by H. S. Valley
Shit. He’s right. He’s actually right.
I swear into my Weet-Bix, because it’s not loud enough in my head.
‘Yes,’ he agrees, and I look up to glare at him just as Lizzie walks past in her prim little uniform and her too-short skirt which I used to love and now just wonder if it contributed to Blake taking a fancy and stealing my girlfriend. She gives me a weird look. Elliott doesn’t notice. ‘We’re starting our new assignment today, Te Maro, for which you and I are currently partnered with our former significant others. But I have a plan.’
I can see where this is going. I don’t like it. Swapping so I’m partnered with Elliott is only microscopically less bad than having to work with Liz.
‘If I bring it up in class, it has the potential to pan out one of two ways,’ he goes on. ‘Either the exes try the old, “but can’t we still be friends?” and persist in our current configuration, leading to horrifyingly awkward and painful bullshit, or Ms Fake Enthusiasm tries to exert dominance over the class again and, even if Blake and Elizabeth want to change partners as well, we won’t be allowed.’
‘Hang on,’ I say, because that’s not what I expected. ‘If you think there’s nothing we can do, why are you talking to me?’ Why must you make my life any less enjoyable than it already is? Oh right, because you’re you, and you can’t seem to help it.
‘Because I didn’t say there was nothing we could do, I just don’t think it’ll work if I do it. It needs to come from you, since you’re … you. Half the teachers’ favourite student and so perfect you’ve probably never broken a rule before.’ He huffs. ‘And because your mum works here so they might listen to you.’
There it is. The blatant abuse of power. That said … if ever there was a time … ‘So you want me to demand we swap partners, and you and I work together?’
‘People don’t say no to you, Te Maro,’ he says. (Not true. I just got dumped. That’s a resounding ‘no’ in all caps. With glitter.) ‘They all know you, they all like you. You have that wholesome, do-good image that teachers favour, and that athletic, slightly dangerous edge that girls like, with your long hair and your school-sanctioned weapons training. You’re the perfect, windswept, biracial poster child for international relations and the –’
‘Do people ever get a chance to say no to you?’ I interrupt because, honestly, I just want him to shut up.
‘Constantly,’ he sighs and, because my life only knows how to get worse, he sits down opposite me. ‘Please don’t be one of them. I have to share a room with the guy who just left me for a girl, and if you do nothing I also have to do this horrific assignment with him and I might actually die.’
This sounds a lot like begging. It also sounds like he thinks I’ll give a shit if he dies. ‘That would make breakfast a lot more peaceful.’
‘I will buy you an actual unicorn, Te Maro. Please.’
‘I don’t think that would be remotely useful to me, being that I’m not a virgin or a girl.’
‘A stylist, then? A haircut? A new wardrobe that’s not entirely from Kmart? One nice, possum-merino jumper that really brings out the flecks of hazel in your eyes? Maybe a handbag to carry around all your issues? A dog? Am I getting close?’
‘You’re getting annoying.’
‘Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to throw them in the deep end. That you don’t want their new-found love tested to its absolute limits with this stupid assignment. This sort of thing ruins relationships, which we’re obviously immune to, but they aren’t. They will suffer for four whole weeks and we will have our revenge.’
He has a point.
‘Fine, I’ll do it. Now, piss off.’ I turn away from his smug smile and go back to my sad mountain of Weet-Bix as he gets to his feet.
‘You probably won’t regret this,’ he says.
‘I am literally filled with confidence.’ And what would almost pass as curiosity if it were any other person, but it’s Elliott so it must be horror.
He walks away and I’m left alone to wonder what I’ve got myself in for. Can it be worse than doing the assignment with my ex-girlfriend at the same time that I’m trying to get over her? Maybe. But I have until first period to come up with a better idea and, if not … well. Microscopic improvements might be the best I can hope for.
