Stacey said she’d come. Duh. Of course she did. But no way was I letting Stacey come over on her own. She’d probably want to hang out in my room and go through all the stuff in my wardrobe. Then she’d want to try it on and stretch it all out of shape with her heifer hips and thighs.
Besides, I don’t want her to get the wrong idea and think she can just turn up here any time she wants. So when I found out it would just be her coming, I slapped my forehead like you see people doing on TV shows when they realise they’ve made a mistake. Then I made up this story about how I couldn’t have a dance rehearsal after all, because I’d just remembered I was supposed to be going over to my cousin CeeCee’s place for a wedding rehearsal.
Paige and Jayde were cacking themselves the whole time I was spinning her the story. They kept adding bits about what the wedding cars were going to be like, and how many bridesmaids there would be. I don’t even have a cousin CeeCee. But Stacey fell for it big time. She just gave a little smile and said maybe we could do it the next night at her place. As if.
Anyway, I’m home alone now and the house is really quiet. Bec is out with one of her lovely friends and Mum and Dad aren’t back from work yet.
Once upon a time, back in the olden days when I used to hang out with Mia and Lex, we’d usually all end up in Pink HQ after the first day back so we could eat chocolate and de-stress together. They’re probably all over there right now, trashing me. Especially Miss Sportypants-Loves-Herself Lexi. Like I care.
I jump on my computer but there’s no-one online I want to chat with. So I watch a few music clips from YouTube, trying to get some ideas for our dance routine. A couple of tracks look like they might be good, but it’s hard to do this stuff on your own. It works heaps better when there are other people around to bounce ideas off. Like that time we were getting a routine together for our primary school graduation party, and Mia …
My phone rings. I scoop it up and check the caller display. Maybe Paige and Jayde have changed their minds and are coming over after all? But it’s only Mum. Probably ringing to let me know she’s going to be late home. I let the call go through to voicemail and open my email instead. Spam, spam and spam. And a message from Stacey, hoping my wedding rehearsal went well. I delete it without replying.
Homework’s starting to look like a good option right now. At least it will get it out of the way. I’m just googling the life cycle of frogs when I hear the front door click. Must be Bec. Mum’s just left me a message so it’s unlikely to be her, and Dad’s never home this early.
But I can hear voices. Bec’s – and Dad’s. They’re laughing and joking about something. I bookmark the webpage I’m on and wander down the hall to the kitchen.
‘I can’t believe you dragged that car at the lights,’ Dad’s saying, but not like it’s a bad thing.
‘Yeah, well the guy was pulling faces at me,’ Bec tells him. ‘Making fun of my L-plates. I just wanted him to see I wasn’t totally hopeless at driving.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Dad grins proudly.
Bec has been ‘Dad’s girl’ forever. On TV shows, parents are always saying they don’t have favourites – that they love their children equally – but I don’t believe them. If that’s true, how come Dad spends more time with Saint Bec than with me? Apart from the fact that she’s prettier and funnier and smarter than me. When we were younger, Bec was always the one who got to sit next to Dad on the couch when we were watching TV, or – if it was just us girls – in the front passenger’s seat in the car. I always got stuck in the back seat, on my own, listening to them chat away, solving the world’s problems. She’s the one who always chose which book he’d read to us at night – my choices were always ‘baby stories’ she wouldn’t be interested in hearing. Then by the time I was old enough to choose more grown-up books, Bec was too old to be read to. And Dad was suddenly too busy with his work to read bedtime stories.
Not too busy to take time off work to give Bec driving lessons, though. Their conversation stops as they finally notice I’m in the room.
‘Oh, hi, Leesh,’ Bec says, her eyes sparkling. She waves Dad’s car keys at me, then drops them on the bench. ‘Guess what I’ve just been doing?’
‘Helping starving children in Africa?’ I say.
Dad frowns at me. Bec just looks hurt. There’s a little silence. It’s like the happy vibe that was going on in the kitchen before I arrived just floated out the window.
So come on, Dad, I think. Ask me about my day. Or how my friends are. Do you even realise I hang with different friends these days?
