I drove around the local streets that autumn with my aunts in their automatic transmission cars, trying to log enough hours to sit my driver’s licence. My family only had manual shift cars and I’d given up trying to work the clutch and the gears while still obeying the road rules. It was like my brain could only do one thing at a time. Aunt Elya was very bossy and made me drive about 20 kays an hour, gasping if I dared to go any faster or if I made a mistake. Aunt Aisah surprised me by being very cool and laid-back.
‘Very good, good girl Sarah,’ she would coo. ‘Perhaps next time, though, around the corner a little slower. I’m sure our neighbours would like to keep their letterbox.’
If I had a favourite aunt, which I’m sure you’re not supposed to, it would be my Aunt Lili. Aunt Lili was my youngest aunt and the most likely to take my side if ever I was in trouble. She would always give me a secret wink and argue my case, even with my dad, which my mother would never dare do. Before she got married I used to have sleepovers at her flat where we’d watch romantic comedies and eat caramel popcorn until my teeth ached. I’d always thought she would be the one I would turn to for driving lessons, but that autumn my Aunt Lili was the size of a hot air balloon, pregnant with her first child. She was a constant presence on our home horizon and Mum was spending a lot of time with her, which left a lot of Mum’s jobs to me. Dad was often at the Council for this meeting or that, so some nights I would just heat up a dinner that had already been prepared for Jefri and me. Other nights I’d have to go to the local supermarket, which sat like a pink fluorescent mushroom among a field of cars, to shop for an instant dinner.
Sometimes I’d talk to Cooper with his shifting eyes and nervous smile. Sometimes I’d see Nico in the deli and we’d say a few words, mainly about Poppy or school. We didn’t mention The Woods, but it was there between me and Nico, an uncomfortable secret.
Cooper once asked me about YouTube and video blogging, but I didn’t know much about it except for the music videos or crazy cats playing pianos that Poppy insisted I watch. He seemed disappointed, but smiled and led me onto another subject as if it didn’t matter. I found it hard to read Cooper. Sometimes he could be so warm, sometimes he flattered or confided in me. But all the while I felt like there was another Cooper underneath that facade. A Cooper with an agenda I could not even guess at. Even when he punched his mobile number into my phone one night, just in case I ever needed it. I never had any intention of using it.
8
COOPER
Georgie Porgie
puddin’ and pie
kissed the girls and
made them cry
When the boys came
out to play
Georgie Porgie
ran away
OKAY, TOM COOPER here. Vid blog 17 — A Day in the Life of a Legend. Today’s topic is…um…success. By the time I upload this series of vid blogs at the end of Year 12, things will have changed a lot. Maybe I’ll make more sense to all of you — the ones that I leave behind in good old Silver Valley.
Ummm, so, today some guy asked me how I do it. How I’m always hooked up with a gorgeous girl. I gave him a look that said, ‘I dunno what you’re talking about,’ and walked away, but he followed and tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I really want to know.’
‘Word of mouth,’ I said and left him with that.
So this is the truth about my success with girls. And listen well.
I chat up the girls’ mums, and they love me.
Hey Ash and Mez, if you’re watching this you know that it’s true. You get past the mums and it’s all smooth sailing from there. I smile a lot. It’s not hard to get on their good side. I use my manners. I hold the door open for them; they like that. I make myself useful.
You might wonder what makes it so easy to sucker them in. Their daughters aren’t always so…what’s the word…trusting. That’ll do. Maybe you forget stuff when you get older. I’m sure you do, ’cause my olds always bang on about these being the best years of my life.
It must be good to have amnesia.
I can’t wait to leave behind the ‘best years of my life’. Have my own car. Get out of here. Living at home is like living in jail.
‘When are you going to be home?’
‘Have you done your homework?’
‘Tom, where have you been?’
(Laughs)
Get your own life, I want to yell. Instead I smile. I smile a lot. I tell them what they want to hear. I mark the days off the calendar.
Two hundred and eleven days to go.
