by Wendy Harmer
I google this saying and find out it's by Sun Tzu, who wrote this book called The Art of War in 400 BC or something like that. It's all about the strategies you should use against your enemy when you are going into battle. This dude's also got a couple of other ideas that appeal:
O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible; and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands.
All warfare is based on deception.
Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.
With all this in mind I write back to Bianca:
C U at Majestic in 1 hour.
EXXX
I have to keep Bianca close to me so that she doesn't try to meet Jai and ruin Tilly's little surprise party. I have to make it seem like I'm totally, randomly in the moment with her as a BF even though I am plotting her boyfriend's downfall. I hate to deceive Bianca, but this is the ancient, divine art of warfare and she has, unfortunately, aligned herself with my enemy. She is a part of the Axis of Evil. Her fate is now in my hands!
I am just about to get dressed when there's a ping on the computer and I see it's an eye2eye from Carmelita:
Hey Elly.
I've been checking out Jai's FacePlace and some of the pages of the crew at Oldcastle High and there are heaps of people paying out on him!
I reckon you are totally winning the war on Jai. He's a bully and a bogan! You look funny and cute and adorable in those pics.
Sometimes people get jealous of you (and only a Total BFF can tell you that). But those pics just make them see how fun you are! And why I miss you soooo much!!!
So stay strong and don't mind what others say. Everything will be cool. Luv ya! Miss ya heaps!
Carmelita XXX
Erk! Could this be true? When I go to Jai's FacePlace and brave the vile pics one more time, I see that there are in fact a lot of messages paying out on him.
UR stupid,Jai.
Wot a lowlife d***head!
Not fair.UR nasty and mean.
Got pix of Jai in his undies – anyone wanna see?
Eeeyew! No tks.
Elly's got more class in her little finger than Jai's got in his whole body.
Honestly, I feel like crying. Goes to show there is some justice in cyberspace after all! When I think of Tilly's plan, I wonder if we might be going too far. I remember that I felt a bit uneasy about it when she first told me. I hear Tilly's door slam in the South Wing and I tear into the kitchen. She's grabbing her car keys off the hook and winding a leopard-print chiffon scarf around her slim neck.
'It's payback time!' she sings.
I babble that I'm not sure that we should do it. Maybe Sun Tzu's got the whole thing wrong and . . . Well, surely the ultimate 'Art of War' is to avoid war?
'What are you talking about?' demands Tilly.
I realise I sound like a nutter, but I tell her that maybe Jai and Bianca didn't mean it and that –
'Don't be a total doormat,' snaps Tilly. 'You have to show Jai you can't be stomped on. You have to stand up to bullies. And the idea that a Year Nine boy can think he's got a chance with a Year Twelve girl? Forget about it! On that score alone, he has to be crushed like an ant.'
Crushed like an ant? Hmmm, that sounds pretty good.
'As for Bianca? Maybe if she gets rid of Jai, she can get a nicer boy. We'll be doing her a favour.' And then, with a swish of chiffon and a stolen waft of Mum's Coco perfume, Tilly's off out the door.
Half an hour later, I am too. And it's only when the bus stops outside the Majestic Movieplex that I remember the lasagne in the oven.
Friday night.
Six days PM.
Bianca makes the weird choice to see He's Just Not That Into You, starring Jennifer Aniston (Best Hair Ever Award for years running), Scarlett Johansson, Drew Barrymore and Jennifer Connelly. In fact, in the hair department it's a total five-star fest.
The thing that's depressing, though, is that in every relationship in the movie, one person is into it more than the other one. Could that be me and Will? I shake off this idea. Will and I have been going out together for ten months and I know by now that there's only one thing he is into more than me – a six-foot offshore cyclone swell. No girlfriend of a surfer could ever compete with that. It's hard to take, but it's a fact.
Bianca's bawling into her second purse-pack of tissues and honking like a llama when the lights come up. I steer her towards Cromwell Café. The walk might give her a chance to pull herself together.
I'm surprised that it actually feels good to be out walking in the main street of Oldcastle with Bianca tonight. It's cold and we pull our hoodies over our heads (even though it crushes our hair) and mash our hands into our pockets.
We both look fab – me in a grey woollen minidress cinched with a red leather belt, thick black tights and black suede ankle boots. Bianca's wearing kitten heels, jeans, a gorgeous glittery black long-sleeved top and this totally great blue fake-fur shrug tied with a satin ribbon. Pity we have to wear our hoodies over the top. But it's not like anyone's going to care much in the streets of Oldcastle on a freezing Friday night.
