I look around at the phone, my school books, the china teapot that Eve used while she was here, Mum’s pamphlets from Weight Watchers … ‘It is a bit messy.’
‘You ain’t seen nothin’!’ he says. ‘After my mother died and I moved into my own apartment, I was so anxious to get rid of her clutter that I gave nearly everything to St V’s. My place is kind of bare now. Yours looks like a home.’
‘You should have seen it when Eve was here. She kept everything really neat. She’s my grandmother.’
‘Hello, there!’ Mum breezes in. She’s wearing her nice black pants and rose-pink silk shirt. Her hair is clean and fluffy. She spots the flowers. ‘Did you bring those, Rick? They’re gorgeous.’
‘I am a florist,’ he admits.
‘We’ve just been talking about the table,’ I tell Mum.
‘That’s nice,’ she says in the politest voice I’ve ever heard. She turns to Rick. ‘We may as well go now.’
He downs the last of his water and stands up. ‘Nice to meet you, Kaitlin,’ he says.
‘You, too,’ I answer.
‘You sure you’ll be all right?’ Mum’s reverted to her concerned-mother voice.
This is the second time I’ve ever stayed by myself at night. Mum talked to Will to make sure he’s there if I need him. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I assure her.
I say to Rick, ‘If I get scared I’ll ring Olivia. She’s my friend.’
He nods, as though it doesn’t surprise him.
‘She’s not scared of anything,’ I add.
‘This thing is so povo,’ Matthew says, sticking his finger through a hole in his maroon apron. We all have to wear them in cookery class, as if our uniforms were really precious.
‘When Dad does a barbie,’ he goes on, ‘he’s got this grouse apron with Homer Simpson on it that says, Kiss the Cook.’
‘I’ve seen that,’ Stephen reminds him.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Matthew’s eyes light up. ‘When youse came over to my place.’
It was a warm night early in December, a few days before Eve flew back to England, when our three families got together at Matthew’s house. His dad was telling silly dad jokes while he ran around getting everyone drinks. At first he made Matthew and Stephen and me sit with the adults, in canvas chairs with beer holders, but then we escaped and jumped on Matthew’s trampoline. Matthew imitated a gymnast, but he looked more like a trained bear. Me and Stephen couldn’t stop laughing.
‘You were so funny on the trampoline,’ I say.
‘Youse could come over again,’ Matthew beams. ‘Maybe on the weekend. Dad got another apron for Christmas that’s got this naked woman …’
Beep, beep, beep. My dorkometer, which at last is beginning to develop, has gone off. I look over at my other group, I mean my real group, to see if they heard that. Thank goodness it doesn’t seem like they did. They’re further along with their warm chicken salad than we are, gathered around their stove, absorbed in sautéing their fillets. They’re still stuck with Charlotte, and I have to be with Matthew and Stephen because Mrs Parfett made us stay with our original groups. It makes me feel really nervous, being with the boys while my new group is right beside me. Matthew must have guessed I’m not in the best mood because he enquires, ‘You get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Katie?’
‘My bed’s shoved up against the wall,’ I tell him, remembering Olivia’s spacious room. ‘I don’t have a choice which side I get out of.’
My dorkometer’s beeping again, warning me to shut up about beds. I look over at my other group. Charlotte’s alone at the stove now. She gives me a greasy as she flips a fillet. The other two are huddled over their salads, giggling like anything. I wonder what’s so funny about lettuce and cucumbers.
Then Olivia picks up her plate, carries it over to our area and plonks it on our bench. ‘Look at this, Kaitlin,’ she says, still giggling. There’s no lettuce on her plate. Just a couple of cucumber slices in the middle, some carrot curls above them and … ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘it’s a face.’ She’s used the pointy end of the carrot for a nose, and a tomato wedge for the grinning red mouth.
‘It looks just like her!’ Tiffany crows.
‘Is it supposed to be Justine?’ I hope so. What if it’s meant to be me?
‘It’s Charlotte!’ Olivia announces. They’re both laughing more than ever. If Charlotte’s real eyes could shoot bullets, we’d be dead. She hasn’t got orangey red hair like Justine, but she does have curls. She was going on at the sleepover about how much she hates them, but her parents won’t let her get them straightened.
