by Leanne Hall
‘Individual rights should be balanced against what’s best for the group,’ she has the nerve to say. ‘And if I’m so coldhearted, then why am I the only one who thought about how upset the Mitchells would be if they saw a photo mocking the whole idea of kidnapping up on the school wall?’
This is enough to take my breath away, for real. I understand for the first time what seeing red means. Who was it that let Chunjuan snot on her shoulder?
‘Mocking? You don’t know anything about how the Mitchells feel. Why do you get to decide what’s right?’
Petra clears her throat.
‘I didn’t decide. Mrs Christie did. But do you want to know what I think?’ Her voice is low but there’s total hush in the classroom so it rings out. ‘I think you’re using Chloe for attention. And you’re using me as an excuse to be angry.’
She’s in tears which is just a cheap ploy to get her nerd friends to turn against us. I open my mouth to respond but she gets in first.
‘You think no one remembers Junior School, but I do. So I don’t get why you’re defending that photo! Or why you would do it in the first place. Where’s your heart?’
That is like a punch to the face and I’m actually reeling backwards but I try to control it, try to wipe any expression off my face and stay strong. I’m so mad and frustrated I can barely see.
‘My heart is broken…’ I start, but a torrent of tears threatens to overtake me and I won’t let anyone see me like that.
I pick up my clipboard and leave and Ally rushes to catch up to me, saying nothing, but sticking to my side.
DAY 61
It is completely unacceptable that Mrs Christie is not in her office when I have a million signatures to hand over, collected scrupulously over the last two days. Who can blame her, though, it must be hard to admit that everyone at this school thinks you’re wrong wrong wrong. She’s such an egomaniac it would never occur to her that someone might ever stand up to her.
‘Try the staff room,’ offers the receptionist through the annoying little window that makes her look like she’s selling drive-thru hamburgers.
I narrow my eyes to indicate my disapproval and whirl away, and the queue behind me shuffles up.
In a case of the most rotten or perhaps the best timing ever, Petra and Audrey walk across the open space in front of me, arm-in-arm. I brighten my face when I see them, smiling like I’m an entrant in a beauty pageant and holding up my impressive stack of paper. Behold my wrath and quake before me et cetera, the Queen is here to carve new factions in the kingdom and reign supreme. I zoom the petitions through the air while Audrey sneers and Petra looks away.
The doors to the staff room are almost as busy as reception, swinging back and forth every few seconds spitting out teachers or sucking them in, but the teachers have looks on their faces that say don’t interrupt me, probably on account of not having had enough coffee or sleep or not having had sex in the last two hundred years.
Every time one of the staffroom doors swings open you get a tantalising glimpse of the interior. Everyone knows that the teachers are always getting drunk in the staffroom and that’s why they never let students look inside although I guess 8.30 a.m. is a little early.
‘Natalia, can I help you?’
Finally Mr Scrutton takes pity and lingers in the doorway.
‘Mrs Christie is supposed to be in there.’
‘Let me check.’
The doors slam in unison, and the posters on the wall opposite flutter. As if the universe is trying to mock me, there’s a big poster publicising the art exhibition. The exhibition cocktail evening is tonight, which means I only have today to get Chloe’s artwork reinstated. I don’t have time to play cat-and-mouse with Christie.
‘No luck, I’m afraid, Natalia.’ Mr Scrutton stands in the doorway, keeping it ajar with one foot. A microwave dings somewhere in the den of iniquity. ‘Have you tried her office?’
I’d like to answer his very obvious question but my attention has been taken by the noticeboard just inside the staffroom, near the open door. Student photos are pinned up with notes underneath, warning of chronic asthma, allergies, epileptic seizures, diabetes and more. Yin’s face is among them.
‘Is everything okay? Anything else you need help with?’
I try not to get busted staring at the noticeboard. Mr Scrutton is not too bad as far as teachers go.
‘Everything’s fine!’ I sound so fake he must be able to tell. Under Yin’s photo it says ‘Shellfish—anaphylaxis. Moderate asthma—ventolin.’
