But there was something I wanted to tell her, something I wanted to give her like a gift. ‘Uh,’ I say, ‘our English teacher got us to do a story on the most wonderful thing that ever happened to us.’
‘That sounds more interesting than the average assignment.’
‘I wrote about Alice being born.’
Sarah breathes in sharply. It takes a while for her to say, ‘It was quite a day, wasn’t it?’
‘Sure was,’ I agree. I’d never seen anyone like Sarah was when she was pushing Alice out. She was in so much pain, sweating and groaning, but between contractions she seemed … I don’t know … exalted is the word I used in my story.
‘You were pretty happy when Belinda put Alice on your chest,’ I say. Belinda is the midwife who stayed beside Sarah all that long New Year’s Day, coaching and encouraging her.
Sarah laughs lightly. ‘Happy doesn’t quite describe the moment.’
‘No,’ I agree. I remember the thick, pulsing cord that still connected Alice to Sarah as Sarah cuddled the baby in her arms. When the cord stopped throbbing Dad cut it, and I saw the very second my sister started her life as a separate person.
Belinda washed her and wrapped her in a bunny rug and handed her to Dad. After he had a good look at her, Dad gave her to me. I held my sister when she was ten minutes old and she stared at me with the darkest, most serious blue eyes you could imagine. Every day for the first twenty-seven days of her life I held her and sang to her and when she was crying too much I’d walk her up and down the street in a little pouch strapped to my chest so Sarah could have a break.
‘What’s she like now?’ I ask Sarah.
‘Ali? She’s great. Heaps easier than Jake was. She’s growing like a weed, and smiling. There’s nothing sweeter than those first smiles.’
‘She’s got a nickname,’ I say in a choked voice.
‘What’s that?’
‘I said you call her Ali now. Alice got a nickname and she’s smiling without me!’ I’m crying. I can’t believe it. I’m blubbering like anything into the phone.
‘Oh, honey,’ Sarah says, and she’s got tears in her voice.
‘I really miss her!’ I sob.
‘Of course you do.’ Sarah’s crying, too. I hear her blow her nose, and say in a steadier voice, ‘Listen. Let’s try and get you up here before the next holidays. Say for a long weekend?’
‘Okay.’ My voice is still watery.
‘You could take a Friday off school, couldn’t you? Or at least the afternoon?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Jake’ll be over the moon when I tell him you’re coming. I’ll talk to your dad and get back to you. We’ll make it happen, you can count on that.’
I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m exhausted. I just want to go to bed. ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Thanks, Sarah.’
‘Sorry, Miss!’ As usual, Billy gallops into the room ages after everyone else has arrived.
‘Have you got a late pass?’ Mrs McBain has to shout to be heard over the bell.
‘I don’t need one!’ Billy yells back. ‘This time I made sure I got here when it was still home group. I had at least one of my feet in the door before the bell started.’
Mrs McBain shakes her head as the bell stops clanging. ‘Billy, you’re expected to be here at the beginning of home group.’
He gives her such a crestfallen look that Mrs McBain sighs and says, ‘Sit down, then. But you’ll need to make an even more valiant effort tomorrow morning.’
‘Valiant,’ Billy mutters as he trudges to his seat. ‘I wouldn’t drive a piece of crap like that if they gave me one for nothing.’
The cool girls giggle at him.
‘I’m savin’ up for a Commodore,’ Billy tells them.
They giggle harder. Which keeps their attention away from me for a few more seconds. I kept waiting for them to look over towards me during home group but they were too busy whispering about Justine, who’s got these blue and yellow comb things stuck in her wild red hair. She’s trying to keep her hair off her face because of the heat, I suppose, but it looks pretty weird. As soon as I saw how they stared at her when she came in, I was so glad I decided not to wear my silver headband last Friday.
‘Okay, 7C!’ Mrs McBain is standing at the front of the class. ‘Attention here, please!’
It’s time for English class. We have it in our home room, so we don’t have to move anywhere. As soon as everybody’s quiet, Mrs McBain says, ‘We’re going to start with something a little different this morning.’ She pats the stack of papers behind her on her desk. ‘I finished marking your acrostics, and the stories you wrote about the most wonderful thing that ever happened to you. I have to tell you, I’m really excited. You’re the most talented writers I’ve come across in many a year!’
