I'll Tell You Mine

by Pip Harry

  ‘A bit,’ Lou concedes. ‘But Maddy told everyone it was just an accident. That you didn’t mean to do it. She’s been going from room to room all night.’

  ‘Maddy said that?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. Course. Why wouldn’t she?’

  I push away my plate. ‘Where is she now?’

  16

  Maddy is texting in the third-floor bathroom. She looks at me dismissively and continues typing. ‘You’ve been found,’ she says. There’s a long silence, broken only by the flushing of a toilet and a Year Nine girl making a hasty retreat from the room.

  ‘I’m so sorry about before,’ I say. ‘I should never have blamed you. I just didn’t know how else it got out. I hadn’t seen the story yet.’

  ‘I would never, ever have told. You’re my best friend.’

  ‘I know. I should’ve trusted you.’

  ‘I’m sorry about having sex with Nate,’ she says, looking at her feet. ‘I didn’t know you liked him and I don’t remember much. I was off my face. He had that girlfriend too. Jemina? Suppose I should say sorry to her too. Or maybe she should just get a leash for him.’

  I think back to that night and everything all falls into place. Finding Nate and Maddy alone in the bedroom. Maddy half dressed and Nate’s desperation to leave the room. The way he ignored Maddy at my birthday dinner.

  ‘I don’t really care,’ I tell her. It’s true. I don’t. I’ve got Lachy now.

  ‘You know I can’t stay in the boarding house for the next two years if you’re not my friend,’ I say.

  Maddy looks at me, confused. ‘What do you mean, the next two years? I thought you were going home at the end of the term?’

  The decision comes so easily I barely give it a second thought. ‘I’m staying. I thought maybe we could get a room together?’

  ‘I already told Lou I’d be sharing with her but I heard Harriet and Jess were looking for someone.’

  For a second I believe her until a cheeky smile breaks across her face. ‘Then again,’ she says, ‘we could always get a three room.’

  I become a mini-celebrity for a few days. Today Tonight does a story on teen violence, and asks Mum and me to do an interview. They even offer us some money. Mum says get lost, in her official politician way, so they just run the old story and have the reporter standing outside Norris talking about how teen violence isn’t confined to lower income neighbourhoods and it’s happening at the very poshest schools. Blah blah blah.

  Mum’s statement gets printed in the paper and she asks the media to respect my privacy. Which is brilliant, seeing as that’s what I’ve been asking her to do for years. They don’t respect anything – the paps get another photo of me, sticking a long lens over the wall of the sports field as I’m waiting to whack a cricket ball down the field. I’ve got dorky white shin pads on and a hard hat. They run that.

  After a week, though, the story is nowhere to be seen, and everyone at school has moved on. The new big, fat juicy gossip is that Jess was spotted kissing some girl with a crewcut and tatts in Brunswick Street. Harriet and the others seem to think she’s cooler, now that’s she’s out. She’s started wearing combat pants and muscle tees around the boarding house and doesn’t even bother pretending she doesn’t have the hots for Harriet.

  I know how she feels. Now that everyone knows what I am and why I was sent to the boarding house I don’t have to be like a closed shell, scared to be prised open. The open wound I used to have feels like a crusty scab that’s growing over. Eventually I hope that scab will become a faded white scar, like Mum’s nose piercing, that you can only see if you get in real close, and even then it’s hard to spot.

  *

  Speech night. We all know the drill. Polished shoes and blow-dried hair. Endless hymns, announcements and awards. One long end-of-year sedative. But this time I have reason to sit up and pay attention, instead of slouching down the back secretly listening to my iPod. After the Year Nine awards for excellence and before the school sports achiever of the year are the progress awards. They are given out to the motley crew who manage to turn their year around from being a total train wreck. Horse is very proud of us for averting failure. She can’t stop smiling and giving us the thumbs up.

  Serina, Renée and I are sitting together waiting for our names to be read out. We’re all a bit stunned to find ourselves included in this illustrious group of prefects, suck-ups and geeks. We are not known as achievers and have all spent time picking up litter by the tennis courts and wagging the last period on a Friday.

