Finding Freia Lockhart

by Aimee Said

  I spend the rest of the class trying to think of ways to make Kate realise that I’m a better friend than any of the Bs will ever be, not paying attention to McSporran until he announces that there’ll be a test tomorrow on the concepts he’s just covered. The week is off to a bad start.

  After Maths Brianna and I have French together. Mme Duclos tells us what we’re doing in today’s lesson. We sit and nod as if her twittering makes any sense at all, but apart from a “vous” here and a “mangez” there, I, for one, haven’t the faintest idea what she’s on about.

  Brianna’s actually pretty nice to me when it’s just the two of us. We’ve developed a great line in Franglais. She nudges me with the corner of her folder and points to the note she’s just written.

  As tu a bon weekend?

  Comme ci, comme ca, I write back, thinking about the hours I spent worrying about what people might or might not be saying about me. Et toi?

  Oui, tres bon! Saturday was un nuit excellent! Nous gave each other facials and B’s maman told us about her last Botox party and we stayed up till two watching Sex and the City. Pity tu couldn’t come. What were you doing?

  So, Belinda had a slumber party and I wasn’t invited. Brianna obviously doesn’t realise. I don’t think it would even occur to her. But Kate knew – she must have or she wouldn’t have given me that line about helping Belinda practise. Tears sting my eyes. Brianna pokes me, waiting for a response.

  Just babysitting mon petit frere.

  She gives me a sympathetic smile, blissfully unaware that she may have just hammered the final nail into the coffin housing the remains of Kate’s and my friendship.

  The combination of a bad night’s sleep and overanalysing things has exhausted me. I head straight to the library for a lunchtime power nap. Vicky waves and mouths hello when she sees me. I’m starting to feel like this place is my refuge. There’s something about the silence and the smell of old paper that makes it feel very safe. That and knowing that none of the Bs would ever willingly set foot in the place.

  I’ve just closed my eyes when I hear a surprised “Oh”. My eyes snap open and I see Siouxsie laughing and shaking her head.

  “Sorry, Freia. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just got a shock when I saw you there.”

  “I, uh, must’ve dozed off while I was reading,” I say, holding up the book I selected as my prop for the day.

  She inspects the cover. “A Brief History of English Literature – I can see why you dozed off. I’m here to do research for EE, too.”

  Well, sure, if that’s what Siouxsie assumes I’m doing, why disillusion her? “How’s your presentation coming along?” I ask.

  “Not great. The problem is I like Pride and Prejudice so much I can’t narrow down what I want to say about it to just one topic.”

  “You call that a problem?” I blurt out without thinking. “I can’t stand it!”

  “Really?” Siouxsie sounds shocked. “But why? I mean, how is that possible? Elizabeth is such a great character and Darcy, well Darcy’s just every girl’s dream – intelligent, strong, passionate, ethical–”

  “Completely full of himself! Honestly, Siouxsie, I can’t figure out how a book with so many fundamentally annoying characters in it came to be considered a classic. I mean, Mrs Bennet–”

  “Now I have to stop you! Mrs Bennet has got to be one of the all-time funniest characters ever. I mean, she’s so perfectly awful!”

  “Perfect is debatable in my books, but awful I’ll agree with. The way she–”

  “Hey!” interrupts Siouxsie, before I can tell her exactly why Mrs Bennet makes my blood boil. “Why don’t we do this for our presentation? A debate, I mean. That way I can talk about all the stuff I love about the book, and you can say why you hate it.”

  I think about it for a moment. Siouxsie always does well in EE, despite Ms Reid thinking she’s some sort of extremist, so I figure some of it might rub off on me if we do the preso together.

  “Do you reckon Reid’ll go for it? I mean, it’s probably okay for you, but I don’t think she’s going to give me an A for paying out the book.”

  “But you won’t be paying it out, you’ll be presenting a point of view about it. She’s always on about how we have to learn to think for ourselves and not take others’ opinions as our own. And she said she wants more ‘lively discussion’ in class. Whaddya reckon?”

  “I reckon if you can get Reid to okay us doing it together, it sounds like a great plan.”

  On the way to EE we decide it would be better to approach Ms Reid with our idea before class, since Andrea Hinkley’s presenting today and her choice of topic tends to put Reid in a bad mood. (Example: for Animal Farm, Andrea’s presentation was a slide show of her trip to a cattle station for Year Five camp, which might have been okay if the photos had been of anything besides Andrea’s performance in the camp talent quest.)

  Ms Reid eyes us with suspicion when we approach her desk. “Siouxsie. Freia. What can I do for you?”

  We’ve agreed that Siouxsie will do the talking. I concentrate on maintaining eye contact and nodding my head enthusiastically, like The Book says you should when you want to show your teenager that you’re Actively Listening.

  Ms Reid “hmms” thoughtfully as Siouxsie lists the reasons we should be allowed to do our presentation together.

  “It’s an unusual approach, but that’s what English Extension is all about: breaking new ground in the way we approach things. Of course, I expect you both to participate equally,” she says, shooting me a look. “There’ll be no hiding behind each other’s opinions. Who’s taking the negative?”