That’s when I finish school. They think I’m going to uni. They’ve got it all mapped out for me. A nice steady job. Living in the ’burbs, maybe somewhere near them. Oh yeah. That’s what I want to do.
As if.
I’ve got my own plans. I’ve got some money tucked away. Money they don’t know about. It’s gonna do their heads in when I leave, but maybe they should have thought of that when they only had one child. It’s too much. The pressure. Maybe they should have had a whole bunch of kids so they could spread their attention more thinly.
I don’t think you get how hard it is living like you’re some kind of…you know…small thing that lives on a microscope slide. I didn’t do science, so sue me for not knowing what it’s called. A microbe? An atom? Whatever. Anyway, there you are minding your own business and you feel something peering down at you, poking you to see what you’ll do next. If they don’t stop soon I’m gonna poke back. I’ve gotta get out before that happens.
Two hundred and eleven days to go.
I’ve got money. Got enough to get me out of this state, maybe even overseas. You might wonder why I just don’t leave. Leave now. Yeah, well, I’m not stupid. I didn’t hang around school for thirteen years just to blow it all near the end. I can keep it together. Get my piece of paper. Get some marks that might help me later on. Anyway, there’s always Virginia. Virginia Sloan.
Virginia Sloan’s mum loves me. I went for a job at the local supermarket in the deli section but Nico beat me to it. Instead, I work in the fruit and veg but sometimes I get to do other stuff like help the customers with their bags or clean up food spills in the aisles. I always offer to clean up. The other guys hate getting out that stinking bucket with the grey water that’s been there since forever and the stringy mop that just moves the muck around. But I don’t mind. Beats staying around all that green. And you can waste a lot of time cleaning up spills.
Virginia’s mum must work for some kind of charity, ’cause she always has two trolleys. It’s just basic stuff like flour and milk and sugar and that. I always help her to her car with the second trolley. She always laughs and says, ‘I must put my family on a diet,’ and I smile because I know — if you saw Virginia Sloan you would too — that the Sloan family isn’t getting through all that food.
So we laugh. Same joke every time. Then she tries to give me a tip and I back off and shake my head, but she gives it to me anyway, and I thank her a lot. Same routine every time. And sometimes she’ll ask me how school’s going and we’ll talk. That’s how I found out that Virginia Sloan is still going to ballet class on a Saturday morning. Been doing that since she was four. It figures, because if you’ve seen Virginia you’d wonder how she has such a great body. I mean, she could be in Hustler or any of those mags. I found out other stuff about her, too. Virginia likes horror movies. She sleeps in until late on a Sunday. She once went out with Finn Cashin (which I already knew) but her mum’s happy that that’s over now (which I didn’t).
So how’s life treating you these days, Fish?
Eighty-nine days.
That’s how much time I’ve got to get Virginia Sloan to go to the Year 12 Formal with me. I want to do a whole lot more than put on a stupid suit and take Virginia to the Formal, but you’ve got to start somewhere. I’m patient. I’ve been planning to take Virginia to the Formal for a while. Ever since I noticed her long, tan legs as she lay on the grass during Year 11 s
ports.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a monk. I’ve been out with plenty of other girls. By Year 8 I’d figured out what girls liked. I watched some of the other guys. Mostly they were loud and joked around. The girls ignored them. So I tried something different. I stayed quiet. I’d duck my head if a girl came near me. I got a reputation for being shy. Shy? Yeah, sure, whatever works. And it does. What I learned was, some girls love a challenge. They just knew that they were the only ones who could kiss me and turn the frog into a prince. And even when I broke up with them, I somehow made them think it was their idea. So we stayed friends. Which was good, ’cause usually I had my eye on their best friend.
I’ve got a talent. Can’t deny it.
I’ve never touched any of the girls at school. Not too much. It’s not part of the plan. There’s a rumour going around that I’m a virgin, and that suits me fine. I guess they don’t know what I’ve got going at work. What happens in the cool room at tea break with Claire Zimmerman from the deli is between Claire and me… and maybe Mr Keating who might have seen us when we were late back from break once. And, I guess, anyone who watches this blog.
