Always MacKenzie

by Kate Constable

  ‘Do you think I need a nose job?’ asked Georgia suddenly.

  I stared at her. ‘Can we focus, please?’

  Georgia touched her nose, frowning cross-eyed.

  ‘Seriously.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you need a nose job.’

  Georgia let go of her nose. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got Maths with Iris now. I’ll sort it out.’

  They were still sorting it out at recess in our corner of the quad, so I went for a walk. Just an aimless kind of walk, round the back of the Music School to the little courtyard where our gang used to hang out last year. There was no one there; no new group of Year 9s had adopted it, which was a shame, because it was a great spot – sunny, but sheltered. I sat on the bench and stirred the gravel with my foot and thought about how pleasant it would be to go back to the simple, uncomplicated world of Year 9.

  ‘Hi.’

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mackenzie Woodrow had materialised beside me. She was alone. We were alone.

  I didn’t say anything. My heart was thudding in my chest.

  She said, ‘I heard about you and Bec.’

  I still didn’t say anything.

  ‘Rosie told me, she got it from Georgia. They hang out, you know.’

  I stared over the top of the wall, down the slope toward the Junior School. I had nothing to say.

  Mackenzie said softly, ‘I saw you last night. At the Boot Factory.’

  I darted a look at her, before I could stop myself. She was gazing straight ahead.

  ‘His name’s Ted. He’s from St Andrew’s, he’s in Year 11.

  He’s on the debating team, that’s how we met. He was just, kind of . . . perfect.’

  I didn’t say anything, but I felt my jaw clenching tighter.

  ‘He’s a lovely guy,’ said Mackenzie. ‘You’d like him.’

  I was going to speak; my breath came fast. I was getting ready to do it; all the words were bunched up in my throat. I just had to swallow so I could get them out.

  Mackenzie said softly, ‘I’m sorry, Jem.’

  She stood up, and before I could open my mouth she was gone.

  When the bell rang, I made my way back to the quad; Bec and Iris and Georgia were still there, huddled together.

  I stood near the lockers, waiting for them.

  Georgia was first; she sidled over, looking harassed.

  ‘Is it sorted?’ I said.

  Georgia shifted from foot to foot. ‘Not exactly.’

  Then Bec and Iris came in. Bec threw a glare at me with the force of a hand grenade. Iris didn’t even glance in my direction. She banged open her locker, banged it shut, and marched away down the corridor. If she’d been a dog, she would have bristled.

  ‘Georgia, what happened?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’ Georgia screwed her face up.

  ‘What’s up with Iris? Georgia, you didn’t – you didn’t tell her what I said about—’ ‘It kind of . . . slipped out. I was just telling Bec what you said, about not being racist . . .’

  I groaned. ‘Georgia!

  ’ ‘I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them myself.’

  ‘Jem, I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’re pretty upset.’

  Rosie Lee slouched up and draped herself against the lockers. ‘Got a spare?’ she said to Georgia. She completely ignored me.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Georgia. ‘But—’ She glanced at me. In the spare before English we usually went to the library together.

  ‘Want to get some early lunch? I’m soooo hungry.’

  Georgia peeped at me again. We both knew what Rosie meant; she was going to sneak out of the grounds and up the road to the fast food place. Strictly forbidden, of course. Heaps of trouble if you got caught. In all my years at school I’d never done it once. Neither, as far as I knew, had Georgia.

  Now she said slowly, ‘Well . . .’

  Rosie Lee flicked a glance at me and curled her lip. ‘She won’t rat on us. Will you, Jem?’

  I felt myself go red. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ mimicked Rosie, and laughed. Georgia stared at her shoes, but she was smiling.

  ‘Do what you like,’ I said shortly, and walked off down the corridor toward the library. At the stairs I loitered for a minute or two, but Georgia didn’t catch me up, and when I looked back, she and Rosie had vanished.

  june

  I’d never really thought about it before, how important friends are. Obviously, without exactly analysing the details, I knew they were important, in the same way that eating is important, and sleep is important. But now I realised how much of me was determined by who my friends were. And if my friends suddenly weren’t there any more, who was I? I’d lost my context; I was losing myself. I didn’t mind being invisible, but not ceasing to exist.

