The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Well!

  That was strange.

  It was as if I had completely forgotten that I do not have a friend named Leesa! I haven’t spoken to her since last year when she phoned about the Powderfinger concert. Then she left Kmart and that was it. I don’t even know her full name. . .

  Of course, I then worried that Cassie might be patiently waiting for me to ask Leesa, on her behalf, and I knew I couldn’t do that. I began to wish that I knew who this Matthew Dunlop was. If only I happened to know him all on my own, the problem would be solved.

  Suddenly, an amazing thing happened. I realised I did know him!

  I ran and found Cassie—I tried to slow down as I approached—and I told her that I had met someone of that very name at the Schools Spectacular last year! Well, I had not exactly met him. But I had distinctly heard the announcement: ‘Matthew Dunlop of Brookfield High on the trumpet!’

  Cassie seemed very pleased.

  DIARY ENTRY

  Friday, 2 April

  You know, I hope I had the right person. ‘Matthew Dunlop’ I mean. When I told Cassie last month that I knew him.

  To be honest, there were hundreds of people playing or performing at the Schools Spectacular. And hundreds of announcements through muffled microphones. I suppose I might have heard Michael Dunlop, rather than Matthew. Or possibly Marcus Dunhill.

  I wonder if I should say something to Cassie?

  No, I must learn to be ‘cool’.

  Thursday, 3 June

  The Principal

  Ashbury High

  Dear Sir,

  I am writing to you about a matter of some concern.

  My friend, Ernst von Schmerz, has mentioned to me that certain Ashbury students have installed file-sharing software on the school intranet, and are using it to ‘share’ and ‘exchange’ music files. (Ernst, I should point out, is highly computer literate.)

  I wanted to draw your attention to this fact, as I would be distressed if our school were vicariously liable for copyright infringement.

  Kindest regards,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  PS Also, do you realise that the reserve behind our school is positively teeming with students who are engaged in underage drinking/drug-taking and should actually be in class? Why on earth are supervisors not stationed at key points throughout the reserve?

  DIARY ENTRY

  Thursday, 17 June

  Reflections on Romance

  There is much fanfare at school at the moment about the Formal Dance to take place at the end of this year.

  Not until the end of the year—but already the fanfare!

  People are crying and fretting about theme, decorations, location, and, most of all, about the state of their ‘romantic relationships’.

  As I said to Mrs Lilydale today (she and I have made up and I often drop by for a chat)—I believe romance has no place in the school system.

  I myself have always planned to avoid romance until the summer between Years 11 and 12. During that summer, I plan to meet and fall in love with a handsome young man, and we will spend our days sitting side by the side on the sand at the beach, reading prescribed texts for the following year, and testing one another on their content. We will fall asleep over the texts as the sun sets. The young man and I will then separate for the course of Year 12, so as to concentrate on school work, reuniting only at the end of the year, for the graduation dance.

  I had forgotten the Year 10 Formal, of course.

  DIARY ENTRY

  Saturday, 19 June

  Reflections on History

  I hear there will be dancing at the Formal Dance at the end of this year. I wonder what to do about that.

  I believe life was perfect in Victorian England.

  In those days, young ladies had maids who fixed their hair, their petticoats, their jewels, and their swirling gowns. They rode in silken carriages through lush, green fields, along cobbled laneways, towards elegant balls. They did not feel afraid as they emerged from their carriage because they knew exactly how to dance – they had taken lessons from a very young age.

  Handsome, well-dressed gentlemen converged upon the ballroom, hoping to find ladies with intelligent eyes, who could sing, play the piano and recite poems. They looked for young ladies who cross-stitched and reflected on life. They asked these young ladies to dance.

  BUSINESSPROPOSAL

  To: Mr Paul Mackenzie (Dad)

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Personalised School Stationery

  Mr Mackenzie,

  Please find attached my latest, exciting ‘Business Proposal’.

  (1) Bindy Mackenzie: A Background

  Bindy Mackenzie is a small business operating in the highly profitable schools market. (See www. bindymackenzie.com for past ventures.) The manager (Bindy Mackenzie) has run the business since she was eleven. Her overhead costs are low as she operates out of her bedroom.

  (2) Business Opportunity

  There are three major forms of communication used by students in a school: they (A) talk (in person or by phone); (B) write notes; and (C) instant message.

  I believe there is an opportunity to sell a standardised form of personalised stationery to students for the purposes of (B).

  (3) Proposal to take Advantage of Opportunity

  Operating Plan

  Offer personalised stationery for each member of Year 10.

  Market Segment

  Year 10, Ashbury High.

  Competitors

  Newsagencies, school supply shop, parents who provide stationery for free.

  Marketing Plan

  • Notice in School Newsletter

  • Notice on School Intranet

  • Groundroots campaign—I will print up a set of stationery for myself and use it to communicate with other students and teachers. Word of mouth will do the rest . . .

