I head down for breakfast and Mum’s waiting for me at the table, playing with her muesli. I get the Coco Pops and pour myself a bowl. Things are moving awkwardly. It feels like she’s waiting for an answer even though she hasn’t asked me a question yet. I pick up my spoon.
‘Is there something on your mind, Mum?’
‘No, no.’ Mum watches me pour a dash of milk into my bowl. ‘Just thinking about tomorrow’s Colour Run. Five kilometres … five thousand metres.’
‘We’ll be okay, we’ve trained hard for this,’ I say. ‘Except for the getting hit by coloured powder bit.’
Mum picks up my Coco Pops and puts some into her muesli. ‘Just to liven things up.’
We sit there in awkward silence until I dunk my spoon in my bowl. ‘Ask me, Mum …’
‘Huh?’
‘The billion-dollar question.’
Mum gulps. ‘I think I already know the fifty-cent answer … so maybe if I don’t ask you until the end of the day, we can squeeze in a few more posts.’
‘I want you to ask me before everyone gets here,’ I say. ‘This is really important to me.’
Mum takes a deep breath. ‘Do you want to continue doing The Chronicles of Vee.’
‘No.’
Mum folds up her smile and stares at the reflection in her spoon. ‘Oh, okay.’
I pull a folder out of a tote bag I snuck from my room and plonk it in front of her.
‘It’s time to take things to the next level,’ I say, opening my folder. ‘I’ve been planning this for ages.’
Mum looks at the front page. ‘The Familee Chronicles?’
‘Yeah, that way we can both share our lives on Instagram. I’ll still do my stuff,’ I say, flicking through the pages, ending up at a picture of her Merry Glee Club singing. ‘And you can start sharing your adventures too. Come on, think about how we can attract those followers of choirs and other Glee groups.’
Mum laughs. ‘Now you’re speaking my language.’
I show her the last page of my plan. It’s a selfie of us on our picnic last week. ‘The main thing is that we can be together, just like in real life,’ I say. ‘I want to share my Vee life with you.’
Mum nods. ‘The familiee name has a lot of puntential.’
‘And it also means that other familee members could join us in the future too …’
Mum’s eyes sparkle. ‘It’s still very early days for Tom and me.’
I make a gagging noise. ‘Actually, I was thinking we could get a furless pet like a turtle or snake.’
‘Okay. Let’s seal the deal,’ Mum says, closing in for a hug.
‘Cool, we’re getting a pet snake?’
‘No!’ Mum wraps me tightly. ‘We’re taking things to the familee level.’
I feel like a nice clean jar with no more jelly beans to spill. I’m glad Operation Don’t Follow Vee, Follow Vee’s Family Instead is finally over. I don’t know if it could take any more name changes.
Annabelle, Bryan and Matty all arrive at the same time for my Vee.I.P. party and Mum goes all out. She fills up our bellies with my favourite foods: creamy mash, roast chicken and vegetables. I hand Bryan two buns. ‘You can make a burger if you’d like.’
Bryan smiles. ‘Nah, this is a special occasion.’
‘I was kinda hoping for some jam noodles,’ Matty says, going for thirds.
We sit around the lounge room, playing Mario Kart while Mum’s in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to my cake. It’s the one thing I wanted to be a surprise.
‘So have you told your mum about your familee plans yet?’ Annabelle says.
I lean into Annabelle’s shoulder and sigh. ‘Sure have, and she’s very cool with it,’ I say.
‘So it’ll be like The Chronicles of Vee, now with added Mum,’ Matty says.
I keep my eyes on the TV screen. ‘Actually, it’s going to be more than that.’ My fingers are tingling on the controller. ‘For the first time in ages, I’m actually excited about being on Instagram. And you will all be a part of The Familee Chronicles, if you’re willing.’
Bryan taps his chest. ‘Are you kidding? That’s awesome news for Burger Bryan.’
‘Mum’s already emailed Typo and the other companies about it too,’ I say. ‘But we’re not too fussed whether or not they jump onboard with us.’
Mum comes in and watches us finish the last race. ‘Who’s ready for cake?’