  ‘How weird is this?’ laughs Serina, who’s getting a progress award for French after going from an E average to a B+.

  ‘Totally bizarre,’ I agree. ‘I never thought I’d get an award for anything, right?’

  ‘My parents are stoked,’ she says. ‘They thought maybe I’d have to drop out and get a trade.’

  ‘Mine too.’ Mum nearly had a heart attack when I told her and Dad is recording the whole night right behind me.

  My name is first. I can scarcely believe the words that are coming out of our principal’s mouth. Nor can she, I bet. ‘For progress in English and History, Kate Elliot. And Kate is also our winner of the school writing competition for her graphic novel entitled, G-Girl Strikes Back! It’s printed in your school magazines, which will be distributed in the lobby this evening. Congratulations, Kate.’

  I won the writing prize. I climb the stairs in shock, shaking her hand and taking the envelope. I clutch it and look out to the crowd, seeing Mum, Dad, Grandma and Liv clapping. Dad holds up the camcorder, puts his fingers between his lips and wolf whistles like he’s at a rock concert. He gets a few sharp looks from the parents around him. A few rows back, Lachy sits with his dad. He’s wearing a shirt and a tie and he looks older than I remember. I can hardly believe he’s mine too.

  I run my finger down the heavy school emblem on the front, and my embossed name underneath it. Kate Elliot, prize winner. Who would have thought?

  Behind me, Maddy pokes me with a fake fingernail. She managed to scrape by in her exams, nearly failing English but managing to pull a D. She’s sworn to become a supernerd next year and her dad’s giving her one last shot to stay at Norris. ‘Hey, G-Girl,’ she whispers. ‘Congratulations.’

  To finish the night, our principal announces the cast of the school musical will be performing ‘You’re the One That I Want’, from Grease. ‘The show will open in first term next year but this is a sneak preview.’

  The lights go down and the cast file on stage, dressed in cheesy fifties gear. Lou looks great in a pink shirt and shiny jacket. She’s draped all over her on-stage boyfriend, Richard Fuller, and for a few minutes I believe she’s the snappy American teenager, Rizzo. Especially when she plants a kiss on Kenickie that looks suspiciously real. She smiles dizzily at him as they wind up the number with lots of magic fingers and ooo, ooo, ooo honeys.

  If ever there was a night for misfits, losers and wallflowers – tonight is it.

  It’s packed in the lobby. Girls mill around with their parents, signing each other’s magazines, squealing as they find photos of themselves. People actually want me to autograph the story I wrote, like I’m a famous author or something. Miss Horsell hands me a copy of hers. ‘Make it out to your favourite English teacher,’ she says.

  ‘This might be worth a lot of money on eBay one day,’ I say, taking a pen and looking at the neatly drawn sketches and word bubbles, which are now in the hands of every student in the entire school. I linger over the part that says ‘by Kate Elliot’. It’s the ‘by’ part I really like.

  I sign the story and hand it back. To my favourite teacher. Thank you for helping me not suck. Kate Elliot

  I wander back to Mum, Dad, Olivia and Grandma. Dad puts his arm around me proudly. ‘My daughter, the writer,’ he says.

  Harriet stands next to us with her parents,
wearing a shiny new prefect badge and blazer pocket. She doesn’t look nearly as elated as I thought she would, having scooped the biggest school honour, along with just three other Year Tens – Emma Cobb, Abi Patel and Rebecca Leung. Next year, Harriet will sit on the school council and get to boss everyone around. She’ll get to pounce on unsuspecting students at gate duty for not wearing the right coloured ribbons or socks. She’ll be an example of the very best Norris has to offer. It’s what she’s wanted since Year Seven. But is she happy now?

  She catches my eye and smiles. ‘Congratulations, Kate,’ she says. ‘I like your story.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I say. ‘Prefect. You must be stoked.’

  Harriet touches the badge on her chest. ‘I’m not sure it was worth it,’ she whispers. ‘All that work.’

