Take Three Girls

by Cath Crowley

  Rupert’s mother is a social worker. He gets the lowdown from her like I get it from Clare. He gives me a half-wink and I smile back, feeling that he and I can maybe be friends again one of these days.

  The guys claim they don’t know who PSST is, and I believe them, hugging to myself that I do know, at least a couple of them. The trouble is, these guys are on the fence. They’ll laugh at some of the misogynist crap, but get defensive if you have a go at them about it because they didn’t actually say it or write it.

  Malik says the standard you walk past is the one you accept.

  My phone vibrates with the text from Kate that I’ve been waiting for, and I step away to text back what she needs.

  Saturday 3 September

  I type fast, writing the browser extension. Clem isn’t here, but she left her room open for me. It’s the one place Iris won’t think to look. I know what I’m doing, but I have to concentrate. I haven’t written one of these before and I need it to work.

  There are a few variables, even if I get it right.

  I don’t want these people to win. I want that feeling I had at the audition – the hum of doing something, being something; the hum of having friends, a boyfriend; the hum of feeling fantastic about yourself – I want that hum to go through everyone at the formal.

  What I don’t want is some manipulative fuck to win tonight. My hands are aching. I can’t type fast enough.

  When it’s finished I copy it to the USB stick and kiss it for luck.

  Done, I text Ady. Can you send password? And what’s the browser?

  I stare at the three dots and imagine Ady typing.

  Please, please, please, I think as her reply pops up.

  Password is Art Department. Browser is Chrome. See you there.

  Ady and the rest of the committee have done a brilliant job. Fairy lights lead the way to the door. I walk past the photographer’s corner, a cloud of silk and hairspray, where people are lining up to have their official memory of the night taken. One after the other they stand close to their tuxedo-ed date and smile like this is the best night of their lives.

  Please work, browser extension. Please, please work.

  I’m helping Iris with tech, so I have access to all areas and all equipment. I walk backstage, grabbing an appetiser and drink on the way, and announce that I need to do some sound and computer checks. Ady has taken care of Theo, luring him outside.

  There are others standing around me, though. Guys from Basildon that are probably in on the whole thing, so I hope they’re not technical. It turns out that, even if they are, they’re too busy talking to the band members from Hoxton to worry about me.

  I’m just mute Kate, I guess.

  But it’s the quiet ones, don’t you know?

  Hoxton start up their first set while I’m working, and it gives me the cover I need. They’re playing one of their louder songs – the perfect soundtrack – all guitars and fuck yous.

  ‘Fuck you, Theo and Iris,’ I say calmly, as I type in the password and plug in the USB. It feels like forever till it pops up in the menu, and then forever between opening it, clicking on the file and installing the plug-in on the browser.

  Done, I text to Ady and Clem.

  I do some pretending – act like I’m checking lights, mics, sound.

  Oliver appears after a while, stepping over cords and past speakers. He’s still grinning from the audition. ‘I don’t want to jinx us, but we were brilliant,’ he says. ‘I mean, we were bloody brilliant.’

  ‘We were indeed.’

  I look him up and down. He’s wearing an old blue suit that belongs to his grandfather. His shoes, as I would expect, are shined. ‘You look very beautiful,’ I tell him, straightening his tie.

  ‘You look very beautiful, too,’ he says.

  I feel good – the silk dress that Ady gave me is cool against my skin. My hair is done like she did that night at the club – piled up with flowers through it. I’ve left off the crimson lipstick for practical reasons: I have plans for kissing later.

  Hoxton take a break as Theo walks backstage with Iris. ‘I’ve got it from here, Screamer,’ he says.

  Loser, I think, and squeeze Oliver’s hand so he doesn’t say anything. The payback will come, but it will be later.

  Iris is with Theo as his date – at least she’s clinging to his arm, desperate to be that. ‘We want to check the computer,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve got it covered,’ I tell her.