‘That shouldn’t even be a question,’ I say, as we all race to put down our controllers and run to the kitchen.
Mum’s cake is out of this world. No really, it’s literally a gold star standing up on a silver base. ‘The Chronicles of Vee is going out with a bang.’
‘Yeah, this post will deserve a million likes,’ Bryan says.
Mum starts off singing happy birthday and leads everyone through the whole song, right through to the hip-hip hoorays.
Mum gets out her phone. ‘Okay, everyone in.’
‘Can I just take a shot of myself first?’
‘Sure.’ Mum takes a few photos before my friends join in. We all quickly swap positions taking photos before the thirteen candles burn out. Then I bend down, ready to blow them out.
‘Time to make a wish,’ Annabelle says.
I close my eyes and blow out the candles. I guess you could call it a reverse wish because it already came true.
The afternoon flies by before everyone has to head home. Mum makes sure nobody leaves without a huge piece of star cake.
As soon as we’ve waved off my friends and closed the door, Mum brings out her phone.
‘Now let’s get to work. We have one more post to do for The Chronicles of Vee.’
We sit on the couch and Mum shows me her phone. ‘How about this one with all your friends?’
I shake my head. ‘It should be a shot with just me, like the other twelve birthday posts.’
‘Are you sure?’ Mum says.
‘Absolutely. I want to carry that tradition to the end.’
‘My darling Vee, you’re growing up quicker than the speed of light,’ Mum says as she types. ‘But you will always be the centre of my universe.’
I feel my body being taken over by those warm fuzzies.
Mum turns her heads sideways. ‘Bit too cheesy, huh?’
I lean against her shoulder. ‘No, it’s perfect.’
Chapter
Twenty-One
Mum and I are never up so early on a Sunday morning, but miracles do happen. The Colour Run is in the Olympic Parklands, so we catch the train with our bibs on. We hop off the train and follow the signs to the starting line.
‘Did you know, over 6000 people are entering this race?’ Mum says, reading it off their Instagram page.
It looks to be more than that. I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of lycra.
Mum takes a few photos. ‘Should this be our first familee post? It’ll capture the excitement.’
Mum’s always going to be Insta-savvy. But at least we’re going to be sharing the spotlight. Last night, Mum and I brainstormed some ideas, and she was like a monsoon, talking about her cooking, baking, singing and other interests. Now we really are working as a team.
We’re at the back of the first pack of racers. We’re surrounded by runners, who are all flexing their legs and jogging on the spot. It’s putting Mum off.
‘Why are they so serious?’ she says. ‘Do they think they’re going to outrun the coloured powder?’
‘Let’s just focus on Team Vee,’ I say. ‘It’s just you and me, jogging by the lake.’
The starting gun goes off and the crowd cheers like we’ve already finished. We all start to shuffle off like a herd of cows, stampeding down the path. Mum takes a few selfies before we walk under the starting line. ‘Okay, now we can go.’
We start jogging with everyone else and turn the first corner, where we get hit by a dazzling blue powder. Mum shrieks and I break out into giggles. Colours zip past us, hitting all parts of my body. A facemask would have co
me in handy. Mum and I go from jogging to fast walking. We only stop for drinks and photos, which is every fifty metres. After the tenth selfie, Mum puts the phone away. ‘Let’s just take a shot near the finish line.’
When we see the final stretch, Mum and I are walking rainbows. But it doesn’t take us long before we can see the finish line.
‘All that training has paid off.’
‘Sorry, but all I can think about is Nutella pizza,’ Mum says.
Mum’s face is a frosted triple-berry donut. Maybe because I’m getting hungry too. I watch the spectators cheering on the sidelines. I can spot Annabelle and her parents, along with Tom. They’re all taking photos of us.
Mum stops. ‘Let’s slow down and enjoy the moment.’
‘In other words, it’s time to take some photos for Insta,’ I add.
‘You said it, not me.’ Mum fumbles around for her phone from her belt bag.
‘I got this, Mum.’ I take out my phone and do a selfie with Mum. We do look like a bunch of Fruit Loops.
