Wrong Direction
The first spark landed while he was turning down a boy’s phone number.
“I have a boyfriend,” he said.
The boy looked at him.
He looked back.
Neither of them seemed particularly convinced.
“All right,” he said. “I’m planning to have one.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
Behind them, somebody screamed.
Not the excited kind.
He turned.
For half a second, the whole lawn seemed to hold its breath.
Then everyone moved at once.
The crowd surged backward.
He took one step with them.
Then stopped.
And went the other way.
—
Three hours earlier, his mother had told him not to do anything stupid.
It was not unusual advice.
She’d been standing in the kitchen with a mug of tea, barely looking at him.
“First day,” she said. “Try being normal.”
“I’m always normal.”
His mother looked up.
That was all.
He left before she could provide evidence to the contrary.
By late afternoon, the university lawn was packed.
Orientation Week had turned the campus into a temporary country with its own laws, most of them involving free tote bags.
Music came from somewhere near the student union. Club banners snapped in the hot February wind. White marquees covered the lawn.
Debating. Diving. Politics. Pottery. Ballroom dancing. Competitive robotics.
Someone tried to recruit him into a Bible study.
Someone else tried to recruit him into socialism.
A girl in fairy wings asked if he played Dungeons & Dragons.
He told all three he’d think about it.
He had no intention of thinking about any of them.
His phone buzzed.
MUM
Have you eaten?
He typed:
Yes.
A second message appeared almost immediately.
What?
He stared at it.
His mother had an irritating understanding of evidentiary standards.
He took a photo of the nearest food stall and sent it to her.
Three dots appeared.
He put the phone away before cross-examination could begin.
By six, he had three tote bags, a handful of stickers, a tiny bottle of sunscreen and two condoms he did not remember accepting.
The condoms had come from somewhere between the chess club and the Young Liberals.
He decided not to think too hard about that either.
The heat eased after sunset.
People drifted toward the evening performances. Food trucks switched on their lights. Groups sat on the grass with drinks and paper trays of food.
Somebody nearby was laughing loudly enough for half the lawn to hear.
His friends seemed to find this normal.
He stepped around them.
That was when he noticed a dark blue rowing shirt in the crowd.
University crest.
Tall guy.
Very tall, actually.
He had a stack of flyers under one arm.
Long arms, long legs. The kind of build that made more sense once you noticed the rowing shirt.
The guy turned slightly.
He changed direction before they could make eye contact.
He had enough tote bags.
—
The da tie hua performance started after dark.
He’d seen videos before.
In person, it was better.
Hotter, too.
Every time the iron burst overhead, the crowd made the same noise.
A collective oh—
Then cheering.
Staff had cleared a wide space around the performance area. Temporary barriers marked the edges, and everyone had been told more than once to stay behind them.
Near the front, a girl was filming on her phone.
First year, probably.
She still had her university lanyard hanging outside her shirt.
She filmed the sparks.
Then herself.
Then her friend.
Then the sparks again.
“Oh my God, send me that one.”
“I literally just took it.”
“I know. Send it.”
He smiled despite himself.
A few minutes later she nearly backed into him while trying to get herself and the fire into the same shot.
“Sorry!”
“You’re fine.”
She barely looked away from the screen.
He moved back.
Twenty minutes later, he met D-something near the language clubs.
Daniel, maybe.
David.
Definitely a D.
He was nice.
This was unfortunate.
By the time the next performance began, D-something had somehow found him again.
“So,” D-something said, holding out his phone. “Can I get your number?”
He looked at the screen.
Then at him.
“I have a boyfriend.”
D-something looked at him.
He looked back.
Neither of them seemed particularly convinced.
“All right,” he said. “I’m planning to have one.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
Someone screamed.
He turned.
At first, he couldn’t see what was wrong.
Another burst went up.
People cheered.
The girl near the front kept filming.
Then one of the performers moved suddenly.
A staff member shouted.
The words disappeared under the music.
Another spray of sparks came down.
Too far to one side.
The girl laughed.
She lifted her phone higher.
“Back!”
This time people heard it.
“Move back!”
The front row pushed away from the barrier.
Someone bumped into someone else.
A drink went flying.
Then everybody seemed to realise at once that this wasn’t part of the show.
The crowd moved.
D-something grabbed his sleeve.
“Come on.”
He went back one step.
The girl lowered her phone.
Someone hit her from the side.
Her phone flew out of her hand.
She went down.
He stopped.
Looked at the sparks.
The barrier.
The staff.
The girl.
Then he moved.
“Hey—”
D-something lost his grip on him.
The girl was trying to get up.
Someone almost stepped on her hand.
He caught the guy by the shoulder.
“Left.”
The guy stared at him.
“What?”
“Go left.”
He went left.
He reached the girl and crouched.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“Think or know?”
She blinked.
“Know.”
“Okay. Up.”