  She nods, and looks worried, and I wonder if she’s having second thoughts. I want her to have them. I want to know that she’s the person I thought she was. If she doesn’t say something now, I can’t talk to her again. I won’t. This is her chance. Anyone who would do this isn’t someone I want to know.

  Please say something.

  But she walks away, telling us she has to go to the bathroom; she’ll see us later.

  I call out goodbye.

  ‘So, you’ll start up the slide show?’ Theo asks.

  I tell him he’s welcome to start it himself. ‘I’ll be out watching. When you’re ready, just hit play.’

  The formal is in full swing by the time Oliver and I leave backstage. Hoxton are taking a break during the mains. Ady’s taken my advice on the music and Mazzy Star is coating the room in low velvet voices. Oliver and I take a seat at a white-clothed table marked by the Ady touch – flowered centrepieces wild with colour.

  ‘Which fork?’ Oliver says. ‘I always forget.’

  ‘You start from the outside,’ I tell him.

  I wave at Clem, who’s laughing hysterically as she tries to get her paella past her beard. ‘Who’s she meant to be?’ Oliver asks.

  ‘Herself,’ I say, as my food arrives.

  ‘You don’t seem nervous at all,’ Oliver says, nodding to the screen that’s onstage, ready for the presentation. ‘I eat when I’m nervous,’ I tell him, forking up salad that’s left on his plate.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the formal. It wasn’t even on my radar. All term people have been planning dresses and dates and make-up and nails. I’ve been in music-land, Kate-land. But now that I’m here in the middle of it all – the school transformed into elegant, thanks to Ady – it feels important. It doesn’t matter whether you’re subverting like Clem or embracing like Tash and her friends – it’s a moment. And it’s not the waiters or the tablecloths or the cutlery or the amazing food or the fact that Hoxton are here. It’s that we are here.

  And if my plan fails, then Theo ruins it all.

  ‘I’m actually beyond nervous,’ I tell Oliver.

  After the mains are done and cleared, Tash heads to the bathroom, a sign that the presentation is about to start. I imagine her in front of the mirror, checking her lipstick, checking her teeth, checking her hair, practicing her smile, before she’s in front of everyone, onstage.

  I watch her sauntering through the crowd, stopping to hug and kiss people on the way. Backstage, Theo is waiting – laughing – the shithead. I can’t tell if the other guys here know what he has planned. Oliver thinks most of them don’t and I want to believe that.

  Tash walks on stage. There’s electricity in the air. She swings her whole body and flirts with the room till we’re quiet. ‘We love you, Tash!’ a couple of people call out, and she waves at them, then taps the microphone and everyone goes quiet.

  ‘The St Hilda’s formal committee would now like to present for you a slide show. “Moments”,’ she says, with a hand flourish that convinces me she has no idea what’s about to appear behind her on the screen. She’s just as likely as anyone else to be in the Top Ten. ‘This years highlights – St Hilda’s and Basildon.’

  She nods towards off stage, to Theo, just before the lights go out.

  I shift nervously.

  The familiar PSST page comes up on screen, and then PSST BEST OF.

  There’s a collective inhalation of breath, no cheering, just hushed silence broken by some fucks and oh my gods. I can see the shadow of Tash, hovering
on the side of the stage, freaking out. I can see the calm shadow of Ady, her hand on her arm. I imagine Ady looking at the screen and telling her to watch.

  The posts roll.

  Guess what put on at Jonno’s party?

  Helena Parks – total body

  Who is the biggest ?

  Angela Bannon – hot and number one

  Clem Banks is so I can’t stand it.

  Who gave who a at Tash’s party?

  Kate Turner – but if you’re it’s the that really

  Patrons at St Hilda’s Fair were by a mass. It came of out of the water and remains a .

  Ady Rosenthal likes courtesy of Rupert.

  I would like to give Kate Turner at huge

  Every slut is replaced by a flower. Every fucked-up thought replaced by a star. Whores, blow jobs, fat, rape, bitch: they’re all gone, wiped out by us. And a little technical know-how.

