by Carly Nugent
I looked over at Rhea Grimm. She was still facing the window. I picked up my bag and my jacket and got ready to get off the bus before she did. I knew exactly what to do and where to go, because Aunt Sally always complains (in lots of detail) about how annoying it is to change from the bus to the train. In case you ever need to know, changing from the bus to the train goes like this:
1) You get off the bus and go down under the bridge and up the other side onto Platform 1.
2) You look for the train.
3) You look at your ticket to see which car you are in. If your ticket says ‘unreserved’ it means you are in the last car, and you can sit in any seat you want.
4) You get on the train. (If you are trying to avoid someone else who is also going to be getting on the train you sit next to a window and huddle yourself up against it.)
Because I had practised these steps over and over in my head the night before (except for the bit about avoiding someone) I thought I was really ready to change from the bus to the train. I got off the bus faster than anyone else, and ran-walked down the hill and under the bridge. But when I came up the other side there was no train on the platform.
Panic started rising in my stomach like a shaken-up can of soft drink. I knew Rhea Grimm was somewhere under the bridge behind me, and there was no one to ask for help. I started to wish more than anything that I had someone with me, like Diana or Jonas, or even Simon. I looked up and down the platform, just in case the train was still coming down the tracks. It wasn’t. But as I was looking left I noticed a sign. And the sign said:
PLATFORM 2
I turned around. Behind me was another sign, and it said:
PLATFORM 1
And behind that sign was the train.
I quickly got in the last car and sighed with relief. I watched everybody else as they walked along Platform 1. Rhea Grimm was last. The train was starting to whistle like it was getting ready to leave, but Rhea Grimm still wasn’t on it. She was standing on the platform looking down at her ticket, and then up at the train, and then down at her ticket again. For a second I almost felt sorry for her, but then I remembered how she had called my dad crazy and a loser, and how much she had wanted to make me sad. So instead of feeling sorry I closed my eyes for a second and breathed and didn’t-think and tried to feel nothing.
At the last minute a man in an orange vest came over and looked at Rhea Grimm’s ticket. He pointed to the unreserved car. I’ve never seen Rhea Grimm look at someone nicely. Ever. Not even her friends. But when she looked at the man with the orange vest her eyes were so grateful. Really grateful, not in that twisted, slimy way that she is usually grateful, like when she makes someone give her their lunch or their pocket money. I wondered if it was really Rhea Grimm getting on the train with me, or if she had a secret twin sister who was actually nice.
Then another whistle blew, and Rhea Grimm got into the unreserved car, and the train started to chug away from the station with a steady, determined sound.
After a while the scenery started to change. There weren’t so many green paddocks—most of them were brown. And instead of farmhouses there were petrol stations and truck stops. The sky turned slowly from blue to grey, like it was hoping nobody would notice. Then I saw a big stone building that had barbed wire around it and graffiti on the sides. And that was when I knew we were in The City.
I didn’t feel like I was riding in a spaceship anymore. Instead, I had the feeling that I was inside a snake, sliding quietly and steadily along the tracks. I wondered if Rhea Grimm had the same feeling.
These are my four best memories of The City:
1) Driving in the car with Mum and Dad and Diana, and playing I-Spy.
2) Staying at Aunt Sally’s house, which has a big backyard and a cage full of budgerigars.
3) Playing Monopoly and eating lasagne and ice cream.
4) Going to a really big shopping centre and sitting on Santa’s knee and telling him that for Christmas I wanted three books and a bike.
In these memories The City is fun, chirpy and full of presents. But the place that I was sliding through in the train was smoky and huge and confusing. There were big signs for things I had never heard of, like Housing Estates and Gentlemen’s Clubs and Bargain Warehouses. There were broken windows and fences, and lots of houses and parks with grass that wasn’t cut. And there were so many people walking and driving and running and bike riding but none of them stopped to say hello to anyone else. Nobody paused for even a second to say, ‘Did you see the footy last night?’ or ‘Nice day!’ or ‘How’s Liz?’ I started to wonder—for the first time since I had made my plan to find Jonas—if this was a good idea after all.
