by Tiffiny Hall
Chapter 23
Mum is still over the moon; no, she’s flying closer to Jupiter with joy over our new luxury vehicle. Fleur, Dad and I are being rewarded with a cooked breakfast of salt-and-peppery scrambled eggs and toast soldiers. I study Mum’s face as she sits with bills spread out in front of her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the crack in the living room yet. Perhaps she never will, as all the walls require some cosmetic surgery.
The phone rings. Mum answers in a sunny voice, then says, ‘Do I call you and interrupt your breakfast?’ She hangs up. ‘Telemarketers,’ she mutters and returns to the bills. ‘How wonderful to be up to date. Such a relief! I was losing track. And now we’re ahead,’ she pauses, confused, ‘but I can’t remember if I paid these or …’ She fumbles through the papers. ‘Everything seems in order, so …’
‘So will you drop us to school in the new car?’ I ask.
Mum beams.
‘The car is so comfortable inside, can I move in? Live in it? Beats my Harry Potter kind of bedroom,’ Fleur says. ‘Back seat can be my wardrobe, middle seat my beauty parlour, front seat my bed, fully reclined. Done!’ She laughs.
‘You’re a funny girl,’ Dad says over his paper in an unfunny tone. ‘Max, I think we should write that thank-you letter.’
I jump in. ‘I’ll do it today, with Fleur. Together,’ I say. How could he resist his daughters working together as a team?
He nods and grabs Mum’s hand as she places a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of him. He kisses the back of it.
I find Tyler in the library. He pulls a book off a shelf and says, ‘Shazam!’ I snatch the book from him and hold it hostage behind my back. He’s one of those people who use words like ‘bam’, ‘kapow’ and ‘whap’ when performing daily tasks.
‘Good morning to you too,’ he says.
With a wash of panic, I grab his wrist and yank him down so we are both squatting on the floor out of sight and earshot of the other students. He blinks slowly, slow enough for me to count the blinks. The words form on my tongue, but I can’t tell him. It was my hatch. I should have locked it. Security was my responsibility. But how come he didn’t notice Stacey following him? I blame his insect hunting. He’s off in his own little world when searching for flies to fry.
I crack my neck impatiently, then push his book into his chest. He falls off his toes and lands on his bottom on the floor.
‘Watch it! What’s eating you today?’ he asks.
‘You’re annoying me,’ I say. Another lie.
Tyler swallows hard and runs his hand down his book. ‘I seem to have that effect on people.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m angry with myself. Forget it. Whatcha reading?’
‘How to Communicate with Your Bearded Dragon,’ he says. ‘Some interesting facts we should take on board about Socrates. He is bearding all the time — you know, fluffing out his beard — and his beard is black. That’s a sign of frustration and aggression. I think he’s really missing Sibbie.’ Tyler perks up, but I’m not listening.
‘I’m sorry. I have things on my mind. The tree is getting to me. I can’t keep up with the loot,’ I say.
‘I could come over after school and we could do another charity-bin run?’ he suggests. ‘Hey, is something up? You’re acting weird.’
‘Nothing.’ Stacey knows the secret …
‘You sure?’
‘I’m totally fine.’ I’m freaking out …
‘“Fine” never means “fine”,’ he says.
I shrug. ‘Fine’ translates to ‘scared’.
It’s payday for Channing. He is being more polite to me these days. He grunts for a ‘yes’, snarls for a ‘no’ and shrugs for a ‘maybe’. Perhaps he’s one of those kids who are really good on social media but bad at communicating in real life. He has thousands of Instagram and Twitter followers but is low on the 3D friend count. He isn’t allowed a drone as expensive as mine so enjoys piloting my airbot. Everyone knows I own the airspace and that’s all that matters.
Tyler and I lounge on the bench, watching Drop Zone happen on the basketball court. Geez, my old school didn’t have a basketball court; it had a bald oval, a collection of graffiti masterpieces and an occasional blood van that would park in our playground and grown-ups in the area would come and donate blood during lunchtime.