Sorry, Claire, hope that doesn’t ruin your rep.
Eighty-nine days to the Formal.
I amped up my Virginia Sloan campaign at the start of Year 12. Nothing too forward. I loaned her a textbook in English when she didn’t have hers. She didn’t have hers because I’d stolen it from her locker. Don’t ask me how I got in. It’s easy when you know how. I did the head duck all through English. I didn’t look at her once, though I did drop my pen near the end of the lesson and managed to touch her legs. She didn’t even notice. Or maybe she did. That’s when I started thinking that maybe Virginia Sloan might have had the hots for me.
‘Thanks, Cooper,’ she said when the bell rang.
The guys on the basketball team call me Hoops, but mostly I’m called Cooper. It’s my last name but I like it better than Tom. Not even Thomas, just Tom. So Cooper’s my name. Don’t wear it out.
(Laughs)
I’ve been mowing the Sloan’s lawn for a couple of months now. Mrs Sloan offered me the job when I told her I was saving to buy a car. She seemed surprised that my olds weren’t going to give me one for my eighteenth. In fact, they probably will. But I just told her I wanted to pay my own way. She was so impressed she nearly hugged me. I think Mrs Sloan would like to hug me. A couple of times she’s touched me on the shoulder. It’s understandable. I’ve only met Mr Sloan once. He has lots of friends in politics and fancies himself as a chance next election. He asked me if I’d registered to vote yet. Maybe he was trying to joke around with me or something. Mr Sloan is really old, an uptight citizen wearing a suit — even on the weekends! Hey, note to Mr Sloan if you’re watching this. Man, you have gotta lighten up. No one was meant to wear a suit 24/7. I wouldn’t mind taking your wife on — she’s not bad for her age — but it’s your daughter that I’m after.
Virginia Sloan watches me mow from her bedroom window. I get to her house on Saturday afternoons after my morning shift at the supermarket. I don’t mind the work. I use the Sloan’s mower — it’s like the Rolls Royce of mowers — and I start at one end of the garden and work my way up and down in strips until I’m finished. Sometimes I have to take my T-shirt off because it’s hot work, but I always make sure I have a singlet underneath. It’s a tight fit and shows off my body. I think I have good arms. They’re muscled without being over the top. I’ve got weights in my room and I work out whenever I need to burn off some energy. Nothing too drastic, though — I don’t want to end up like those guys without necks.
So I get into the zone and mow the lawn. I never look at Virginia’s window. Not straight at it. Sometimes, though, out the corner of my eye, I see her curtains twitch and I know she’s there.
‘Keep looking,’ I think. ‘Get a good look at what you’re missing out on.’
Usually Mrs Sloan will make me stop for a cold drink. I hate that, because it breaks up the rhythm, but I always smile and thank her. Sometimes Virginia will walk past as if she is looking for something and then seem surprised to see me there, even though the mower’s been making the noise of a fighter jet right outside her bedroom window.
‘Oh, hi, Cooper,’ she’ll say, and I’ll duck my head and mumble.
She’s close now. I’ve just got to reel her in.
The other reason I don’t like to stop for a drink is that Virginia’s brother, Oliver, is on to me. He’s a couple of years younger than Virginia. As soon as I sit down and take that first sip of cold drink, he appears from out of nowhere. He never says much, but sits and listens to his mum and me talk. He sits close to her, like he’s protecting her or something. I always smile and try to talk to him about stuff that he likes, but it doesn’t fool him. Sometimes I see him watching me at school, when I’m shooting hoops or checking out the timetable. I feel like saying, listen Bud, it’s your sister I’m after, not your mum. I guess it’s nice that he cares.
