Finding Freia Lockhart

by Aimee Said

  Kate hangs back with me on the way back to the hall.

  “Look, I know the Bs can be a bit full-on sometimes, but they’re just joking around. Don’t let them bother you.”

  I want to blurt out that they do bother me and that I’m sick of being their resident freak, on hand whenever they want someone to pay out. But it took a lot of courage for her to stand up to Bethanee so I just nod and do my best to smile.

  “Hey, want to stay at my place tonight? We can make brownies and read Emily’s diary.”

  For a moment I’m tempted. Kate seems more like her old self today and I’m way out of touch with Emily’s love life, which used to be one of our greatest sources of both amusement and sex education. Except I know that we’ll just spend the night talking about Alex and the play and what Kate should wear to the cast party, so I lie and tell her that there’s a faculty dinner on. It could be my paranoid imagination, but I think she looks more relieved than disappointed.

  All afternoon I’m acutely aware of Daniel’s proximity. We know the lighting script so well now that we could just about do it in our sleep. Daniel sets a challenge for the afternoon where we both only use the hand we don’t write with to operate our half of the desk. Because I’m right-handed and he’s a leftie, we bump elbows quite a bit. Of course, we could just swap sides, but I’m not about to suggest it.

  Afterwards, we walk together to the bike racks. “See you on Monday,” Daniel says, flashing me a smile that makes my toes tingle.

  When I get home Ziggy’s watching TV, still wearing his filthy footy clothes and reeking the way only an adolescent male can.

  “The crumblies are out,” he says, not looking away from the screen. “Some German film about pain and death or something.”

  As part of their quest to keep the romance alive, once a month Mum and Dad go to the movies together. They always make sure it’s an arty foreign film Ziggy and I would never want to see – that way they don’t have to feel guilty about not inviting us.

  I make the most of them not being home by putting on the Ramones as loud as my little stereo can handle and bouncing around the room to “I Wanna be Sedated”. I don’t notice Ziggy come in until he’s pogo-ing in front of me. Ordinarily, I’d stop the CD and give him an earful about respecting my privacy, but I can see he’s enjoying the music as much as I am. Besides, I don’t want to do anything that might take the tingle out of my toes. We don’t stop till Mum and Dad get home.

  After dinner Ziggy insists on us all watching Return of the Jedi for the eleventieth time. I’m beginning to regret not taking Kate up on her invitation when the phone rings. I expect it must be one of Mum’s old fogey friends who also has nothing better to do with her Saturday nights, so I’m surprised when I hear Siouxsie’s voice asking if I want to meet her for coffee.

  Mum and Dad exchange glances when I ask and Dad shrugs in his whatever-you-think-is-best way.

  “Well,” says Mum and you can almost see her mind ticking over the pros and cons of letting teenagers go out at night without adult supervision. “I guess it’s okay. But you have to be home by 10.30.”

  I nod, happy to agree to any conditions just as long as I don’t have to face the humiliation of telling Siouxsie that my parents don’t even trust me enough to go out for coffee with a girlfriend.

  Siouxsie and I arrange to meet at Switch in half an hour. I throw on my Maneki Neko T-shirt, which is looking a little tired from being worn so much over the past few weeks, and put on some mascara for good measure. Good grief, I think when I catch sight of myself, anyone would think you’re going on a hot date. But I have to admit, I do want to impress Siouxsie.

  I’m heading out to the garage to grab my bike when I hear the rattling of car keys and turn around to see Mum waiting beside the Volvo. I don’t want to risk her changing her mind so I get in the passenger seat without a word of protest.

  “You look nice,” she says, apparently unaware that this is the last thing any girl wants to hear from her mother.

  I grunt in response, wishing she was the sort of parent who’d drop me off round the corner from the cafe so that Siouxsie wouldn’t see her. She pulls up right outside and waves to Siouxsie who’s just arrived.

  “Dad’ll pick you up,” she says, giving me a kiss. I get out of the car as fast as possible.

  Siouxsie is looking ultra-cool in red-and-black striped tights and a dress made from an old (or as Belinda would say, vintage) Clash T-shirt. I feel like a little kid standing next to her.