Tyler cups his hand. ‘Incoming,’ he whispers. But I hear them coming before he says so. Josie constantly carries Tic Tacs in her pockets and their rattle always announces she and Stacey are about to make a grand entrance. I look up and all the blonde hair is so bright it reflects into my eyes as a mirror would in the sun.
Stacey and her band of blonde disciples say nothing. One bottle blonde, one tipped, one foiled and one natural all stare down at me. Stacey hands me a magazine picture. She isn’t wearing a bandage, so the cut mustn’t have been that bad after all.
Tyler leans over my shoulder to see the picture. The bottle blonde, who always seems to be sunburnt, elbows Josie, the natural blonde. Kids snatch at the Drop Zone presents in the background. Tyler squirms. I look down reluctantly.
‘How lame. You buy your friends and your boyfriends,’ Stacey says. The magazine picture is a shot of Damian modelling for Ralph Lauren. ‘I called his modelling agency and they confirmed he was hired for a school pick-up.’
My throat seizes. The girls laugh. Tyler takes a sip from his juice box, even though it’s empty.
Stacey shoos the girls off, then sits down between Tyler and me, squeezing herself in. ‘So I was thinking to myself,’ she yawns her arms around us and pulls our shoulders in, ‘how on earth does someone go from rags to riches so quick?’
Tyler’s eyes slide towards me. I can’t look, I can’t breathe, and I feel completely trapped. The kids disperse with their Drop Zone eggs and cookies, scoffing them. No one thanks me today.
‘Everybody knows your mum’s a checkout chick and your dad’s a teacher,’ Stacey continues. ‘That drone alone is worth half your dad’s annual salary. I mean, it makes no sense, wouldn’t you say?’
When I don’t respond, she hugs me into her. She smells of avocado.
Stacey rests her head on my shoulder. ‘Hey hey, gotta ask, got a spare dollar?’
I shake my head.
‘Okay then,’ she says and stands up and takes a few steps away. ‘Oh, one more thing.’ She turns and removes her phone from her pocket. She holds it out to my face, then hits the button and my money tree flashes onto the screen in all its sparkling wildness. ‘What about now?’ she asks, bending down so we are eye level. ‘Listen to me, a branch a day or I post this tonight. You hear me?’
‘I’m hearing you,’ I say. ‘Your family can’t afford your fancy cars, your fancy milkshake-pink wardrobe, your fancy life any more, and you need my tree to fix it.’
‘How’d you know my wardrobe is p—’ Stacey pauses, then her face explodes. ‘You did the cockroaches!’ she shrieks. ‘You did it! I’m literally going to murder you!’
She lunges at me, but Tyler is quick to hold her back. She’s swinging her arms at me and I know if Tyler wasn’t there, she would have punched me for sure. I remain seated and calm, even though the world has flipped upside down and the sky presses down on me, so low I feel as if I could touch it.
When she stops fighting and Tyler finally releases her, I stand slowly and we stare at each other. Her blue eyes burn into my pupils. There’s no running away or hiding. The ultimate ‘so’ has landed.
So this is how it ends …
Chapter 24
‘Stacey saw the tree,’ Tyler says, his voice breaking. Panic transfers from his eyes to my skin in a rash of goosebumps. The bell sounds and kids start to run inside. I begin to move, but he grabs my arm.
‘Kind of,’ I say.
‘And you’re going to do what she wants? After all we’ve been through?’
Tyler doesn’t look angry but disappointed in me. That’s worse.
I look down at my new shoes, then out across at Channing,
who waves at me with my drone. I feel everything rise to the surface. Nothing feels new any more — the stuff we bought, the zillions in cash, not even the adventure. It feels corrupt. I’ve lied myself into a hole with no rope ladder to haul myself up.
‘I’d rather kill the tree than give a branch to Stacey,’ I whisper. Tears threaten. Kids streak past us to get to class. The world blurs and I feel light-headed. Tyler catches me in his arms. Blackness.
I wake up in the nurse’s station. Tyler is sitting next to me, holding my hand. He stares down at me.
‘You had a panic attack again, kid,’ he says.
‘Don’t “kid” me, champ,’ I retort.