When the train stopped I wasn’t sure I wanted to get off it. The people walking along the platform looked like they knew exactly where they were going. They looked like they all had plans, and knew how to carry them out.
I had written down my plan in my notebook. It looked like this:
Step One: Get off the train.
Step Two: Find an Information Booth.
Step Three: Find out how to get to the address I had found on Jonas’s laptop.
Step Four: Go there.
Step Five: Find Jonas.
Step Six: Make him come home.
On the bus I was sure of my plan. On the train I was a little less sure. And now that I was in The City I wasn’t sure at all. Now my plan was getting pecked apart by questions, the way a head of lettuce gets pecked apart by chickens. What if I couldn’t find an Information Booth? What if Jonas wasn’t at the address I had written down? And (this was the question that pecked the hardest) even if I found Jonas, what if he refused to come home?
I wished more than anything that I had somebody to ask these questions to. But there was only me. I suddenly felt more alone than I ever had in my whole life.
I sat in my seat for so long that I was the last person on the train. Or at least, I thought I was the last person. But then I heard someone crying softly behind me. I turned around. The person crying had brown hair in a ponytail and lots of jangling bracelets. The person crying was Rhea Grimm.
I wondered if I should make a break for it while she was distracted. I could get off the train and quickly walk to the end of the platform without looking back. But when I picked up my backpack I remembered Grandpa. I thought about how Grandpa would feel if he saw me walking away from someone who was crying—even a usually-very-mean someone. I thought about how I had Aunt Sally’s phone number in my notebook, and if something really bad happened (like if Rhea Grimm beat me up and stole all my money) I could ask someone to call her. And these two thoughts together made me stand up and turn around and reveal myself to Rhea Grimm.
She didn’t notice me at first because her eyes were all fogged up. When she finally wiped her eyes and saw me, I almost ran away, because that is what I usually do when Rhea Grimm sees me. But I thought about Grandpa and stood my ground. Rhea Grimm sniffed. Hard.
‘Andersen,’ she said. There was much less meanness in her voice than usual. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for Jonas,’ I said, because right then I couldn’t think of anything better to say than The Truth. ‘Are you okay?’
Rhea Grimm rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and said—with a little more meanness this time—‘I’m fine. Stop staring at me.’
‘All right,’ I said, and I started to turn around. Rhea Grimm had sniffed back all her tears, so I wouldn’t have been walking away from someone who was crying now.
I was halfway to the door when Rhea Grimm said, ‘Cassie. Wait.’
That was the first time Rhea Grimm had ever called me Cassie. I was so surprised that I turned back. Then Rhea Grimm did something else she had never done before. She smiled at me. It was a weak, watery smile, but it was real. It was a smile that said, ‘Don’t leave me here.’ And something inside me sagged with relief, because I really didn’t want to be alone in the train station either.
For a minute nothing happene
d. Then a man with a big plastic bag walked past us and picked up some rubbish.
‘Maybe we should get off,’ I said, and Rhea Grimm nodded. We got our backpacks and stepped out the door and onto the platform. It was much colder outside the train, and sounds that had been muffled before were now very loud and clear. Rhea Grimm breathed out a long sigh, and I knew how she felt. And how she felt was that getting off a train was a lot like climbing to the top of a mountain.
After we had stood on the platform for a while—feeling puffed-out from getting off the train and cold—Rhea Grimm said, ‘I’m starving.’ I realised I was, too, and so we followed our stomachs through the station to a small cafe. Rhea Grimm had some money, and she bought us both hot chocolates and toasted cheese sandwiches (I was still too scared of Rhea Grimm to tell her that I was sick of toasted cheese). The woman at the counter smiled at us and asked if we were sisters.
I was about to say no, but Rhea Grimm was faster than me. ‘Yes,’ she said.
When we sat down she whispered, ‘Just pretend. It’s less suspicious.’