He held out a hand.
She took it.
He pulled her up.
She wobbled once, then stayed on her feet.
“Go that way.”
“My phone.”
“No.”
“It’s right there.”
He looked.
A few metres away, face-up in the grass.
Still recording.
“Leave it.”
“But—”
A staff member reached them.
“I’ve got her.”
He passed her over.
That should have been it.
Except people were still stopping.
Looking back.
Trying to find friends.
One guy was pushing the wrong way through the crowd.
“My mate’s still there.”
“Where?”
He pointed.
Two staff members were already with him.
“They’ve got him.”
“You sure?”
He looked again.
“Yes.”
The guy hesitated.
“Go.”
He went.
Someone else had stopped to film.
“Mate.”
The phone lowered.
“Sorry.”
“Just move.”
The music cut out.
That helped.
Without it, people could hear the staff.
The crowd began to spread out.
He looked back at the performance area.
Staff everywhere.
Nobody on the ground.
Fine.
He stepped away.
Someone was staring at him.
Dark blue shirt.
The rowing guy.
No sunglasses now.
Tall. Fair-haired. Tanned.
From this distance, that was about all he could tell.
The guy wasn’t looking at the fire.
He was looking at him.
No.
Lower.
At his feet.
He looked down too.
Nothing interesting there.
When he looked back up, the rowing guy caught his eye.
For a second, neither of them moved.
The guy frowned slightly.
Not angry.
More like he was trying to work something out.
Then one of his friends appeared beside him and said something.
He looked away.
That was it.
—
The girl’s phone stayed on the ground for another forty-three seconds.
Most of the video was grass.
Shoes.
People running past.
Someone saying, “Where’s Chloe?”
Then, for a second, his shoes appeared.
They stopped.
Turned.
And disappeared again.
—
By the time he got on the train, there were videos everywhere.
By the time he found a seat, he was famous.
Not properly famous.
The bad kind.
His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
Thirty-seven notifications.
Four missed calls.
All from his mother.
“Oh, shit.”
He opened Instagram.
The first video had already passed two hundred thousand views.
WHO IS THIS GUY 😭
He pressed play.
People screamed.
The camera shook.
The crowd went back.
He went forward.
It looked worse on video.
Much worse.
The comments were already a disaster.
bro thinks he’s batman
why did he just WALK BACK IN 💀
is he single
He closed the comments.
Someone had sent him another clip.
This one was mostly grass.
He nearly skipped it.
Then his shoes appeared.
Stopped.
Turned.
That was all.
Twelve seconds.
Apparently twelve seconds was enough for the internet.
why did bro pause like that
he was checking where it was going
bro did a risk assessment 😭
He locked his phone.
Absolutely not.
The train doors opened.
A group of boys got on.
He heard them before he looked up.
“I’m telling you, she was looking at me.”
“She was looking at the guy behind you.”
“There was no guy behind me.”
“There was a bin.”
“Fuck off.”
Someone laughed much too loudly.
He looked up.
Rowing shirts.
Of course.
There were four of them.
One had a sports bag big enough to contain a body.
Another was eating chips.
The guy from the lawn was with them.
He stood out mostly because he was taller than the others.
Not bigger.
Just longer somehow.
He had the sort of arms and legs that seemed to take a little more time to get anywhere.
It should have looked awkward.
It didn’t.
He noticed him almost immediately.
Said something to his friends.
One of them looked over.
Then another.
Great.
The rowing guy walked down the carriage.
His friends stayed where they were.
They watched, though.
Very subtly.
If by subtly you meant all three of them were staring.
He stopped beside the empty seat opposite him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Is this free?”
He looked at the seat.
“Yeah.”
The guy sat down.
His knees came close to the back of the seat in front of him.
Very tall, then.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
The train started moving.
His phone buzzed again.
The rowing guy glanced at it.
Not the screen.
Just the noise.
“Busy day?”
“Apparently.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
He waited.
The guy looked like he wanted to say something.
Then didn’t.
Behind him, one of his friends laughed again.
Very loudly.
The rowing guy closed his eyes for a second.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“That.”
Another burst of laughter.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing. That’s just how he is.”
“That seems exhausting.”
“It is.”
He looked past him.
The three boys immediately pretended not to be watching.
One became extremely interested in the train map.
He looked back.
“Your friends are bad at this.”
“I know.”
The train passed under brighter lights.
That was when he noticed the guy’s eyes.
They didn’t match.
He looked again.
One blue.
One green.
Huh.
“Are you okay?”
He realised he’d missed the start of the question.
“What?”
“From before. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
The guy shrugged.
“You walked toward flying metal.”
“Fair.”
His phone buzzed again.
MUM.
The rowing guy saw the name and looked away.
At least he had manners.
“Do you play sport?”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Sport.”
“I know what sport means.”
“Right.”