The others all arrive then, but Silvia and Sam are late for reasons I expect are both highly frowned upon in a school setting and quite depressing for the freshly dumped. Silvia’s glossy black bun looks a little worse for wear, and while Sam’s number one never shows any signs of bedhead, there’s a loose, lanky sort of swagger in his step that usually means one thing. They sit opposite me and the mischievous twinkle in Silvia’s dark eyes is confirmation – worst best friends ever. Way to rub it in.
I lean across the table and quietly ask if they knew about the apparently sexual nature of Elliott and Blake’s relationship, but it turns out they had no idea either.
‘I can’t imagine the two of them together at all,’ Silvia says, her brow furrowing. ‘Elliott is so … I don’t know, fussy about everything? And Blake is an idiot. The other day he asked our Classics teacher if Ancient Greece is still a country.’
I’m not expecting her to say something funny and I choke on my last sip of tea. It goes up my nose and I splutter for a second before it dribbles down the back of my throat. Sam monitors whether I’m in any real danger of dying over breakfast and manages not to find my minor peril too amusing. Well, he doesn’t laugh, anyway. The day might’ve started out badly, but at least I have my friends to support me in my time of need.
Kinda depressing, though, that my time of need is as dire as choking while simultaneously trying to figure out if I’d rather be shackled to my ex-girlfriend or a guy I really don’t like. Even if he apparently likes guys too – which, to be honest, if it had been anyone else, might’ve made it a much easier choice. Sadly, he’s a dick.
Sam, Silvia and I don’t have much more of a chance to talk through my two equally crap options before the bell goes for Life Skills, so I get almost zero help trying to think of a better way to avoid my ex-girlfriend than by using Elliott Parker. I can’t even beg them to get involved with the partner swapping because they don’t think much of Lizzie now either, and they think even less of Elliott. (That’s what happens when you get your entire year group banned from the squash courts in Year 9 – everyone hates you and your stupid friends. Forever.) Plus, Silvia and Sam are good together and I don’t want to ruin it for them. Same goes for Matt and Ana, even if they’re just mates, and I’m pretty sure Nikau likes Hana and I don’t want to get in the way of that. He’s a good guy and she seems like she’d appreciate him properly. And I only have six friends so there’s no-one else to ask.
There’s a weird hum of anticipation in the air once we get to class. No-one else seems to notice, so I guess Mum’s extra lessons over our weekly cups of tea are helping my perception. She teaches Empathy as part of the Healing Specialty (as well as teaching Soft Materials Technology), so I can both sew on a button and be anxious for other people as well as myself. Mum showed me a lot of little things when I was a kid, so magic wasn’t as much of a foreign concept to me as it was to some of the others. It’s probably why Elliott thinks I’m everyone’s favourite student – I’m just easier to teach because of her. Easier than him, anyway. Partly because he’s a pain in the arse and partly because his family isn’t from around here.
All the magic in New Zealand and the Pacific Islands is really similar – mostly it’s to do with the relationship between people and nature and stuff – so school caters for that, even though some of us have inherited from other cultures as well. And since whatever European branch Elliott sprouted off was obviously going to be different, he was always doomed to struggle a bit. I mean, everyone struggled at first, but I’m also pretty sure his magic is inherited from his grandmother, so he didn’t even grow up with it in the house. You can tell the people who haven’t quite got their head around magic existing, ev
en once they get here; it messes with their abilities. He’s not bad at magic now, though, as far as I’ve seen. And he gets good marks in all the normal subjects, so hopefully he’ll actually be useful for this stupid assignment.
Lizzie comes in and sits across from me; the table isn’t nearly wide enough to keep her at a comfortable distance. She presumably sat there on purpose, expecting us to have to work together. I wonder if she considered that yesterday, when she told me we were ‘probably better off’ not trying to make it work?
Of course, Elliott decides to sit right next to me like the two of them are competing to see who can make me the most uncomfortable. On the upside, they both seem pretty unsettled as well; Lizzie gives Elliott a shitty look and he doesn’t take his eyes off his phone to even acknowledge us. It’s a nice change from him talking, I suppose.
