Finding Freia Lockhart

by Aimee Said

  I try to think of something to say to Daniel that will break the ice. If we’re going to be spending hours together in cramped quarters, I’d like him not to think that I’m a total waste of space from the outset. I’m considering asking him about his old school, or about his lighting experience, or perhaps about what other plays he’s done, but before I can say anything he’s stuffed the manual into his backpack and is making for the stairs himself.

  “See ya,” he mumbles.

  “See ya,” I say as he walks away, but I don’t think he hears me.

  When I get downstairs Kate and the Bs are huddled together. I hover between Kate and Brianna and hope I look more like I belong there than I feel.

  “How hot is Luke?” asks Belinda, rhetorically.

  Kate nods in agreement. “You are so lucky, Bella. You two are going to be so cute together.”

  I must have missed something. “You and Luke are together already?”

  “Gah, Freia, everyone knows that the leading man and the leading lady always end up together offstage. It’s the way of the school play,” Bethanee tells me sagely.

  Everyone else looks at me for a moment as if I’m Thicko McThick before returning to the conversation as if I wasn’t there. I tell Kate that Mum wants me home straight after rehearsal so I can make my escape before I humiliate myself any further. I feel guilty about lying to her until she reacts with a distracted wave, not even bothering to say goodbye.

  When I get home I run straight to the loo and resolve not to drink anything from recess onwards on Wednesday. I decide a little boogie break is in order before I start any homework and am just getting into some disco robot moves to Kylie when Mum sticks her head around my bedroom door.

  “Mum! Knocking. Remember knocking?”

  “Sorry,” she says, knocking on the inside of the door.

  I sigh loudly to show her I’m not impressed.

  “How was first rehearsal?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “It was fine, okay?”

  “Fine, okay? What kind of answer is that? Did you have a good time? Did you meet lots of new people?”

  “Mum, it was a rehearsal, not a cocktail party. It was fine.”

  “Okay, point taken. Got much homework?”

  “Trigonometry, Media Studies scrapbook, study for a Civics test, that’s about it.”

  “How’s Pride and Prejudice coming along?”

  “Fine.”

  Mum bites her lip. “Fine,” she echoes. “Dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes. Don’t forget you’re on table-setting this week.”

  Five things I learned at first rehearsal

  1. If someone offers you their hand to shake, you have a limited window of opportunity before the offer is withdrawn.

  2. Having hair you can flick seductively gives you an unfair advantage.

  3. Don’t get on Darryl’s bad side.

  4. The cute guys really are in the chorus.

  5. Bee pins can be used as flirting aides.

  8

  Wednesday is my least favourite day of the school week. Aside from the fact that it’s only the halfway point, when there’s neither the promise of a fresh new week in which things may improve and the weekend’s still miles off, it’s also PE day.

  My parents place no value on sport whatsoever, but they still make me do it, even though I have bad balance, poor hand-eye coordination and pretty much no competitive streak. I’ve told them there are lots of girls whose parents let them off our horse-mad PE teacher Ms Chan’s torture sessions, but according to Mum’s books it’s Character Building.

  On the way to the oval I try to block out Kate’s and the Bs’ endless chatter about Monday’s rehearsal by practising the yogic breathing that Mr Naidoo taught us before the half-yearly exams. (It was meant to calm us and channel stress away from our heart chakras, but listening to I-Do speak in a low, soothing voice has the opposite effect on hormone-addled teenage girls. We were all pretty hyper going into that exam.) I’m concentrating on taking long breaths, starting at my belly and working all the way up to my throat, when I pass Ms Chan.

  “Everything all right, Lockhart?”

  I pause mid-inhale and nod.

  “You look a bit peaky. I hope you’re not bringing some dreadful virus onto the field.”

  I exhale and shake my head. “No, Miss, just breathing.”

  “Well, perhaps you should try not to do it quite so much,” she tells me. “I don’t know that it agrees with you.”