Jealousy bites me like an annoying mosquito. I thought when she made me stay after class on Tuesday she meant it was just me who was the most talented writer she’d come across.
‘I’d like to read out some of your best pieces,’ Mrs McBain says. She goes behind her desk, opens a drawer, pulls out three chocolate bars and holds them up. ‘I’ve even got prizes to award.’
The chocolate bars cause a buzz of comments. With my sensitised right ear I hear Tiffany say, ‘She’d never give us one of those.’ Does that mean it’s good to win?
In my left ear Matthew says, ‘Bet you get one of them, Katie.’
‘Shush,’ I tell him. But it’s too late. I’ve lost the cool girls’ voices in the general din.
‘7C!’ Mrs McBain claps her hands. ‘Settle down!’
When we’ve settled down, she reaches back to pick up some papers from the top of her stack, then turns to us. ‘I put your acrostics and stories together for the purpose of this impromptu competition. I’ve awarded prizes to the three top pieces. Third prize goes to …’
She hesitates. The room is tense with wanting to know who she’ll say.
‘… Matthew, for his imaginative acrostic on Phar Lap.’
‘Whoopee!’ Matthew bellows.
‘Good on ya, Matt,’ Stephen says.
Billy applauds loudly and some of the other kids join in uncertainly. The cool girls don’t, so neither do I. But I remember all the extra help Mr Callaghan gave Matthew last year, and I think how proud he would be if he could see Matthew now.
Mrs McBain reads Matthew’s poem. It sounds better than I remembered. Maybe it’s how she emphasises certain words. As Matthew goes up to collect his Mars Bar, I glance over at the cool girls. Maybe this has redeemed him in their eyes. ‘Good thing he found out what a T.P. is,’ I hear Olivia say.
‘Now for second prize and a Kit Kat,’ Mrs McBain is announcing, ‘we have another acrostic. It’s very short, but very beautiful. It’s called Sky and it was written by Vi.’ Some of the teachers forget that ‘Vi’ rhymes with ‘me’, but not Mrs McBain.
Vi’s face grows redder with each line as Mrs McBain slowly reads:
So pure it makes your heart hurt
Kills sometimes when aeroplanes tear it
You want to stitch the perfect blue back together
My eyes sting with sudden tears. In three lines Vi made me see death dropping out of a calm summer sky. I could never write anything that good!
More kids clapped for Vi than they did for Matthew. Should I? I look at the cool girls and catch Tiffany rolling her eyes in a ‘Jeez, she’s pathetic’ gesture. Despite all my work, I guess my dorkometer is still set on zero.
Since Vi’s sitting in the front row, Mrs McBain takes her Kit Kat over to her desk. Vi gives her a grateful smile, so I guess she didn’t notice the cool girls. Mrs McBain walks back to the front of the room and says, ‘Now. First prize and a super-sized Bounty goes to …’
Say my name, part of my brain is clamouring. I love Bounties! I want to win!
‘Kaitlin,’ Mrs McBain announces.
‘I knew it!’ Matthew whacks me on the back.
‘Kaitlin’s story is a lot longer than Vi�
��s poem,’ Mrs McBain says, ‘but you’ll enjoy it just as much because …’
‘No!’ I interrupt her. ‘Don’t read it!’ The Bounty-loving part of my brain can take a leap. I don’t want everybody to hear how I felt when Alice was born. It would be like that dream I’ve had when I’m suddenly sitting in class wearing only my underpants.
‘This is a wonderful piece of writing,’ Mrs McBain coaxes. ‘You should be proud of it.’
‘You never said you might read it out!’
‘True. But good writing should be shared, not just read by one person.’
I take a quick glance at the cool girls. All three of them are looking at me, waiting to see what I’ll do.
‘I don’t want to share it. It’s stupid.’
‘Come on, Kaitlin, don’t be like that.’
She’s making me really mad. Can’t she take a hint? I don’t want to be a pathetic teacher pleaser!