  I raise my hands in the air and cheer with everyone else.

  Everyone in the room is going crazy with happiness, with the feeling of telling the things and people in the world that try to trap you to go themselves.

  Everyone except Theo and Iris that is.

  But as Oliver tells me I’m spectacular, I really couldn’t give a about them.

  Saturday 3 September

  Formal notes:

  • The table bearing your name-tag may not be the table where you end up sitting.

  • That curious smell is two parts hormones, two parts hairspray and a dash of anticipation.

  • Vegetarians always get a bum deal.

  • Hollywood tape is hazardous.

  • Beware of over-manscaped Basildons bearing gifts.

  • And this one’s important: who you arrive with does not dictate who you leave with.

  My table is the best table. It’s the funnest, the most raucous, the best-dressed and the worst-behaved. The Feminist Collective went nuts in the drama department and as a result I am dressed as the lovable Russian Jewish village milkman, Teveye, from Fiddler on the Roof. That is to say, I am wearing baggy pants, a jerkin and a full beard. Lin Barlow is dressed as Kenickie from Grease and she can’t stop leering and grabbing her crotch.

  The presentation is supposed to happen after the band, between mains and dessert. Ady and Kate have been hovering around the computer. Theo Ledwidge is there looking officious. He posed for his photo with Iris with the cheesiest smile in the world, and then as soon as the flash disappeared so did his teeth.

  Iris looks really pretty, but she also looks really sick, and I know she’s thinking about what’s going to happen. I’m trying to work out what I’m going to say to her. What and where and how.

  After I read Iris’s letter I put it back in her journal, so she has no idea that anyone knows anything. I gave Kate and Ady the CliffsNotes version. And we were all quiet for a bit, thinking about it. Thinking that even after what she’s done we can’t completely hate her. I feel sorry for her. I feel a bit responsible, but when I said that to the others they were adamant.

  ‘This is not a twin thing,’ Ady said. ‘This is on Iris.’

  But maybe if I’d been nicer to her. If I’d made more of an effort to include her . . . She’s on Theo’s table, but he’s not there. At the opposite end there are a couple of Basildon boys ignoring her. Iris looks small, and angry, and watchful. Theo has clearly deserted her. Even when the mains are served, he stays AWOL.

  I feel like I’ve got eyes everywhere; I’m watching Iris, Theo, Ady, Kate. Cool cryptic texts circulate between me and my thumb compatible comrades. In between OMGs and Soons, and Yassssses! there’s Check Theo’s boys looking so self-congratulatory (Ady), superbia et ante ruinam exaltatur (Kate).

  I’m going to say something to Iris, I text.

  Make sure she’s watching, Kate replies. Don’t let her leave.

  And then I get the text that makes me rise to my feet. ‘IT’S GO-TIME.’

  ‘Iris. Wait –’ I catch her arm as she’s trying to do a runner, as the first slide comes on, and in the hush that goes with it I feel like my heart might have stopped, just for a sec. Iris tries to pull away but I grip her arm and together we watch PSST’s Top Ten, the flower-bomb version.

  I see the PSST page swamped with daisies and tulips and bluebells and roses.

  And people are going, What?

  And people are going, Awwwwww!

  My table are high-fiving and giving up bro-tastic chest-bump action. Theo Ledwidge is trying to get to the computer, but Ady and Max block him with their folded arms. The teachers are streets behind us – trying to figure out what all the commotion is about. And as each post scrolls we know what they’re supposed to say – but with the flowers replacing the offensive words, the display becomes like a surreal, incoherent rebus. It builds and builds, the laughter, the cheering – and it feels like such a win after all the stabs and hits and taps and sluts, and it’s kind of galling, to see just how many flowers appear.

  Iris is mesmerised. Then she turns to me. ‘That’s genius.’