  Siouxsie jumps in before I can say I am. “We haven’t decided that bit yet.”

  Ms Reid laughs. “Aye, there’s the rub, as the Bard would put it, when you’ve got a book that everyone loves so much,” she says, shaking her head at our “dilemma”.

  “Nice work,” I say to Siouxsie as we head towards the only desk with two empty seats.

  She grins at me. “Want to work on it at my place tomorrow afternoon?”

  I nod without hesitating. If you’d told me two weeks ago I’d be hanging out at Siouxsie Sheldon’s place, I would’ve said you had me confused with another, much cooler, girl.

  “Marriage is an important theme in Pride and Prejudice,” begins Andrea, “and it has been in my life, too. This is a slide show about the five times I’ve been a bridesmaid…” Ms Reid’s smile dissolves and Siouxsie nudges me under the desk. It takes all my willpower not to laugh out loud and I realise I haven’t felt this good in months.

  “What are you so happy about?” asks Kate on the way to rehearsal. “I haven’t seen you smile like that since Orlando Bloom took off his breastplate in Troy.”

  I almost tell her about Siouxsie’s plan for EE and how relieved I am that at least one thing finally seems to be going right in my life, but something makes me hold my tongue. I tell myself that it’s because I’m still mad at Kate about lying to me but, if I’m being honest, the real reason is that if the Bs thought I was getting friendly with “Morticia”, it’d be one more thing to hold against me.

  “You know me too well.”

  Kate laughs. “You so need a boyfriend, Freia!”

  “Maybe,” I say noncommittally.

  “There’s no maybe about it. Since I met Alex things have just got better and better. We’re going on a double date with Bethanee and Jamie on Friday.”

  “That’s great,” I say, trying to sound sincere.

  “It’s going to be awesome! I’d invite you to come, too, but at a certain stage we’re going to want some, um, one-on-one time and that might be a bit awkward. Not that I think guys wouldn’t totally be up for pashing you – they would. It’s just that I know you don’t – you know – do that stuff.”

  I can’t say which of us is more red in the face by the time she shuts up or who’s more relieved when we reach the hall and can get away from each other. Kate makes a beeline for the stage where Bethanee a
nd Brianna are fussing over Belinda’s ball gown. Seeing the four of them together reminds me of Kate’s deceit about Saturday night, and I wonder how much longer we can keep pretending that everything’s okay between us.

  “Earth to Freia,” says Daniel, waving his hand in front of my eyes.

  “Huh?” I say, stepping back and landing right on his foot. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  “Listen, everything has to go perfectly today, okay? Every cue, every spotlight follow, every fade. I got hauled in front of the principal this morning because some idiot broke the DVD recorder in the library and of course Daz pointed the finger at me. The only reason I’m still here is that Wilson told Phipps what a good job we’ve done designing the lighting and he agreed to give me one last chance.”

  “But you didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Of course not. You think I don’t know how to use a DVD recorder without breaking it? But I can’t prove I didn’t and that makes me guilty around here. The upshot is, if we stuff anything up, Daz is taking over the lighting.”

  “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction,” I say, shuddering at the thought of having to spend hour after hour with Darryl on this tiny balcony. I imagine us jammed together behind the lighting desk, him smacking my hand away every time I tried to do anything.

  “Ready, people?” calls Mr Wilson from the front of the hall. “We’re going to run all the way through today, no stopping!”

  The house lights go down and we bring up the stage lights right on cue. We stay focused, following our marked-up script as if our lives depend on it. Occasionally, after, say, a very smooth scene transition, we exchange a smile. Today we are a well-oiled lighting machine. For the next hour and a half I’m concentrating so hard that I don’t think about Kate or the Bs once, even though they’re right in front of me (well, technically, below me).

  After the curtains close for the final time (Belinda insists on doing two curtain calls because she says she needs to practise her curtsying), Mr Wilson calls up to us, “Nice work, you two – well done!”

  Daniel slaps his hand on my back, like Ziggy’s teammates do after he scores a try. “Thanks, Fray,” he says.

  I look at him, unable to speak because all of a sudden the spot on my back where he’s touching me feels warm and a bit tingly. His fringe is parted slightly and I see something twinkling behind it. An eye! I crane my neck to get a better look. Is it blue, brown, green? Is it twinkling at me? The second I move he takes his hand off my back and brushes his fringe down in one smooth movement.

  “Um, yeah,” I finally manage to utter when it becomes obvious that he’s waiting for me to say something. “No worries. See you on Wednesday.”

  I pick up my bag and head for the stairs, still feeling the warm spot on my back. He must have very hot hands.

  Kate and the Bs are chatting near the stage, about two metres away from the staircase. I hang back until they walk towards the door.

  “Everything okay?” asks Daniel, appearing behind me without warning for the second time today.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say.

  “Suffering from princess overload?” he says with a smirk.

  “Something like that.”

  We walk out of the hall together.

  By the time I get home I’m bursting to talk to someone, anyone, about what happened with Daniel, and about Michael Harrigan’s rumours, and about Kate lying to me about going to Belinda’s, and all the other crap a girl just needs to download to a sympathetic buddy once in a while so that she can put things in perspective. But without Kate, there’s no one I can talk to.