‘Don’t “champ” me, tiger,’ he says. ‘Glad you’re feeling better.’
I sit up, feel woozy again and lie back down. ‘Tyler … what am I going to do? Even if I give her a branch every day, there’re no promises she won’t tell. We can’t trust her.’
He thinks hard and pats my hand. ‘And there’re no promises she won’t negotiate herself into having two or three branches a day. You’ll be held ransom for the rest of your life.’
‘Let’s get outta here,’ I say.
‘Out of here? Like school, you mean?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, I need to be with the tree to figure all this out.’
Tyler tells the school nurse I’m feeling much better and he will escort me back to class. I sign out. We walk casually down the corridor past the lockers, past our classroom, then keep walking until we reach reception. We hide under the desk and wait for Mrs Thyme to turn her back, then we run through the sliding doors and out to the staff carpark. We crouch next to the principal’s car. I’m panting hard. Tyler is shaking a bit. If we get caught, we’re in big trouble. We can see the gates across the carpark. All we need to do is sprint through the gates and we’re practically home. Simple. In theory.
‘Hey!’ Mrs Thyme is standing at the reception doors, calling to us.
‘Go!’ I scream.
Tyler and I bolt for the gates. I sprint so hard my feet burn in my shoes, then there’s a squeak behind me and when I turn my dad is holding Tyler by his backpack.
‘Maxi, stop!’ Dad commands. But I can’t. I have to get home to work this all out. I have to be with the tree.
‘Stay here!’ Dad yells at Tyler, then races after me, but I’m too quick. I hurtle out the gates, down the street and dive behind the hedge of a nearby house. I watch as my father runs past me, calling my name. He pulls out his phone and dials furiously. I wait with my face in the bushes to muffle my breathing.
When he runs in the opposite direction, I take off. A taxi pulls up, I get in, and in less than three minutes I’m home. Tyler won’t rat on me. The house is dark — Mum is still at work. I don’t bother going inside, but head straight for the hatch, heave it open and disappear down the ladder. Who knows how long I’ve got until Dad comes home looking for me?
Standing in front of the tree, I can’t stop crying. Mum and Dad will find all this stuff and all the money. There’s no hiding the lies any more. All the white lies have turned bright red. It’s only a matter of time before Dad asks the supermarket about the competition or questions the fundraising money in his book safe. He’ll put it all together — he’s a smart guy, a philosopher. He’s the king of logic! If Stacey doesn’t tell the world first.
I curl up on the floor. People will swindle and steal from my parents. Or worse! They’ll try to chop down the tree and that will destroy our home. How can I protect my family? I spread out under the tree and stare up into its luminous leaves. The money pulsates. Banging my head against the floor is no help.
‘Think, Maxi, think!’ I say to myself. I reach out and touch one of Fleur’s expensive crocodile-leather handbags. It is hot pink with a rose-shaped brooch fastened to it. The rose blooms with pink diamonds. This would have cost a fortune. My fingertips trace the diamonds in the rose. At our old house, Nanna would come over every few weeks to prune our roses. Those petals were her pride and joy. I would help her prune. I’ve been meaning to grow some roses just so I could prune them. I was a gun. Carefully I unhook the diamond brooch and fasten it to my T-shirt. It’s been ages since I’ve seen Nanna.
I think back to the first day I plucked a note from between the floorboards. More money grew in its place. The more I took, the more the tree grew, outwards and upwards, branch upon branch, budding gold coins and dollar leaves. The brooch gleams on my chest, reminding me of the days when I controlled the flowers and the flowers didn’t control me. This thought shrinks my stomach to a pea that I swallow several times over whilst thinking. I make a phone call.
Two hours later, with still no sign of Dad, I’m sitting in a pool of black garbage bags when the Captain arrives in his big Jeep. I take him down to the basement, the wardrobe door closed tightly so he won’t see the way down to the tree.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at school?’ he asks.
I answer him with no answer.
‘What’s all this?’ he asks.
‘I cleaned out the basement. The old tenants left all this junk and I promised I’d get rid of it for Mum. Help me put it in the car?’