‘Girls,’ Miss Parfett calls over, ‘go back to your own bench. You know the rules.’
I watch Charlotte as her ex-friends move back into her space. If she hadn’t been so mean to me, I might feel sorry for her.
I hold a tiny square of paper that Mr Ryan, our science teacher, has just given out.
‘Do we have to eat this?’ Billy sounds alarmed.
‘No.’ Mr Ryan, standing at the front of the class, uses his talking-to-Billy voice. ‘When I say so, I want everyone to gently lick their paper.’
‘This is gross,’ Olivia mutters to us. She raises her hand.
Mr Ryan gives her a nod.
‘Do you use new papers for every class?’ she demands.
‘Yes, Olivia. I can assure you, you will not contract AIDS from this experiment.’
Before he handed them out, Mr Ryan explained to us that the papers taste bitter to some people and just like paper to others. It’s got something to do with our genes.
‘All right, class,’ Mr Ryan announces dramatically, ‘the time has come to separate the can-tastes from the can-nots. You don’t need to saturate the paper, just lick it like you would a stamp.’
‘I don’t lick stamps!’ Olivia calls out. ‘My mother owns a post office and she says it’s an unsanitary practice.’
‘Your mother owns a post office?’ Mr Ryan inquires.
‘Well, she’s the manager of one.’
‘I bet if the paper said Billabong or Roxy she’d lick it!’ The whole class turns to look at Charlotte. ‘I bet she’d suck it like anything.’
The class laughs.
‘Excuse me!’ Mr Ryan says to Charlotte. ‘Did you forget the rule about raising your hand?’
‘Miss Prissy didn’t raise her hand. How come she got to tell everybody how rich her mother is?’
Mr Ryan looks flustered, ‘From now on, anybody who wants to say something raises their hand first.’
‘I’m gonna try this now … oops, I forgot.’ Billy waves his hand frantically. Then he licks his paper. ‘Yuck!’ he screeches.
‘Ah …’ Mr Ryan exclaims, ‘looks like we got ourselves a taster.’
The rest of us, except for Olivia, lick our papers. Tiffany’s face screws up in disgust but I can’t taste anything. I feel a sliver of envy at being left out.
After the cries of ‘eew’ and ‘blerk’ die down Mr Ryan gets everyone who could taste the paper to raise their hands. ‘Around fifty percent,’ Mr Ryan says in a satisfied voice, ‘a statistically normal group.’
That’s a relief, I think grumpily. Don’t know why it’s made me so narky, that I can’t taste bitterness.
‘Now,’ Mr Ryan says, turning to the white-board, ‘I want you to copy down this information. It’s all about genetics, and yes, you will be tested on it.’ He begins to scribble about a million words a minute in green marker.
‘Write another note,’ Olivia whispers to me.
‘What for?’ I’ve only managed to copy about half a dozen of Mr Ryan’s green words and he’s already got a paragraph on the board.
‘That bitch isn’t gonna get away with making fun of me in front of the whole class.’
‘Yeah,’ Tiffany says, ‘your notes are the best.’
‘Go on, Kaitlin, we gotta teach her a lesson.’
‘But …’ I feel like crying. It’s true we can research our debate at home, but this is different. ‘He sa
id we were gonna be tested on this,’ I say. ‘We better write it down.’
‘Girls!’ Mr Ryan turns from the board, green marker poised, ‘are you copying this down, or planning your social lives?’
‘I guess we’d better do it.’ Tiffany begins to write. Olivia does, too, but after one sentence she pushes her exercise book in front of me. It says, Do the note at lunchtime.
I write back, I can’t. I have to leave then. Mum is picking me up to go to Canberra.
Olivia sighs. Then she writes in an exasperated way, Have it done by MONDAY.
I’m dozing off in the big, comfy chair in the corner of Dad and Sarah’s light-filled lounge room. A copy of The Tar Baby, which I just read to Jake, is still in my lap. Sarah’s gone off to have a nap, leaving Alice in her bassinette under the tall window across the room. Dad’s clattering in the kitchen, clearing up our lunch stuff.
‘Alith!’ Jake’s reedy voice slices through my sleepiness. ‘Wake up!’
