‘I’m an Administrative Assistant.’
‘How’d you get to be that?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s our class’s turn. Two people have to do it every day.’
He made me sound like I was dumb for asking. ‘I know where the co-ordinators’ office is,’ I point out.
‘They said I had to take you there.’
‘You afraid I might escape?’
This boy has no sense of humour. I think of a phrase from my silver book: As bright as a bump on a log.
‘You’re supposed to wait here,’ he tells me solemnly. He points to an alcove outside the coordinators’ office. There’s four padded chairs, two on one side of a coffee table and two on the other side. I sit down and wait. And wait some more. I still can’t believe I’m in trouble and I’ve only been in high school for a month. How long is that co-ordinator going to keep me sitting out here? There aren’t even any magazines here from 1990 to distract me like at the dentist’s office.
I want to be back in Dad and Sarah’s apartment, with the high ceilings and the tall windows. I wish I was back there in that big, comfy chair with Jake in my lap, reading him The Tar Baby for the twenty-fifth time. Which reminds me. How could Charlotte be such a big dibber-dobber baby?
‘I must admit these have some literary merit.’ The co-ordinator, Miss Southwell, is looking at the two notes I wrote. She’s a bit older than Mum, with black glasses and shoulder-length brown hair. ‘You have mixed your metaphors here,’ she says, peering at the first note. ‘You start out addressing Charlotte as a wildebeest, but by the end she’s changed to a fish.’ She quotes, ‘Go suck on some algae.’
I squirm in my chair. Maybe I shouldn’t have confessed I wrote that. She picks up the other note. ‘More of your conversation would infect my brain,’ she says in a posh accent. ‘Shakespeare, I believe?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘I think so.’ I got that bit out of the silver book
‘Young lady!’ Miss Southwell bellows. ‘We will not tolerate bullying at this school!’
I’m so surprised by her yelling and her mean face that I almost start crying. ‘Charlotte sent us a nasty note first,’ I say in a wavery voice.
‘Oh? Where might that be?’
I remember Tiffany crunching it into a ball and tossing it into the air. ‘We threw it away,’ I tell her.
‘Hmm …’ Miss Southwell ponders, her voice level back to normal. ‘Do you have any idea how much these notes hurt Charlotte?’
I wasn’t really thinking about Charlotte when I made up the notes. ‘I wrote them because …’ I stop myself from saying more.
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’ I was going to say, because my friends wanted me to. But I won’t dob them in. No matter what she says, I won’t be a dobber to my own friends.
‘Well,’ Miss Southwell says, ‘if you’re not going to discuss this, I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment.’
What if she gives me an after-school detention? I won’t be able to keep that a secret from Mum like I did the lunchtime one. ‘Don’t tell my mother. Please!’ My voice is even more wavery. ‘She’s just started Weight Watchers and I don’t want her to have a relapse!’
I’m crying for real now. Miss Southwell shoves a box of tissues across her desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sob. I remember all the times in primary school when Mum made me feel better after some girls had snobbed me off or left me out. She never made me talk about it, but she knew. She’d rent a video and we’d sit next to each other on the couch while we ate Chinese take-away. I couldn’t stand it if she found out I’d been mean to someone else. Even if she did deserve it!
‘I really am sorry,’ I say to Miss Southwell, blowing my nose.
‘Charlotte did say the others would have put you up to it.’
‘What? They were all my own ideas in those notes.’
Miss Southwell just looks at me.
‘But I won’t write her any more notes,’ I say quickly.
‘Are you sure? You’re not just saying that to get off the hook?’
‘No, I promise!’
Miss Southwell picks up the notes, tears them into tiny bits and drops them in the bin. ‘We’ll just forget about these then. Everybody makes mistakes. Let’s hope you’ve learned from yours. You’ll be much better off if you save your literary skills for English class.’
I’m surprised at how relieved I am to see the evidence destroyed.
‘I don’t expect you to be friends with Charlotte,’ Miss Southwell says, ‘that’s your decision. Just don’t pick on her any more.’
‘I won’t.’
‘And I think you and your friends should do some environmental duty around the school.’