‘Could this be our first famliee post?’ Mum says.
‘I dunno, but it’s in the running.’ I slap my thigh. ‘Do you get it?’
Mum runs away from my joke and strives towards the finish line. I take a shot of Mum and then chase after her. We hold hands and cross the line together.
‘Thanks, Vee.’ Mum squeezes me tight, mixing our colours together in a squashed rainbow. ‘Not just for this, but for pushing me to get out there.’
‘It’s about time you had your own life,’ I say, ‘instead of hogging mine.’
I turn around and stare back at the finish line. ‘The light’s better here.’ I stretch my arm out and do another selfie. We both look at the photo. We’re a pair of giggling ghosts. ‘We have a winner,’ I say. ‘How’s this for a caption, We finished our first race together …
‘… but it’s only the start of our journey?’ Mum says.
‘Go Team Familee!’ I give her a high five and post it on our Familee page. ‘Let’s send the link to our new page on the old Vee bio.’
‘Do you think our old followers will jump on board with us? Mum says.
I smile back at her. ‘It doesn’t matter, because anyone who’s important to us will follow us anywhere.’
Acknowledgements
There is a team behind me, let’s call them Team Oliver P, who have helped me get to where I am today. There are plenty of hearts and likes to go around, so let’s start with the engine room of Team Oliver P. A huge thanks to my agent, Brian Cook, who, for over a decade, has always been the first to see my work and give me valuable feedback.
Speaking of strong partnerships, to my editor, Heather Curdie, and publisher, Laura Harris, who have also stuck by my side for the last ten years – thanks for bringing out the best in me, and for giving Vee a chance to really shine.
All of my cHEwY creations are backed up by the sensational Penguin Random House team, who really make this bookmaking thing a blast! My wonderful publicists, Zoe Bechara and Tina Gumnior, led by the amazing Dot Tonkin, thank you for providing me with so many priceless opportunities to travel and spread the joy of reading across Australia. For your enthusiasm, thank you Jennifer Harris, Jess Bedford, Michael Windle and all involved with the launch of the Oliver P campaign, we’re only just getting started hehe.
A special mention to the Super Duper team of Evi O and Susan Le, who have taken my covers and book designs to the next level!
My beloved family, Mum, Dad and Anna, who always get the first actual copy of every cHEwY creation.
Then there are all my friends, who do more than just follow me, but actually cheer me on in real life! Let’s start with Travers and Amy, Matthew Galway, Matthew Brown and Maddie who have attended almost every book launch!
For those who catch up with me throughout the year, the Original C gang (Mandee, Stefan, Dazza, Ryan and Elena), Christy, Carol, Hanna, Raymond, Jeffro, Ross, Joshua, Angelo and cHHuY.
And those who are overseas but still send me cHEwY cheers; Long-Seng and Michele Lim.
I am forever grateful for every cHEwY gum gum who has seen me speak, read my books or just liked my posts on social media. Some of you will find yourself in future stories for sure hehe. I’m proud to be part of a loving writers community, through CBCA, SCBWI and many more encounters. Yep, being an author really is like being a professional FUNSTA.
Finally, my wife Kung, who really is the MVP in Team Oliver P. I thank God for your love, patience and for always making me laugh, being the fuel of my cHEwY creations.
If you loved reading
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THE OTHER CHRISTY
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There’s a white fluffy rabbit in our backyard. He’s sitting down on the grass, eyeing off Grandpa’s plants.
Grandpa and I are squatting behind him. Grandpa turns to me and licks his lips. ‘We should catch him.’
I roll my eyes. No animal is safe from Grandpa. Rabbits, pigeons, stray cats. Even our neighbour’s dog, Oscar, would end up on Grandpa’s plate if he didn’t have a collar. Grandpa’s weird like that. He likes to make the most of what he can find. It came in handy when we first came to Australia with hardly anything.
I quickly reach out to touch the rabbit so that he hops away. I chase him all the way to the back fence. He slips through the hole.
I crouch down and call quietly after him. ‘See you tomorrow, but be careful.’
Grandpa shakes his head. ‘You should stop feeding him – especially with my plants.’