My hot chocolate was really hot and tasted more like milk than chocolate. I burned my tongue on the first sip, and after that I couldn’t taste anything (which I was upset about because Rhea Grimm was eating her toasted cheese sandwich so fast it must have been the most delicious toasted cheese sandwich ever). When she was finished she wiped her mouth with a serviette and put her elbows on the table and stared at me. I took a bite of my sandwich and a really stringy piece of melted cheese got stuck between the bread and my mouth. It kept getting longer and longer and wouldn’t break. Having someone like Rhea Grimm stare at you while you have a piece of cheese hanging from your teeth is one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. The longer the cheese got the more I expected Rhea Grimm to say something mean like ‘Hey, Booger Lips’ or ‘Nice one, Cheese Face.’ But she didn’t say anything. Until the cheese finally broke and I quickly piled it all into my mouth and chewed and swallowed. Then Rhea Grimm said, ‘Where’s Jonas?’
I showed her the address in my notebook and told her about my plan to find an Information Booth. She didn’t look very interested, so I was surprised when she said, ‘Let’s go, then.’
I put the rest of my sandwich on its plate and pushed it towards the salt and pepper shakers. I was too surprised (and tongue-burnt) to eat anymore.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Rhea Grimm said, picking up my sandwich.
‘To find Jonas?’
‘Yeah.’ She took a bite.
‘Frog Eyes?’
‘Yes.’ She was chewing, so it sounded more like ‘es’.
‘The boy who threw tomato sauce and peanut butter balloons at you?’
‘I know who Jonas is.’
I wondered for a moment if Rhea Grimm wanted to find Jonas so she could get back at him for the balloon incident. I couldn’t ask her, though, because if that was her plan she would probably just lie. I had to catch her off guard.
‘Why were you on the train?’ I asked.
Rhea Grimm sort of curled up into herself, which is pretty hard to do when you’re sitting in a train station cafe, but she managed it. ‘It’s personal,’ she said.
I nodded. I knew about Personal. Personal was what Diana wrote in the diary under her mattress. Personal was Mum’s list in her bedside drawer. Personal was Dad going to The Clinic. I was suspicious of Personal, but I was also worried about finding Jonas in The City on my own. So I said, ‘All right, you can come,’ and I decided to keep an eye on her.
We found an Information Booth. It had streaky windows and a woman inside. I showed the woman—who was very round with light brown hair and bright red lipstick—the address in my Notebook for Noticing. She looked at us a little strangely at first, but then Rhea Grimm held my hand in a sisterly sort of way, and the woman smiled.
‘That’s not too far,’ she said. ‘You can take a tram.’ She told us which number and we paid for our tickets and then she pointed to the Exit. It was a big wide opening, like something enormous had taken a large bite.
Suddenly the station felt very familiar compared to the big city outside. The tracks felt like old friends, the platform felt like the Bloomsbury main street, the cafe felt like Mum’s kitchen. I looked at Rhea Grimm, and we started walking.
The Department of Human Services was a big grey building on the corner of a small grey street. The tram dropped us off right outside, and for a minute Rhea Grimm and I stood on the footpath and stared up at the rows of dark windows. I thought about how long ago the six-a.m. bus felt. My plan only had two steps left: Step Five: Find Jonas, and Step Six: Make him come home.
The Department of Human Services had automatic sliding doors, and inside them was a big room with waiting chairs and tables and a Help Desk with a man behind it. I asked the man how to get to Adoption and Permanent Care.
‘Fifth floor,’ he said, and leaned across his desk. He was looking at us like we were some kind of rare species of animal. ‘Where’s your mum?’
‘Outside,’ Rhea Grimm said. She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the lift. ‘She’s just having a cigarette.’ Before the man could ask us any more questions we were in the lift and going up.
On the fifth floor there was a smaller room with chairs and tables covered in brochures and magazines. There was another desk, too, except the sign above this one said Documents and Records. I opened my Notebook for Noticing to double-check. At the bottom of the page, underneath the address, I had written:
Department of Human Services
Adoption and Permanent Care
Applying for Documents and Records
And I knew we were in the right place.
