“Excellent. I look forward to it.”
“Liar.”
He laughs.
They work quietly, as kids and teachers run in and out, ordering coffees and cholesterol breakfasts before dashing over the road to the campus.
It’s ten to nine, and Finn’s stuffing everything back into her bag when Craig snickers at his laptop. “Hey, have you ever heard of a filibuster?”
“A what?”
“A filibuster. Apparently it’s this thing that politicians do to buy time when they don’t want to a bill to pass in a parliament. They just get up and take their turn arguing against it and try to make their argument last right until the end of the session so there’s no time for the vote to be taken that day. You just talk and talk about the topic, and you can’t stop, even to go to the toilet.”
She pulls a face. “Who’d do that?”
“This woman.” He turns his screen around to show a news article showing a photo of a serious blonde woman in a suit. “So, apparently, she’s in Texas right now, in her eighth hour of talking, trying to stop some anti-abortion law from passing.”
“Really? That’s cool. Can you send me the link?” Her dad would like that story.
“Why? You going to filibuster Speech Night?”
“Didn’t you say the principal does that already?” She yanks her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER 29
Willa
They wait for Amira under the purple sweep of jacaranda in the library courtyard. It’s Willa’s favourite spot at school. She loves the way petals litter the mossy brick, creating a vivid carpet. She first saw this courtyard on a school tour with the principal and Nan. That’s when she knew for sure that this place would be nothing like the brown-brick eyesore of her old school.
She opens her bag and contemplates her sad, white vegemite sandwich. It’s been all pre-sliced supermarket bread and bare-minimum fillings since Nan went to hospital. Something else for Riley to complain about. “Hey, how’s your brother?” she asks Eva.
“Okay. They’re back from Thailand tomorrow night. He got a big fine, which Dad had to pay. So things should be nice and tense at my place for a while.”
Willa gives her a sympathetic smile.
“I haven’t told Amira about it, by the way. I haven’t really told anyone.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise.”
“Thanks.” Eva turns her can of Diet Coke in slow circles and stares at a table of Year 9s cackling evilly about something next to them. “It’s kind of embarrassing, this delinquent-brother crap. I mean, I love him, but couldn’t he just…I don’t know, be normal?”
Before Willa can find the right thing to say, Amira arrives, all business for once. She flips her folder open and says, “All right, let’s do this.”
Eva glances at Willa, one eyebrow raised. “Uh, okay, Miss.”
“Hey, I’m trying to keep you impatient dorks happy for once. So go with it.” Amira points a finger at her. “There’s a very narrow window of studious Amira today. You want her or not?”
“Bring her on,” Eva says.
They inch their way through the long, boring dialogue. They’re supposed to be a group of friends visiting Tokyo, meeting Japanese colleagues for the first time. It’s the most basic getting-to-know-you stuff. Still, it’s taken a thousand years to pull the script together, in an endless file share of editing. Amira’s the best by far. She never stumbles, and her accent is good. She actually sounds like a Japanese person might be able to figure out what she’s saying.
Willa knows she’s the most stilted and slow of the three of them. But that’s because while they were learning Japanese basics back in Year 9, she was neck deep in Italian grammar at her old school and surrounded by kids who could already speak it.
Her last line comes out completely tangled. “Sorry.” Willa glares at the page. She’s prepared to accept being clueless at other stuff, like small talk and netball, but not schoolwork.
“Don’t worry. You’ve got the dialogue, and the pronunciation’s mostly right. Your accent’s just a bit crap.” Amira gives her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I know.” It doesn’t stop Willa from blushing, though.
“You know what you should do?”
“What?”
“Watch a whole bunch of Japanese TV. There’s stuff on YouTube. Do it right before the test. It gets you into the rhythm and the accent.”
“Okay, I’ll try it.” Jack loves all that manga stuff. Maybe Willa can watch something with him.
Amira fans her face dramatically. “Oh em gee, I’m helping Willa Brookes with schoolwork. This is, like, life goals.”