  Harriet’s father pushes his way into our circle. ‘Isabel Elliot?’ he asks Mum. Mum turns to him as he presses his hand into hers, a little too forcefully. ‘Edward Barker. I’ve been following your career for years. I wanted to hear your thoughts on that business with the Premier.’

  I roll my eyes at Dad. People are always coming up to Mum and she’s always doling out vote-winning sound bites.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m off duty. This night is about my daughter,’ Mum tells Harriet’s father. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Barker says, awkwardly shuffling back to his family.

  ‘Wow. No baby kissing tonight?’ asks Dad.

  ‘Not tonight. Hey, show me your story, Kate,’ she asks me. ‘I’d love to read it.’

  A few months ago she would have said that but not actually found time to read the story. Tonight, she sits down, right in the middle of the hall and reads every last word. She even laughs a couple of times.

  ‘G-Girl, hey?’

  ‘It’s just a story, Mum.’

  ‘It’s just an award-winning story now, Kate.’

  After speech night, the tradition is to go out and have coffee and cake with your parents, or even a glass of champagne if you’re a Year Twelve girl. Dad has booked a table at an Italian café in the city and asks me to invite whoever I like.

  Whoever I like is Lou, Maddy, Annie and Lachy. I asked Nate but he didn’t get back to my text. Annie says he’s in the midst of breaking up with Jemina for cheating on her with yet another girl and he’s just sitting around in his room writing sad love songs. We’ll go and cheer him up sometime. But tonight I’m not thinking about anyone but Lachy.

  We’re sitting wedged into a booth, sucking sweet, cold syrup out of lemon granita and sticking forks into huge slabs of cheesecake.

  Lachy tries to fight me for the last bite but I get it. ‘Mmm, delicious,’ I tease. Under the table, his leg presses up against mine and we hold hands.

  Maddy looks at us with an arched eyebrow. ‘Disgusting,’ she mouths.

  We’ve talked about it and she says she’s okay with Lachy and me being a couple, as long as she never has to see us slobber all over each other. So, as much as I want to kiss him, I’m trying to hold back.

  Mum and Dad let Liv stick her fingers into a piece of chocolate cake while they chat to Grandma and Maddy’s dad on another table. Mr Minogue is dressed in a suit and tie – though I can see he’s wearing his Blundstone boots too and his socks are different colours. He’s even making Grandma laugh – which is quite difficult to do.

  Tonight I don’t mind having the oldies around and I don’t think Maddy does either. They’re all so proud of me it’s ridiculous and it makes a nice change from sitting in the naughty corner.

  *

  Lachy and I steal ten minutes alone outside the boarding house after our parents drop us off. Maddy and Lou drift back to their rooms and we linger outside the front gates in the dark. It’s warm and I’m wearing my summer dress, my hair tied back with a black ribbon. If you look closely, the white dots are actually tiny spiders. I’ve got two nights left to pack up all my mess and go home for the holidays. Mum’s taking her time off work and we’ve got the beach house in Blairgowrie and then we’re going to Bali for a week. My parents said Lachy could stay with us at the beach. In the spare room.

  ‘Fully patrolled by me,’ says Dad. ‘There will be no hallway sneaking around. I mean it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I get it,’ I tell him. ‘You’re the nightwatchman.’ I’m absolutely floored that they are allowing a boy, my boyfriend (although we haven’t said that out loud), to sleep under the same roof as me. At night. But this is all part of the new rules. The longer leash my parents have issued me with doesn’t feel quite so choking and tight around my neck.

  Lachy kisses me and holds onto my wrists gently as we press up against the stone wall. Neither of us wants to go. ‘You know I’m only going out with you because you’re famous,’ he says, smiling. ‘In the newspapers, then a prize-winning writer. What else have you got up your sleeve?’

  ‘Seriously, it doesn’t bother you about Mum?’ I ask. I still feel apprehensive about his reaction to that awful newspaper story, even though Maddy assures me he only ever reads the classified section of The Land these days and he would have missed the whole thing if I hadn’t told him about it.