‘I’m sure the class won’t think it’s stupid. The most wonderful thing that ever happened to Kaitlin was …’
No! I can’t stand for them to hear it. ‘It’s my property and I don’t want you to read it to the class!’ I yell at her. ‘Can’t you get that through your head, Mrs McPain?’
The class erupts in laughter. I can’t believe I said that. I’ve never talked back to a teacher before, let alone called one a name.
Mrs McBain just stands there. For an awful moment, I think she’s going to cry. Finally she says in a strained voice, ‘All right then. You can chat amongst yourselves while I prepare the next activity.’ She turns and lays my story gently on her desk, with the Bounty on top of it.
I can’t look at Matthew and Stephen. Now I know what people mean when they say they want the floor to open up and swallow them.
‘Kaitlin!’
Who said that? I glance around the room. Who wants to tell me I’ve been an idiot? I already know that!
‘Come sit here, Kaitlin.’ Now I can see who’s speaking. It’s Tiffany. She’s patting the empty chair beside her. Why’s she being so mean?
‘Come on.’ Olivia gives me her gorgeous smile. ‘We want you to sit with us.’
It’s a trick. A weaselly trick which I have no intention of falling for. But Tiffany looks so nice. She rolls her eyes towards Mrs McBain and makes the crazy sign beside her ear. As if she wants me to feel that what I did was the right thing. And Olivia’s smile seems genuine, too. Could they really want me to join them?
‘That was cool,’ Charlotte tells me, ‘what you said to her.’
I turn to Matthew and Stephen. ‘Is it okay if I go?’
Stephen looks at me like I just asked if I could stomp on his water snails. Matthew shrugs. Why can’t they understand how important this is? It’s not like I’m moving to another continent!
I go and sit beside Tiffany. She gives me the biggest grin. ‘We’ve been thinking you’re too good to be with those boys,’ she says.
‘Is that why you kept watching us yesterday?’
‘Definitely,’ Olivia confirms.
I turn to Charlotte. ‘How come you made me spill my granita?’
‘I told you!’ Her face turns red as she says it. ‘That was, like, a total accident!’
As I trudge up towards the school, past the garden of gnomes and Len’s Plumbing Service, I wonder if I look any different from the other days I’ve walked this way. I wonder if I look just a teeny bit cooler than I did yesterday. Probably not. Probably Tiffany or Olivia or Charlotte or all three of them realised overnight that they made an idiotic mistake inviting me into their group.
And now Matthew and Stephen won’t like me either, because I abandoned them. Maybe I should just take the easy way out and team up with Justine.
‘Katie!’ I’m inside the gate now, and there are Matthew and Stephen, waiting for me just like they have since our second day of high school.
‘Hi, guys.’ I can’t help smiling at them.
‘See?’ Matthew says to Stephen. ‘I told you Katie’d still hang around with us.’
Stephen just looks at me, in that silent way he used to when he was first at our table in grade six and I hadn’t got to know him yet.
‘Kaitlin!’ A sparkly girl’s voice calls. ‘There you are!’ It’s Tiffany. With Olivia and Charlotte on either side of her.
‘Come on.’ Tiffany grabs my arm. ‘We’ll take you to where our spot is. My sister showed us this really cool place.’ She leads me away.
‘We meet there every morning,’ Olivia explains.
‘Sorry we forgot to tell you yesterday,’ Charlotte chimes in.
As we walk around to the back of the school, it feels so fantastic to be with these girls. I hope all the other year sevens who went to my primary school are watching. Thinking, ‘Gee, Kaitlin sure has changed!’
I wish I didn’t feel like something was pulling me to the front of the school. I want to run back to Matthew and Stephen and try to explain. But I can’t leave the cool girls now. I guess they didn’t notice that the boys were standing there with me.
I walk through my front garden carrying six Anzac biscuits on a paper plate. I cross Will’s driveway, then go up the steps to his front veranda, just as he comes out the door with a cup of tea in his hand.
‘Hello, stranger!’ He greets me heartily, his eyes on the Anzacs. ‘This is good timing.’
‘I remembered you usually have a cuppa around now.’ When I was little and Rebecca was still alive, I used to come over here almost every night in the summer.