“Sh,” Willa tells her, pressing a finger to her lips.
“No, I will not.” Amira throws an arm around her and grins. “This is my happy place.” Then she sighs loudly and releases her. “And my not-happy place is the history essay that’s due tomorrow.”
Willa nods. The history essay is how she’s planning on spending her evening. It needs one more draft, and she still has to do her references. So much to look forward to.
“I’m done with it,” Eva says, stretching her arms out behind her.
“God, you’re annoying,” Amira says. “I’ve barely started.”
“No, Ms Foley’s annoying,” Eva says, “She marks you down if there’s even a comma out of place in your bibliography.”
“That chick is so uptight,” Amira says. “Lady needs to get some.”
“That is such a deeply unfeminist thing to say, Mir,” Eva says.
“No, it’s the truth. Anyway, she’s trying to get some. Cat Nguyen reckons she saw her profile on Cupid’s Arrow.”
“What was Cat doing on Cupid’s Arrow? It’s for old people.”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Um, because you know everything that’s happening in this school.”
“True.” Amira opens up a container of salad and brandishes a fork. “Where’s your lunch?” she asks Eva.
“I ate during the prefects’ meeting.”
Willa’s sandwich stops halfway to her mouth. Because that’s not even slightly true. Willa was sitting right next to Eva at that meeting. She wasn’t eating. She was taking notes, like always.
There’s this sickening feeling in her stomach as a series of connections make themselves in her mind. All the times that Eva hasn’t eaten lunch when they’ve been studying. Eva being weird about eating the blueberries. Eva looking so tired and different lately. She stares at Eva, trying to decide if those pale arms are skinnier than usual, or those cheekbones sharper.
Willa’s mind scrambles, trying to remember the plate of snacks that day at Eva’s house. Did she actually have any of it? All Willa can remember is Eva topping it up and rearranging it. She can’t remember whether she actually digested anything on it.
“Come on, guys, let’s run this thing one more,” Eva says, bursting into Willa’s thoughts.
“Sure,” Willa says slowly, dragging herself back to the task.
~ ~ ~
On her way to Geography, Willa’s mentally planning her schedule for tonight, trying to optimise essay time, when she hears her name being called.
It’s Cassavetes, leaning out her office door, ragged and distracted as always. She looks apologetic too, so Willa steels herself for whatever’s coming.
Cassavetes launches right in, clasping her hands together. “I’m so sorry, Willa. I’ve been trying to find Stella, but it turns out she’s home sick. Is there any chance you could come to one more curriculum meeting?”
Willa fights a sigh. “Sure. When?”
The vice principal at least has the decency to cringe. “Tonight?”
“Oh, um…” Willa thinks quickly. She’ll have to call the school and get Jack to join Riley at the after-school program. Then she can pick them up on the way home. Or maybe she could chance a call to her dad. No, she decides. He probably won’t even answer. They can eat so
mething super basic for dinner. Leftovers, maybe. That way she can get straight to work after dinner’s cleaned up. “Okay. I can do it.”
“Thank you, Willa.” She tips her head back and sighs. “A lifesaver again. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have someone so responsible doing your job.”
Willa muscles a smile and heads for class, feeling the slide of disappointment. Because she won’t be able to visit Nan after school now. She loves going to see Nan in the afternoons. Because even in that stark, ugly rehab centre, when she’s with the kids and Nan, the air thickens with home. And, even better, Willa gets to be the kid again. To tuck herself under the comforting wing of all Nan’s questions and chiding reminders and to take a breath. She doesn’t have to make any decisions or be responsible for anything but herself. It’s like a daily minibreak. But not today. Today she’s going to have to go without that comfort.
She’s almost late to class. Almost. She drops down next to Eva as the bell rings and pulls out her book.
