The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  But why not the first day of school? I thought.

  It makes perfect sense. Astrid’s friend had had the summer for romance. The school year could now be for study.

  I wondered if the others would reflect on this but:

  ‘FLAX that,’ said Emily. ‘Why didn’t he do it on the holidays so she’d have the chance to adapt herself to her anguished new environment?’

  ‘Wait but,’ said Astrid, ‘you want to know how he did it?’

  ‘Well, yeah, we want to know,’ said Sergio, joining the conversation, although no-one would have known that he was listening.

  ‘She walks into her home room,’ said Astrid, pleased to have Sergio’s interest, ‘and her guy is just kind of like standing there and he has like his iPod connected to speakers? And he’s kind of like staring at her and looking kind of like, sad, and a song’s playing out of the speakers and guess what song it is?’

  ‘What song is it?’ said Sergio.

  ‘It was a song called “It’s over”.’

  At this, there was silence.

  Astrid whispered a dramatic (and unnecessary) explanation: ‘He was telling her it was over by playing a song called “It’s over”.’

  There was an outburst of disgraceful language from Emily. (As far as I could tell, she didn’t even know this other girl. Her reaction seemed excessive. That is Emily for you.) But even Sergio looked impressed.

  ‘This guy breaks up with your friend,’ said Sergio, ‘by playing a FOXGLOVE song?’

  Now, that is something about Sergio. When he told Astrid he wanted to hear her story, he was just making fun of her. (She knew that, and he knew that she knew. It is a form of flirtation.) But when he reacted to the story, he was genuine.

  Emily stopped swearing to wonder what song Astrid meant. She didn’t know a song called ‘It’s over’. Nor did Sergio. Astrid admitted she did not know it herself. Next thing, all three were trying out different musical renditions of the phrase, ‘it’s o-o-over’ while Toby Mazzerati announced their songs and described them. He used different voices and accents and sounded much like a frog.

  Briony tipped her chair back and forth more quickly.

  ‘You know who it’s over for?’ Astrid said suddenly, in a voice that cut through the chaos. Obediently, the others ceased their tomfoolery and turned to her. Astrid continued: ‘Ms Lawrence.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Sergio easily. ‘I always liked the Lawrence.’

  ‘You can’t just not show up for a new school year,’ explained Astrid, ‘and expect to keep your job.’

  ‘You’ve got to have commitment,’ Emily agreed.

  ‘You know where she’ll be?’ said Toby. (His regular voice is surprisingly well-modulated.) ‘She’ll be stuck in a roundabout somewhere. I was out Dural way last week, and I saw the Lawrence doing loops around the inside lane of a roundabout, and I said to myself: that’s not pretty. And I’m here to tell you now, it was not.’

  ‘Eventually she’s gotta find a break in the traffic,’ said Sergio.

  ‘No,’ reflected Toby. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘She’s not on a roundabout,’ Emily declared. ‘She’s in Thailand, surfing. I heard the principal going into anaphylactic shock about it. It was funny.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ms Lawrence,’ said Astrid, and then: ‘Merry Christmas.’

  And they all began to sing Christmas carols.

  At this point, to my relief, the teacher arrived.

  She must have had a delicate step for nobody had heard her.

  Now, the storage room where we were sitting is separated from the gym by a sliding concertina wall. Mostly the room is approached by crossing the gym and pushing open the wall.

  This teacher approached from a most unusual direction.

  The fire escape.

  I sensed a reaction among us. Some of us were surprised. Some were curious. (I have never seen this teacher before. She must be new—so how did she know about the fire escape?) Some distrustful. (The fire escape! I didn’t even know it was there!) Some were pleased. Some impressed. Some pointedly indifferent. Some were nervous . . .

  I suppose there were only six of us.

  But now as this teacher stepped into the room, paused and looked about, I sensed the reaction change.

  It was her appearance.

  She was so small.

  She sprang across to us like a lively fawn.