I’d forgotten about Yin’s allergies until now. I remember the time Yin accidentally ate a dipping sauce with minute amounts of fish sauce in it and her eyes and mouth swelled up instantly and Chunjuan had to stab her in the thigh with an epipen. What if Doctor Calm doesn’t know about her allergy? What if she told him and he didn’t take her seriously?
‘It’s been a stressful year for everyone.’
‘Uh huh.’ My eyes want to return to the noticeboard. Drop it, I tell myself sternly.
I thank Scrutton and get away from the staffroom, the petitions heavy in my hands. I wonder if Yin had her epipen and ventolin with her when she was taken. What if the reason she hasn’t been returned like the others is because there was an accident?
Drop. It. Natalia. This time I rap myself three times on the head with my knuckles, as if I can make each word sink in.
I walk slowly across the foyer, sunk in thought.
Two maintenance men in blue overalls carry a large orange-and-green balloon arrangement across the space, the balloons skimming the low ceiling.
I know where Mrs Christie’s office is, everyone does, so when the receptionists aren’t looking, I scuttle down the short corridor to her lair and put the petitions right in front of her door, where she can’t miss them. Because I’m clever, I also take a photo of them, so she can’t say afterwards that she never saw them.
I send the photo to Chloe with the message: We need to talk about tonight.
She doesn’t reply but when I go to get my books for fifth period she’s waiting in front of my locker.
‘So you are at school today!’ I remark. I must say that I’ve seen her look better but I guess that’s what happens when Balmoral tries to crush your dreams.
‘Ally showed me the petition.’
‘I didn’t count for sure, but I’m thinking we might have over four hundred signatures. At least.’
‘It’s nice that you’re trying to do something for me…’ she starts.
‘No no no no—’ I jump in, ‘Not trying, I am doing something for you. And there’s more, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a spectacular protest planned for the cocktail evening tonight.’
‘Natalia,’ she says.
‘We’re going to stick it to the man, or the woman I suppose, in this case. Christie needs to know that we won’t bow to her fascist—’
‘Natalia. Look at me.’
Chloe holds her head at the temples like her brain might explode any second now. I’m no expert, but she seems unusually stressed. Her eyes are sliding about like she knows something I don’t know.
‘I appreciate you doing all this, but I need you to stop.’
The look on my face must say it all because she continues.
‘I don’t want to fight anyone about this,’ Chloe says. ‘Not Mrs Christie and not even Petra. Audrey came and found me this morning, and she thinks Yin’s disappearance has brought up Petra’s grief over her aunt who passed away not that long ago.’
‘What? That makes no sense. Yin has nothing to do with Petra’s aunt. She deserves everything she gets!’ My finger goes up in the air. I am ready, more than ready, to debate this. ‘Firstly, we both know that Petra fired the first shot and anything we do is just matching her dirty move. If she didn’t want to fight, she shouldn’t have taken us on.’
Chloe opens her mouth to interrupt me, but I roll right on.
‘Secondly, you didn’t do anything. I, on th
e other hand, did go in quite hard because there was a principle at stake, right? And I’m trying to defend you, because, let’s face it, you’re not doing anything to defend yourself.’
Chloe looks outraged at this, but I’m almost there.
‘Thirdly, this has been going on for a long time. You forget that I’ve known Petra since Junior School. She has always gone overboard about every little thing.’
Chloe crosses her arms in front of her chest. ‘Why does everyone always bring up the fact that I didn’t go to Junior School?’
I’m very confused for a second. ‘What? We don’t.’
Chloe draws up to her full height which, truth be told, is slightly intimidating.
‘You don’t get anything,’ her voice is strangled, ‘because you’re rich and beautiful and you’ve got all the confidence in the world. You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider or a target, you don’t know how easy it is to bring someone like me down. I tried, and I failed, and I just want to go away and be quiet now.’