‘I like him.’
I’m glad the rabbit keeps coming back. I don’t know where he comes from or who he really belongs to but he’s the closest thing I have to a pet. Pets are another thing that Grandpa doesn’t allow at our place, along with microwaves, music and lollies.
‘He’ll end up in my cooking pot if he gets any juicier.’ Grandpa laughs.
‘That’s just wrong,’ I say.
‘Yes … maybe we should barbecue him instead.’
We both laugh. Then I have a thought. ‘Barbecue? You know, that’s not a bad name for him.’
‘It’s still not a bad idea either.’ He straps on his gloves. ‘Come on, Christy, we have housework today.’
I groan. ‘We have housework every day.’
‘The house isn’t going to clean itself.’
I wish it did. But even if we had robots cleaning the house, Grandpa would still be scrubbing away behind them. He’d probably wash the robots as well. I like being inside a clean house too, but I wish we didn’t have to do so much housework.
I grab the broom and the dustpan and brush, sweeping through the house. We live in a small place, but it still takes me ages, because Grandpa wants me to do every room twice. Then he makes me mop the floor, until I can see my bored self in those glossy tiles.
It gets pretty lonely here sometimes.
My grandpa has always been around but my dad left before I was born. So for a while, it was just Mum and Grandpa looking after me in Cambodia. We were planning to come to Australia to live with Auntie Mayly, but then Mum got really sick and passed away when I was four. It took Grandpa a while to build up the courage to move on but we finally landed in Australia five years later.
I was happy to be here, but even happier to see my Auntie Mayly again. We all lived together for a few months but Grandpa was driving her crazy with his cleaning habits. Luckily, someone at Auntie Mayly’s church found Grandpa and me a small place around the corner. He was happy to move out. ‘I’m only sixty-seven years old, I can look after myself and Christy,’ he told them.
I didn’t want to leave Auntie Mayly but I couldn’t leave Grandpa alone either. He needs me too.
By the time I finish my chores, I’m ready for a shower. I take off my gloves. ‘Why can’t you clean when I’m at school?’ I say. ‘What do you all day, Grandpa?’
‘I’m buying food for dinner,’ Grandpa says.
‘You should be doing that with me,’ I say. ‘All you’ve been buying is carrots.’
We’ve been having carrots all month. Carrot soup. Steamed carrots. Stir-fried carrots. I hope my skin doesn’t turn orange because he might throw me in the pot too. When Grandpa likes a type of food, he eats it to death, and it’s usually cheaper by the sack.
Sometimes he buys other vegetables at the Asian grocery store. Bok choy, Chinese broccoli, bitter melon. It all tastes the same to me. Disgusting. He loves making bitter melon soup for me. I think he does it just to see my lips turn inside out.
I finish all my chores and sneak into the kitchen. I fill a bowl with water, then pour three spoons of sugar into the bowl, stirring it around until the sugar dissovles. Then I put the bowl on the table and lick it like a cat drinking milk.
Yeah, I’m weird too. I must have learnt it from Grandpa.
At least I can be myself at home, where I’m the only Christy. At Cabravale Primary, I’ve been in the same class with another girl named Christie for three years. Maybe the teachers thought it would be funny, having two girls with the same name in one class. It wasn’t funny the first two times. Now it’s third time unlucky in 6C.
And even though our names are spelt differently, everybody calls me the Other Christy. As if Christie Owens is the real one. I’m just the spare Christy, the one you keep for emergencies, the Christy that gets left on the shelf or swept under the couch. Why can’t they call me Christy with a ‘Y’? Or Christy Ung? I’d be okay with just Ung.
At the start of each year, I keep hoping that everybody will forget about calling me the Other Christy. But it never happens. Three weeks of the first term have flown by and now that name is set in concrete again.
It’s all Christie Owens’ fault. She was the first to call me the Other Christy, and the first to bring it up again every year. Mr Clark is always telling her to be quiet but her mouth doesn’t have an off switch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she writes everything in capital letters because she always seem to be shouting, or singing, which she does when we do spelling tests. She even hums when it’s silent reading time.
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