  I spot Daniel the moment we walk in, sitting at his usual table in the far corner, eating lasagna and reading his book. Normally, I’d pretend not to have seen him, especially if I was with a girl from school, but I sense that Siouxsie will be fine about it. Just as I’m trying to decide whether to go over and say hi, he looks up. If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. He nods in greeting and goes back to his book.

  “Friend of yours?” Siouxsie asks.

  “That’s Daniel, the guy doing the lighting for the play.”

  We sit on a couch at the back and Jay comes to take our order.

  “Your usual?” he asks me.

  “Actually, I’ll have a flat white.” I don’t want Siouxsie to know that I’m so unsophisticated, I don’t even drink coffee.

  I sip my coffee, eyeing Siouxsie’s hot chocolate with envy and adding sachet after sachet of sugar to take away the bitterness. We chat about school and our families and all the other normal stuff. It feels like ages since I’ve had someone to talk to. Siouxsie’s parents sound as crazy as mine. They may be way cooler than Mum and Dad, but they’re also into all kinds of weird-arse New-Age stuff, like crystal healing and reiki, and they insist that she calls them Pam and Mike “to break down the traditional hierarchy between parents and children”.

  I’m in the middle of telling her about Mum’s obsession with The Book when I notice Daniel get up to pay. He gives me a small smile and a wave on his way to the counter. I return the gesture, although I fear my smile is more of a huge, scary grin.

  “He’s not bad for a Parkville guy,” says Siouxsie. “I think he likes you, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. He kept sneaking looks at you and I didn’t see him turn a single page of his book the whole time we’ve been here.”

  I can’t help smiling at the thought. Siouxsie smiles back.

  Dad is waiting outside on the dot of 10.30. I see him open the car door and I motion furiously for him to stay put.

  “Sorry, I have to go. My olds are so overprotective. Not only do I have a curfew, but they insist on picking me up.”

  “It could be worse,” Siouxsie says. “Sometimes I wonder whether Pam and Mike would notice if I didn’t come home at all.”

  “Hop in, Saus– Freia,” says Dad, leaning out the window. “Siouxsie, can we give you a lift?”

  If I was Siouxsie, the last thing I’d risk is being seen in an orange Volvo driven by a man wearing a cardigan with leather elbow patches, but she accepts his offer without hesitating. Dad chats the whole way there about Boris’s litter box habits and his plans to train him to use the toilet using a technique he found online. Thankfully, it’s only a five-minute drive to Siouxsie’s.

  The more I think about what Siouxsie said about Daniel looking at me, the more I think it was probably her he was looking at. I mean, if I saw dorky me sitting next to Siouxsie, with her cool hair and cool clothes, I know which one of us I’d be sneaking looks at. By the time I fall asleep they’re already a couple in my mind.

  26

  Lunch at Il Gusto starts off well enough. Giorgio makes a big fuss of me, telling me I’ve become a “bella donna” since he last saw me and escorts us to our usual table. We’ve been coming here since before Ziggy was born and it hasn’t changed a bit, from the Chianti bottles hanging from the ceiling to the red-and-white-checked tablecloths.

  When Giorgio brings our drinks Dad proposes a toast to me overcoming my hatred of Jane Austen to succeed in EE. Then
we toast Ziggy getting three tries in footy yesterday. Dad and Mum smile proudly at each other.

  The food is heavenly, as always, and I eat my tortellini one at a time, trying to make it last as long as possible. And for once there’s no tension to our family chatter. It’s the perfect family outing until Giorgio brings dessert.

  “So, Freia,” he says with a wink, “when are you going to bring your boyfriend to meet me? He has to have Giorgio’s stamp of approval, you know.”

  “Get in line!” Dad says, faux sternly. “First, he has to get my stamp of approval.”

  “We’d all like to meet him, Giorgio,” adds Mum, “but Freia’s keeping him to herself at the moment.”

  Then Ziggy announces at the top of his voice, “His name’s Skeletor and he’s a freak!”