  I look around to see whether Kate heard this confirmation that, as we have long suspected, Ms Chan is absolutely bonkers, but Kate’s two metres ahead of me, deeply engrossed in whatever Belinda’s saying. Siouxsie, however, turns round as soon as Ms Chan trots past her.

  “Did she seriously tell you that you shouldn’t breathe so much?” she asks incredulously.

  I nod, relieved that someone witnessed it. “I think she’s taken one too many falls at showjumping.”

  We both crack up, and I don’t know whether it’s because of the yogic breathing or the laughing, but I feel relaxed for the first time in days.

  The feeling evaporates as soon as we reach the sportsground. We’re in the middle of hockey season, my least favourite time of year. Something changes in the Bs’ eyes when they have a hockey stick in their hands and they set their steely gaze on you. Last week Bethanee whacked me so hard on the shin I had an egg-sized lump on my leg. I limped over to Ms Chan, but she wouldn’t even let me sit down. “Buck up, Lockhart, and watch where you’re going next time,” was all she said.

  This week my strategy is to stay as far away from the ball as possible. If I can just make sure that I’m always on the other side of the field, I should come out unscathed. Unfortunately, Ms Chan is onto me pretty fast.

  “What are you doing, Lockhart? The ball’s over this way!”

  I pretend to look surprised and head to where she’s pointing, quickly turning back again when Brianna and Bethanee start towards me with their sticks locked around the ball. Without thinking, I run to the only safe place I can see – off the field.

  “Oi,” screams Belinda, who is, of course, the captain of my team. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Ms Chan blows her whistle in agreement. “That’s it, Lockhart! If you won’t join the game, you can run laps of the oval till we’re done.”

  The moment the bell rings there’s a rush for the change room. I’ve never been one for getting changed in the middle of the room. It’s pretty much only the girls with no cellulite, perfect boobs, wobble-free tummies and spot-less bottoms who do, which means that eighty per cent of the class is left waiting for one of the five cubicles provided for a class of thirty. By the time I get there every cubicle is occupied and every inch of mirror space is taken up by one of the Bs.

  I’m the last to finish changing. Kate’s waiting impatiently for me at the gate. The Bs have already left for Parkville and she makes me jog till we catch up with them. As if I haven’t done enough running for one day.

  Belinda’s leading the Bs in vocal exercises and there’s much “la-la-la”-ing and “fa-so-la”-ing.

  “Watch your top notes,” she tells Kate.

  Kate looks a bit hurt, but she perks up when Belinda starts on “The Rain in Spain” and she and the Bs join in. I walk a few paces behind them, hoping that everyone can see that I’m not part of Belinda’s personal chorus. Even though I’m really thirsty after all that running in circles, there’s no way I’m going to risk having even a mouthful of water, knowing that it’ll be nearly three hours before I can go to the loo.

  When we get to the hall there’s a buzz of excitement in the air, although that may just be Ms Burns, who’s racing around all over the place telling everyone to get to their spots so that rehearsal can begin.

  “Eliza,” she calls when she spots Belinda, “on stage right now, please. Chorus is to sit silently in the first two rows. Freia, they’re waiting for you upstairs.”

/>   “Have fun,” says Bethanee with a fake smile as I trudge towards the stairs.

  Darryl and Daniel are huddled over the lighting console. Darryl is giving Daniel some sort of test about what each button, knob and switch does. Darryl nods after each answer. He looks like he wants to deck Daniel for getting it right.

  “Okay,” says Darryl when he’s run out of knobs to point at. “You can start thinking about the positioning today, but don’t move any of the lights. We’re just going to go with the full stage lighting until I’ve had a chance to figure out the rig.” He finally notices me. “And don’t let her touch anything.”

  “Places please, Eliza and Henry,” calls Ms Burns as the curtains swing open.

  “Who’s operating the curtains?” screams Darryl, heading for the stairs. “Did I say you could operate the curtains?”

  “Wanker,” says Daniel to his back. He turns his attention to the console and starts flicking switches.