  Sample Products

  See attached samples of Bindy Mackenzie’s Personalised Stationery for the Busy Teen, including:

  • Memo from [student’s name]

  • Philosophical Musings of [student’s name]

  • The Dream Diary of [student’s name]

  • Telephone Messages for [student’s name]

  • A Day in the Life of [student’s name]

  • The Short Term Scholarly Goals of [student’s name]

  • Must-Haves for My Soul: A Spiritual Shopping List for [student’s name]

  DIARY ENTRY

  Thursday, 12 August

  Feeling low.

  Dad invested in my personalised stationery but am forlorn about its success (one customer—Ernst von Schmerz).

  I wonder if Anthony is right? He refuses to take it seriously. The other day he proposed that Dad invest $35,000,000 so that he and Sam could start a chain of independent movie cinemas.

  It’s true that I never actually make much money from the proposals, but they seem to impress Dad. He always laughs. Sometimes I wish I could concentrate on school work, and my part-time jobs, without also having to create business opportunities.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  Wednesday, September 15 (in my bedroom)

  I may as well use some of this stationery. I have printed so much for myself!

  Sigh.

  I’m not sure how this is ‘philosophy’, but Emily Thompson hates me. It turns out I did get the name wrong, back when I told Cassie Aganovic that I knew someone called ‘Matthew Dunlop of Brookfield’. It now turns out (Emily tells me, sparks shooting from her ears), that there is nobody at Brookfield of that name. Some wicked boy was using a false name to deceive Cassie! I was in error. And for some reason this is a matter of life and death. Good grief. Can a name be so important?

  Cassie herself does not seem angry with me. I apologised to her, and explained that I must have misheard (or misremembered). She just smiled, and said I shouldn’t let it get me down. Meanwhile, her two friends, Emily and Lydia (especially that wildfire, Emily), absolutely HATE and DESPISE
me.

  The loyalty between those three!

  It is close to appalling.

  NOTE FOR BINDY MACKENZIE FROM MRS LILYDALE

  Hi Bindy,

  My, you do have speedy fingers! What a marvellous job you did typing up the transcript of that fiasco today. I must admit that Emily Thompson did a rather good job as a ‘lawyer’, but how sweet of you to come by my office to offer comfort afterwards.

  Now, you might have noticed some papers on my desk as you walked in—tell me, did you see anything curious? Do be a team player and tell me what you saw—so I can explain!

  So long!

  Mrs Lilydale

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Mrs Lilydale

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Papers on your desk . . .

  Time: Monday afternoon

  Dear Mrs Lilydale,

  You know, I enjoyed typing the transcript at the fiasco so much, that I’ve opened up a ‘transcript file’ on my computer. I can’t seem to stop typing the transcripts of conversations around me! I suppose it is not a good habit, but it is teaching me about humankind.

  As for the papers on your desk, you’ll just have to guess what I saw!! But don’t worry, your secrets are always safe with me.

  Best wishes,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  5.05 pm

  Mum and Dad are not speaking to each other—they’re fighting because Anthony wants to go to a Performing Arts school with Sam next year, and Dad says the idea is absurd and the fees are extortionate.

  I could play the piano—that might cheer everyone up. But here I sit on my piano stool, lost in a sort of reverie. Feel odd about music generally.

  Last term, there was a dramatic conflict between Ashbury and Brookfield High, culminating in a sort of legal hearing, at which I typed the transcript. (Afterwards, I was with Mrs Lilydale in her office—saw nothing at all on her desk, but she thinks I did. Couldn’t resist keeping her guessing . . . I wonder what was there?)

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  5.07 pm

  I should have made these notecards bigger. Have to keep starting a fresh one.

  Anyway, after the ‘hearing’, the Spring Concert became the ‘Spring for Unity Concert’, bringing together Ashbury and Brookfield (a fruitless attempt at reconciliation). Cassie Aganovic made everyone weep at the concert. Nobody knew she could sing, but it turns out she has a voice as sweet as a Gray Singing Finch, and as haunting as the song of the Hermit Thrush. The standing ovation that followed her performance went on for about twenty minutes. (I was so glad I pulled out of that concert myself.)

  I could not explain, even to myself, how Cassie’s singing made me feel, until much later that day—when I was almost asleep—and a single word crept into my mind. It was the word pride. I felt so proud of Cassie. A hall crowded with people, and all of us listening in wonder to someone from my year, someone who belonged, in a way, to me.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  5.15 pm

  Afterwards, everyone was saying she has to go on Australian Idol.

  I said, ‘It would be a tragedy if Cassie went on Australian Idol,’ and people sneered at me. They thought I was being jealous. But I only meant that she is far too unique and special for reality tv.

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  5.22 pm

  Later, I saw that I had no right to feel proud. Cassie is not my friend, and in no way ‘belongs’ to me. She might be in my ‘year’ but she’s in a whole other ‘class’.

  Typically, my mother is oblivious to issues of class. You see, Emily, Lydia and Cassie are all going to Mum’s sailing school (her latest business venture) over the summer. It happened this way: Mum offered places at the school as prizes for the concert. Cassie was the winner, of course, and Lydia, by chance, was runner-up. Emily’s parents will pay for her to join her best friends.