‘Okay.’
‘You can start with that sticker on Charlotte’s locker. She tore it off, but there’s still a mess left. Come to my office at the beginning of lunchtime and get some cleaning things.’
‘What sticker?’
‘The one that says …’ Miss Southwell consults a handwritten page in front of her, ‘You have killed a baboon and stolen his face.’
I didn’t say Olivia could take that! She asked if she could borrow my book, but she didn’t say anything about ripping out a sticker. There’s a special section in the middle with twenty stickers and I might have had plans for them.
Miss Southwell is waiting for an answer. I won’t dob in my friends. ‘Oh, that sticker,’ I say as if I suddenly remembered its existence, ‘sure, we’ll get it off.’
‘You look nice, Mum. Your stomach’s flatter already.’
‘Thanks, I must have looked pretty gross two weeks ago.’
‘That’s not what I meant!’ I laugh.
She does look good. She got a new yellow shirt to wear with her black skirt and she’s done her hair up in a bun fastened with golden chopsticks. She and Rick are going out for dinner after the Weight Watchers meeting. ‘Won’t you be starving by then?’ I ask.
‘Well I can’t eat before I get weighed.’
‘You could come back and have dinner here. I learned how to make warm chicken salad in cookery class. Have we got any chicken fillets?’
Mum gives me a concerned look. ‘Are you scared to stay alone that long?’
‘No, it’s just …’ I don’t know. I just want her to be here. My brain has felt bruised ever since Miss Southwell yelled at me. But I want Mum to have a good time.
‘I’ll be fine.’ I give her a big smile. ‘I’ve got to work on my speech for the debate, anyway.’
‘How about we come back here for coffee? We could have those little tubs of low fat ice-cream that I bought for an astronomical price.’
‘That’d be good. I can ask Rick whether he thinks people should get a licence before they have kids.’
Olivia and I have the front half of the school for environmental duty. Tiffany is doing the back along with Billy, who got in trouble for drawing a picture of our Italian teacher on his desk with white-out. They have more litter to pick up because that’s where the smokers and big kids with smirks on their faces hang out. But I bet we have more gawkers because people out here are bigger sticky-beaks.
‘This sucks,’ Olivia says, plucking up a gum wrapper with her tongs and dropping it into the plastic bag she’s carrying. ‘Little baby dibber dobber Charlotte! Let’s put that sticker on her locker that says she’s a foul, filthy cabbage-head.’
‘I don’t really think we should,’ I say weakly.
‘Just kidding!’ Olivia pokes my shoulder with her tongs. ‘We’ll think of something more inventive next time.’
Yesterday I was kind of mad at Olivia for taking that sticker without asking, but at least she gave me back my book before she ripped out any more.
‘Hey!’ An older boy standing with his mates waves an empty pie wrapper at Olivia. ‘You can pick up my papers anytime.’ He’s muscly and tanned, as if he spent the summer on the beach playing volleyball.
‘Forget about the papers,’ his friend says. ‘Pick
me up!’ The third one just grins.
Olivia ignores them. She walks up to a group of chubby year nine or ten girls sitting next to a flowerbed and holds out her plastic bag. They drop in their wadded-up cling wrap and chip packets, their eyes narrowing as they take in Olivia’s perfect figure, her long legs and silky hair.
It’s fun walking around with her, but it makes me feel kind of invisible. While everyone notices Olivia, they ignore me. Not many people out here would know she’s a model, but somehow they still sense she’s special. It’s like she’s surrounded by a silvery light.
‘There’s your ex-boyfriend.’ Olivia points her tongs towards the basketball court. Matthew catches the ball from Billy, dribbles a few paces and shoots. It sails through the basket, barely touching the ring. Seeing him unexpectedly, I realise how much taller and slimmer Matthew’s grown. He looks our way. At last someone is going to call out to me.
But he doesn’t. I’m sure he saw me, but he turns back to his game without even a wave.
‘Kaitlin!’ a boy’s voice calls out.
Olivia grabs my arm, ‘It’s him! It’s James!’
Olivia drags me over to where James is leaning against a tree. He’s with another boy, and a girl wearing a diamond stud in her nose.
