Up Over Down Under

by Micol Ostow

  People like the Ritters were especially full of surprises. Billie discovered this as she and Mrs. Ritter cleared the dinner table and loaded the dishwasher. Even over the rush of tap water flowing from the kitchen sink faucet, Billie could hear a key turning in the front door of the house. Mrs. Ritter turned off the faucet, dried her hands on a dish towel, and walked out of the kitchen and toward the front hall, motioning for Billie to join her.

  “Alan,” she began, “Belinda is here, and she’d love to meet you.”

  Billie stepped forward and held out an enthusiastic hand to shake. “Most people call me Billie,” she said, smiling.

  “Great to meet you, Billie,” Mr. Ritter said, smiling not only with his mouth but with his whole entire face. “Or should I say, G’day?” He affected an accent not unlike what it might sound like if Crocodile Dundee ran away to the Deep South. He winced as though he knew just how non-authentic he sounded, which made Billie giggle. She suspected she was in for a lot of that type of mugging, but she could rough it out.

  “A for effort,” she assured him, laughing. “That was ace.” Already she felt closer to Mr. Ritter than to his distant, restrained wife. She could understand why he was so popular among the politicos—his enthusiasm was infectious, and he had heaps of charm.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ritter offered to finish with the cleanup, and despite Billie’s protests, she was relieved of kitchen duty and ordered upstairs to settle in.

  Once back in her room, Billie realized how thoroughly grateful she was to have some downtime all to herself. She crawled under the covers of Eliza’s bed, still wearing her clothing from dinner, and flipped open a trashy novel she’d bought at the airport in Melbourne. It wasn’t the sort of book she normally read, but it had been slim pickings while she waited for her flight.

  She’d made it through only three paragraphs, however, before sleep took over, and Billie lay prone, snoring lightly, her book splayed open across the front of her chest. When she awoke the next morning, she’d find herself in the same position, which she’d been in all night long.

  Chapter Five

  From: elizarit@email.com

  To: billiesurf@email.com

  Subject: the twins

  So, uh, what time do they normally get up in the morning?

  Booom!

  Thud.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!”

  Thud.

  Eliza awoke with a start.

  What’s going on? she thought to herself and—upon further reflection—where am I?

  She sat straight up in bed and looked around. As she quickly took in the muted earth tones of Billie’s bedroom, the events of the past day and a half flooded back to her. Light streamed through the windows. As Eliza slowly got her bearings, she was struck by a sudden fear that she’d slept all day.

  She looked at her watch. Five A.M.! She flipped the covers off the bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and cautiously stepped out from the bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

  “G’day, Eliza. I hope the boys didn’t wake you.”

  Estelle smiled at her from where she stood at the range. She had an apron around her waist and a spatula in her hand, and whatever she was cooking smelled divine—greasy and salty and sweet and exactly what a person would want upon waking up in a foreign country after hearing strange and alarming noises. Not to mention, greasy goodness was the complete antithesis of everything her mom stood for. Nary a drop of cholesterol could be found in a typical Ritter family meal.

  Eliza was about to ask what the twins were up to, but just then they came sprinting through the kitchen playing some form of tag.

  At least that explained the thumping. And why no one else seemed at all concerned about the noise.

  “I’m really sorry that I slept so late.”

  “It’s Saturday morning and you had a big adventure yesterday. Saturday mornings are meant for catching up on rest,” Estelle insisted. “Would you like some breakfast? Eggs will be up shortly, and there’s toast, juice, and spreads on the table.”

  Eliza spied the clock over the stove. Eight A.M. She was slightly relieved to see that it was a much more reasonable hour to be getting up than she initially thought. How long had she slept? Eliza tried to do the math in her head, but it was slow going.

  “Go on, sit down and dig in, love.”