Dad clears his throat. ‘I didn’t realise you were home, Alysha. I thought you’d be over at Mia’s place.’
I stare at him. It’s like he’s read my mind. Except he hasn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t have made such a big boo-boo.
Bec flashes me an apologetic smile. ‘Alysha and Mia “aren’t talking” at the moment,’ she explains to Dad, using her fingers to show the quote marks.
Dad nods knowingly. ‘Having a little tiff, are we? Never mind, I’m sure it will all be sorted out by next week. Right, Bec?’
Bec looks down at her feet, embarrassed for me.
Dad picks up his keys from the bench. ‘Okay, girls. I’d better get back to the studio. Tell your mum I won’t be home for dinner, okay?’
‘You’ll have to tell her, Leesh,’ Bec says to me. ‘I’ve promised to go over to Evan’s place and help him out with his politics essay.’ She turns back to Dad. ‘Hey, can you drop me there on your way back to work?’
Dad grins. ‘Politics, eh? That’s my girl. You’ll be standing for parliament next. I tell you what. The L-plates are still on the car. Why don’t you drive as far as Evan’s, and then I’ll go to work from there.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want you missing out on work because of me.’
‘Perfectly sure,’ Dad tells her, ruffling her hair. ‘I never get much chance to see you girls these days, with all the stuff you’re involved in.’
Hello? You have another daughter, I feel like saying.
‘Got everything?’ Dad says to Bec. It’s obvious he’s keen to get going.
‘Yep,’ says Bec, heading for the door. She stops and turns back towards me at the last second. ‘See ya, Leesh.’
‘Yep, bye!’ I call after her. ‘You too, Dad.’
‘Bye,’ he calls back. ‘You’ll be okay by yourself for a bit, won’t you, Leesh?’
But he doesn’t wait for my answer.
I wander back to my room. My phone beeps, reminding me I still haven’t retrieved Mum’s call from voicemail. I listen to the message, then toss the phone on my bed. Mum won’t be home for dinner either. She has to stay on at work and prepare for some big presentation at her office in the morning. But there’s some frozen meals in the fridge for dinner, she says.
Looks like it’s just me, then.
I almost wish Stacey had come round after school. At least I’d have had someone to talk to. We might’ve even had fun, working on some dance moves. Maybe I should get her email out of the trash and tell her to come over? I don’t have her mobile number so I can’t text her. But then I remember her big puppy dog eyes, so eager to please, and change my mind. She’d probably just assume I’m now officially her best friend, and want to hang off me all the time at school. Anyway, she thinks I’m at a wedding rehearsal. It’d be too much effort to unravel yet another fib.
I go back to my science homework. Tadpoles get it pretty easy. All they have to worry about is whether they’ll grow into frogs, and not be eaten by waterbirds once they finally make it out of the pond.
My stomach starts to rumble. I am sooo hungry. Maybe I should go down to the fridge and heat up one of those frozen dinners right now. A pasta one, with creamy sauce. Yum yum. Those packets are pretty small. I could probably even manage two.
But then I see Mathilde’s photo on my wall, her cat’s eyes staring across at me. Mathilde didn’t get to look like that from eating creamy pasta. There was an article
about her diet in this month’s Crave. I save my homework, then grab the magazine from my bedside table and flick through it until I find the right page.
Yep, here it is. It says she never eats more than 1500 calories a day. Then it lists the types of food she eats. Grilled salmon. Oatmeal (unsweetened). Lettuce leaves with no dressing. Then there’s some little features boxes with photos showing the amount of food other supermodels eat in a day. Anya Meissen’s box shows five carrot sticks, five celery sticks, a handful of walnuts, and eight glasses of water. And that’s it? For the whole day? No wonder she looks so beautiful and I look like an elephant.
I rip out the page and pin it up on my wall, next to Mathilde’s picture. I bet if I googled supermodels + diet I could find out more awesome tips too. But first I need to eat something. I chucked my lunch in the bin as soon as I got to school, and my run-in with Lexi outside the music room meant I missed out on the ice-cream Stacey bought me at lunchtime. Which means all I’ve eaten today is a piece of toast with a scrape of peanut butter this morning for breakfast. Paige says she only ever eats dry toast, but I tried that one morning and it tasted like cardboard. Plus it stuck in my throat and I had to wash it down with orange juice, which has loads of calories in it. And nuts are supposed to be really good for you (we learnt that in health) so I figured it was okay to have a little bit of peanut butter.
