The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  I am now in Year 11. How to capture my first term, and beyond?

  Well, I am not the sort of girl to give up.

  I have decided to continue this Life in private.

  Hence, I have started a fresh document on my laptop and

  have scanned in various notes, papers, and correspondence from this year—as with this Life, I have tried to be as honest as possible, including things which do not show me in my best light. I have begun with the Name Game we played at the very first session of FAD, scanned in my philosophical musings and memos, and copied in Night Time Musings (which I always type up on my laptop).

  I will continue to add to this document, scanning in items as I write them. I will even include this very project!

  And then I will begin a new ‘Part’.

  And with a new Part, I will begin a new term, a new life: I will begin a new Bindy Mackenzie.

  PART SIX

  1

  Here are some Lines from a Book which Caught Bindy’s Eye Today. . .

  ‘[A new school term] is the time when resentments are laid aside, friendships are renewed, and the pages of life are freshened . . .’

  (Note: The book actually refers to a new year, but I think the author would have said the same thing about a new school term.)

  From: Our Deportment, or the Manner, Conduct and Dress of the Most Refined Society by John H. Young (1881), p 165.

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Try

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Bindy Mackenzie

  Time: Monday, the First Day of Term, 5.36 am

  Dear Try,

  I hereby attach, with trembling stapler, a print-out of my FAD assignment. It is entitled, ‘Bindy Mackenzie: A Life’.

  I also ‘attach’, with trembling heart, my gratitude. By asking me to prepare this Life, I believe you may have saved my life. Nay, not merely saved it, but formed it afresh!

  You see, before I put this Life together, I was in a desperate state. I thought I had always been generous with my classmates, yet the Name Game we did at the first FAD class revealed that I had failed to win their hearts. So I chose to be ruthless instead, and I completely lost their respect. (You’ve probably noticed that.) All this has caused me such despair that I think it has made me ill.

  But preparing this Life over the last few days has revealed a truth to me. My generosity of the past few years has been tinged with darkness! I see that now. Although I tried to help, I thought that my classmates were ‘teen monsters’: people with drug and alcohol addictions, people who infringe copyright, people who need to be fixed . . . No wonder my classmates have not liked me! And no wonder I exploded into ruthlessness this year. I thought I was surrounded by monsters, and was fed up with trying to help them. I wanted them to see what they were!

  And yet, I also see that in my distant past, I had loved my classmates. I thought that they were beautiful. It seems to me, when I study this Life, that Year 9 marks a turning point. (Perhaps some cataclysmic event took place in Year 8?)

  I intend to create a brand new Bindy this term. I will draw on my childlike self. I will love my classmates again. I will focus on the positive features of fellow human beings, and most especially my FAD group. I’ll point these positive features out to them. I’ll help them to reach their potential!

  Will I have poison running through my veins?!. Nay! I’ll have affection spilling from my every pore.

  And I’ll spill every drop that I can on the members of my FAD group.

  With much gratitude,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  PS Can you please thank the FAD member who gave me the glittering nail polish? I wear it every day now, and am trying harder than ever to stop chewing my nails! I’ve also been trying hard to figure out who it is from, but I simply cannot.

  PPS Here, along with my Life, is a small gift for you—I have got one of your cartoons framed.

  PPPS I’m nervous about returning to FAD, but I see that it is vital. I must win their forgiveness and their hearts. It is only in such a way that I will find myself again. Only this, I think, will cure me of my despair (and the associated physical symptoms).

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  Monday, 5.49 am (in my bedroom)

  If the slow but steady melting of the polar icecaps can cause such meteorological events as the weakening of the Gulf Stream and consequent dismantling of various ecosystems, can it really be surprising that the sudden thaw in a girl’s icy state should be followed by a headache?

  TO: mackenziepaul@mackenzieenterprises.com.au

  FROM: bindy.mackenzie@ashbury.com.au

  SENT: Monday, 6.00 am

  SUBJECT: Decisions . . .

  Dear Dad,

  Hi there! It’s the first day of school after the holidays, and I’ve decided to catch up on correspondence before the term gets under way!

  How are you? Anthony and I were sorry to miss you when we visited during the holidays—I know you’ve been interstate a lot, so I understand. Anyway, as Mum said, the apartment is not really big enough for two people, let alone four, so it was probably best. (We ordered Hawaiian pizza the first night, so I bet you’re secretly glad you weren’t around!)

  My holiday was busy—I spent a lot of time on a school assignment for FAD. I also spent several evenings helping one of my baby sitting clients. She runs a secondhand bookstore and we reorganised the store together. Actually, she was so impressed that she offered me a full-time job, Saturdays and Thursdays.

  Can I have your advice? Do you think I should quit Kmart to take up Maureen’s offer? It’s less money, but more fun, and I do have another regular job to supplement my income. (I sit with a woman named Eleanora while she makes pasta on Sunday and Wednesday nights—I think she does this for a local Italian restaurant.)

  Anotherthing: If I take the job, I might surprise Maureen by secretly renovating the back rooms of the store—a disastrous storeroom and bathroom—so any advice on renovation would be appreciated. I know that’s your field of expertise.