  “Thank you.” Eliza plopped down at the table and admired the array of spreads there were for the toast. She played with the dial on her watch until it was set at Melbourne time and prepared to dive into breakfast. Twelve hours of sleep was apparently just enough time to build up an appetite. She pulled a piece of toast out of a basket and laid on some butter and raspberry jelly.

  “Frank is off down to Sorrento for the day, but you, me, and the twins are going to get you squared away and then show you around town while I run some errands.”

  “That sounds great.”

  Errands actually didn’t sound all that great. She would have much preferred a shopping spree or a day trip to the beach. But she thought it was probably best just to go along with what was suggested. For now.

  The next two days sped by in a flurry. Estelle and the twins took Eliza all over the city as they tried to give her a taste of what Melbourne had to offer—unfortunately, Eliza’s taste and the Echolses’ seemed to differ. A long Saturday afternoon walk through the Melbourne Botanical Gardens was pretty, but not what Eliza had in mind when she thought of freewheeling and fun-loving Australia. They had gardens in D.C., after all. Eliza wanted excitement! Adventure! Fun!

  On Sunday, Ms. Echols had to do some shopping, and she decided to use that as an excuse to show Eliza the Victoria Market. It was a cavernous building that housed aisle after aisle of shops selling every type of food you could imagine. Eliza nearly lost her lunch in the butchery section at the sight of half carcasses of pigs hanging on hooks. If the Bot Gardens was a bit boring, this was downright terrifying.

  She didn’t get much of a look at any real “sights” as she knew them back home—things like the Air and Space Museum or the Washington Monument, but she was beginning to get the sense that Melbourne was the type of city that was made for living in and not so much for the tourists, as there were almost no “sights” to speak of.

  That being said, Melbourne was a supremely inviting place with parks and shopping galore, and though she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to a single location on her own, Eliza suspected that she was going to be really psyched here—once she managed to shake her chaperones, escape the dead animals, and find some friends her own age. The Echolses were super-sweet, but she needed to have some fun with a capital F-U-N, stat.

  “We are not here to be your friends, but to be your educators and, as such, we take our duties with great sincerity. This is a ladies’ preparatory school and, regardless of what you are used to, you will be prepared for life according to our standards. Make no mistake, girls, here at St. Catherine’s those standards are exceptionally high.”

  This could prove to be a serious nightmare. Eliza fought back the impulse to roll her eyes as she listened to Mrs. Connell, the headmistress of St. Catherine’s school for girls, “welcome” the exchange students to orientation.

  If by “welcome” you mean “terrify on pain of death.”

  As if this situation weren’t bad enough as it was. Already this morning Eliza had been forced to submit to the indignity of dressing in a fugtastic uniform—a monstrous outfit consisting of a gray jacket with a crest, a pale blue shirt, and a gray, pleated wool skirt. It was like something her mother might wear, and a very far cry from the clothes she was used to wearing at her school back home. There, she was considered a conservative dresser since she didn’t wear all black or 1980s throwbacks, which was the order of the day at her “artistically inclined” place of education. Eliza’s outfits tended to the Lacoste and Polo looks with pretty pastels, but this outfit was like someone had taken that idea and drained all the pretty from it.

  A half dozen or so of her fellow exchan
ge students sat in the room. The S.A.S.S. orientation at St. Catherine’s was being held by Mrs. Connell, headmistress, and Mrs. Muldoon, the principal (though Eliza was unsure what the difference was between the two roles). Eliza knew that S.A.S.S. was a global exchange program, but it appeared that she was the only American here. The others were two girls from England—frumpy and frumpier—one from France, who refused to talk to Eliza during the break, and one from Japan, who, though sitting very attentively, seemed not to speak a word of English, as she responded to every question with a curt nod of her head and a quick “yes.”

  “You will all learn your class assignments from your teachers, and we expect that each of you will fulfill all the requirements just as you would at your schools at home. We will be reporting back your grades, along with any other information that may be appropriate—including behavior problems, ladies. Furthermore, you will each have to participate two days a week in your assigned internships, information about which is in your welcome packets.”