  I saw the glint of a bellybutton ring as she sprang. (She was wearing hipster jeans and a short tank-top.) Her hair was threaded into many fine plaits, held loosely at the neck by a bandanna. She stood behind a chair and beamed.

  I knew at once that the whole thing—the jewellery, the hair, the smile—all of it was a disguise.

  She was trying to hide her smallness.

  She could not!

  She had an accent, I observed. She was perhaps American. ‘Well, hiya everyone,’ she began, speaking through her smile. ‘My name’s Try, yes, you heard me right—Try—it started as a nickname, but I’ve just about forgotten my real name!’

  She waited for us to laugh but I heard small noises of confusion. She’s forgotten her real name! the noises seemed to say. Maybe she should ask her mum?

  Try hitched up her jeans but they fell back into place around her hips.

  ‘Ok, there’s one, two—six of you here, so we’re waiting for two more, because there’s eight in all these groups except I think one or two groups got—you don’t need to hear that, do you? Listen to me babbling, would you? Step one, make sure you’re babbling to the right people, I guess. This is Year 11, and this is Friendship and Development. Am I right? Also known by the acronym “FAD”?’

  She was clinging to the back of the chair and rising on her toes.

  Briony’s face beside me seemed bewildered. I remembered that she sometimes fails exams. ‘An acronym is a kind of abbreviation,’ I whispered to her, helpfully. Briony stared, and a moment later she shifted her chair away from me.

  ‘You’re in the right place,’ confirmed Toby Mazzerati. ‘But are you at the right time? Is anyone ever really at the right time? Who can tell?’ He shrugged.

  ‘Thanks, wow, this room is kind of claustrophobic, isn’t it?’ Try looked around at the chairs and gym mats stacked in shadows, and then at the cobwebbed windows. ‘Can we open—? You think we can open that wall between here and the gym? The gym’s empty, right?’

  People agreed and I started up to help, but Try waved me back, and pushed open the heavy wall herself. It was a slow and noisy process. Toby began his commentary again: ‘It’s Try the tiny teacher trying tiptoe tintinacity, it’s Try the—’.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Try, looking back at him confused, but he only shook his head.

  Just as she finished opening the wall, letting in a burst of light and space, a crowd of Year 8s arrived at the gym, a sports teacher shouting behind them.

  Try looked crestfallen.

  ‘I’ll close it,’ said Sergio, and he did so in an instant.

  Now the room was small and dark again.

  ‘Huh!’ Try sat down in the circle. She looked around, smiling while the Year 8 gym class thudded and shrieked through the concertina wall.

  Everyone gazed at her.

  ‘You probably want to know what Friendship and Development is all about?’ she declared. ‘You were surprised to see it on your timetable?’

  ‘I was surprised,’ I agreed. ‘I phoned the Board of Studies, and they said it’s not on the official curriculum.’

  ‘You phoned the Board,’ repeated Toby Mazzerati. ‘She phoned the Board,’ he murmured to himself.

  Try became enthusiastic. ‘Well, this,’ she said ‘is a new course. It’s kind of experimental. Year 11 is a tough year. Assessment begins. You’ve got your Higher School Certificate looming next year. You’re deciding on your future. And sometimes you might feel like you’re drowning in all that worry. Your FAD group is going to be a life raft.’

  Then she reached into her handbag and took out some p
apers which she passed around the group.

  The papers showed a cartoon of a boy jumping out of a classroom window and into a life raft.

  Everyone looked at it politely and then looked up at Try.

  ‘So,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘This is just something I did on my computer for you last night—but anyway, you have to see this group of people here as your life raft—’

  Emily and Astrid interrupted to exclaim, ‘You did this? This is amazing!’

  To be perfectly honest, the art was not that great.

  Try was blushing, and had started pulling the fine plaits out of her bandanna, one at a time. ‘Anyway,’ she said, folding up her own cartoon, but she was interrupted again.

  Someone was pushing back the concertina wall. Everyone turned as Elizabeth Clarry (athlete) walked in, pressing the wall closed behind her.