I head back to the kitchen and open the fridge. There’s not much inside it and what is there looks fattening. Ham and cheese for our school lunches. Jars of mayo (deadly, according to Paige) and jam. Chocolate cake, left over from Bec’s birthday last week. Bec and Dad basically eat whatever they like. Bec because she can – she’s got one of those bodies that never seems to put on weight no matter what she eats. And Dad because he doesn’t care. He gets most of his meals at the TV station where he works anyway. Mum cooks for Bec and me if we’re all home at the same time, but she only ever picks at what’s on her own plate. Most of the time she just drinks black coffee.
I pull out the crisper. There are some carrots, but no celery. I peel one of the carrots and chop it up into sticks, like the ones in the magazine. I cram a couple into my mouth, then raid the pantry, looking for walnuts. There aren’t any, but I find a bag of honey-roasted peanuts instead. I open the bag and pour out a large handful into a bowl. Okay, so they aren’t walnuts, but they’re still nuts, aren’t they? They’re still going to be good for me.
I add the carrot sticks to the bowl, pour myself a large glass of water, then head into the lounge room so I can watch TV. Most channels are showing news or bad game shows like Break the Bank – it will be ages until Bailey’s Beach, my favourite program, comes on.
I flick between channels for a bit, then settle on Break the Bank. It’s full of loser moron people doing loser moron things to win money. It kind of sucks you in, though. Before I realise it I’ve finished my bowl of nuts and carrot sticks. I don’t even remember eating half of them. I’m still hungry, so I head back to the kitchen to get the rest of the nuts. By the time the commercial break comes on, I’ve eaten those as well.
The first ad is for a pizza chain that now sells lasagne and other kinds of pasta. All that spaghetti and melted cheese looks sooo good. And Mum did say to make myself a frozen dinner. I go back to the kitchen and sort through the boxes in the freezer compartment. Yes! There’s some tortellini with cream sauce and a box of lasagne right at the back. I can’t decide which one to have so I take them both out. Why not? It says ‘Lo-fat’ on the front of the packet, right? Then I whack the boxes into the microwave and go back to see if the guy on the TV beat the bank while I wait for them to heat up.
By the time Bailey’s Beach comes on I’ve eaten both the tortellini and the lasagne, made myself a ham and cheese toastie (with mayo), and finished off Bec’s birthday cake. Then I realise what I’ve just done. OMG. What would Mathilde say?
The opening credits of Bailey’s Beach start up, with that scene where three bikini girls with really awesome bodies run through the sand dunes and across the shore and then dive into the ocean, where this hottie is sitting on his surfboard, waiting for them. The one that looks exactly like Zac Raftos.
The show starts but all that chocolate cake and pasta and cheese is churning around and around inside me. My stomach is so bloated it feels like it’s about to burst, just like in that Alien movie Dad loves. I am such an idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. No wonder it was Jayde that Zac wanted to talk to at school today. Who’d want to be seen with a fatty-fatty boombah like me?
I haul myself off the couch and head for the bathroom. I lift up the lid of the toilet and stare into the pool of water at the bottom of the glistening white bowl. Come on, I will myself. Just get on with it. Paige and Jayde do this all the time. They reckon it’s easy, once you get used to it. But this is my first time. What if I make a mess everywhere? Or it all ends up in my hair? What if Bec comes home early and catches me out, and tells Mum?
But then I remember the smooth, flat stomachs of the Bailey’s Beach girls, and the photos of Mathilde Carr, striding down a runway in a see-through floaty dress. No way would they pig out on cheese and pasta and cake like I just did.
And so I do it. I push my hair back behind my ears. Then I stick my finger down my throat and leave it there until my throat starts gagging and my stomach starts heaving and all that disgusting cheese and pasta and cake comes back up again.