  Eliza knew a bit about what she was supposed to be working on down here, since it was a match to the work Billie was doing back home. Her father specialized in marine environment and wetlands protection, and thanks to some string pulling on his part, Eliza was going to be working for a group in Melbourne that specialized in coastal ecology conservation. When she’d first read about the S.A.S.S. exchange, the idea of working outside, on the coast, had struck her immediately as a fantastic way to spend a semester. Sunshine, ocean waves, and complete freedom from her parents. At the time, it had sounded divine.

  Right now, though? She was starting to have some serious doubts.

  In particular, what she did not like as she scanned the welcome packet internship description was the use of the phrases “fieldwork” and “appropriate attire for inclement weather.” After all, the only work her father did in the “field” back home was the occasional lunch at Ruth’s Chris Steak House on Capitol Hill.

  She certainly hadn’t accounted for inclement weather.

  But then, this was Australia, land of beach bums and surf gods. “Inclement” was probably a relative term.

  Right?

  “There are many wonderful activities for you to participate in, and you will have advisers to help you find your way and answer your questions,” Mrs. Connell continued. “You should look forward to a fulfilling and educational time, but remember that you represent the long history of St. Catherine’s in all that you do. So equip yourself accordingly in your behavior. We do not stand for your acting as anything other than the ladies you are. No smoking, no cursing, no tardiness, no roughhousing; and for those of you staying on campus, absolutely no alcohol and no boys. Let me be clear, St. Catherine’s is an educational institution for women, and gentlemen callers are not allowed on the premises.”

  Mrs. Connell’s rules for keeping up appearances are actually not all that different from Mom and Dad’s, Eliza mused to herself with a wry smile. She thought back to sneaking quick smooches with Parker by her locker and realized that even despite similarly lengthy rule books, an all-girls’ school was going to take some big-time acclimation.

  I know all about keeping up appearances, Eliza thought, but right now it’s time to shake things up.

  The following day was the first day back at classes after the midwinter break. Yes, the midwinter break. Eliza had followed the packing list that S.A.S.S. had sent her, and she had brought sweaters and jeans but, frankly, had really focused on the sundress and sandal component of her wardrobe. As much as she understood the way hemispheres worked, her brain was struggling with the idea that August was a winter month and that it would get warmer as they got near Christmas and New Year’s. She hoped the spring weather came soon because she was woefully short on cold-weather clothing.

  Eliza made her way to her first class, math, without much difficulty. She had been given a school tour as part of the S.A.S.S. orientation, so she had a sense of which way was which, but it was a good deal more complicated when the halls were full of students. She stood outside the door to the math room for a moment to gather herself. She was surprised to find herself genuinely nervous.

  What’s going on? Come on, girl, you’re going to rock this place, so pull yourself together and let’s go.

  Eliza took a deep breath and then, after combing her hair with her hand one last time, opened the door and entered the classroom.

  The room was filled with a dozen or so girls. Row after row of neatly ironed blue shirts and snug gray blazers greeted her. The girls were gathered into a couple of small groups, with the exception of two or three wallflowers who were sitting at desks by themselves. A number of the girls sized Eliza up as she looked for an empty seat, but then returned to conversations about what they had done over the break.

  Eliza decided the best course of action was to present an air of calm, cool, collected self until she deciphered the social system here. She threw her shoulders back and made her way to a chair near the windows.

  Eliza may not have been the queen bee back home, but she had a comfortable, large circle of friends, and it was awkward suddenly to feel like she was the odd man out.

  Well, this is a change in perspective, she thought to herself as she made her way to an empty seat.

  “Oi! You the American?”

  Eliza glanced over to see a tall, dark-haired girl looking at her from the next aisle over. She was backed by another girl leaning in from the chair on the far side. Both had their gray blazers tied around their waists, and the sidekick had a shock of blue hair framing the right side of her face, fading back into a brown razor cut.

