Holy Crushamoly
Page 8
Around me, people clap half-heartedly. A prickle of warmth rises up my neck to my face. Pretty sure I’m now a lovely shade of beetroot.
‘Go on, Phoebe!’ Briana has grabbed my wrist, stepped out from her seat and is pulling me up.
Sheepishly, I start down the steps. Everyone is watching. I’m halfway down when I register the blond hair of the guy whose locker is next to mine. Even from the side I can tell it’s him. He’s sitting with two mates, their heads leaning over a phone.
Something makes him look up as I pass, but this time I’m the first one to glance away. I jog down the rest of the stairs like a slingshot that’s been released. Why should I care what he thinks? I hardly even know the guy.
Jagath and Zara are already on stage and their expressions lift me up. Mr Mendes shakes my hand before holding out the certificate. Mr Chiu makes a point of shaking our hands too, and then we all stand in a group, posing for photos for the school newsletter.
‘I have a good feeling about this,’ Zara whispers at one point. ‘Regionals, here we come.’
It’s awesome, I have to admit. Better than awesome – I’m part of something. I’m so busy grinning for photos that I don’t have time to worry what other people are thinking. I’m too busy sharing the moment with people who matter.
Mr Chiu finishes the assembly, and everyone begins trudging out to first period. Zara winks my way before heading over to speak to a couple of year ten girls who I recognise from the debate.
Jagath has already turned away when I call out, ‘Wait, Jagath?’ He turns back and I have the sudden need to fidget. I jam both my hands behind my back. Be cool and casual. ‘I just want to say thanks for all your help. You really saved me … I mean … you were great.’
His head tilts to one side. ‘You were pretty good yourself.’
‘So, I was wondering,’ I push a hand into my pocket, checking that my money’s still there. ‘Do you want to meet in the canteen for lunch? Special today is chicken souvlaki …’
Jagath’s head swaps to the other side, and the smile fades. ‘Well, I’m a vegetarian so …’
And I just invited him to eat chicken? Gulp.
‘Hey, don’t stress. They do a pretty good vegie lasagne, too,’ Jagath smiles. ‘We could still meet …’
My heart leaps. ‘Really?’
‘You bet.’ Jagath nods.
Those black eyes lock onto me, and I find myself smiling on the outside and melting within. I can’t help it. Right now, I’m the happiest girl in the universe.
‘See you at lunch.’
I spin away to find Briana and Erin waiting to one side. Still grinning, I bound over. Something tells me it’s going to take a street sweeper to wipe this smile off my face.
‘What was that all about?’ they both say at the same time. I can tell from Briana’s wide-open eyes that they’ve been watching for a while.
I put one arm around Briana and then the other around Erin, ‘You’ll never guess …’
At the end of the day, I’m still grinning. Lunch with Jagath was fun. We spoke about the debate for a bit, and then I listed all the Greek vegie dishes he has to try. I even summoned up the courage to ask why he’s a vegetarian, and he told me about being Buddhist.
It wasn’t a big deal, really. Nothing happened exactly. But somehow, it felt as if we were just a little closer to each other at the end of lunch than we were at the start. Each time I shared an opinion or learnt something new about Jagath, it was as if we took one small step closer to each other. Sentence by sentence. Idea by idea. Dream by dream.
Steph’s all bouncy about Mum coming home when I pick her up, so I manage to talk her into helping me tidy up before tomorrow.
Easier said than done. She’s still bargaining with me when I unlock the front door, asking how many minutes she can stay up tonight as payment for her work.
‘What if I help clean the bathroom too?’ Steph asks behind me. ‘That counts for half an hour later to bed.’
‘Twenty minutes, max,’ I say, opening the door.
It hits me as soon I step inside – the smells of Sunday morning, that warm sense of home …
‘MUM!’ Steph screams and flashes past me, flying straight into Mum’s outstretched arms. She’s here! She’s actually here.
Steph holds on for so long that I have to fight the urge to prise her off. Not too tight, she’ll break, I want to say. Finally Steph comes up for air and I reach in for my hug.
Mum’s shoulders feel bony and brittle, but she smells like melted butter.
‘I couldn’t stand it another day,’ Mum smiles wearily once I pull back.
‘You’re here, you’re here!’ Steph bounces around us like a pogo stick. ‘Can I call Dad?’
I know why. The idea of finally being together, at home again, might not seem like much. But right now I can’t imagine anything better.
‘He’ll be home later.’ Mum’s voice is calm, understanding. She rubs her hands together as her eyes follow Steph: up, down, up. ‘How about you stop bouncing, and help me make pikelets?’
The batter’s waiting on the bench, so it’s not long until warm cooking smells fill the air. We sit around the bench, happily licking butter off our fingers.
The fruit bowl is full, I notice as I gobble pikelets. Apples, bananas, even grapes. A fresh loaf of bread sits on the bench. Even the pile of empty cereal boxes and old newspapers has disappeared.
I turn to Mum guiltily. ‘Have you been cleaning?’
‘Celia drove me here,’ she says. ‘She straightened out a few things and she’ll be dropping round every few days, but …’ Mum leans back. ‘Something tells me I have all the help I need right here.’
We’ve polished off the mountain of pikelets when Steph asks to watch TV. She ends up drifting from that room to this, enjoying the return to normal life, I guess, and savouring the sight of Mum here. Home, at last.
We tidy up and then Mum settles onto a bench chair, opposite me.
‘So,’ she says, fixing me with a smile. ‘Tell me, how was your day?’
It’s the simplest of questions, but I’m in the middle of so many things that I’m not sure where to start. And there’s so much I want to tell her, now that we’re alone.
About realising I’m actually good at something that I care about. The way it feels when I’m speaking in front of an audience. About Erin, who’s not from a different planet after all. Maybe I’m more like her than I realised. And Jagath. Especially Jagath.
I also want to ask her what she thinks about the stuff that Dad says.
I’ve only paused a few moments when tears glisten and spill out from Mum’s eyes, as if she knows exactly why I paused, just how much she’s missed. All the times we’ve come home from school and she hasn’t been here. All the conversations about little daily events that we haven’t shared.
I get off the stool and wrap an arm protectively around her shoulders.
‘No, no.’ Mum shakes her head. ‘I’m all right. Really. I’ve spent long enough being looked after …’ She pulls away from me, and gets up to switch on the kettle, wiping her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands.
Soon she comes back to the bench, and places a warm mug of hot chocolate in front of me. Once again, she settles onto her stool.
‘Take two.’ Mum looks at me. ‘So. How was your day, Phoebe?’
The hot chocolate is sweet and warm, made the way only Mum knows how. I lick froth from my lip.
Then I begin to speak.
Holy Crushamoly!
published in 2013 by
Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
www.hardiegrantegmont.com.au
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9781743581131
Text copyright © 2013 Thalia Kalkipsakis
Illustration and design copyright © 2013 Hardie Grant Egmont
Design by Michelle Mackintosh
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