That’s right. Eva. Willa sighs inwardly. What’s she supposed to do about Eva? She’s seen the TV shows. She knows you’re supposed to say something if your friend’s lying about eating. What do you say? “Hey, why are you pretending to eat when you’re clearly not?” If it were Kelly or Maida, Willa probably would launch straight in like that. But she has no idea how Eva would react to that. What if Eva just denies it? Or gets angry? Then what?
The History teacher starts running them through their next assignment—before they’ve even finished the last. Willa shoves the Eva worry down and replaces it with this new one.
CHAPTER 30
Finn
“So, Finn.” Nona leans across the table. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked already. Are you coupled up, or are you single and mingling?”
Rosie gives Finn a sly look. Rosie’s totally convinced that Nona’s got a thing for Finn, but Finn’s convinced Nona’s got a thing for every girl. A full-time flirt. It’s Nona’s thing. In fact, you’d think it was her superpower.
“You have asked me before.” Finn grins at her. “I just didn’t answer. I have a girlfriend.”
“A hottie too,” Rosie says. “I’ve seen pictures.”
“Is that so?” Nona raises an eyebrow.
“It’s almost unfair,” Rosie says.
That brings a smile to Finn’s face. Because that’s the thing about Willa. She’s the kind of pretty you comment on. And it’s even prettier because she doesn’t act like she is. She just wears it like she wears her clothes, simple and unfussed. Even Finn’s mother mentioned Willa’s looks after she met her, and she’s usually all teacher and “it’s what’s inside that counts”.
Sometimes Finn just wants to sit and stare at Willa, memorising every part. She’s already got her all favourites down by heart. Drawing them is easy. Willa doesn’t even have to be there any more for Finn to know exactly how to sketch the thin line of Willa’s lower lip or her long hands or the athletic slenderness of her shoulders. The same way she knows their exact shape under her fingers. Life is Willa in a tank top. It’s lust too.
Not that Finn would tell Nona that. Just like she would never tell anyone that she doesn’t know what to do with Willa’s hotness sometimes. That sometimes the pull of it makes her freeze when she knows it should make her do the opposite.
“So, when can I meet her?” Nona asks.
“You’d probably scare her off,” Rosie says. “Didn’t you say she’s kind of quiet, Finn?”
It’s funny because Rosie is so wrong. About the scared-off part, anyway. No way would Willa be scared of Nona.
“Oh, look at Finn, smiling to herself like a creeper,” Nona hoots. “Thinking about your hottie?” She elbows Kayah to get her attention, but she’s staring at her phone.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Finn says brightly. “Let’s think about doing some work. You know that thing where we desperately need an idea about how to save the centre?”
Kayah puts her phone down. “Yeah, Nona, imagine how great it would be if your mouth was constantly spilling ideas instead of rubbish.”
Nona pulls a face of silent, mock outrage.
“Seriously, how long do you think you could go on for?” Kayah shakes her head. “I reckon you could talk for days and still not say anything useful.”
“Let’s not test that,” Rosie says.
Finn has to laugh, remembering the filibuster story that Craig showed her in the café. She wonders if Nona could challenge that woman who talked for nine hours. She’s about to ask them if they read the article when the idea hits her. What if they held their own?
“Hey.” She turns to Kayah. “I think I possibly might have an idea.”
CHAPTER 31
Willa
The afternoon is a scramble.
Willa endures the curriculum meeting, where all she was asked for the whole thirty minutes was to give her opinion on whether the homeroom period should be three minutes longer. As soon as she’s on the bus, she starts going over her essay, making copious notes in the margins, ready to rewrite when she gets home.
When the bus finally delivers her from the choke of afternoon traffic a block from the primary school, she hurries to drag the kids from the after-school program and onto a tram, thinking it might be faster than walking. Instead, it’s hot and crowded as it inches down High Street. Riley insists on leaning against her the whole way as she chatters about the kiddie yoga class they just did. Willa shuts her eyes and tries to ignore the sweat gathering under the arms of her blazer.