  ‘That’s Kate,’ I say. ‘You were right. She’s the smartest girl in school, and if you think she’s going to want to spend another night sharing a room with you, you’re crazy. We know, Iris. You’re the snitch.’

  Her chin starts to wobble. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. She looks up and her eyes are glistening. ‘Are you going to tell the other boarders? Does everyone have to know?’

  ‘I don’t see how there’s any way out of it.’

  ‘They’re going to hate me.’

  ‘Probably.’

  Then she looks scared. ‘Are you going to tell Gaffney? The scholarship –’

  ‘That’s the thing with fall-out – you don’t know how far it will reach.’

  She’s getting paler by the second.

  I give a philosophical sigh and pat her shoulder. ‘This is probably the worst of it.’

  You can pick them off – the Basildons that are involved. You can see them huddling and conferring and looking dark and thwarted. Theo comes up to Iris and grabs her arm and hisses something in her ear. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she whimpers.

  ‘Not Iris,’ I say. ‘Kate Turner.’ And Kate’s right near us now, with Oliver. He taps Theo on the shoulder, and when Theo turns, Oliver – mild, straight, music nerd Oliver – punches Theo in the nose. Theo spills across the dance floor and while he’s down, sprawled, glaring up, blood gushing onto his white shirt, Jinx does a neat sidestep over and takes a picture.

  Then the screen goes black, the show is over. Iris is looking at Kate but Kate’s shaking her head. Iris runs for the bathroom. Malik is walking over to Theo. Someone puts on ‘I Gotta Feeling’ and everyone rushes the dance floor.

  And it’s not just a good night, it’s a GREAT night. It’s almost perfect – there’s only one thing missing. I am literally thinking this as Ben walks through the door. He’s not a bit put off by my beard.

  Saturday 3 September

  If I look back at the formal when I’m old, old Adelaide, I will remember these things particularly:

  Max arriving in a killer tux – jacket, trousers chopped to knee-length, long black lace-up Docs.

  Luring Theo Ledwidge away from the computers with false smiles, giving him lots of detailed instructions about the location of a non-existent afterparty so Kate could download her magical browser extension.

  Dancing to Hoxton, out of control with relief, delirious in anticipation of the PSST annihilation. Max and I laughing our heads off and, later, dancing slowly, close and whispery.

  Making sure we were at the computers when the time came so Theo couldn’t wreck Kate’s plan.

  The cheer that built up and exploded when Kate’s amazing flower-bombed version of PSST appeared on the screen, post after post covered in flowers, not a vicious word to be seen. She is the hero of the entire school. It warmed my heart to see that the guys were cheering just as hard as the girls. It really has been a few shithead trolls: Theo Ledwidge and as
sociates.

  Malik’s look of puzzlement quickly graduating to happiness, as he realised what we’d done.

  Going to Malik with Kate and Clem to give him Theo Ledwidge’s name and asking him to make sure Basildon would be told, and PSST shut down.

  I’m generally no fan of violence, but it was a triumph for good over evil when Oliver clocked Theo.

  Clem being very gentle with a crying Iris.

  Tash, a few too many drinks on an empty stomach, slurring to me that we’d always be friends, and me privately doubting that very much.

  Ben walking in right at the end, and the smile on Clem’s bearded face.

  Me, Max, Kate, Oliver, Clem and Ben piling into an Uber, going to the breakfast truck on St Kilda beach, and watching the sun rise eating French toast and jaffles and drinking outlandish milkshakes. Mine was Jaffa, sprinkled with popping candy.

  WEEK 9

  LOOKING FORWARD

  Week 9: Looking forward

  Provocation

  For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others . . . and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.

  Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.

  Frida Kahlo

  Points for discussion/reflection

  • We’ve come to the end of our Wellness journey: what did you think about it in the beginning? What are your thoughts now, after ‘all the being and the doing’?

  • What ‘strange adventures’ do you hope for in the future?

  • If you had a time machine, would you go forward or back?