‘What name did you think of to call the teacher this time?’ James asks me.
Olivia and I laugh. ‘We called another girl a name,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ Olivia adds, ‘we called her a farting insect, a slimy bottom-feeder and a filthy cabbage head.’
‘Whew,’ James whistles. ‘I hope you never get mad at me.’
‘We’d only call you good names,’ I say over my shoulder as we walk away. James is like a bazillion times cooler than Matthew, anyway.
‘Hey, Kaitlin,’ Olivia says, ‘how do you know when a Vietnamese kid’s been to your house?’
‘How?’
‘The dog’s gone and your homework’s done.’
‘That’s racist,’ I giggle.
‘Only half of it,’ Olivia argues. ‘The homework part is true.’
I look around and see who prompted her joke. Vi and La are sitting on the front steps of the school. ‘I bet they’re working on their debate right now, scheming how to beat us.’ Olivia picks up a Mars Bar wrapper. ‘They never waste a minute having fun.’
‘Have you done anything on your speech yet?’ I ask her.
‘Nah, maybe I will tonight.’
‘I talked to my dad about it when I was in Canberra. And my stepmother. She teaches psychology at ANU so I reckon we can quote her as an expert.’
‘I’ve got an idea!’ Olivia takes my hand and leads me towards the steps. ‘Vi and Va!’ She plonks down beside them. ‘How ya goin’?’
‘Vi and La,’ I correct her.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Olivia claps her hand over her mouth. Vi and La look at her like she’s a TV character that’s just dropped into their lives. I feel awkward just standing here with my plastic bag of garbage dangling from my hand. I look around and don’t see any yard-duty teachers to order us back to work, so I sit down. Olivia says, ‘You guys have done heaps of research on parent licences, huh?’
Vi and La nod warily.
‘So could we borrow it?’ Olivia asks brightly.
Vi and La look confused. The way I feel.
‘We only need the research,’ she explains. ‘We’ll make up our own points. Won’t we, Kaitlin?’
I see. She wants to use their work to find arguments for our side. Not a bad idea, except …
‘No,’ La says.
‘Oh, come on,’ Olivia wheedles, ‘you guys are so smart, you can afford to lend us a little information.’
‘You do your own work,’ Vi frowns.
‘But we haven’t had time to read all those books and go on the Internet like you have.’
‘Because you talk too much,’ La states.
Olivia’s beautiful eyes cloud with anger. ‘Don’t get snappy with us,’ she orders, ‘just because we’re not super nerds like you!’
Olivia’s icy voice makes my heart pound. La looks startled, but not scared. Neither does Vi. She stares at Olivia and says evenly, ‘You know nothing. My mother stuffs crackers.’
‘Huh?’ Olivia smirks. ‘Your mother stuffs what?’
‘My mother stuffs Christmas crackers with riddles and little toys and paper hats!’
‘She should get a real job,’ Olivia suggests casually.
‘She doesn’t speak English. She’s afraid to leave our house!’ I see with alarm that there are tears in Vi’s eyes. And her even voice is cracking. ‘My mother sits at the table till three in the morning, stuffing and stuffing and stuffing. They pay her three cents for one cracker. Her fingers hurt. But she keeps working, so my sister and I can have a future!’
‘Gee, she sure stuffs around a lot.’ Olivia’s making Vi sound ridiculous, but I think of the poem she wrote for English. The image has stayed with me all this time: a ball of death ripping apart the summer sky. You want to stitch the perfect blue back together.
‘Olivia,’ I say, ‘let’s just leave them alone.’
‘That’s exactly what I was intending to do.’ Olivia gets up. ‘Leave them alone in Nerd World where they belong!’ She marches off, swinging her plastic bag in one hand and her tongs in the other.
I stand up, but something keeps me from walking away. I reach into my dress pocket, take out a tissue and hand it to Vi. She takes it. As she wipes her eyes, hiding her face, I say to the top of her head, ‘Sorry. Olivia’s kind of used to getting her own way.’ Then I head off to catch up with her.