  “Now, now, Ziggy, I’m sure he’s a very nice boy,” says Giorgio, probably because he’s noticed that every table within earshot has turned round to see who’s going out with the freak. “Maybe you’ll bring him for lunch someday, Freia?”

  “He is not my boyfriend!” I practically yell at Giorgio, who looks hurt and busies himself clearing the table behind us.

  “Freia!” says Mum.

  “Could we just stop talking about it please?” To add to my public humiliation, I’m on the verge of tears. I put down my spoon and go to the bathroom where I splash my face with water and sit on the toilet with the lid down until Dad comes looking for me.

  “Sorry, Fray,” says Dad when I open the door. “We didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just … we used to be able to joke around about stuff like that.”

  “Well, it’s not funny any more,” I say, unable to tell him that the real reason I’m upset is that I know that Daniel isn’t interested in me and never will be.

  “Sorry, Sausage. You know, I love the person you’re becoming, but sometimes I miss the little girl I knew.”

  Me too, I think, not bothering to tell him off for calling me Sausage.

  I spend the next twenty-four hours veering between looking forward to seeing Daniel and dreading it. I keep telling myself that he’s just a friend and that’s all I want him to be, but then I remember that Jacob’s Ladder-crackliness and my toes tingle again and I wonder who I’m trying to kid.

  I sit with Kate and the Bs at lunchtime on Monday, but luckily they’re all too busy admiring Belinda’s newly permed eyelashes to pay much attention to me.

  “Mum says if I keep aceing Maths and Science, she’ll let me get semipermanent eyelash extensions for the formal,” she enthuses, as Kate and Brianna “ooh” and “aah” at the extreme curliness of them.

  Of course, this is the exact moment that Siouxsie and Stephanie walk by. Steph does a double take as if she can’t believe her ears. Siouxsie winks at me. I grimace in reply, but turn it into a sort of smile when I realise Kate is watching.

  Daniel is late to rehearsal and offers no apology or explanation when he arrives. I’d hoped we might do our opposite-hand operating trick, but instead of sitting at the desk, he moves the second chair as far away as he can and sits slumped in it.

  “Bad day?” I ask.

  “No worse than usual,” he replies, staring straight ahead.

  He’s obviously in no mood to make conversation, but after the anticipation of seeing him, I’m suffering from a case of verbal diarrhoea.

  “It was funny running into you at Switch.”

  “Yep, small world.” He takes out his iPod in an obvious move to shut me up. I want to ask him what he’s listening to, but I don’t dare.

  The highlight, of sorts, of the afternoon is Belinda fainting in the middle of the ball scene. One moment she’s standing there in her ball gown and the next she’s hit the deck and the Bs are racing as fast they can in their long dresses to attend to her. Daniel lifts his head to see what the fuss is about, gives it a dismissive shake and goes back to his slumping. Ms Burns asks Bethanee whether Belinda has any known illness or a heart condition. I want to tell her that it’s more likely because Belinda’s idea of lunch is half a carrot.

  Belinda comes to after a few minutes, but everyone is still fussing over her half an hour later.

  “Screw this,” says Daniel, picking up his bag and heading for the stairs. “See you on Wednesday – if the diva’s recovered by then.”

  I consider going after him to make sure he’s okay, but I don’t know what I’d say to him if I did.

  Someone must’ve called Belinda’s mum because she rushes in, yelling about having her four-wheel drive double-parked out the front. Luke lifts Belinda as if she weighs nothing at all and carries her out of the hall.

  After Belinda’s dramatic exit, Mr Wilson decides that we should call it a day, telling us to be prepared to work extra hard on Wednesday to bring things up to speed. When I get downstairs Kate and the Bs are still huddled around the spot where Belinda had been, talking in low voices.

  “I tried to get to her in time to break her fall,” Brianna says, as if she needs to justify herself. “But she just went down too fast.”

  “It’d be worth a bump on the head to be carried out in Luke’s arms,” says Kate, and Bethanee shoots her a raised eyebrow that makes her back-pedal like crazy. “I mean, Alex’s arms, if it was me. You know, just the whole being saved by a knight in shining–” she cuts herself off.

