by Mo Johnson
I have to confess that Sam and Brian Danielson are a bit alike. Sam’s a fraction taller and much browner, but they have similar colouring – blond hair, blue eyes – and the same lazy smile. The cool kids hang with them, but neither appears to need them.
Sam seems to be a good listener – not that he’s ever heard much coming from my mouth, since I usually find myself tongue-tied when he’s around, but I’ve noticed he looks people in the eye when they speak and doesn’t interrupt them. Brian did that, too.
Unlike Brian, who’s kind of adorably gangly, Sam moves with a natural grace that gives an impression of strength. He’s like a well-bred racehorse. Not that I know much about horses, or even like them. I fell off a pony at the beach once when I was six. Ponies aren’t allowed on Aussie beaches. Good thing, I reckon.
Anyway, I admit Sam’s hair is always messy, his shirt’s never tucked in and he often misses deadlines, all punishable crimes at our school but all good as far as I’m concerned. Slightly flawed is definitely my type. He’s also the first guy I’ve been interested in since leaving home, and that’s got to count for something.
I was preparing to switch into Sam-ogling mode when Jack broke my concentration.
‘Heard a rumour that the assignment is being given out today.’
Finger-on-the-Pulse Ferris.
‘Yeah? Even my parents are aware of that, Jack.’
He was a bit put out and changed the subject. ‘You started your photography project?’
‘Sure have.’ I waved my folder in the air. ‘I’m doing People for my Major Work.’
He sniggered. ‘That topic’s a bit broad, isn’t it?’
‘Obviously I’ve got an angle that I’ll be exploring, but I’m hardly going to tell you about it.’
‘Oh, don’t be a dag,’ he said, and I cringed at the phrase. It was so Australian. ‘I’ve already settled on what I’m going to do, so I won’t copy you. My topic is Chicks.’
‘I can just see you rummaging around in a chicken coop somewhere.’ I sniffed in his direction before adding, ‘Again.’
He grinned. ‘Do you want to pose for me?’
‘Get real, Ferris.’ I thumped him on the arm as we entered the art room.
I went to my locker and took out my gear. He followed. ‘I think you should give that old crappy Minolta the heave. You and Sam ought to get Nikons,’ he said with a sniff.
I bristled. ‘And you ought to get real. You’re an idiot.’ I sat down at my desk, which is as far away from him as I’d possibly managed to get at the beginning of the year. He was walking on dangerous ground insulting my camera. Sam Doyle and I are the only two people using Minoltas. His is new. Mine is ‘Uncle Colin’ old.
I enjoy its bulky, solid feel in my hands. I love the fact that its lightness surprises me when I pick it up, and I like the yummy smell of ancient leather from the casing. The pieces move easily between my fingers and a crisp click announces the picture is mine.
Uncle Colin gave it to me a few weeks after we arrived. He was probably sick of me mooching around the place. I wasn’t all that fussed at first: we didn’t do photography at my old school, and I didn’t want to take bad photographs. But surprisingly enough I’m quite good, and I enjoy it.
Clearly, Jack Ferris knew nothing about photography. I shuddered to think of his Chicks project.
My mind galloped away from Jack when Sam Doyle made a sudden move in front of me to pick up his pencil. I studied him closely. The position of my seat is no coincidence: I was prepared to kill to secure it. There’s nothing daggy about Sam. I loved the way his…
‘Isla, have you been listening?’ Miss Reid demanded. I smiled my apology.
‘I think you’re on another planet today.’
Yeah, the planet Sam. And what a nice planet it is.
I was just about to continue my quest to work out exactly how many freckles he had on his hairline when she interrupted me again.
‘So you’ll need a partner for this, and for once I’m going to challenge you to team up with someone of the opposite gender.’
Mass groaning from the class. This must have been the long-awaited topic assignment. Not as important as the Major Work, but an assessment task nonetheless. I sat up.
‘Guys, it’s important that you expose yourselves…’
Obviously she didn’t get much further with that sentence. It’s a classic when teachers say the wrong thing without meaning to.