The lady at this desk had brown hair with bits of grey in it, and glasses. She didn’t smile at us. Her name tag said ‘Lynda’.
‘Hello, Lynda,’ I said, because Mum says it’s polite to use people’s names if you know them. Then I gave Lynda my description of Jonas, which I had been practising in my head for the whole tram ride.
My description of Jonas went like this: ‘We are looking for a boy. His name is Jonas Alan Mallory and he just turned twelve years old. He is a bit taller than me and he has brown hair. He wears glasses even though he doesn’t really need to, because he thinks they make him look like Stephen Hawking, who is his favourite scientist. He is very smart for his age. He is especially good at science and maths, and he can read and write at a Year Seven level. His favourite animals are sharks, and he knows lots of interesting facts. Have you seen him?’
Lynda looked at me without saying anything (or smiling) for a long time. Then she said, ‘Where are your parents?’
‘Mum’s outside,’ Rhea Grimm said. ‘She just had to have a smoke.’ Rhea Grimm gave Lynda the same look my mum gives people when she is complaining about Simon digging up the garden. It’s a grown-up look that means I’m really not happy about this situation, but what can I do? I thought Rhea Grimm did a pretty good job of this look, but I don’t think Lynda agreed. She went on frowning, and then she turned and yelled into a small room behind the desk: ‘Sam!’
Another woman appeared. She had a pink jacket and soft brown hair that was almost red. She wasn’t wearing a name tag but I knew her name was Sam, because Lynda had just yelled it.
‘Hello, Sam,’ I said, and then I repeated my description of Jonas. By the time I got to the end—the bit about the sharks and Jonas knowing lots of facts—my voice was shaking. I was sure that when I finished Sam and Lynda would tell us to leave, or call the police or our parents, or all of the above. We would never find Jonas, and he would never know that I had figured out his clue.
But then Sam said, ‘Interesting facts? Like, did you know the bullfrog is the only animal that never sleeps?’
‘Yes!’ I said. I was so happy to hear one of Jonas’s facts coming out of Sam’s mouth that I wanted to jump over the desk and hug her. But I didn’t. Instead I said, ‘Is he here?’
‘He was here,’
Sam said. When she said the word ‘was’ my stomach started to get heavy. ‘Was’ is a past-tense word. It means had been, but isn’t anymore. ‘He came in yesterday morning. He said he was doing a school project. Are you girls from the same class?’
‘Yes,’ I said, in a voice like a sigh. Yesterday was so long ago.
‘Did you tell him anything?’ Rhea Grimm asked.
‘Not really,’ Sam said. ‘He wanted names and addresses. We’re not allowed to give out information like that.’
‘Did he say anything before he left?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Sam said, ‘but he had a terrible blood nose.’
My insides felt like an elastic band that had been pulled really tight and then suddenly snapped back. Just a few minutes ago on the tram I had been full of hope. Now I was full of nothing.
‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, girls,’ Sam said.
‘It’s okay,’ Rhea Grimm said. ‘We have to go back to school now.’
And then we were in the lift, and then we were on the ground floor, and then we were on the footpath again. And when we got there I didn’t know what to do, because I had no Jonas. And no plan.
We sat on a bench at the tram stop. I tried my hardest to think like Jonas. I imagined that it was Jonas sitting on this hard metal tram-stop bench staring at his hands, and not me. I imagined that it was Jonas’s watch on my wrist, and not mine (this was easy, since Jonas and I had synchronised our watches for the stake-out, so I knew they were telling exactly the same time). Then I tried to understand what it would have felt like for Jonas to come to the big grey Department of Human Services building all by himself. I tried to understand what it would have felt like for him to go up to the fifth floor, looking for his real parents, and then to hear Sam say, ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.’ I tried to understand what he must have been thinking, with his head tilted back to keep his nose from bleeding all over Adoption and Permanent Care. And I tried to figure out where he would have gone next.