Ms Van Mill clears her throat and takes the roll, and Elliott nudges me in the side. I’m almost brave enough to say something about swapping partners, except she immediately starts explaining actual important things, like how many credits the assignment’s worth and how long we have to complete the theory work, and I have to wonder, again, if I’m making the right choice. It’s four weeks of an already awkward topic and I’d have to spend a decent chunk of it engaging in fake family fun-time with Elliott as well. I see everyone’s eyes rolling or glazing over as she segues into the beauty of procreation and emotional readiness and how this assignment will test our ability to work as a team. She ends on the value of knowing the responsibility of child-bearing as young adults, right as she waves her hand at the large, sealed wooden crate in front of her and there’s a shriek of nails dragging themselves out of thick plywood.
I feel Elliott’s elbow in my side again. It’s now or never, I guess.
‘Welcome to day one of your lives as temporary par–’
‘Excuse me, Ms Van Mill?’ I ask, trying to look like the wholesome suck-up Elliott thinks I am. ‘I’d like to switch partners.’
Lizzie’s head turns towards me so fast I half expect it to fall off; she’s like a russet whirlwind. Down the table, Blake looks confused for a second, then hopeful, then annoyed. Probably because he doesn’t know that his ex already agreed to this – instigated it, in fact. Blake can have my ex-girlfriend all to himself and see, right away, whether they’ve got what it takes as a couple. Trial by fire. Worse … by fake baby assignment. My loathing of this ridiculous project wanes slightly. I almost smile as I imagine what he might be in for. Sleepless nights, nappy changes and feeding schedules. Suffer, dickwicket.
Van Mill steps over to our table, one hand coming to rest on her hip. ‘Mr Te Maro, we allocated partners last week.’
I pitch my voice low and lean towards her like I’m sharing something personal. ‘I feel really uncomfortable about having a fake baby with my ex-girlfriend, Miss. I’ll happily do it with anyone in this room that isn’t Lizzie.’
‘I can see why it might not be ideal, but –’ She pauses, probably working out how to convince me to shut up and not make her life difficult. I can’t help feeling a little bit guilty, but seeing Lizzie again has made me desperate to avoid her.
‘Please, Miss. Considering I now have to grow up without a father, and after being dumped last night, I just –’ I blink a few times for effect, like I might cry in her classroom. ‘I just don’t think I’d cope, and I don’t want to worry my mother.’ ‘Oh, well, I see,’ she says. ‘Well. It would depend on another pair being willing to swap with you …’
‘What d’you reckon, Elliott,’ I say as I turn to him for the first time all lesson. ‘Wanna have a fake baby with me?’
He smirks. Raises an eyebrow. Looks for a second like he’s going to refuse, then says, ‘Sounds brilliant, Te Maro. Blake, Elizabeth, is that OK with you?’ His voice lowers, turning sharp. ‘Do you want to raise a baby together?’
‘Very funny,’ Blake starts, his grin broad but unsure. ‘But come on, I –’
‘We’ll do it,’ Lizzie cuts him off, eyes blazing hazel fire. Her competitive edge comes in handy again. Shame it’s against me this time. Kind of wonderful that Blake isn’t enjoying himself, though. Dick.
‘Very well,’ Van Mill agrees, falsely chirpy and all business again. ‘It seems we’re all in agreement. Though do remember that the baby is designed to react to the emotional state of the parents, just like a normal human child. So negative emotions will have a detrimental effect.’ She looks at each of us in turn, not sure what she’s seeing unfold. ‘Your grades will be determined partly by the theory work and partly by how happy your baby is at the end of each of the four weeks.’
I answer for all of us, but mostly for myself. ‘Then avoiding exes is definitely a good move.’
CHAPTER 3
ANCHOR ME
I can’t say I’ve spent the last four-and-a-half years making charitable judgements about Elliott, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have expected him to be so nice to our fake child. Since the second Van Mill handed him a tiny blanket and placed the thing in his outstretched arms, which was about an hour ago, he’s become a doting, affectionate and protective … parent. To an egg.