‘Jake, no!’ I’m supposed to be watching him and look what he’s done. He’s pushed his little stool over next to Alice’s bassinette and he’s reaching in …
I bound over just in time to see him gently pry open Alice’s left eyelid.
‘Jake,’ I scold, grabbing his hand, ‘you’re not supposed to touch babies’ eyes.’
‘She sleeped enough!’
‘No, she didn’t. Sarah just put her down a few minutes ago. She’ll be really grumpy if you wake her up now.’
‘See,’ Jake says calmly, ‘she isn’t grumpy.’
I look into the bassinette. Alice, dressed only in a nappy and a tiny singlet that shows her fat tummy, grins up at me like anything. She waves her miniature fists, kicks her legs and makes these gorgeous little noises she didn’t know how to do when I was here before.
‘I guess you’re right,’ I say to Jake. ‘She isn’t grumpy.’
‘What’s up?’ Dad comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a tea towel.
‘I think they’re too excited to have a nap,’ I say. ‘Naps are for nerds!’ Jake yells.
‘I wish we’d never read him that particular book,’ Dad comments.
‘Let’s go to the playground,’ Jake suggests.
Dad looks resigned as he tickles Alice’s stomach. ‘She’s not likely to go back to sleep now,’ he says.
I know how much Dad likes his rests on Saturday afternoons. ‘I could take them,’ I volunteer.
‘Yeah!’ Jake dances around like a happy dog about to go for a walk. ‘Kaitlin can take me on the flying fox and we can climb the fort and Alith can go on the see-saw!’
Dad puts on the front pack that he carries Alice in. ‘I’ll come, too,’ he says, his voice more awake now. He reaches into the bassinette and picks Alice up. ‘It’s not every day I get to go to the park with both of my beautiful daughters.’
‘At least your dad won’t have any trouble getting Jake to sleep,’ Sarah says.
‘Yeah,’ I agree, ‘he ran around like a maniac all afternoon.’ My head is still ringing with, Kaitlin, look at me! And Kaitlin, watch this! Not to mention I’m the king of the castle and you’re the dirty rascal!
It’s very peaceful here in comparison. Sarah brought me and Alice to this vegetarian restaurant near the university for what she calls a girls’ night out. It’s kind of a hippie place, with beaded curtains and notices for rooms to rent and books about spirituality. Sarah likes it because there’s a sign on the front window that says, Breastfeeding Welcome. Plus the food is delicious. I’m having a chickpea curry with a lot of little side-dishes and Sarah’s got veggie lasagne.
‘Yum,’ Sarah says, closing her eyes in appreciation as she bites into a slice of warm garlic bread. ‘I wish Ali would take pity on me and stay asleep until we finish eating.’
‘She looks pretty zonked,’ I say. We’re in a wooden booth with high backs. I’m sitting across from Sarah. Ali’s still strapped into her car capsule, perched on the seat next to Sarah. There’s a candle in the middle of the table, flickering against the dark wood, making it seem like the three of us are enclosed in our own little world.
‘She’s the picture of peace now.’ Sarah reaches over to pinch a forkful of my curry. ‘But babies have special radar that wakes them up when their mothers begin a nice meal.’
‘Maybe she got so exhausted at the playground it’ll override the radar.’
‘Let’s hope so!’
Sarah savours several bites of her lasagne, then takes a sip of her iced tea and says, ‘Tell me about these new friends of yours.’ She looks at me as if there’s nothing she’d rather do than listen to my answer.
‘Well,’ I say, feeling warm with pride as well as good food, ‘Olivia’s sort of the leader of our group. She’s got long black hair and she’s really pretty. Her room is huge with all this cool stuff in it. Tiffany’s the prettiest. She’s got a bunch of pets and she’s interested in animal rights.’
I take some cucumber slices from one of my side dishes, thinking how it was the greatest feeling in the universe to describe those cool girls who are actually my friends. And I saved the best till last. ‘Olivia and Tiffany are models,’ I say.
I wait for Sarah to comment on that, but instead she says, ‘I thought there were three of them. Isn’t that what you told me on the phone?’