‘This is just as good as your black forest cake,’ Mum says as she takes another bite of zucchini slice.
‘You can’t really compare them,’ Will says rather gruffly. But I can tell by the look on his face that he’s pleased.
‘I mean they’re in the same league,’ Mum clarifies.
‘The League of Will’s Fine Foods,’ I say.
Will gives me a big wink of appreciation. We’re at his place for dinner, sampling the veggies he’s grown in our back garden.
‘Hey, I’ve got an idea,’ I say. ‘If you convince Eve to come back here, you two could open up a restaurant together.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ he huffs. ‘I don’t fancy washing dishes at midnight.’
‘You can make it a daytime café, like Eve has in England.’
‘That reminds me,’ Mum says to Will. ‘How’s your computer going?’
‘Pretty darn good. Uses up a lot of time, but I guess I’ve got plenty of that.’ He taps the top of his slice. ‘I found this recipe on the internet.’
Will finally bought a computer, partly so he could send e-mails to Eve. Mum helped him decide on the components.
‘Which ISP did you end up signing on with?’ Mum asks.
I wish they would keep talking about food, which keeps my interest better than computers. Ever since lunchtime, if my brain’s not occupied enough, it keeps showing me the picture of Matthew on the basketball court. Looking at me but not saying anything. Not even waving. Snobbing me off like I was the worst person in the world!
Mum and Will are going on about hard drives and patches and the cost of extra memory. They aren’t even making a tiny little effort to include me. Suddenly I recall what Eve told me about how conversations work. You don’t have to wait to be asked a question, you can just plunge in. ‘Listen, you guys,’ I interrupt, ‘do you think people should have to get a licence before they have a baby?’
Mum looks at me like she just remembered she had a daughter. ‘Sorry?’ she says.
Will chuckles. ‘Can you imagine the kind of test you’d have to take?’
‘It is pretty weird when you think about it.’ Mum takes up my conversation topic and runs with it. ‘You have to get a licence to drive a car, or operate a forklift, or go scuba diving, but anybody’s allowed to pop out a new life.’
‘Slow down!’ I don’t want to forget this stuff. ‘Wait till I
go home and get some index cards.’
Mrs McBain is reading the daily bulletin but I’m not really listening. As soon as home group’s over, English class starts, and we have to do our debate. Lucky us, getting picked to go first. My speech is playing over and over again inside my head. I stayed up half the night working on it. Just like Mum! Too bad she threw away her stash of M&M’s. I had to munch on cucumber slices to stay awake.
‘Now!’ Mrs McBain announces, in such a loud and clear voice that it jolts aside my speech. ‘I saved the best till last.’
She’s looking really happy. What could be that good on the daily bulletin?
‘A person in our home group has achieved his goal,’ she says proudly. ‘Stephen has reached the top of the ladder in the chess competition!’
Most of the class applauds as Mrs McBain beams.
‘Good on ya, Stevo!’ Matthew shouts.
Without thinking, I turn to Stephen, catch his eye and give him a thumbs-up. He really has got a great smile.
And Matthew’s looking at me. He’s not smiling, but at least he’s looking.
And so are Tiffany and Olivia, I realise as I turn back to them. They don’t seem too pleased.
The debate’s over. We got wrecked. But we have to keep sitting here, out the front of the class, which is where we gave our debate. Mrs McBain is delivering her adjudication. ‘Tiffany,’ she’s saying, ‘as third speaker you should have concentrated on rebuttal and summary of …’
Blah, blah, blah. She could put what she’s got to say in a lot fewer words. What it basically boils down to is, the negative team was brilliant and the affirmative team was crap. Actually, Mrs McBain said I had heaps of good points, but I didn’t deliver them with passion, and I forgot the team line and the team split.
Bloody Justine remembered everything as their first speaker. I bet Vi and La wrote her speech, and then coached her within an inch of her life on how to say it. Talk about rebuttal! Vi was their third speaker, and she ripped our arguments to shreds. Not that Olivia and Tiffany had many. They mostly giggled and looked beautiful through their speeches. They could have put a bit of effort into finding some points at home, like they said they would.
Term in Year Seven Page 11