  Of course I wanted to talk to them. Maybe Georgia was right, maybe it was too soon. But I hated the idea of not being friends; I couldn’t stand it. Not on top of the whole Mackenzie thing. Okay, so I’d stuffed things up with Mackenzie, but these guys were my true friends. We weren’t going to break up over a paltry misunderstanding like this.

  At lunchtime there was no sign of Georgia. So I marched up to Bec and Iris, who were sitting in the corner of the quad – our corner, the dank, sunless corner under the weird wall-statue of the girl and the dog – and I took a deep breath, and I said, ‘I’m really, really sorry.’

  Bec and Iris didn’t look at each other, but a telepathic buzz seemed to run between them. Bec said, in a completely alien, polite voice, ‘That’s okay, Jem.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I said to Iris, ‘I don’t know what Georgia told you exactly, but you know I didn’t mean anything bad.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Iris, also very politely.

  ‘So everything’s okay? We’re still friends?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ said Bec.

  I hesitated for a second, then I sat down. No one said anything. I took out my lunch and unwrapped my sandwich. Iris muttered something to Bec, and she laughed.

  ‘What?’

  Bec waved her hand. ‘Nothing, nothing.’

  I bit into my sandwich. Bec and Iris ate their lunches in silence.

  I said, ‘Anyone want one of my nana’s biscuits?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Iris politely.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Bec. ‘Unless – they’re not shortbreads, are they?’

  Iris exploded into laughter, and stifled it behind her hand. Bec smiled, as if she was trying not to, but couldn’t help it.

  I smiled too. ‘What’s the joke?’

  Bec and Iris exchanged glances. Bec said, ‘Nothing, never mind.’ So this was a private joke. Just for the two of them.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, still smiling. ‘Okay.’

  It was like being surrounded by invisible walls. And it hurt, every day. It didn’t get any better, though it wasn’t quite so bad when Georgia was there. It was weird. Anyone who saw us would say we were still friends: we hung out together, we caught the bus together, we ate lunch together, we sat together in class. On the surface, nothing had changed. But under the surface, everything was different.

  It was confusing. Part of me just felt sad. I would have done anything to put things back the way they were. I would have got down on my knees and apologised, even though I didn’t think I had anything to apologise for. But I had apologised, and it hadn’t made a scrap of difference. What more could I do?

  And part of me was pissed off, more than anything. Bec was driving me nuts. I was annoyed with Iris for taking offence and not admitting it, and for being on Bec’s side all the time. And Georgia – I love Georgia, I’ve always loved Georgia, but . . . we’re not on the same wavelength. Georgia and I don’t quite get each other the way Iris did, the way Bec did. The way Mackenzie did.

  And Georgia wasn’t always there. She was hanging round more and more with Rosie Lee, especially s
ince Georgia took the great leap forward into the party scene. Nothing bad had happened, yet – though I got the impression Georgia didn’t always give us a full report. She and Rosie Lee huddled together in corners, whispering, with Georgia nodding earnestly. She wasn’t in the gang, as such, Mackenzie’s gang, but sometimes I suspected that was what Rosie was grooming her for. I let myself wonder, just briefly, how I’d feel if Georgia became friends with Mackenzie. I decided I’d have to kill her.

  Joking. Of course. But actually, deep down, it didn’t feel like a joke, and I had to push that feeling away.

  For the first morning in weeks, Iris caught the early bus with me, instead of the later one with Bec and Georgia.

  ‘Hi.’ She gave me an awkward smile. ‘Mind if I sit down?’

  ‘Sure . . .’ I shifted to make room.

  ‘How did you go with that French translation? Wasn’t it a killer?’

  ‘Killer,’ I echoed.

  ‘You couldn’t give me a hand with it, could you?’

  ‘Um, okay.’

  It wasn’t like Iris to ask for help. This was the friendliest overture she’d made since the Rift had opened between us. But for some reason her chumminess was making me anxious; it felt as if she was preparing an ambush.

  ‘So,’ she said, as we strolled up the school drive. ‘You coming to the meeting today?’