  Mum would pee herself with happiness if I talked to her about it, but I just know that she’d reach straight for The Book to see what Dr Kiddie Shrink has to say about all this. Besides, there’s no way I could mention the Michael Harrigan stuff to her. She’d put me in a convent if there was even a whiff of my reputation as Parkville’s Purest being sullied.

  In the end I call Nicky, but she must be out with Mr Right again because her mobile goes straight to voicemail. I leave a long, rambling message about the debate and working with Siouxsie on it and a whole lot of ums and ahs and get cut off before I’ve even asked her to call me back.

  I try to take my mind off things by looking at the chapter on probability in gambling for tomorrow’s test, but it keeps drifting back to what happened this afternoon. If I close my eyes, I can still almost feel Daniel’s hand on my back … Must. Snap. Out of it. I put on my headphones and turn up the volume as high as I can bear, rampaging around my tiny bedroom to the soothing strains of Joey Ramone until I’m too tired to think about anything and fall, exhausted, into the safety of my bed.

  22

  Kate’s waiting for me at the blue gate the next morning. She smiles and links her arm through mine as we walk to the locker room.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying not to sound too suspicious.

  “Nothing, I’m just pleased to see you. I was looking for you after rehearsal yesterday, but you must’ve been busy with Skeletor.”

  “His name is Daniel.”

  “Sorry.” She giggles. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Brianna thought you might have felt left out about us all going to Bella’s on Saturday night but, honestly, Fray, I thought you’d rather watch Boris cough up fur balls than spend a night listening to us all go on about our boyfriends.”

  So that’s it. Now that Belinda’s with Luke and Bethanee’s with Jamie and Brianna’s with Steve and, of course, Kate is with Alex, I’m not only not cool enough to hang around with the Bs, but also not boyfriended enough. Kate looks as if she expects me to thank her for sparing me the humiliation of being the only single girl in the room. I’m This Close to telling her how I really feel when Belinda arrives.

  “KitKat, sweetie, thank God you’re here! Do I look bloated to you?” She turns for Kate to inspect her. It’s like watching one of those cartoons where someone gets a one-tonne anvil dropped on them and they look normal when they get up, but then they turn side-on and they’re completely flat.

  I expect Kate to tell Belinda to stop being ridiculous, but instead she looks her up and down for a few seconds before saying, “Perhaps you just need a diuretic?”

  “Of course, that’s it! I haven’t had my coffee yet. What would I do without you?”

  When Kate beams as if this is the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to her, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

  After school Siouxsie and I walk to her place. Luckily, Kate and the Bs have taken the bus into town to go window-shopping for outfits to wear to the cast party, so I don’t have to worry about them seeing us together.

  “Now tell me the truth,” Siouxsie says. “Is Belinda as big a bitch as she seems? Or is it all for show and she’s really a misunderstood teen with a heart of gold?”

  “Hmm, does she have a heart at all? I think that’s the question we need to answer.”

  Siouxsie laughs for a second, then looks serious. “So why do you hang out with her?”

  Good question, I think, but I tell her what I tell myself when I catch myself wondering the same thing: “Because Kate’s friends with her and the Bs, and I’m friends with Kate.”

  “And you can’t be friends with Kate without hanging out with Belinda and her entourage?”

  “Not really. I mean, they always sit together at lunchtime and everything. They’re not all bad – Brianna’s pretty nice and Bethanee …” But I can’t think of anything nice to say about Bethanee.

  “Sorry, Freia, I didn’t mean to make you justify who you’re friends with, it’s just that you’re way too, well, human to be one of them. Anyway, here we are,” she says as she opens the gate leading to a brown brick house.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m surprised to see that Siouxsie’s house is pretty much like ours. Even her bedroom (which I’d imagined would look like some sort of goth club cum artist’s studio) bears a startling resemblance to mine, except for the cool stereo in the co
rner and a huge Ramones poster over her desk.

  “You like the Ramones?” I ask her.

  “Yeah, that’s why the poster’s there.”

  “Sorry, it’s just, well, they’re so … old. I thought I was the only one in our year who liked them.”

  “Are you kidding? Vicky just bought a copy of Rock’n’Roll High School on eBay signed by Joey Ramone himself.”

  “Vicky?”

  “I know, you wouldn’t pick her as a punk fan, would you?” Siouxsie laughs.

  She throws a pile of stuffed toys off a chair so that I have somewhere to sit. “I keep meaning to have a junk out, but it just seems too mean, throwing them away like they’re rubbish.” I think of my own beaten-up bear at home and nod.

  We decide to do the presentation as a series of mini-debates and let the class be the adjudicators, voting for the winning point of view after each topic. We make a list of all the things Siouxsie loves about the book and all the things I hate about it and base the debate on the six topics we have in common.

  After an hour of making notes (of which Siouxsie spends about twenty minutes shaking her head and saying, “I can’t believe you don’t love that”), we’re pretty much done.

  “Time for a break,” says Siouxsie, going over to the stereo and putting on a CD. Seconds later she’s jumping around like a woman possessed to “Beat on the Brat”.