The guy rubbed the back of his neck.
“I just meant—do you?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at him.
The rowing guy looked out the window.
This was possibly the worst recruitment attempt he had ever seen.
“Are you trying to sell me something?”
The guy looked back.
“What?”
He pointed at the shirt.
“Oh.”
A small laugh.
“No. Well. Maybe.”
“Great.”
“Rowing.”
“I gathered.”
“You ever tried it?”
“No.”
“Want to?”
“No.”
Another laugh.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
He checked his phone.
The rowing guy tapped one finger against his knee.
Then stopped.
“Why not?”
He looked up again.
“Why not what?”
“Rowing.”
“I don’t like mornings.”
The guy nodded.
“Yeah. That’s a problem.”
“Finally, some honesty.”
“It’s pretty bad.”
“How bad?”
“Depends how much you like sleep.”
“I like sleep.”
“Then really bad.”
That was more like it.
The rowing guy reached into his bag and pulled out a flyer.
He held it out.
SYDNEY UNIVERSITY BOAT CLUB.
Training times underneath.
He laughed.
“Five?”
“Not every day.”
“That’s not a defence.”
“I know.”
He took the flyer anyway.
Mostly because the guy was still holding it.
“Happy?”
“A little.”
From the other end of the carriage:
“OI, LAURIE!”
The rowing guy turned.
One of his friends held up an empty chip packet.
“Bin?”
Laurie stared at him.
“There’s one next to you.”
The friend looked down.
There was, in fact, a bin next to him.
“Oh.”
The other two lost it.
Laurie turned back slowly.
He looked tired.
“So your name’s Laurie.”
“Apparently.”
“Short for?”
“Laurence.”
That suited him.
He didn’t say so.
“Your friends seem nice.”
“They’re idiots.”
“Yeah.”
“But they are nice.”
From the other end:
“WE CAN HEAR YOU.”
Laurie didn’t turn around.
“I know.”
He laughed.
He hadn’t meant to.
Laurie looked at him for a second.
Then smiled.
Just a normal smile.
His phone rang.
MUM.
He sighed.
Laurie nodded at it.
“You should probably answer.”
“You don’t know her.”
“No.”
“She’s going to ask if I’m injured again.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then you already know the answer.”
He looked at him.
“That’s not how mothers work.”
Laurie considered this.
“Fair.”
He answered.
“Hi.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Train.”
A pause.
“When you get home, we’re talking.”
“About?”
She hung up.
He stared at the phone.
Laurie was looking out the window.
Very deliberately.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Good.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“Maybe.”
The train slowed.
Laurie stood.
For someone that tall, he moved easily.
No ducking around people. No elbows everywhere.
Just up, bag over one shoulder, one hand catching the rail as the train shifted.
His friends were already at the doors.
He nodded at the flyer.
“Think about it.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay.”
That surprised him.
Laurie adjusted his bag.
“You should, though.”
“There it is.”
Laurie smiled.
The doors opened.
One of his friends yelled:
“Laurie!”
“What?”
“You coming or are you getting married?”
Laurie gave him the finger.
The boys laughed.
Loudly.
He stepped off the train.
Just before the doors closed, he looked back once.
Then he was gone.
He looked down at the flyer.
Five a.m.
Absolutely not.
He folded it in half and put it in his bag.
—
His mother was in the living room when he got home.
That was unusual.
She normally stayed in the kitchen in the evenings, where the light was warmer and the tea was closer.
Tonight the television was off.
His viral video was playing on her phone.
Again.
He dropped his bag by the door.
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t answer.
“Mum.”
The video restarted.
The crowd moved backward.
He moved forward.
She paused it.
Not on the sparks.
Not on the girl.
On him.
Then she dragged the video back.
Played it again.
Stopped.
The second before he turned around.
He stood still.
Looked.
Then moved.
His mother watched it again.
“What?”
No answer.
“Mum?”
She opened the other video.
The one from the ground.
Grass.
Shoes.
His feet appeared.
Stopped.
Turned.
She paused it.
He frowned.
“That one’s terrible.”
She said nothing.
“You can’t even see anything.”
“I can.”
He looked at her.
Something about the way she said it made him stop.
She locked the phone.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve watched it six times.”
“Seven.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
He almost smiled.
She didn’t.
For a moment, she looked older.
Not tired.
Older.
Then she put the phone face-down on the table.
“Go shower,” she said. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
He stayed there.
There were questions he could have asked.
Why that part?
Why the pause?
Why did she look scared?
But he was eighteen, starving, and had spent the last hour watching strangers online discuss whether he was single.
So he let it go.
“All right.”
He headed down the hall.
Behind him, his mother stayed where she was.
Her hand rested on the phone.
The screen was black now.
She didn’t play the video again.
She didn’t need to.
She knew what came next.
Everyone else moved back.
Her son looked once.
And went forward.