  Best,

  Bindy

  My Buddy Diary

  By Bindy Mackenzie

  Monday, 6.15 am

  A long time ago, my buddy set me the challenge of attending kickboxing classes. I am sorry to confess that I did not meet this challenge last term. (I was a different person then.) (And the classes were on at the same time as my piano lessons.)

  However, yesterday, I discovered a new Sunday class, at 2.00 pm, and so I took it. I found the other students to be vastly more co-ordinated than I am. I could not kick and punch at the same time. (Interestingly, as a child, I was never able to rub my tummy and pat my head at the same time.) And I felt too embarrassed to shout ‘Ha!’ each time I kicked.

  Accordingly, I do not think that

  kickboxing

  is my thing.

  As I mentioned before, I might try a hip-hop class instead. I hope that my buddy will understand.

  Bindy Mackenzie

  24 Clipping Drive, Kellyville, NSW 2155

  Mr George Sutcliffe

  Student Liaison Officer

  Office of the Board of Studies

  Dear Mr Sutcliffe,

  Thank you for your letters, in which you ‘respond’ to my complaints about a course at my school called FAD.

  I am writing now to withdraw those complaints. I suspect that you did not fully understand them, and I know you have already spoken to my Year Co-ordinator. However, I am concerned that someone else in your department might read die file, and take action.

  I hereby confess that I was mistaken.

  FAD is a revelation, and my FAD teacher, Try Montaine, is a genius.

  Accordingly, please destroy my file, along with this letter.

  With muted appreciation,

  I remain,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Ms Walcynski

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: Modern His
tory Case Study

  Time: Monday, the First Day of Term, 7.02 am

  Dear Ms Walcynski,

  I am writing to request an extension for my Case Study, Compare and Contrast the Lives of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. I have examined die recommended reading, read several additional articles, watched Spike Lee’s film, and written a draft of the assignment, but I believe I need more time to polish it.

  I am truly sorry to be making this request. As you no doubt know, I have never in my life asked for an extension, or handed in a late assignment, in this or any other subject.

  I believe the circumstances are exceptional: I had a FAD assignment to complete over the holidays and it took up most of my time.

  Thank you so much for your patience.

  Kind regards,

  Bindy Mackenzie

  The Philosophical Musings of Bindy Mackenzie

  7.10 am

  Bindy, ignore your splitting headache, and embrace the thrill of the new term—a new era, a new Bindy Mackenzie!

  Pay heed, FAD group, I am going to discover the true and thrilling nature of your souls!! I am going to find the nobility within you, and reveal that nobility to you!!

  Affectionate Bindy has returned.

  2

  A Portrait of Toby Mazzerati

  Here I sit in Assembly, the first Wednesday of the new term.

  Mr Botherit is welcoming us back to school. He is so enthusiastic that one would think we had been gone for two months, not just two weeks.

  His voice fades into a hazy distance, and I focus on Toby Mazzerati.

  He must be here somewhere in this Assembly Hall but I cannot find him. So I will record my memory of him.

  Toby Mazzerati is faintly freckled all over. You cannot tell that he is freckled unless you see him up close on a bright day or perhaps beneath a sunlamp.

  Toby has reddish-blonde hair, thick and soft.

  He has small eyes, the colour of red-brown rust, but rust is flat and dull, whereas Toby’s eyes gleam.

  He is short and plump.

  There is something puffy and swollen about him—I often think of pastry, the lid of a pie, slowly ballooning in the oven.

  Excuse me, Mr Botherit’s voice is growing loud.

  He is explaining that anyone can change.

  Well, that is good news! I myself plan to change this term. I am hoping—

  Oh, Mr Botherit, hush.

  He has gone too far.

  He always does.

  He is saying that people who have done poorly in school work before can pick themselves up in Year 11 and come first in the year! He is recommending tutors, study schedules, meetings with course advisers, etc, etc.

  He is going to play havoc with the bell curve. He should leave it alone.

  It is later.

  I am in my room at home.

  This afternoon, I attended my first session of FAD since the disastrous session last term. I will not lie. I was terrified.

  But! I caught the bus with the others into Castle Hill. It was less crowded than usual, and we all found seats, most of us alongside strangers. I was near the front, and turned around to give each of the FAD group an affectionate smile. Sergio was the only one to return it properly. The others pretended not to see me, or widened their eyes, raised their eyebrows, curled their lips, or snorted like angry horses.

  Finnegan Blonde offered a faint, inscrutable smile; the mildest creasing at the corners of his eyes, and then turned towards the bus window. He seemed then, as I watched, to have a private thought, and to smile, amused, at this thought, and he knocked against the window gently, with the knuckle of his right index finger.

  I smiled warmly at Try, too, but I turned away at once, not wanting to see her reaction. My greatest fear was that she had read my Life and not liked it. I did not want to see disappointment in her eyes. But perhaps she had not yet had the time. I only gave it to her two days ago! I assume she was grateful for the framed cartoon and has it hanging in her front hallway. (She hasn’t mentioned it.)