Next to her, Jack sniffs constantly between hay-fevered sneezes. He looks so miserable that Willa tries not to let it bother her, even though it makes her want to scream. She just hands him tissue after tissue and blocks it out, still clutching the essay in her hand.
By the time they get home, the stress that’s been nipping at her all day has Willa firmly in its grip. She drops her bag at the bottom of the stairs and trudges into the kitchen. Because unless her dad has finally noticed dinner is a meal that doesn’t just magically materialise, she’s still got food to think about.
No such luck. She stands in front of the pantry, blankly staring. Why can’t it be one of those afternoons when one of Nan’s cronies drops by with a casserole? Usually it’s annoying, because half the time made up in not cooking is lost to polite small talk. But she’d settle for that deal right now.
The sound of cartoons erupts from the next room.
“Hey, go change out of your uniforms,” she calls, “before TV. And have you got homework?”
“Nope,” Jack mutters.
“I’ve got spelling,” Riley yells. “Can you test me?”
“Later.” The breakfast dishes are still on the sink. Willa glares at them. Why the hell was she expecting him to do something about dinner when he doesn’t even seem to notice a bunch of dishes? Riley’s bowl isn’t rinsed, as usual, and it’s become a gum of puffed rice bits and dried milk. She runs the water so hot it stings her fingers.
Jack comes in, a note in his hand. He hands it to Willa. “This is for you.”
“What’s it about?”
“A barbecue after soccer tomorrow night. To celebrate making finals. It says we have to bring sausages.”
Frowning, Willa grabs the note. “How long has this been in your bag?”
“Since practice.”
“Practice last week? Seriously?” She lets out a hiss of impatience as the note flutters to the bench. “When the hell am I going to have time to get you sausages?”
“Sorry.” He’s staring at his feet.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, chastised by the nervous little line of his mouth. “We’ll figure it out.” She squeezes his shoulder. “I’m glad you made finals. We’ll come down and watch this weekend, okay? Me and Riles.” Riley’s not going to be happy, but Willa doesn’t care.
“Okay.” As he slips back into the lounge room, her mind turns back instantly to dinner. She yanks the fridge door open and stands there, blinking.
Last night’s mashed potato is gone. So are the lamb chops. Her dad must have eaten them. Fighting the urge to swear loudly, she turns for the bread bin. There are two crusts, stale and abandoned, inside the bag. There goes the toasted-sandwich idea. Pasta it is. Riley will have to lump it.
The sliding door opens. Her dad rubs his chin and grunts a greeting.
With a nod, she goes back to the sink. Ever since the Finn-is-her-girlfriend revelation, their communication has devolved into transactional exchanges. Willa doesn’t know whether to be hurt or relieved by the cease and desist on clumsy conversation attempts.
“I’m heading out for a bit,” he tells her.
Of course he is. She scrubs the last, cemented rice puffs from Riley’s bowl. “Will you want dinner?”
“No. I won’t be back until later. Need anything?”
“Jack needs some sausages for a soccer barbecue tomorrow. Can you bring some back?” At least that’s one less thing to worry about.
“Sure.” He slips out of the room.
“And maybe,” she mutters as she hears the front door close, “you could make some dinner? Or just buy a freaking family-sized pizza once in a while.” She tosses the sponge at the sink. It bounces off the tiles and lands on the floor. This time she swears so loudly it seems to bounce around the room.
The noisy notes of whatever cartoon Jack is watching compete with the thick strains of guitar floating in the window. No such thing as peace in this place.
It’s no better upstairs either. Riley’s dancing around in her underwear and singlet, humming, her uniform a pool of green checks on the floor.
“Pick up your dress. You have to wear it again tomorrow.” There’s no way Willa’s going to be able to squeeze in washing clothes tonight.
Riley shimmies across the small patch of carpet, singing to herself. She plucks the dress off the floor and tosses it on the bed.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Willa pulls out her laptop.
There’s an exaggerated eye roll as Riley whips a coat hanger from the wardrobe. “What’s for tea?”
“It’s not for an hour.”
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