  “I don’t see why we had to stop rehearsing,” says Bethanee. “I mean, what’s the point of having an understudy if you’re not going to use her?”

  Bethanee is, of course, Belinda’s understudy. Kate and Brianna murmur noncommittally. Neither of them is stupid enough to publicly support Bethanee over Belinda; word would get back to her before you could say “the rain in Spain”.

  27

  Belinda isn’t at school the next day. The Bs act concerned but, given Belinda’s record with sick days, no one is really worried. Bethanee pretends to panic at the prospect of filling in as Eliza at the next rehearsal.

  “I hardly know any of the lines,” she whines to Brianna at recess, even though we’ve all seen her mouthing along with Belinda in every scene. “What if Wilson makes me do the kissing scene with Luke?”

  “I’d be more worried about how you’re going to sing if he makes you wear Belinda’s costumes,” says Brianna. “It’d be pretty embarrassing to bust your corset trying to reach the high notes.”

  And although the thought of Bethanee’s public humiliation brings a hint of a smile to my face, I feel a tiny bit sorry for her because now that Brianna’s planted the idea in her head, her terror is real.

  Siouxsie asks if I want to go to the darkroom at lunchtime to see Stephanie’s photos from rehearsals. I hesitate for a moment, mainly because there’s no way to get to the art block without going past Our Tree. Then I remember that Bethanee’s roped Kate and Brianna into testing her on Belinda’s lines, so I figure it’s worth the risk.

  The red light is on above the darkroom door. Siouxsie knocks twice and we stand back to wait. After a few minutes Stephanie opens the door. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me there. “Come on in. I’ve just hung the latest batch to dry.”

  The darkroom is tiny and the air is clouded with acrid chemicals. Black-and-white photos are strung from a washing line hung across the back of the room.

  “These are great,” says Siouxsie, inspecting a close-up of Luke Parkes picking at a spot on his chin.

  I look closer and see that all the photos have an element like this. There’s one of Bethanee hoicking her undies out of her bum; Kate looking moonily at Steve as he shows off his biceps; Brianna inspecting her split ends and, finally, Belinda collapsed on the stage.

  “What do you think?” Stephanie asks me.

  “I think they’re fantastic,” I say. “But I’m not sure they’re what Ms Burns has in mind for the program.”

  Steph laughs. “Don’t worry – this is the private collection. There are plenty of tame, cheesy shots for official use.”

  “I think you should show them,” says Siouxsie. “You could have an ex
hibition the week the play’s on. A sort of Westside fringe festival.”

  “I dunno. I don’t want to embarrass anyone. I just like to catch these moments when everyone’s just being human, instead of trying to impress each other.”

  “Isn’t that your mate?” asks Siouxsie, pointing towards one of the photos.

  It’s of Daniel at the last rehearsal. He’s slumped so far down in his chair he’s almost in the foetal position. I nod.

  “What was up with him?” asks Steph. “Even without seeing his face, you can tell he feels like crap.”

  “He had a bad day,” I say. Seeing him like that, almost doubled up in pain, makes my stomach knot. I feel bad that I didn’t make more of an effort to find out what was bugging him. But it’s not like he wanted to tell me, is it?

  Hours later I’m still thinking about the photo of Daniel and wondering what could have made him feel so bad.

  “Is everything okay?” asks Mum after watching me push my dinner around my plate for fifteen minutes. “I know quinoa’s not your favourite grain, but I thought the fricasseed mushrooms might perk it up.”

  “It’s fine, Mum. I’m just not very hungry.”

  “I hope this isn’t the start of some stupid diet, Freia. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look and you certainly don’t need to lose any weight.”

  She sits back, ready for me to take the bait and for the fighting to begin. I just shake my head.

  “Why don’t you have an early night,” suggests Dad, shooting Mum a look across the table. “I’ll clear up for you.”

  Ziggy is outraged. “That is so unfair. There’s no way you’d let me off my chores just because I was sooking it up!”

  “Zig, drop it,” says Dad in a warning tone. “Go on, Freia, you’re excused.”

  I scrape my full plate into the bin. Maybe Dad’s right and I do just need a decent night’s sleep.