‘All right, all right.’ She waved her hand, telling us she’d had enough. ‘What I’m trying to say is that the more access you have to each other’s perspective and methodology, the more well-rounded you’ll become, and believe me, in some art mediums, males and females approach things quite differently.’
Jack was the first to get what she meant.
‘So we team up with a girl and take photos of her in a bikini?’ he asked, grinning.
What? That didn’t sound right. What had I missed while I was on Planet Sam?
But Miss Reid was confirming it.
‘I suppose you might put it like that, Jack. I will talk about what’s acceptable and what isn’t in a minute, but just so we’re clear about the task, each person will be given access to an underwater camera and obviously you’ll need your swimming gear when we go over to the pool, next art lesson.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the local pool, which our school makes use of for carnivals and stuff. So far I’ve managed to miss those. I started to panic.
‘Remember, the whole point of the exercise is to explore how water distorts objects. Use the entire film, hand it back to me and I’ll have all the films developed.’
Kids were listening intently now. I felt sick.
‘This is probably a good time to remind you that our friends at the camera shop will see each shot taken and will be aware that the films belong to this school. Don’t make the mistake of snapping inappropriate shots for fun and thinking that everyone will find it hilarious. We won’t. You must take this assignment seriously.’
I raised my hand. ‘What happens when we get the film back?’
‘I knew you weren’t listening,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Why should I repeat myself?’
‘Er…because I wasn’t listening.’
She tutted. ‘You select your favourite image and then paint it in watercolours, and come to think about it, since you and a couple of others are pretty competent in a darkroom, you three can develop your own films. It will be good experience.’
Great task; shame I was about to come down with a mysterious illness, tomorrow. There was no way I was getting into that pool!
‘So,’ she was thinking out loud. ‘That’ll be…Isla, Sam and you, Jack.’
Jack knew how to use a darkroom?
‘I’m not going to be here next week, Miss. Going to Queensland with my family on Sunday,’ Jack announced.
‘Oh? Has Mr Devlin been informed?’ she asked, sidetracked.
Devlin was our year-level coordinator.
‘Yeah, and I’m supposed to get work to take with me.’
‘Right, I’ll give you a disposable camera and you can take some shots of your family in a pool up there. I suppose you will be capable of finding a pool in Queensland?’
He grinned widely. ‘I’ll try. Does it have to be my family, Miss? It’s just that I’m sure I’ll be able to find a lot of girls happy to pose for me.’
The girls protested as Miss Reid said, ‘No, Jack, the dolphins at Sea World just won’t do!’
He took it well. His laugh was infectious, and I couldn’t help smiling across at him. Perhaps the thought of a week without having to fight with him made me a little more magnanimous. But that is a nice thing I’ve noticed about a lot of Aussies: they can laugh at themselves and actually admire the person who gets the better of them.
I wondered briefly whether Queensland people were any different from those I’d met in New South Wales. Probably not. A human bean is a human bean, as Gran likes to say.
Realising that
I was still staring in Jack’s direction, I focused back on the teacher, who was now pointing at me.
‘Isla, I’ll pair you with Sam.’ She paused. Had she noticed that I’d stopped breathing? ‘The rest of you can choose your partners, but I’m putting the two most experienced people together for this assignment.’ She smiled brightly at us.
Oh MY GOD!
I wanted to scream and jump up and down on the spot.
‘Fine,’ I managed to squeak.
‘No problem,’ Sam said in his wonderful, gorgeous voice. ‘But isn’t the darkroom being used by the Year 12 students all week?’
‘Oh yes, I forgot about that. We’ll have limited access,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ a confident voice piped up, ‘we can both use my Uncle Colin’s.’
Did I just say that?
I was sooo glad I did! Sam turned and flashed me a smile.
So did the teacher. ‘Pack up, guys. It’s almost time. Don’t forget our pool trip tomorrow, and keep thinking about those Major Work topics. You should have settled on a subject by Thursday.’
The bell rang, which was a good thing as it drowned out my screams. What a dilemma.
How could I possibly get in the pool tomorrow with Sam Doyle?