Then I lie down on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and do a few crunches, just in case some calories managed to attach themselves to my hips before I could flush them away.
Chapter 6
tuesday morning
Paige and Jayde are already at their lockers when I arrive at school. Should I tell them what I did last night, I wonder? Throwing up like that makes me feel like I’ve passed some kind of initiation test. I almost feel proud of it – like it’s a new bond between the three of us. Hey, maybe people will even call us the ‘Chuck Triplets’ now! That would be so cool.
But then I decide against it. We’re due at class in a couple of minutes. I’m better off waiting till recess or lunchtime when we’re not so rushed and there’s more time to tell them all the gory details. Yep, I’ll definitely leave it till then.
‘Hey, guys,’ I say instead, shrugging off my backpack. ‘Have a good time last night?’
Paige looks mystified. ‘Doing what?’
‘You know,’ I say. ‘Whatever it was you guys were doing that meant you wouldn’t be able to make it over to my place after school. For the dance rehearsal?’
‘Oh, yeah. That,’ Paige says quickly. She sneaks a look at Jayde, who’s staring straight ahead, her lips curved in a tight smile. ‘Umm, yeah. It was awesome, thanks.’
‘Awesome,’ Jayde echoes. ‘We didn’t get home till really late, did we, Paige?’ She lets out a huge yawn to prove her point.
‘Umm, totally,’ Paige agrees. She checks her timetable. ‘So we’ve got humanities first, then science. Oh. Bum.’
‘What?’ I say.
‘We were supposed to do that homework, weren’t we? For Science? On frogs or something?’
‘The life cycle of a frog,’ I say.
‘That’s the one. Hey, I don’t suppose you did it, did you, Leesh?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, as first bell rings. Locker doors slam around us as other kids hurry off to class. ‘It was pretty easy. There was heaps of info on the internet.’
‘Yeah, I know. I started looking and everything. But see, the thing is, with all the stuff going on last night, I didn’t get a chance to finish it.’
‘Me neither,’ says Jayde.
‘And you know what Bishop’s like if you don’t do his homework. He’ll probably go off at us and have a heart attack or something.’
‘Yeah,’ sniggers Jayde. ‘We wouldn’t want that to happen.’
Paige flashes me a pretty smile. ‘So, the easiest thing to do is just copy yours, yeah?’
‘Oh, okay,’ I say, like it’s no big thing. It’s not like it’s t
he first time they’ve asked to copy my homework. But this time, it is a big thing. After I finished cleaning the bathroom last night, I ended up doing a whole lot more on my homework assignment. I found all these really cool diagrams of the different stages that tadpoles go through on their way to becoming frogs, so I copied them in, and some photos as well. I even added some links to sound files of the different calls frogs make when they’re mating.
I was hoping Dad would come home before I went to bed so I could show him what I’d done. He always loves it when Bec shows him things, and he brags to all the other producers at work about how his daughter’s an A student. This was my big chance to prove to him that I can be an A student too. I wasn’t keen to hand over all my hard work, so they could get the credit for it too.
But you don’t say no to Paige and Jayde. Not unless you want to end up sitting in Loserville with the non-shinies. And I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to lose my place in their posse over something as small as a homework assignment.
I’m just reaching into my backpack to get the print-out when I realise something. ‘How will you have time to copy this before Bishop’s class?’ I ask them. ‘We’ve got humanities first. You know what Fiddles is like. No way will you get away with copying this out with his eagle eyes watching you the whole time.’ I flick through the pages, showing them all the photos and diagrams I’ve added in. ‘And what about these? You won’t be able to add any pictures or stuff.’
Paige raises an eyebrow. ‘You have been a busy little bee, haven’t you, Alysha? We don’t need any of that fancy stuff. Just as long as we’ve got the basic facts down, yeah? We can just hand-write those. Sketch a couple of the diagrams maybe.’
‘And don’t worry about how we’re going to do it,’ purrs Jayde. ‘We’ve got that side of things covered, haven’t we, Paige?’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Paige, as the final bell rings. She snatches the print-out from my hand. ‘Just give us the homework and we’ll take care of the details, ’kay?’
A Year in Girl Hell Page 24