  She seemed surprised by our circle.

  ‘Is this the Friendship and Development class?’ she said. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  Elizabeth Clarry is always late and often misses lessons. She is a distance runner and disappears to train or to compete.

  I had hoped she was planning to focus on her schoolwork this year.

  ‘Sit here,’ ordered Emily, pulling out the empty chair beside her. ‘That’s our new teacher, Try, and we’re the life raft.’ She gestured at the circle, her eyes lingering a moment on me. ‘You have to use your imagination,’ she added.

  ‘Show her the picture,’ suggested Astrid.

  ‘Forget about it,’ said Sergio, inexplicably using a New Jersey mafia accent. He passed Elizabeth the cartoon and tapped on the life raft. One, two, three taps. Then he looked at her meaningfully.

  ‘Is that art like FOXGLOVE great or what?’ said Astrid. ‘Try did it herself.’

  ‘It’s flying feet Clarry, we got flying feet Clarry, we got—’

  That was Toby again.

  Try did not seem to mind any of this. ‘So, one more to go,’ she said, counting again, and glancing at Elizabeth. ‘I was just explaining that it’s tough to be in Year 11, so this course is going to cover issues like self-esteem, stress management, career planning, study management—’

  Study management.

  I interrupted (politely) to tell everyone that I had downloaded the syllabus for each of the courses offered this year, together with a set of past HSC exam papers and Notes from the Marking Centre. I said I would happily distribute these to anyone willing to cover the copying costs.

  Try looked surprised but said, ‘Thank you.’

  Then she said that she had taught English back in the US for several years, but this year she was going to develop and direct the FAD course. It was her invention, she said, and she’d be supervising the other FAD teachers and doing general administration. Also, she hoped we could forgive her if she forgot our names. ‘I’m terrible at names,’ she said, at which point I thought: Well, you might want to work on that.

  ‘Could we start,’ she said, ‘by going around the circle and all of you tell me your names and what animal you’d be if you were an animal?’

  She blushed again.

  ‘One thing about that game,’ said Elizabeth Clarry, who was drumming the heels of her running shoes on an empty chair. The chair would soon be dirty. ‘I always wonder if we’re meant to say what kind of animal we want to be, or what kind is most like our character?’

  I was pleased by Elizabeth. She had pointed out, subtly, that this game is played so often it is a cliché.

  At least, I think this is what she was getting at.

  ‘Either,’ said Try, blushing even more. ‘Or, if you prefer

  we could do the type of food you’d be, or which cartoon character or which—’ At that moment the final student arrived and the life raft

  was complete.

  He was a new student, this final student.

  I had seen him in some of my classes earlier that day and that week—Biology and Economics—but had not yet heard his name.

  He had come through the gymnasium, skirting around the Year 8 gym students, and had pushed back the concertina wall—and the light that beamed upon us seemed to emanate from him.

  It seemed like a halo or an extension of his golden hair.

  For you see, he was very blonde and here is the remarkable thing:

  His name turned out to be Blonde.

  Finnegan Blonde.

  He sat down and introduced himself.

  ‘Finnegan Blonde,’ he said, and he touched his blonde hair, unconsciously. He said almost nothing else that class, besides the name. And he mentioned that he had come from Queensland.

  Now, I must interrupt myself to predict that the girls in the group—at least Emily and Astrid, perhaps Elizabeth too—will be head over heels in love with him before long. He has that mysterious air. Girls of their nature adore that.

  And so we played the game in which we each declare an animal. I will not go into details. Now and then, I made some informative comments about the animals the others chose: feeding, hunting, mating habits and so on. Finnegan Blonde said he would be a zebra. But he did not explain why that was.

  ‘A zebra finch?’ I said. ‘A zebra mussel? A zebra shark? Or a zebra longwing butterfly?’

  I was trying, light-heartedly, to point out that the word ‘zebra’ appears in the names of many animals.

  He turned and fixed me with his gaze. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just a zebra.’ Then he turned away.