‘Hey, Isla, a couple of us are going to the mall after school. I’ve got to get shoes for Emma’s party and Jen reckons the new coffee shop is pretty good. Do you want to come?’ Alice Greystains asked as we piled out the door.
‘Sorry, I’ve got something else on,’ I murmured vaguely.
‘Maybe next time then,’ she said.
Sure, if I don’t drown or die from pool germs first.
‘Global warming my backside, Isla!
If we get any more rain in Glasgow
this year, we’ll need an ark.’
(Gran McGonnigle)
I’d tossed and turned all night, and woke up the next morning with a stiff neck. Great! Not only would I be the one with the big bum, sinking slowly to the bottom of the pool during the art lesson, but I wouldn’t even be able to hold my neck up to attract attention as I drowned. It was not going to be a good day.
And then it was!
I stumbled over to the window just to make sure. Yes! Beautiful, torrential, rain!
Everything gets cancelled in Australia when it rains. Even swimming carnivals are postponed, when everyone’s going to get wet anyway. Do Aussies dissolve in rainwater or something?
But today I’d be agreeing with the rest of the class that we couldn’t possibly do an outdoor art lesson in the rain.
My neck was beginning to feel better.
Mum was eating breakfast with Dad in the kitchen.
‘Terry still in the bathroom?’ Mum asked.
‘Yes. I had to use yours,’ I told her, buttering some toast.
‘Is she feeling okay?’
I shrugged. ‘She didn’t say she wasn’t. A face like hers needs a lot of work in the morning. We don’t want her getting arrested for scaring kids on the train.’
Dad laughed and Mum shook her head. ‘Honestly, you two deserve each other.’
As I was leaving, Mum called me. ‘Can you collect your dad’s photos today?’
‘Why doesn’t he just get a digital camera and a printer and print them off himself?’ I asked.
‘You don’t use a digital camera.’
‘That’s different. I’m a real photographer. And I do sometimes,’ I reminded her.
‘How’s your crowds project going?’ she asked.
‘Good.’ I’ve decided to do a photo study of crowds for my Major Work: close-ups of expressions when people are oblivious to the camera, a mass of colour, that kind of thing. I snapped some great shots of a local soccer game last week, so at least I’ve made a start.
When Mum turned away, I made a beeline for the door before she could tell me that I had to fix dinner that night.
‘And Isla?’
I froze.
‘You and Terry will have to make dinner tonight. I’m doing overtime. I won’t be back till after seven p.m.’
It’s creepy how she does that.
Terry caught up with me at the garden gate, both of us trying to avoid the muddy patch that had doubled in the downpour.
‘Can’t you plaster your make-up on a bit quicker in the morning? You took ages.’
‘Who are you, the bathroom police?’ she demanded.
‘No, I’m the dinner police. We’ve got to make it tonight and you’re helping.’
‘Bags the veggies,’ she said, opening the gate and pulling it closed before I could get out.
‘No way,’ I said, exasperated.
‘It’s too late, the veggies are mine.’ Her umbrella went up with a violent swoosh, hiding her annoying face.
‘You did the veggies last time.’
‘And it took me ages.’
‘Yeah, right.’ My voice was rising as I pursued her. ‘Like it’s hard work to chuck a couple of potatoes in the microwave.’
‘I’ll do peas too, and they’ll take at least three minutes.’
‘No,’ I protested to her big umbrella. ‘It’s not fair!’ I was yelling now.
We’d reached the station.
‘Oooo, it’s not fair!’ She copied me perfectly. ‘It’s not fair!’
Mimicking has got to be one of the most infuriating tactics in sibling warfare, and Terry is an expert.
My brain groped through a range of clever, witty replies but for some reason I rejected them all in favour of, ‘I’m telling MUM,’ which I screamed, while lunging at her.
Big mistake.
At that exact moment, she sidestepped me, revealing at least six other students from our school standing on the platform, including Jack Ferris. I hadn’t seen them till now because of her monster umbrella.
