange. Patrick moves only to shove Adam aside as he grabs the blanket off the back of the armchair in an effort to smother

the flames.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Adam asks incredulously. “We need to do something!” The granny squares are no match for the inferno. Patrick rushes into the kitchen as Adam calls after him, “We need to get the fuck out of here!” Patrick returns with a pot of water and attempts to extinguish the flames, but the blaze is already out of hand, leaping up the nearby curtains. “Fuck off, then!” Patrick shouts as he returns to the kitchen to refill his pot. “Fine!” Adam cries, voice cracking. Tears begin to wet his face as he finds the back door. Scrambling down the back steps, Adam wipes at his eyes as he races towards Billy and his promised $200. But the whining siren of a police car brings him to a halt. Adam turns towards the sound and sees flames escaping from the living room window. “Shit,” Adam exhales, hypnotised – the sight of the flames’ destruction anchoring him in place. Adam is broken out of his reverie by the increasing closeness of the siren’s wails, “Patrick…”.

Adam tears his gaze away from the inferno to find Billy and Zach are about to turn the corner. Adam moves to pursue the other boys before they’re out of sight but slows with each step. He looks once again over his shoulder towards the house.

Coming to his senses, Adam turns and races back to his best friend.