  I said I would be a giraffe, but, much like Finnegan Blonde, I did not explain.

  Anyway, after the animal game had finished, Try said we had one more game to play. She said it was a game we’d play regularly throughout the year. She called it the Name Game. We had to write our names in the centre of a blank piece of paper and pass the paper around the group.

  ‘Each new name you get,’ said Try, ‘write a small comment about that person.’ She looked at Finnegan Blonde. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? Sorry, if you can believe it, I’ve already forgotten your name—I remember you come from Queensland, but I can’t—anyway, it might be tough for you to write comments about the others because you’re new, eh? But maybe you noticed something just in this class today? Do you think you can get by?’

  And so we all wrote our names in large letters and we surrendered the Names to the group.

  I beg your pardon.

  We surrendered them to our life raft.

  After some time of passing the papers around, the Names arrived back at their owners, and we learned what the others thought of us.

  For your information, I have typed out the comments that the seven others wrote, and this is attached to my report.

  I could tell that the others were pleased with their Names (as I was with mine). There was much laughing, gasping, even some teary eyes about the room.

  The bell rang.

  As we packed to go, there was talk of a party at Emily’s house this Saturday. Who was attending? Why was it being held? Was it somebody’s birthday? (I am paraphrasing of course.) Had Sergio not heard? He was invited! General hilarity; disgraceful language; and so on.

  I left without saying goodbye.

  As I did, I heard a voice croaking behind me like a cane toad in mating season. It was Toby Mazzerati: ‘Flying fingers Mackenzie, folks, there she goes, the talking dictionary, and where does she go, to the library, folks, is she off to the library to learn some new polysyllamogononsense words? Or . . .’ And so on.

  Then I heard another voice. It was Try, the teacher, beside me. She came up to my shoulder.

  ‘Bindy,’ she said, ‘I like your nail polish.’

  She was smiling at my fingernails, which I paint in multi colours—red, green, purple, and so on.

  At least she had remembered my name.

  Attachment to Report on ‘Friendship and Development’: Sample of the ‘NameGame’

  Bindy is a kind-hearted, caring human being and

  none of us could ever do without her.

  Bindy earns our respect by gett
ing marks in the

  99.9th percentile. That takes hard work and

  dedication!

  There is nothing I would change about Bindy. She is

  perfect. Bindy, stay exactly as you are.

  Bindy’s hairstyle (and her multi-coloured nail polish

  and wacky glasses) say: ‘I’m a fun and zany girl!

  Don’t be afraid to say “hi” nor to ask for some

  help with Economics.’

  Bindy Mackenzie

  Bindy takes time from her busy schedule to represent

  the school in debating and oratory.

  And she’s a fast typist.

  Bindy is never conceited or ‘big-headed’. On the

  contrary, when she does well on an exam, she

  immediately offers to share the paper around, so that

  others can learn from her success.

  Bindy’s voice is like the dawn chorus

  of a flock of nightingales.

  4

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Toby Mazzerati

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Cane Toads

  Time: Friday, 10.00 am

  Hi Toby,

  I believe you chose the animal ‘cane toad’ at the FAD session on Wednesday? I thought you might like to know a few fun facts about yourself:

  • You were introduced to Australia in 1935 to control beetles that were eating sugar cane roots. That was a disaster. You got out of control. Now there are just too many of you.

  • You are poisonous! People have died after eating you in soup.

  • Your poison oozes out of your glands. Also, you squirt people in the face with it.

  • In the mating season, you grow lumps on your fingers which help you hold tightly to female cane toads.

  All the best,

  Bindy

  As Saturday sings and skips along, so Bindy unwinds from her busy week by:

  1. Kmart. Morning shift (7.30–12.30) (Womenswear)

  2. Maths homework

  3. Biology assignment

  4. Reread The Duchess of Malfi

  5. Piano practice

  6. Musicianship preparation

  7. Household tasks (laundry/vacuuming)

  8. Babysitting. Brentwoods (6.30 pm until midnight) (BRING JOHN DONNE)