Sometimes I wish she wouldn’t listen quite so well. ‘Umm … Charlotte kind of decided to drop out of our group.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’
‘Because she, well, she … she got these other two friends.’
‘That happens sometimes,’ Sarah says sympathetically.
I don’t feel so great anymore. What if I end up like Charlotte? Right now they could be sitting beside Tiffany’s pool, saying how I’ve failed the trial because I chose this over their party. I’d better write Charlotte an exceptional note to make up for it.
‘Kaitlin?’
‘Yeah?’ I look at Sarah in the candlelight.
‘Just remember they’re lucky to have you, too.’
Alice begins to stir. It’s a good thing Sarah managed to finish most of her lasagne while I was talking about my friends. She swallows the last bit as Alice starts to howl. ‘Okay, possum,’ Sarah says, pulling the velcro strap off Ali’s middle and lifting her out of the capsule, ‘it’s your turn now.’
Sarah takes Alice in her arms, unbuttons her shirt and Alice’s cries turn to quiet little sucking noises. I love watching her drink.
‘Want some dessert?’ Sarah asks me.
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Oh, come on. They make the yummiest blackberry cobbler. I’m still hungry, but then I’m always hungry with this little vampire gorging herself.’
‘Okay, I guess I used up a few kilojules running after Jake.’
Sarah takes a scarlet serviette out of the chunky wood dispenser and wipes her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got too many hormones!’ Sarah smiles even as more tears form. ‘It’s just … sometimes I feel guilty about your dad leaving you and your mum. But,’ she blows her nose, ‘at the same time I feel so blessed to have him. I can’t imagine a better soulmate than him. And I’m so lucky to have you, too!’
Now I feel like crying. Sarah goes on, ‘It’s such a bonus that my children get to have you as their big sister.’
‘Of all the past, present and future fatheads, idiots, imbeciles, mushrooms, morons, hare-brains and chipmunk-cheeks …’ Tiffany’s laughing so much that her porcelain complexion has turned to the colour of strawberry jelly.
Olivia grabs the silver book off Tiffany. ‘Look at this one,’ she giggles. ‘Hit your head on a corner of tofu and DIE!’
‘That’s stupid,’ I say, but I’m still grinning. Now that we’re back in our spot beside the veggie garden, I’m not so scared that I’ll fail the trial. Last night when Dad took me to the airport, we had some time to spare so we looked around the shops. He said I could choose a book to read on the plane home. It must have be
en fate that led me to The Insult and Curse Book.
When Dad saw it he said, ‘Wouldn’t you rather have a novel?’ I didn’t like to tell him that insults and curses were just what I needed.
‘Did you get that note written?’ Olivia asks me.
‘Sure did. I wrote it on the plane. I used some stuff from the book but I kind of changed it around and added bits.’
‘Let’s see it!’ Tiffany holds out her hand.
I carefully extract the folded sheet of purple paper from my pocket and give it to her. She reads:
‘Dear Farting Insect,
How dare you make fun of Olivia, you low-life trapeze artist! You seem to have taken a few whacks from the stupid stick. It’s a good thing you didn’t say it directly to us, as more of your conversation would infect our brains. You are the rankest sow in town, and your eyebrows look like African caterpillars. Don’t mention any of us in front of the class again or we will have you stuffed and mounted.
From You Know Who
PS We have seen better-looking faces on pirate flags.’
Tiffany stops reading, and both of my friends are silent. My heart feels like a cold stone. They don’t like the note. It’s too old-fashioned. It’s just plain stupid. Then Olivia throws her arms around me and cries, ‘Kaitlin, you’re the best writer I’ve ever read!’
I never knew a school corridor could be this empty, and this scary. Charlotte dobbed us in! Specifically she dobbed me in, because both notes are in my hand-writing. I’m walking behind a skinny, pimply boy who looks like he’s in year eight. He came to our English class a couple of minutes ago and said to Mrs McBain, ‘I have to take Kaitlin Williams to the co-ordinators’ office.’
I feel like I’m watching a TV show about a school where a girl’s in trouble. How could this be me? I never went into my primary school office except to help out. Mainly to make sure I’m still real, I catch up to the boy and say, ‘How come they sent you to get me?’
Term in Year Seven Page 10