Will sits down on a green plastic chair, and with a wave of his hand invites me to take the other one. I put the biscuit plate down on the round table between us. ‘Remember those fairy cakes Rebecca used to make?’ I ask. ‘The ones with little wings and cream in the middle?’ Things like that used to make me so happy. Tiny wings stuck in a cloud of cream. A hug from Rebecca, who smelled like vanilla essence and icing sugar. That was before it mattered whether I had friends my own age or not.
Will is chuckling. ‘You loved Becky’s fairy cakes. You could eat a dozen at a time if I recall correctly.’
‘I never ate a dozen!’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Will teases. ‘Rebecca used to say, “Guess I’ll make a double batch of fairy cakes. No, better make that triple. Kaitlin’s looking hungry”.’
‘Try one of these,’ I say, shoving the Anzacs towards him, hoping they’ll take his mind off my former piglet habits. ‘I made them at school.’
He takes one and dunks it in his tea for ages.
‘It’s not that overcooked,’ I protest. They did come out a bit dark, but Anzacs are supposed to be crunchy.
‘I’ve got a tooth that’s playing up,’ Will explains as he takes a bite. He makes it obvious he’s judging the taste. ‘It’s delicious,’ he concludes.
‘Good.’
‘How is school, anyway?’
Adults have been asking me that question since I was five years old. So many times it’s made me feel sick inside, because I didn’t want to tell anybody how abnormal I was. But now I’m not abnormal. And here with Will, I don’t even have to wish that Matthew and Stephen would understand. ‘It’s great,’ I say. ‘My friends begged and pleaded with the teacher for me to be in their cookery group, but she said no. She’s so tight!’
‘That’s too bad.’ Will is holding the second half of his biscuit in his tea even longer than he did the first half. He doesn’t seem overly thrilled by the revelation that I have friends. But that’s nice, I think as I breathe in the scent of the citronella candle that Will lights at seven o’clock every summer evening. He doesn’t consider it unusual for me to be liked.
‘I’m going to a sleepover tomorrow night,’ I tell him. ‘All my friends’ll be there. I’m bringing four litres of vanilla Coke.’
‘Hmm,’ he says. I didn’t expect him to be very interested. But it was the best feeling in the world to say it.
I’m in bed, but my mind is skipping and dancing and jumping so hard it feels like I’ll be awak
e for ever. I’ve never been this excited about a sleep-over before! Not that I’ve been to that many. I used to hate it when girls would bring their birthday invitations to school and make a big deal about handing them out. I knew the popular girls would never give me one, but in a little corner of my heart there was always hope. And then when all the invitations had been handed out and I was pretending I didn’t care in the least that I hadn’t got one, I’d hate the part of me that had hoped – even more than I hated the girls who were carefully opening their precious cards.
I turn my pillow over to the cool side, thinking how I wanted so much for high school to be different, and now it looks like it might be! But what if I say something totally dorky tomorrow night? What if I do something incredibly loserish in the first hour and I have to suffer through the whole sleepover knowing I’ve blown the best chance I ever had?
I grab my panda from the floor beside my bed and hug her tight. Maybe I should just cancel with the cool girls and see if Justine has any plans for Saturday night. But I don’t want to do that! Hey. Suddenly I remember this TV show I saw one time. It showed how people build new pathways in their brains after they’ve had terrible head injuries. Maybe even though I wasn’t born with a dorkometer, I could develop one. I could watch and listen to the cool girls really, really carefully and gradually learn what they know.
I let go of panda, push her over and put my hand over my belly button. That’s where my dorkometer is, a circular golden organ just under my skin. It’s thin as a tissue at the moment, but I think if I try very hard I can make it more substantial.
It’s been two hours since I got dropped off at the sleepover, and so far I think I’m doing okay. Right now we’re walking to the video shop through the still-hot summer evening.
‘Do you like any of the boys in our class?’ Tiffany asks me as we pass by a front garden full of white roses. What should I say? Not Stephen or Matthew! She means a different kind of ‘like’. I could say nobody, but I don’t want them to think I’m a blob with no opinions. ‘Uh,’ I splutter, ‘I think Tristan’s pretty cute.’
Term in Year Seven Page 5