  I blinked. ‘What meeting?’

  ‘The meeting about the International Baccalaureate.’

  ‘Oh – yeah,’ I said slowly.

  ‘We should find out about it, don’t you think? Much better chance of getting into Oxford with an IB score.’

  There was a pause. ‘So, are you coming?’

  I shifted my bag to the other shoulder. ‘Um . . . I don’t think I am.’

  ‘Not coming to the meeting, or not coming to Oxford?’

  ‘Not coming to Oxford.’

  ‘Right,’ said Iris. ‘I see.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were serious.’

  ‘Of course I’m serious. I thought you were serious, too.

  You always sounded serious.’

  ‘I guess I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I think I want to be an editor.’

  Iris pulled a face. ‘Well, you can study that anywhere.’

  ‘Not quite anywhere. But I don’t have to go to Oxford.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Iris after a minute. ‘I guess I’ll go by myself then.’

  ‘It wasn’t ever, you know, a cast-iron agreement or anything. I didn’t promise. I thought we were just joking around.’

  Iris didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m sorry, Iris.’

  ‘That’s okay. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  She flipped her hand, as if to say, no worries, and then she sped up and vanished into the library without looking back. I watched her go. Part of me was surprised that she really did intend to try for Oxford after all, and part of me was slightly regretful; going to England with Iris would have been fun.

  But Oxford – it was absurd, it was a dream. Our image of Oxford was stuck in the 1930s; it wasn’t real, and I didn’t think Iris would find what she was looking for if she went there. It was a fantasy, like our crush on Lord Peter Wimsey was a fantasy. We both knew that was a game, and planning Oxford had been a game, too.

  Only not for Iris. I wondered why we’d never really had this conversation before. And I wondered, now the illusion had been shattered, if that spelled the end for Iris and me. Things were so shaky anyway; take away Oxford, and Peter Wimsey, and cricket, and rolling our eyes at Bec, and there wasn’t a whole lot left to hold our friendship together.

  And now she had one more reason to feel like I’d let her down . . .

  As if we could have gone to Oxford. We would have driven each other crazy.

  ‘Could all Year 10s stay back for a few moments after assembly, please?’

  We coughed and shuffled as everyone else filed out under cover of the organ blasting from the gallery overhead, and then abruptly the music stopped and Ms Wells stepped up to the lectern.

  ‘Now, girls, I have an exciting opportunity to share with you.’

  Beside me Iris groaned softly to Bec.

  ‘Unfortunately those of you who are taking part in the concert at the end of next term will not be able to participate in this event. I’m very sorry, but it was impossible to change the schedule. But for the rest of Year 10, I am happy to announce that I have organised for us all to share a unique opportunity to hear Charles Le Tan speak. I’m sure you’re all as excited as I am—’ She held up a hand for quiet.

  Iris muttered, ‘Who the devil?’

  Bec whispered in her ear and Iris leaned toward her and whispered back.

  Behind me I heard Mackenzie Woodrow’s clear, low voice. ‘He’s an inspirational speaker. Like the Dalai Lama.’

  ‘The Dalai Lama?’ Georgia squeaked.

  ‘I said like the Dalai Lama,’ corrected Mackenzie. ‘At least, he thinks he is.’ I didn’t turn around, but I could just imagine her cool, amused smile.

  ‘Quiet, girls, please!’ called Ms Wells. ‘As you’re probably aware, Charles Le Tan is making one appearance only in Australia, so we will be travelling to Sydney to hear him speak.’

  Major buzz of excitement.

  ‘This trip is being organised in conjunction with St Andrew’s College, which means—’ She was practically shouting now; girls bounced in their seats. ‘We will be flying up together and sharing accommodation.’

  Several people squealed. Not Mackenzie. But I’m sure she was squealing on the inside.

  ‘Girls, please. We will be on separate floors of the hotel and any inappropriate behaviour will be severely punished. Does everybody understand?’ She frowned at us sternly. ‘Permission forms will go home today. I need them back by next Wednesday, so we can finalise numbers. If there are any questions, come and see me at lunchtime, not now.’