We stop and look in the window of Princess Slippers and I spot a divine pair of purple wedge shoes that look like they're made out of some sort of sleek plastic. Bianca gives them the nod. She's texting like crazy, as per usual, but in those rare intervals when she gives me her full attention, we are totally connecting.
There are a few people out and about – the usual crowd hanging in front of the London Tavern, puffing on cigarettes and shivering in the night air. Then, even with her hoodie pulled almost over her eyes, Bianca spots a full-on fashion disaster.
'Don't look, Elly,' she gasps. 'White stretch denim jeans, silver sequin singlet and pink thongs getting out of a taxi. I said, DON'T LOOK!'
I manage not to swivel my head the whole way and I'm proud of myself. Months of training from Bianca have finally paid off. When we walk past and I see the actual crime, I high-five Bianca – it's definitely an eleven on the drack-o-meter and well spotted.
Soon we are sitting in Cromwell's, sipping on hot chocolate and hogging a basket of fried chips smothered in salt and tomato sauce and, really, despite everything that's happened, it's just like old times.
'I want to tell you something, El,' says Bianca, looking up at me with her wide blue eyes as she tries to prod her squashed do into place. Her hair looks like a punched-in profiterole. 'I am soooo sorry for what Jai did with the photos.'
It looks like she's going to cry again.
'You were right. Jai found them when he borrowed my phone. I had a massive fight with him tonight and I finally made him take them off FacePlace,' Bianca sniffs. 'I told him I would break up with him if he didn't.'
Ulp! This so isn't what I was expecting and I stuff hot chips in my mouth so I don't have to reply. OW! I burn my tongue but try not to let it show.
'The thing is –' Bianca wipes tomato sauce off her cheek and continues – 'Jai has this stupid sense of humour sometimes, and he told me he thought the photos would be funny.'
As if! I heard Jai on the radio saying I hated his guts. 'Crap pictures of Elly' – that's what he said. I take a mouthful of water to soothe my scorched mouth and, again, just nod as Bianca goes on.
'I thought you'd think they were funny too. I see now I got that wrong. Part of him wanted to get back at Will after they had that fight. You know that the footy heads and the surfie boys have this full-on war going at school. But they should leave us girls out of it. I told him our friendship means a lot to me. And it does . . . truly.'
She's saying all this really seriously and tearing her serviette into little pieces with her black fingernails.
'Hey, you can get a pizza any time! Right? But best friends are hard to find. So the pics are gone now and . . . I'm sorry. I never wanted us to be
enemies . . . Even if you did lose that photo of me with Hugh Jackman.'
Bianca reaches a hand across the table and I squeeze it. I'm guilty of a criminal act. As I've already admitted, losing that photo is unforgivable.
What would Sun Tzu do right now? I'm sort of subtle, secretive and inaudible, but only because I can't think of anything to say. When I think of what Tilly has in store for Jai tonight, I feel sick.
'I love Jai so much,' says Bianca, as she stirs a melting pink marshmallow into her hot chocolate. 'He really is kind underneath. You should see the cards he writes me! He tells me how much he loves me every minute of every day.'
I stare down into the basket of chips, noticing every tiny grain of salt. Will has never told me he loves me. He's never written a card to me. I can't believe it. I'm jealous of Bianca and Jai! But then I remember that Tilly says Georgie Daniels told her Jai's always trying to sleaze onto Lily Cameron. It would break Bianca's heart if she knew what a gutter rat he was. I decide to keep this fact to myself.
'I know that Jai and Will don't like each other,' says Bianca, honking again into a teensy scrap of serviette. 'But they're both so different. If we really try, maybe they'll be friends one day. I'd hate to think they ever came between us.'
I give Bianca's hand another squeeze and tell her that I feel the same. And right at this moment I really believe what I am saying. We should try to make the peace between our boyfriends. We're like Hillary and Condoleezza in the Middle East. Bianca smiles gratefully and looks up at me like an innocent guinea pig, not knowing that Tilly's about to drop a brick on her furry blonde head.
And then Bianca's phone rings and it's Jai. He's at the football! At least, I hope he is. If I had a phone right now I'd tell Tilly to call this whole thing off.
Bianca laughs and giggles. Jai's telling her the football score – Sovereigns 20, Regents 10 – so he really is at the game. Phew!
I'm watching a red rash creep up Bianca's neck and her eyes shining with happiness. She really is in love with that idiot. What can you say? Bianca pushes the plate of chips closer to me and I'm reminded of what Grandpa Pickering always reckons: Every Jack has his Jill.
Friday night, again.
Six days PM.
By the time I get back to The Dungeon it's almost midnight. I immediately check Jai's FacePlace and the pics have vanished! Gone to the great big Trash File in the sky. All the comments – the good and the bad – have been erased as well.