  It was slightly intimidating. Not that Eliza was going to let them know it.

  “Um…yeah…that’s me.” She coughed, trying to psych herself up to sound more assured about it. “That’s me.”

  “How you goin’?” the tall girl said. For all that her looks were kind of edgy and “bad-girl,” she seemed pretty friendly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How you goin’?”

  “Just to the chair here. Is it taken?” Why were they looking at her so strangely?

  Now both of the girls laughed in unison.

  “Nah…Go on, take it,” the tall girl continued, moving closer to Eliza so that she wasn’t shouting across the room. “I’m Jess, and this’s Nomes.” She jerked her thumb at her backup dancer.

  “Hey. I’m Eliza.”

  “So, have you ever been to Melbourne before?”

  “No, never been to Australia. I’ve never been west of California before.”

  “This is your first time out of the U.S.?” Jess asked with surprise. “A country bumpkin?”

  “Oh no, not at all. I’ve been to South America and the Caribbean, and last year my dad took us to Paris for my mom’s birthday.” The words came out in a rush, and Eliza realized that after a few days with Estelle and the twins, she was sort of starved for company from girls her own age.

  “No way! I totally want to go to Paris! What was it like?” Jess asked with wide eyes.

  “It was totally great. I’ve got pics on my laptop I can show you sometime.”

  “That’d be cool.” Jess smiled.

  “I like your hair,” piped up Nomes.

  “What?” Eliza asked, reaching for her head. She remembered that she had twisted her hair into a bun in the back and had two ebony chopsticks with sparkles holding it in place. “Oh, this?”

  “Yeah, it’s cool. How do you do that?” Nomes asked.

  “It’s not hard, I’ll show you.” Eliza took out the chopsticks, shook down her hair, and with a deft flip, twist, roll, and skewer, had redone her hair perfectly.

  “Right on, that’s excellent. Welcome to St. Cat’s.”

  “Thanks!” Eliza smiled. “So, this is pre-calculus, with”—Eliza checked her schedule sheet—“Mrs. Carroll?”

  Jess nodded. “Carroll’s cranky, but she grades easy and she doesn’t like throwing too many exams.”

  “And then I have”—Eliza
checked her sheet again—

  “world history.”

  Nomes perked up again. “Oh, I’m in that one, I’ll get you there. After math I’ll show you the way.”

  Nomes and Jess were a lot different from Eliza’s friends back home, she could tell just from their brief exchange. For starters, even in a school as liberal as hers, the children of politicos were not the type to dye their hair Day-Glo colors. That mere detail made these new girls seem the tiniest bit dangerous.

  Which, for Eliza, sounded just about perfect.

  For the next four hours Eliza played perpetual catch-up. It was strange joining things in the middle of a year. Back home, she was friends with nearly everyone in her class. Here, nobody was rude to her or anything, but most were too consumed with finding out what each other had done over vacation to pay much mind to the new girl.

  Despite some aggressive-looking piercings (one nose, three in her right ear), the blue streak in her hair, and a tiny scar above her eyebrow, Nomes turned out to be really nice, and she took Eliza under her wing for the morning. The teachers each made a point of welcoming her, and Eliza got no end of amusement from hearing all of their Australian accents. It was hard not to like someone who spoke in that singsong. Her classes seemed pretty similar to her classes back home, and she didn’t see that she would have a lot of trouble getting up to speed on the work. Eliza was a good student and always had been, much to her parents’ delight.

  At lunchtime, Nomes guided her through the halls to the cafeteria. They spotted Jess sitting with a couple others at a table and made their way over.

  “So, how you going?” Jess smiled.

  “Just here. Can we join you?”

  “No,” Jess said, startling Eliza. “I mean, yeah, sit down, but when someone says ‘How you going?’ they’re not asking, ‘Where are you going?’—it means ‘What’s up?’”