I don’t want to make my move too soon, but I can’t leave it much longer. I don’t want Virginia hooking up with someone else before the Formal. There’s talk about the after-party already. That’s what I’m really aiming for. The Formal will be just a dull dinner with dressing up and tablecloths and mind your manners, but the after-party is where it all happens. Tamara Deng’s offered to have it at her house, which is perfect. I hear she lives in a mansion with a pool and spa and huge back garden with trees. Lots of trees. Lots of shadows to hide in.
I can’t wait to touch those legs again.
And some.
Eighty-nine days to go.
I’ve already booked a car. Some kids have booked a Hummer to take them to the Formal. I’ve booked a Jaguar. I’ll have my licence by then, but you’ve got to have a zero blood alcohol level when you’re on your P-plates and there’s no way I’m not drinking that night. So, a chauffeured Jag to pick up my date. That’s class for you.
Two hundred and eleven days and this is all over.
The Formal will be over.
School will be over.
Everyone’s talking about Schoolies, but I think it’s all a bit lame. I want to start living. I don’t need to hang around with those losers any more than I have to. Hey, no offence, Silver Valley losers. Some of the girls have already had a cry in the corridors or home rooms, talking about how things are never going to be the same, how we all need to keep in touch.
Oh yeah. Like I wanna be stuck with these people for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t mind catching up with some of the girls, just for old times sake, but the rest of them…
I’m not sure how Virginia fits into my plans. I can’t really see past the after-party, but I’ll probably let her hang around for a while.
I’ve got my RAS — Responsible Alcohol Serving — certificate. The only decent thing the school has ever offered. It’s all part of the plan. I’ll probably just work my way around the world as a bartender.
A bit of money, a bit of travel, a world full of babes.
I think I’d make a good bartender. Make a lot of tips. The thing I know about is customer service. It doesn’t take much to be nice to people. You might be having a bad day, but you’ve just got to hide it. Sure, some people will give you a hard time. But most only need a smile or a helping hand to give them that warm and fuzzy feeling.
Word of mouth. That’s the key to success.
So just follow my advice, you can’t go wrong.
Eighty-nine days.
There are only eighty-nine days to go before Virginia Sloan is all mine.
Virginia, if you’re watching this, I think you’re a really hot chick.
I hope we had fun.
9
SARAH
Oh dear
what can the matter be?
THAT AUTUMN IT was clear to me that Poppy and I were growing apart. It wasn’t that she had a boyfriend and I didn’t, because that was situation normal for the whole time we’d been friends. And it wasn’t that I w
as focused on study, although I was, and Poppy was being her normal laid-back self of just enough was good enough. The thing that was causing a large wedge between us was Poppy’s insistence that her Power was real.
Poppy had turned eighteen and I was sick of waiting for her to grow up; sick of the talk about auras and intuitions. Sick of the childish games she stuck with — the fortune telling, the sudden fits of illness which supposedly foreshadowed a coming tragedy. We didn’t talk about what was happening, didn’t discuss the distance between us.
It came to a head after a couple of weeks into first term. Poppy and Nico were ‘soooo in love’ and had seen each other practically every day since they got together. Poppy in love was nothing new, but this thing with Nico seemed different somehow. There were no frantic highs and lows that I could see. No major showdowns, no tearful accusations, no second-guessing his motives. It didn’t make sense to me, this strange pairing, yet watching how they were with each other would often cause my heart to twist — a little pain that I didn’t examine too closely.
Whenever I rang or texted Poppy she was with Nico. A quick catch up on the weekend meant a quick catch up for the three of us. Instant messaging online was still an option, though I always felt the shadow of Nico behind each of Poppy’s answers. If her replies took too long, paranoia would set in as I imagined them discussing my last remark. I began to take more care with what I typed. She used to be over at my house a lot, but now there was always an excuse and I gave up asking her. I wondered how much longer this intenseness with Nico would go on, because, frankly, I was over it.
On the upside, Nico and Finn were best friends, which took me into the one degree of separation territory. Whenever Poppy invited me out, Nico was usually around, which meant that Finn was sometimes there as well. Poppy promised she hadn’t told Nico about my crush on Finn and I made her promise that she never would.
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