I stare at her. This conversation is starting to resemble a runaway train, a train full of sentences that make no sense at all. What does she mean about confidence? She’s confident.
‘No petition. No protest. No attacking Petra. I mean it.’
‘Attack? Come on, Chloe.’
We fall silent for a moment, staring at each other, and there’s a sense that we’re strangers and don’t know each other at all. It’s embarrassing to be carrying on like this in the corridor where everyone can see us.
‘Is this our first fight?’ I ask. If she only knew what I’d planned for tonight, she’d see what a stroke of brilliance it’s going to be.
Chloe bites her lip, looking very uncertain. ‘You’re not listening to me, Natalia. Maybe it’s because this whole thing is tangled up with how you’re feeling about Yin.’
My vision blanks for one second, blanks with a red curtain. When it comes back Chloe is tenser than ever.
‘I feel terrible that I asked you to pose like that, now that I know you used to be fr—’
I hold up my hand to halt her. Yeah, I can do that because I’m rich and beautiful and that’s one of my superpowers.
‘Not you as well,’ I say, and walk away.
‘I think it’s a little strong.’
Dad fails to do a head-check before changing lanes, which is hypocritical of him because he’s always at me about it when he takes me on a driving lesson and this is why I don’t listen to him about many things.
‘You said I had to decide the best approach on my own. Using judgement.’
‘That’s right and, respectfully, I’m telling you, I think the language you’ve chosen is too strong. There’s a difference between making your point and being inflammatory. You could have just said bring Chloe’s photo back.’
‘That’s got no flair, Dad. Boring.’
I turn to look at my placard resting on the back seat.
STEALING STUDENT VOICES SINCE 1910
Take that, Balmoral knobs.
The school is so proud of its august history that I think it strikes exactly the right note. I am very satisfied with my sign. It took me at least an hour to paint those thick black letters when I could have been doing a million other things like watching music videos or stalking Samuel Pulpitt’s adult children online.
I’m wearing all black and I’ve got a roll of gaffer tape ready to slap over my mouth. I was going to use my school scarf to gag myself, until Dad pointed out that might be in bad taste. And I took his fatherly feedback on board, because I’m not a monster. My small rectangle of tape will be very tasteful.
‘Any word from the principal?’
Mrs Christie had plenty of time after lunch today to respond to my impressive wad of paper and she did not get off her arse to do anything, so if anyone is to blame for tonight’s public spectacle, it is her.
I sit up and pretend I possess Mrs Christie’s giant mono-boob and prissy mouth. ‘I imagine she would say: We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
Dad tries not to smile at that, but his cheeks twitch suspiciously.
When we get to school I make Dad park as close as he can, so he can see the main doors clearly. The entrance lobby is lit up but it’s abandoned and there aren’t many cars in the front car park.
‘Okay, what’s the plan, kiddo?’
‘Enter the building, find a place to situate myself for the duration of my peaceful protest. Engage in passive resistance.’
‘And leave if you’re asked to by the security guard or teachers,’ finishes Dad.
He makes me pose quickly by the side of the car with my mouth tape on, holding up the placard, taking pics with my phone. I have the good sense not to send any to Chloe. Maybe later, when she’s calmed down, I can show her, and she’ll say, you were right, Natalia, I was afraid to grab the attention and acclaim that I so clearly deserve.
It is maybe a tiny bit possible that perhaps I overreacted a small amount when Chloe brought up Yin, because of course someone told her how close we used to be. It’s not ideal, but I am admittedly a notorious and interesting person that others talk about.
‘Remember, if they try to expel you, I’ve got your back.’
‘Comforting, Dad.’
I trudge towards the main doors, thinking about how Dad is almost certainly having his second mid-life crisis and I’m only enabling him and Mum would definitely not approve—if we had told her about our plan, that is.
I manage to wiggle my sign through the school doors. My breath comes in little snorts and it’s hard to tell if it’s because I am beginning the very slow process of freaking out completely or if I’m still adjusting to breathing only through my nose.