  “You’ve used one of these before?” I say, determined to at least master the art of polite conversation with a boy while I have a captive audience.

  “Yeah, we had the same one at my old school. It’s pretty easy once you figure out what controls what. Now we just need to get the lights positioned so that they actually do something other than floodlight the stage.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “To be honest, it’s pretty much a one-person job at this stage.”

  My hackles start to rise. “So why is there a lighting assistant?”

  He laughs. “I suspect it’s because the Dazzmeister doesn’t trust me alone with his precious Lightron 5000.”

  He begins sliding switches to make the lights onstage brighter and darker and tries out some special effects. I want to ask if I can have a go, but he’s back to not-talking mode. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to be disturbed, so I watch the rehearsal instead.

  Belinda and Luke are centrestage going over their “Rain in Spain” scene. Belinda’s years at junior talent school have paid off, and I have to grudgingly admit that, terrible Cockney accent aside, she’s not bad. Luke, on the other hand, is as stiff as Ms Chan after a weekend gymkhana. He says his lines as if he’s reading them for the first time and consistently misses his cues. I expect Belinda to go ballistic, like she did with Brianna when she got her left and right feet confused in the dance number for the Year Nine revue, but she just keeps smiling at him patiently. Maybe her constant smile has something to do with the fact that Stephanie’s circling the stage with her camera; Belinda’s never been one to miss a photo opportunity.

  Kate spots me and waves, grinning ear to ear. It’s all your fault, I think as I plonk myself on the seat next to Daniel and watch him twiddle his buttons.

  “Were you at Switch last Friday?” he asks after ten minutes’ silence.

  I’m so shocked that he’s speaking to me that I don’t hear the question. “What?”

  “Switch – the cafe … last Friday. I thought I recognised you from there.”

  “Um, yeah … yes, I was.” I’m drawing out my answer, desperately trying to think of something to say to keep this “conversation” going. “Do you go there often?”

  “Now that’s an original line.”

  “I-I didn’t mean … I mean, I wasn’t …”

  “Relax, I’m joking. Fact is, they make the best lasagna in town. I think I’m addicted to it.”

  I’m so humiliated that I can’t speak. Part of me is angry that this weird, skinny guy could have the nerve to think I would chat him up. And part of me’s thinking that if I can’t even talk to a guy I’m not at all interested in, I’ll never be able to carry on a conversation with one I actually like. I decide right then that I’m definitely not going to the closing night cast party, no matter what Kate says.

  Daniel spends the rest of the afternoon adjusting the position of the lights that are close enough to the balcony to reach. He doesn’t say a single word to me other than “See ya,” when Mr Wilson announces that rehearsal is over for the day.

  I catch up with Kate and the Bs at the door and walk with them to their bus stop.

  “How cute is Jamie Boyd?” says Kate.

  “Cute enough for me to have my eye on him,” Bethanee replies with a note of menace, like a dog baring its teeth when you step too near its bone.

  “They’re all so cute, I can’t decide!” says Brianna. “Poor Freia, though, stuck up there with Skater, or whatever he’s called.”

  “Yeah, is there any room for you up there on the balcony with his lips?” Belinda punches the air to mark the extreme humour of this joke, which is everyone’s cue to join in.

  “And what is with that fringe? He’s like an anorexic Old English sheepdog!” adds Bethanee.

  I suppress an urge to defend Daniel, rationalising that it’s only a kneejerk reaction to the Bs’ bitchiness. Why should I care what they say about him? Still, I’m relieved when we get to their bus stop and I can leave them behind.

  Kate calls less than fifteen minutes later.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  “With who?”

  “Jamie Boyd. Fray, he’s gorgeous, he’s perfect.”

  “Yeah, Bethanee seems to think so, too.”

  “That’s the problem. There’s no way he’d choose me over her.”