Through a red funk, I met the blue-eyed calm of Molly Phillips. It was just my luck that she lived here. But Jack Ferris didn’t. What was he doing at my station?
Perhaps now wasn’t the right time to ask.
Molly and her friends were giggling at me. They sounded like lots of squeaky doors being opened at the same time. I braced myself against the humiliation.
‘Well,’ Molly said, in that breathy sort of voice that she seems to think makes guys listen to her. ‘We’d all better watch what we say or she might just set her mum on us.’
All the guys were listening to her.
I turned scarlet.
‘Hey, Isla,’ she went on, ‘is your mummy going to let you go to Emma’s party?’
‘You’re hilarious today, Molly.’
‘And you’re hilarious every day.’ She paused before adding, ‘Without meaning to be, of course.’
The arriving train saved me. I climbed into the last carriage and sat alone, consoling myself with the thought that if it kept raining, I wouldn’t have to get in the pool.
It did. I didn’t.
‘Sorry guys,’ Miss Reid addressed the class after lunch. ‘We’ll have to call the lesson off. We can’t go swimming in the rain. We’ll dissolve.’
She didn’t really say the last bit. She finished her sentence with: ‘… which does put us behind a bit.’
‘If it’s warm on the weekend, some of us could take our photos in the surf instead, Miss.’ It was Sam.
‘Good idea, Sam.’ She smiled at him.
Yeah, top idea, Sam. The surf? I could handle that. Clean moving water, full of germ-killing salt; board shorts and a T-shirt instead of a bum-clinging cossie; no deep end. This could well be true love.
I caught up with him after class. ‘Er, Sam.’ I was concentrating hard on not stuffing it up. ‘I can do the surf photos this weekend, if you think our group…I mean you…and…er…I…ehm…should do it that way?’
He smiled at me.
Swoon.
I was conscious that I might be standing too close to him, so I backed away slightly as I spoke. I didn’t want to crowd him or seem too desperate; plus I’d had onion in my sandwich at lunch
time. How was I to know I’d get this opportunity after class?
‘Yeah, great, Is-la. Can you get to Cronulla Beach this weekend?’
I’d never heard him use my name before. He pronounced it ‘Is-la’. I didn’t think now was the best time to remind him that the ‘Is’ part should be said like in ‘island’ or ‘isle’. Isle-la. Dumb, Scottish pronunciation. I’d be happy to change it for him.
He inched towards me. My heart thumped.
‘No problem,’ I confirmed, backing away. ‘I’m staying in Cronulla after Emma’s party on Saturday, with…er…someone.’ I tried to sound intriguing.
It must have worked because he moved closer. ‘Oh, I’m going to that too.’
I took a step back, fearing that he would notice the red rash crawling up my neck.
He stepped forward and frowned. Damn, he’d seen it. I grew hotter.
‘Oh, right. I didn’t think you were going. It should be fun.’ I edged back. It had reached my face.
He advanced again. I’m sure he’d never seen a talking beetroot before.
‘Well, perhaps we can meet at about ten on Sunday morning, at North Beach?’
‘Good…yeah…right.’ I stepped back into a wall. ‘Oh sorry,’ I said hurriedly, not initially aware that I was apologising to bricks. Panicking at my mistake, I sprang onto his toe. ‘Oh sorry,’ I said again, laughing nervously.
I think he motioned he was okay just before he limped off.
When I focused, I saw with horror why he’d seemed a bit suss throughout our entire conversation: apart from the ridiculous blushing, I’d managed to back my way across half the schoolyard. Thank goodness the wall had stopped me or we could’ve ended up back in Glasgow, one idiot dancing the paranoia shuffle, while her bewildered partner was just trying to hear what she was saying.
I groaned. My neck was aching.
Bad, bad day.
I left school as quickly as I could after the last bell rang, before I could embarrass myself any further. I headed to the camera shop near the train station to pick up the photos.
A frog croaked as I crossed the threshold. I looked down and was relieved to see it was one of those dumb alerts that tell the shopkeeper someone’s come in.
‘It’s new and annoying, isn’t it?’