  There was a cacophony of banging seats as everyone stood up at once. I saw Mackenzie turn away; she was staring at the floor. I would have expected her to be rapt at the prospect of a trip to Sydney with her St Andrew’s sweetheart, but she didn’t seem happy. Then I remembered. Of course Mackenzie wasn’t squealing on the inside. She’d be reading poetry at the concert; she couldn’t go. Hooray.

  It rained at lunchtime so we were stuck inside.

  Georgia said, ‘The Sydney trip costs a thousand dollars.’

  ‘What?’ I said.

  Bec reached for another sandwich. ‘The tickets for LeTan must cost at least that much. With accommodation and flights and trips to the galleries and whatever else they’re planning on the side, it’s extremely cheap, in fact.’

  I’d never noticed that Bec said ‘in fact’, like her damned and blasted brother. But now I did notice and it was driving me insane.

  I said, ‘For Pete’s sake, how ridiculous. There are plenty of things I’d rather spend a thousand bucks on than hearing some paltry so-called inspirational speaker.’

  ‘I have to save up for Oxford,’ said Iris gloomily. She shot a quick glance at me, but I refused to feel guilty. ‘But I guess I’ll go if you guys go.’

  ‘Charles Le Tan,’ I snorted. ‘I’ve heard he’s a complete idiot.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Bec. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Mackenzie—’ I stopped myself, too late.

  ‘Oh, well, if Mackenzie says it, it must be true.’

  Bec had always been sarcastic. She hadn’t got any more sarcastic lately. But now it was always directed at me. Iris laughed. Bec was so hilarious.

  ‘It’s a lot of money,’ said Georgia quietly.

  Rosie Lee was sitting on the other side of the room with Phillipa and Jessica Samuels and Frances. I don’t know where Mackenzie was; concert rehearsal, probably. But suddenly Rosie oozed over to us and draped her arm around Georgia’s shoulders.

  ‘What’s up, Georgia? Can’t your mum afford to send you to Sydney?�
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  Rosie’s voice was super-sympathetic, but there was the faintest twist to her mouth, and she raised an eyebrow at the rest of her gang, who were perched on the bench top. Predictably, Frances and Phillipa tittered.

  Georgia sat very still. ‘We’ll manage,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘Course you will,’ cooed Rosie. ‘You’re so brave, Georgia. I love this girl,’ she announced to the crowded room. ‘She never complains. Just check out her shoes.’

  Involuntarily we all looked at Georgia’s cracked and scuffed shoes. She tucked her feet under her chair and her face went pink. She said in a small voice, ‘I’m getting new shoes next term.’

  Rosie kissed the side of her head. ‘Listen to her, will you? Never whinges, never asks for help . . . I know!’ She swung around to include the whole of Lab 5. ‘Let’s take up a collection to help Georgia get to Sydney!’

  ‘Get lost, Rosie,’ I said. ‘Georgia doesn’t need your help.’

  ‘Mind your own business, Martinic,’ said Rosie. ‘You want Georgia to be left behind? Come on guys, get your wallets out – give generously! Georgia Harris deserves a trip to Sydney. Let’s help her out!’

  ‘I’ll put in ten dollars!’ called Phillipa, waving her money aloft.

  ‘I’ll put in twenty!’ yelled Frances.

  The room erupted in laughter and catcalls as people pulled out their money like it was the best joke ever. Someone threw Rosie an ice-cream container and she danced around the lab shaking it as people tossed money in. Georgia’s face was scarlet.

  ‘Give generously to the Georgia Harris Appeal!’ shouted Rosie, and when she’d been all around the room she headed for the door.

  ‘She’s going to go right round the school!’ I said in horror. ‘We’ve got to stop her!’

  Bec and Iris just stared at me as if I’d suggested standing in front of a cyclone.

  Georgia grabbed my sleeve. ‘Leave it, Jem, you’ll only make it worse.’ Her eyes were full of tears. ‘Please.’

  ‘Anyway, she’s gone,’ said Iris flatly.

  We could hear Rosie’s voice echoing down the corridor.

  ‘Georgia Harris Appeal – give that she may go!’

  ‘It’s just a joke,’ said Georgia faintly. ‘She’s only trying to help.’