  “Not without risking serious physical damage from Bethanee. You know what she’s like when she sets her sights on a guy.” (A boy actually dropped out of last year’s play because mysterious “accidents” kept happening on stage after he turned down Bethanee’s invitation to go to the movies.)

  “I know. It’s not worth ruining a friendship over, but still …”

  “Why don’t you ask Jamie who he likes? Maybe he’s not interested in Bethanee.”

  “Oh, Fray, you are so naive when it comes to guys!”

  Considering that, to my knowledge, Kate has had about as much experience with boys as I have, I’m tempted to call her on her new area of expertise, but the fact is she’s right. And besides, Bethanee would make her life a living hell if any guy chose Kate over her.

  “Anyway,” she says, perking up, “there are loads of cute guys in the cast. I’ll just wait and see who’s left once the others have chosen.”

  So much for being in love then.

  12 things I hate

  1. Sausage skins

  2. Shaving my legs

  3. Dancing in front of other people

  4. English Extension (besides Nicky)

  5. Coffee

  6. People not knocking on my door before they come in

  7. Giggling

  8. Cruelty to animals

  9. Shania Twain/Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/any other singer whose music can be described as a “power ballad”

  10. Clogs

  11. Footy socks

  12. Trigonometry

  9

  On Friday morning the locker room talk is all about who’s wearing what to tomorrow’s rehearsal. I can’t pretend it hasn’t been on my mind. At this stage I’m thinking jeans, a T-shirt and my low-top sneakers is an outfit that won’t invite attention or comment, but after listening to the Bs for a few minutes I reckon I’ll stand out like someone in tracky dacks at a formal.

  “… it’s sequined, but just a few subtle ones, and it’ll look hot with my red boots,” says Belinda. The others murmur their agreement.

  “I’m still deciding which jeans will go best with my new blue top,” says Bethanee, who is very proud of the fact that she owns more pairs of jeans than there are days in the week.

  “Mum said if I pass my Maths test, she’ll take me shopping this afternoon for a denim mini,” says Brianna.

  Thankfully, the bell goes before the conversation gets round to me.

  Mr McLaren is abnormally cheerful as he hands back our tests. “Could be worse, lassie,” he says, giving me mine. I see a score of fourteen out of twenty and nod in agreement. It’ll still only pull in a C for the trig assessment, but I’m just pleased to ha
ve passed. Bethanee is consoling Brianna, who, I assume from her floods of tears, has failed again.

  As soon as McSporran moves on to the next row, Kate passes me a note.

  What are you wearing tomorrow?

  What do I ever wear besides jeans and a T-shirt?

  Don’t you think we should make more of an effort?

  For what? It’s not as if anyone’s going to see me up there.

  Besides Daniel, I think. But I can’t see him caring about, or even noticing, what I wear.

  What about my blue skirt? Do you think it’s too dressed up?

  The one you wore to Emily’s prize-giving dinner?

  I know, too dressy. How about my black pants and green jacket?

  That always looks nice.

  NICE! I don’t want to look nice, I want to look hot.

  Sorry – in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the best person to give advice on hot …

  I expect to receive a note back reassuring me of my ability, or at least potential, to advise on hot, but Kate screws up the note and immediately passes another one to Bethanee. I pretend to be engrossed in Mr McLaren’s explanation of the laws of probability for the rest of the lesson.

  The issue of what constitutes a suitable weekend rehearsal outfit continues unabated through both recess and lunch, with Kate changing her mind every five minutes. By the time I finish my sandwich I think I’m going to scream. When I can’t stand it any longer I say I have to leave early for EE and make my escape.

  “Is my watch wrong?” asks Siouxsie, with mock surprise, when she arrives ten minutes before class and finds me already there.

  “Sanity break,” I tell her. “There are only so many hours I can spend listening to the minutiae of people’s wardrobes.”

  Siouxsie nods. “I’m with you on that one.”

  Alison Alexander arrives and sets up a laptop and projector.

  “Oh no,” I whisper to Siouxsie.

  “PowerPoint presentation!” she whispers back.