  They ordered their coffees (Astrid, I noted, had switched to herbal tea) and found their armchairs behind the curtain. Emily insisted she had post-traumatic stress disorder from a Legal Studies exam she had done that day. ‘Seriously,’ she was saying, ‘what are the symptoms?’ Toby and Finnegan mocked her. Astrid mentioned that she had a mild concussion, from running into a telegraph pole while being chased by the police after a party on Saturday night. Toby and Finnegan turned from Emily to mock Astrid instead. Briony was timid. Sergio and Elizabeth leaned close together to talk about Elizabeth’s new rollerblades. His breath caressed her cheek. Her eyes sparkled like raindrops. He touched her elfin ears. She drew her legs up into the couch, and gathered her arms around those legs.

  Aha! I thought. That’s one thing that has changed. Sergio and Elizabeth: an item. It must have happened over the break.

  But I had predicted that.

  Try was as tiny as ever, and she perched on the same footstool. She explained that today we would talk about ‘fear’.

  Blushing, she produced a bright purple ball, the size of a basketball, but made of soft cloth and containing a jingling bell.

  ‘We throw the ball,’ she explained, ‘and whoever catches it must tell us the things they fear.’

  Finnegan collected the coffee orders, as usual, and I turned to consider Toby—and found myself in shock.

  Has every single person in Year 11 changed so dramatically?

  I’d seen him sitting on the bus, and around the school, but simply had not noticed. Toby had stretched like an elastic band.

  What was I thinking when I said he was swollen and puffy?

  His skin sits firm on his bones, a pleasant, pale brown. His arms are smooth as they reach for his coffee; he blinks once or twice and his thoughts ripple out across the well-defined structure of his face.

  What was I thinking when I said he was short? He has grown tall. His head sits up above the top of the couch, and his feet stretch out to the floor.

  (What is happening to the boys in Year 11? Some, I must say, remain short. Some have terrible acne; many have bristles of hair on their upper lips; but many! Many have grown smooth, bronzed skin, muscles, legs, and forearms!

  I find it hard to look at these ‘men’ without feeling something—

  I feel like a passenger in an accelerating car, a hand on a gearstick that keeps changing, ever faster. But where does it end?)

  I continued to watch Toby in quiet amazement as the FAD session went on. I saw him glance at me, a little uncomfortably, once or twice. I believe he sensed my gaze.

  It was easier to stare when he was talking—and the ball seemed often to land in his hands. He leaned forward to talk. The conversation, as usual, strayed away from fears—their fears ranged from exams to careers to concern about the vulnerability of their little brothers and sisters to parents’ marriages and parents’ health to global warming to sharks to terrorist attacks. But somehow the conversation ended up at conspiracy theories.

  Toby is fond of conspiracies. He believes that all sunglasses have built-in hidden cameras, which see what you are seeing, while a central agency watches every frame. Similar, he said, with computers—there is a department recording every tap of your fingers on a keyboard.

  He also believes that most robberies you read about in newspapers are fictional—planted there to make people buy insurance.

  He threw the ball to Briony then, and she declared that electricity companies make it darker outside so we have to use more lights. It took us all a moment to realise she was joking, and to laugh

  It is Thursday now.

  I’m trying to find a positive animal for Toby to replace the cane toad. Some kind of chattering monkey? I googled ‘chattering monkey and it seems to be a metaphor for the taunting voices in the back of your head. The voices that insist you will fail.

  I don’t think that is what Toby’s chatting intends.

  11.53 pm on Thursday

  Worked
at Maureen’s Magic tonight and remembered this.

  Whenever Toby threw the ball at FAD yesterday, he threw it to Briony. He did this casually, glancing at others first as if considering them, and then tossing it, always, to her.

  I remember thinking, almost crossly: why throw the ball to Briony? She’s too shy!

  But Briony always caught the ball, held it tightly in both hands, and spoke. And each time her voice grew louder and her sentences became more complete. Sometimes she even made jokes.

  I think that Toby knew what he was doing.

  I think he was chipping away at her silence, constructing a place where she could speak.

  Friday, 4.10 am

  There is determination behind Toby’s light-hearted chat. I have heard rumours that he is building a snooker table as his major work for Design and Technology. People are amazed at the ambition. But the message seems to be: if anyone can build a snooker table, Toby Mazzerati can.

  I believe that Toby is a kind person.

  I remember when he gave me a wooden jewellery box.

  (Nobody threw the ball to me at FAD.)

  A Memo from Bindy Mackenzie

  To: Toby Mazzerati

  From: Bindy Mackenzie

  Subject: YOU

  Time: Friday, 11.30 am

  Dear Toby,

  Once, I left you a message in which I said that you are a cane toad.

  Today, I write to assure you that you are not.

  No, Toby, I was mistaken.

  You are not a cane toad, but a woodpecker!

  Woodpeckers enjoy working with wood. So do you!

  Woodpeckers keep up a constant, tapping noise as they beat their little beaks against the bark. So do you! (If not ‘tapping’, at least a sort of’ chatting’.)

  A woodpecker is beautiful, and you have grown into a dashing young man, far removed from the plump little boy I used to know in primary school.

  Most importantly, a woodpecker’s work is vital for other birds—the holes they make in trees become nests for smaller birds, such as bluebirds, wrens and chickadees.