A sandwich board announcing the Arts Sparks cocktail evening has been set out in the lobby, beside the fugly towering balloon thing that I saw the workmen lugging around earlier. I peer down the corridor and can see a few students and others milling around right at the end.
‘Ahem.’
Two Balmoral mums sit at a table about ten metres away and I literally did not realise they were there until now.
Their table holds matching glasses of champagne and a full bottle of champagne on standby, which seems quite keen for a cocktail evening that starts at 6 p.m., plus an array of school merch and some amateur ikebana and raffle tickets. Their expressions are set somewhere between puzzled and disapproving and they’re sporting the Balmoral Mum uniform of tailored asymmetry, chunky jewellery and patterned scarves—Old Girls for sure. Women who never got over the glory days of their time at the school and still hang their entire identities on being Old Collegians and making sure their own daughters repeat their very same experience at Balmoral. So very very sad.
I tilt my chin in a haughty manner and glide to my chosen site of peaceful protest next to the hideous balloon monster. I hold the placard in front of me and set my gaze to forward.
The mums exchange murmured assessments of my behaviour.
The doors squeak open, letting in a rush of outside air. Dad flashes his headlights at me in what I suppose is encouragement or solidarity or whatever and I hope isn’t a warning. Cars gather around him as the car park fills.
A family walks past, slowing slightly to read my sign. The girl smiles and takes a photo, the parents do not.
‘Honey, are you supposed to be there?’ One of the mums calls out. ‘You’re Kasha’s daughter, aren’t you?’
I flip my placard to reveal the other side.
FREEDOM TO EXPRESS NOT FREEDOM TO SUPPRESS
They read my second message and fall back into their chairs, more murmur more murmur more murmur. One takes a pic of me, the other taps at her phone.
The doors open again; more people arrive, more eyes slide sidewards. No one seems confident enough to fully acknowledge my presence.
I’m used to breathing through my nose by now, but my arms are getting tired from keeping my sign at chest level. Very occasionally someone gives me a confused nod. A Year Eleven flas
hes me the peace sign.
‘Is this performance art, Natalia?’
Nouri appears magically by my side and almost gives me a heart attack.
‘PLOH-TESS,’ I say through my tape.
‘Right.’ Nouri smiles and waves as more parents and Old Girls and students arrive.
She lowers her voice. ‘I’ll consider this as going towards the grade for your project. It’s thematically consistent with what you’ve already handed in.’
I nod and definitely don’t appear too grateful. It didn’t occur to me before she said it, but yes, while I deserve a medal for this, a B+ will also do.
Nouri moves away quickly, as if she doesn’t want to be associated with me. The gaping loneliness of the activist fills me. Chloe should be here to see this.
A grey-suited security guard wanders into the lobby, stares and retreats. She soon multiplies into two security guards. I smize at them. And then, inevitably, Vice Principal Mackenzie marches into sight.
‘Natalia, good evening. Would you mind explaining what you’re doing?’
I shrug, raise my sign, and try to convey that my whole deal for tonight is silence.
‘Who are you here with this evening?’ It’s a pity Mrs Mackenzie has such a pointless job because she could be quite nice if everything about her life was different. ‘I’ll need you to speak now, Natalia.’
I roll my eyes and peel off my mouth tape. That sounds simple, but it’s basically ten times more painful than getting my bikini line done.
‘Oh my god.’ I wince and roll the tape into a ball. When I recover feeling in my lips, I talk. ‘I’m protesting, miss. I’m exercising my democratic rights.’
This makes her frown. ‘One moment, please, Natalia.’
No doubt she has gone to call Mrs Christie on her batphone and receive orders about what to do with me.
I take the opportunity to tuck my sign under my arm and sprint down the hallway towards the exhibition, pretending to be a secret agent while I do it. Now that most people have arrived for the evening, maybe I can stand in the blank space where Chloe’s artwork should be hung. Speeches are going to be every kind of awkward tonight.