I have my life back. Yahoo!
I crash out, happy that this vile chapter of my existence is closed. At last!
Saturday morning.
One week PM.
I wake up at 6.30 to a ding on my computer and an eye2eye from Carmelita. It's unbelievably early, but then again she's probably been awake since dawn feeding Viscount the pig and . . . er . . . tending the nuts (or whatever it is you have to do with macadamias).
El.
This is the WORST, ever. You have to call me. Beg, borrow or steal a phone! I'm here for ya (even in Queensland). Remember that. Love ya!!!!
Carmelita XXX
Huh? What's she talking about? It's not like Carmelita to think the worst about anything. My stomach does a hideous backflip and I can feel every single hair on my head vibrating with electricity.
I pull on my dressing gown and creep down the hall to the South Wing – like a downstairs maid in the halls of Buckingham Palace trying not to wake the slumbering Royal Family. I open Tilly's bedroom door a crack and see the corner of her mobile peeping out from under her pillow. Her room is the usual smelly trash heap and getting to the phone is not going to be easy. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I see a few stepping stones of beige carpet and I pick my way through the obstacle course.
My fingers touch the corner of the phone and I carefully extract it from under Tilly's nest of dark brown hair. She stirs and snuffles, but doesn't wake up. I carefully edge back through the pile with the precious phone in my hand and step on a massive buckled handbag. Mercifully there's no 'crunch' of plastic sticks of lip balm and I leap for the door in a mighty bound. Even before I'm back in The Dungeon, I'm dialling Carmelita's number.
'Hey, Elly!' Carmelita's voice is unnaturally cheery for this early. 'How are you, babe?'
I know she has bad news and I politely ask her to get on with it.
'It's Will.'
What about Will? I want her to spill her guts right this instant.
'Well, this morning I was up early cleaning out Viscount's pen and when I came back in there was a message from Lily Cameron's FacePlace.'
Lily Cameron? Carmelita hardly knows her. What sort of weird coincidence is this? My nerves are at critical load and I'm about to black out with the suspense.
'Well, if you go to Lily's mirror, there are, er . . . pictures there of her in the spa with, um . . . oh hell, Elly, it's Will.'
I'm not sure I actually say anything at this point. I look out the window just to make sure that I'm still on Planet Earth. For one stupid moment I focus on the last shrivelled apricot on our tree.
'I hate being the one to tell you, Elly,' moans Carmelita. 'But I thought you'd better know now.'
With Tilly's mobile clamped to one sweaty ear, I log on to Lily's site. I'm one of her 194 friends. Oldcastle High's not a big school so pretty much everyone is 'friends' with everyone else – whether they particularly want to be or not. No-one dares not be friends.
And OH. MY. GOD! I drop the phone on my desk and both hands are over my mouth and I'm silently screaming. It's like someone's taken to Lothlórien woods with a chainsaw. Aaaaargh! Aaaaargh!
It is Will. Even though the images are dark and a bit blurry, I'd know that mop of blond curls anywhere. He's in a spa bath. He's got his head thrown back and he's laughing. There are Lily Cameron's ten red toenails. She's sitting opposite him, her feet propped up on his tanned chest. She's smiling like a fox about to pounce on a marsupial.
And that's not the only picture. In the next one, Lily's sitting alongside Will and he's got his arm around her shoulder – she's under the golden branch that should be sheltering me! At least she's got a bathing suit on. Although there's nothing to be grateful for when I see that Will is smiling and looking at her with the same big brown eyes that should be looking at me.
There's one more burnt stick to poke in my eyes. In the third picture Will is standing by the edge of the bath and holding Lily's hand as she climbs out of the swirling water. His other hand is on her hip. They're gazing at each other with . . . what is it? I don't want to give that look a name or I'll vomit.
And then someone must have called 'cut' on the scene because that's all there is. I scroll and click like a maniac. Then what happens? Where do they go after this? And after that? But there are no more pics and it's like I have just seen the trailer to the most terrifying horror movie of all time.
I spot the post from Lily:
Oooh, look who 'dropped in' last night. Mr Will 'six foot plus and perfect' Phillips. Both of us makin' waves at my place.
I should be crying by now. Maybe I am. I don't know, because it's like my brain has stopped sending messages to my body. The telephone pole's fallen over. The satellite has crashed from the sky. The cable is melted. The line is dead.
Somehow a flicker of information gets through and I reach for the mobile.
'Els . . . Elly? Are you still there?' Carmelita is frantically calling.
I must make some sort of noise because she hears I am still here. Wherever 'here' is.