  Mum thinks I should come too—she doesn’t have a clue! I could hardly spend a summer with Emily Thompson. She HATES me. I am still in trouble for that error I made about a name.

  Are mistakes not allowed once in a while?

  Dural Ladies Social Club

  Scholarship for Outstanding Achievement

  By a Student in Year 10

  Textbook Allowance for All Year 11 Textbooks

  Presented to:

  Bindy Mackenzie

  DIARY ENTRY

  Friday, 19 November

  Dearest Diary,

  Some funny things happened today, and it would help, I think, to unravel them here in your pages. I hope you do not mind.

  It was shortly after school had finished for today.

  I was sitting on a garden seat, which nobody else seems to know about. It’s in the shadows of the Japanese maple outside the library. It’s my favourite place to sit on these warm days, and sometimes I type transcripts of conversations floating by.

  Anyway, the first thing that happened was that Toby Mazzerati ‘floated’ by. He noticed me—people usually do not – and I felt oddly proud of his excellent eyesight. He made a humorous comment about how quickly I type on my laptop. I did not mind.

  And then the strangest thing happened: I was suddenly convinced that Toby was about to ask me to the Year 10 Formal. I widened my eyes, my mouth dropped open, and I stared straight at his face. I suppose I may have terrified him.

  Toby smiled, and continued on his way, talking in that strange poetic style he has, and I dropped my eyes again.

  Now, if that were not enough, a few moments later, two substitute teachers came striding by. They did not notice me at all. They were arguing about the intelligence levels of a Polish exchange student.

  And an extraordinary thing happened! One of the teachers became so upset she lost her temper and slapped the first! It was a hard slap. The victim cried out, her hands rushing up to protect her face (too late), and the folder she was carrying thudded to the ground. Loose papers were taken by the breeze.

  I rushed to collect the papers, and offered my details to the victim. I said I would be glad to testify on her behalf, should she wish to take legal action for the assault.

  I will not sully my diary by recording the teacher’s response.

  I will only say that I now feel in a state of shock, as if my heart has been subject to too much today: the quivering moment when I thought Toby would ask me to the Formal; the surprise at the raised voices of teachers; the shock of a violent attack; the cruel rejection of my offer to help . . .

  I suppose I will be all right.

  NOTE FOR BINDY MACKENZIE FROM MRS LILYDALE

  Hi Bindy,

  The school year is winding up and the time of exams and clean-up is upon us. The time of celebration too! It gladdened my heart to see you and Ernst attending the Formal as ‘friends’ last night. Perfect! You were both so dignified. If only others took their cue from you!

  I just want to wish you well for Year 11, Bindy. I’m sure you will continue to shine—over the last few years, you’ve been such a hit, both academically and with your extracurricular activities. Such successes with the Duke of Edinburgh Award, the Tournament of Minds and debating. Such a strident voice in the School Representative Council, despite howls of protest from your classmates! And I hear you’re not too awful at netball and squash any more either!

  On a more personal note, you were a ray of light in this difficult year, and I will miss your visits next year. Drop by whenever you like, won’t you—and do take these carob-coated energy drops. I’m enclosing a box for your summer, but come by early next year and I’ll give you another. They’ll help to ensure that you keep up your dazzling performance in your senior years.

  So long!

  Mrs Lilydale

  DIARYENTRY

  Thursday, 16 December

  Only one more day of school. And only one more page of this Diary . . . What can it mean? Will life thence come to an e
nd?

  Tomorrow, we get our report cards. (I received Band 6 results in each of the five courses I took for the school certificate. Still, I’m always fearful about report cards.)

  Next year (if life does not end), all will be different . . .

  No more Mrs Lilydale as Year Co-ordinator.

  No more Kelly Simonds. (She’s going to be an exchange student in Austria.)

  Ernst and I had a farewell party for Kelly at recess. (Her other friends had a cake for her at lunch.) It’s a small thing, but at one point during the party, I asked Kelly what the time was. She raised an eyebrow archly. ‘A hair past a freckle,’ she said, holding out her hand to show me that she didn’t have a watch.

  I don’t know. Perhaps the people of Vienna will appreciate Kelly’s wit, but I’m not sure it’s her best feature.

  Next year, no more parents either! They’ve decided to move into the city and leave me behind. I’m trying to see this in a positive light: Veronica, Jake and Bella are great, so I’ll be fine. Besides, I expect we’ll write lots of e-mails to each other. I like, very much, the idea of correspondence with my parents. I can tell them things I might not otherwise. It will take my relationship with Mum and Dad to a different, better level.

  The final lines of this diary . . .

  I will miss you, sweet diary.

  I am going on to Year 11 now, a whole new domain. The most important year of my academic life so far.

  I am afraid.

  (Note: Band 6 is the highest you can get in the school certificate.)

  12. Concluding Remarks

  The Life you have just read is merely a piece of a larger work in progress. Each day, each hour, each moment something new occurs in life . . .