‘Is this fathering thing going to be difficult for you, considering your own dad abandoned you last year?’ he asks. ‘It’s been, what, four months? Five?’
Of course, then he goes and says stuff like that.
‘I wasn’t abandoned,’ I sigh. I wish we could’ve done this assignment without all the talking, but Elliott seems intent on ruining the low hum of nothingness in the corridors as we head to morning tea. Van Mill held us back, of course, to ‘make sure we were making the right decision for the babies’. Not a minute had passed before Blake was arguing with Elliott and Lizzie was glaring daggers at me like this was all my fault. Like I broke up with myself. Van Mill got sick of it pretty quickly and shooed us out into the corridor. I don’t know where Liz and Blake went and I don’t care.
‘Fine, you were intentionally left,’ Elliott huffs. ‘Let’s call it neglected.’ He’s fussing with the baby blanket and his words come out strangely gentle.
‘Bringing up your children to be completely unlikeable is also neglect,’ I say, but not so loud that he’ll hear me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
He gives me a long look, arms wrapped around the soft bundle of our new charge: a rugby-ball-sized, blankyswaddled golden egg. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to punch me. That said, I’m pretty sure the egg is metal, so maybe he’ll hit me with it and the assignment will be over before it’s begun.
‘We don’t have time to work on your enunciation, Te Maro, but how about I let you name our baby and, with my help, you can at least break the cycle of neglect and be a good egg-daddy to your new daughter.’
‘Sure,’ I deadpan. ‘Thanks.’ I do end up smiling, completely against my will, because ‘egg-daddy’ sounds perverse and bloody bizarre in his wanky, uptight accent. ‘You wanna do the middle name?’
‘That’s very decent of you,’ he says.
This is how our daughter ends up being called Meggan Christobelle Parker-Te Maro. Her surname is hyphenated alphabetically, of course.
This is going to be ridiculous.
And, of course, I haven’t even started to think about how I might tell Mum about it. When I get to her rooms that afternoon, she’s already shucked off her work clothes in favour of trackpants and a woolly jumper that’s so massive on her it must’ve been Dad’s. She’s standing at the kitchen counter next to two steaming mugs of tea, picking crostulas out of a Tupperware container that looks older than I am. I don’t know what she’s doing to get pastry snacks out of the Croatian lady in the office, but I’m not going to pry because they’re delicious and I don’t want them to stop. Mum can’t bake for shit so I know they’re not trading food. Maybe the office lady is really into Mum’s quilted oven mitts.
She meets me in the middle of the small living area for a hug, and a discreet, motherly assessment of my physical wellbeing. I must pass
muster because she releases me and sets about bringing the tea over to the couch. Either that or she’s noticed my life is a catastrophic mess and the tea is suddenly an urgent necessity. I take a seat at one end of the couch and she settles at the other, mug in hand.
‘Allie Van Mill says you’re partnered with Elliott Parker for the baby project.’ She looks at me, eyebrows carefully level, expression diplomatically neutral. ‘How’d that come about?’
Right, so she knows something’s up.
‘Lizzie and I broke up,’ I say, and her neutrality goes out the window. Which, I suppose, is a weird metaphor to use when there are no windows down here, only endless grey walls.
‘Oh.’ She puts her tea down on the side table and scoots toward me, arms wrapping around my shoulders until my own tea is at risk of spilling. ‘Mitten, baby, come here.’
‘I’m here, Mum,’ I say, and let her hug me.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was only yesterday. I hadn’t seen you. I’m fine.’
‘What happened?’
‘She –’ I’m not going to tell my mum the real reason we broke up, no-one needs that much information about their own son’s sex life, but I can’t think of anything else she might believe. Lizzie and I were together for almost a year, Mum knew her, and she knows me, of course. Mostly. I grab onto the only truth that isn’t about me. ‘She left me for Blake Hutton. Apparently they’re in love.’
‘Blake’s an idiot. Silly girl.’ She releases me and runs a hand over my hair. ‘You’re more handsome than him, anyway. I bet their egg-baby isn’t cute at all.’