  ‘Kate. You’d have to be a mass murderer to really scare me away,’ he says, putting my fears to rest and reminding me why I like him so much.

  He pulls up his sleeve and shows me a ropey white scar running along his arm. ‘See this? When we were kids, Maddy was chasing me through the house and she accidentally pushed me into a plate-glass window. I got ten stiches. Lost a few litres of blood too. She felt awful. Accidents happen, right?’

  I kiss him and lay my head on the spot between his shoulder and his neck, breathing in his smell. I’ll miss him. Maybe I’m even falling in love with him. I get this insane happy feeling when he’s around and a sick, pining feeling when he’s not. It’s different from Nate. Lachy lets me be close to him in a way Nate never would.

  ‘So, I’ll see you in a few weeks,’ he says. ‘At the beach.’

  ‘Yes, January four,’ I say. ‘Bring your bathers. You do have bathers, don’t you?’

  He laughs. ‘Of course I bloody do.’

  17

  I’m there too early. Excited and nervous at the same time. There’s no shade so I hold a small umbrella over my head to stop the sun nipping at my pale skin. I lift up my sunglasses and peer down the road, looking for the bus. Other kids wait for a ride to a surf beach in the next town. Tanned, with waxy boards under their arms, trading jokes and sporting new Christmas clothes. I used to envy their easy friendships. Not anymore.

  The bus rumbles down the road next to the low line of salt scrub, pulling into the sandy alcove and disgorging day trippers, already greasy with suncream and aching to submerge themselves in the sea water just metres from the bus stop.

  Maddy is off first, wearing the shortest shorts I have ever seen and a tiny pink string bikini. Fake tan stripes on her arms. The guy next to me lets out a low wolf whistle. Maddy hears it and smiles. Mission accomplished.

  Lachy follows her, balancing an overstuffed bag on his strong shoulders. He’s wearing a beach outfit of sorts – a blue wife-beater and a pair of cut-off jeans. He’s still got his workboots on.

  They see me and wave, Maddy smirking and Lachy grinning. Their eyes are the colour of the aqua curve of bay behind them.

  This summer is going to be different. I won’t ask to be driven back to the city. I won’t smoke dope behind the beach boxes or stay inside and read while everyone else is at the beach. I won’t pick fights with Liv. Or sulk. I won’t ask ‘Are we there yet?’ or ‘Can we go now?’ This summer is going to be one of those amazing summers that you see in movies. The kind that stretches out long and golden with a ready-made soundtrack and the taste of salt in your mouth.

  This summer is going to be the best summer of my life.

  Acknowledgements


  A huge thank you to my family for their support and encouragement: John, Mary, Sarah, Nicola and Michael Harry. My partner Dale and our daughter Sophie. The Saynor, Keaney, Buck, Clarey and Kelly families. Grandparents Ken and Bridie McKenzie, and Virginia Braden.

  A special thank you to Margaret McKenzie, who kept me reading and talking about books even when I wasn’t writing.

  To my loudest cheerleaders: Rachel Smith, Rachael Oakes-Ash, Marion Huxley, PM Newton, Joanne Eckermann, Nicole Laing, Gillian Coutts, Nigel Bartlett, Kay Harrison, members of ‘The Beak’ and the UTS writing department.

  Thank you to Sophie Hamley, my brilliant agent, without whom this book would not exist. My publisher Kristina Schulz, the wonderful team at UQP and editor Jody Lee, who made copyedits seem easy.

  Nerrilee Weir, Helen Chamberlin and Melina Marchetta for reading and offering their thoughts.

  Sky Harrison for tips on Gothic culture and writing style, and Tanya Plibersek MP, who generously talked to me about blending political and family life.

  And finally, Kate Hardy, my best friend at MGGS boarding house in 1989.

  First published 2012 by University of Queensland Press

  PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

  www.uqp.com.au

  uqp@uqp.uq.edu.au

  © Pip Harry 2012

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  no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

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  Typeset in 11/15 pt Bembo by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

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