The Captain collects five bags at once. ‘Light,’ he says.
‘Old pillows and stuff,’ I say.
In twenty minutes we have loaded the car with piles of garbage bags. I squeeze into the front seat.
‘We need to go to Budget Buys. Drive around the back to the charity bins so no one sees us,’ I tell him.
Chapter 25
We arrive home at 4pm before my parents. The Captain takes his money and leaves me be. I call Tyler and he’s in detention for the next week. He has to pick up rubbish at lunchtime and tutor Year Three beginners’ violin (they sound like cats fighting).
Two hours later I’m in my room and Dad is pacing on the green rug, giving me the ‘young lady’ treatment, the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ speech, then appeals to my maturity with ‘What were you thinking?’ followed by ‘I thought I could trust you’. He answers many of his questions with other questions. I zone out. My mind firmly grasps the thought of Stacey, that life-ruining video she took and the tree.
‘Is this how I raised you?’
Silence from me. I can’t look at him so I stare at the rug. Both Socrates and I are bearding.
The problem isn’t Stacey. The truth is — finally a truth and not a lie — the truth is that I was never really into the money in the first place. I only wanted enough to feed my lizards and to help Mum out with the bills. Everything else is clutter. I can live with looking like a ‘charity case’. But I can’t live with being a liar; it’s a once-and-forever thing.
‘I know it was wrong, but I had to get home,’ I tell Dad. His expression spasms from anger to hot frustration — this is the maddest he’s ever been with me.
‘Ahoy ahoy, she speaks!’ he says.
‘Aye aye, she speaks, me father.’ I give him a corpse smile. ‘Arrrr we pirates now?’
He crosses his arms. ‘You have the effrontery to be sarcastic?’
‘Don’t know what effrontery means, but I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, Dad, just lighten the mood maybe,’ I say. His eyes harden and I look out the window and watch a bird fly from a normal springy green tree.
‘This isn’t a light moment,’ he continues. ‘What was this emergency, miss?’
‘I had to check on the babies,’ I say. It feels as lame as it sounds. I indicate the lizard house where Sibyl and Socrates bask in the warmth of the lamps and the babies scamper on top of each other, playing lizard leapfrog. I name all the babies out loud, pointing out my favourite one (Bumbershoot), but Dad is not impressed.
‘This lizard obsession has gone too far. They’re going to the pet shop and you’re grounded. School, home, homework, bed, repeat. That’s it,’ Dad says.
I race over to Socrates’s enclosure and pull him out. ‘You won’t take Socrates and Sibyl. I’ll give up the babies, but not my lizards.’ I burst into tears so strong my n
ose turns into a fountain. ‘I’ll do anything. Anything at all. I’ll do the garden like I’ve been promising. I’ll volunteer at the op-shop. I’ll come to the youth meetings with you. Let you hug me at school. But please don’t take away my beardies.’
‘The lizards are on probation,’ he says. ‘If you are good, maybe I’ll consider keeping one of them.’
‘But you can’t split them up — they’re married!’ I say.
Dad sighs and leaves the room. He remembers too well the wedding; after all, he did officiate.
I collapse onto my bed in sobs.
‘Max?’ My sister’s thin voice floats in and I pound the bed with my fists until I feel suffocated and must sit up to gasp for air. Fleur is wearing all new clothes, sunglasses, a winter hat, a fake fur scarf, studded boots, leather leggings and a large tote. She’s stepped out of a fashion blog today.
‘S’pose you’ve been down to the tree,’ I say.
Fleur shakes her head, then screws up her neat face. ‘I heard what you and Tyler did today. Are you crazy?’
Suddenly she launches at my chest. I feel a sting and look down at a hole in my T-shirt.
‘My brooch!’ she says.
‘You ripped my shirt!’
Fleur shrugs. ‘Buy a new one.’ She fastens the brooch to her scarf. The light skims across the diamonds. I stare at the brooch.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asks.
I stare harder. The light twinkles in the diamonds. The rose glows against her scarf. ‘That’s it!’ I yell.
‘What? What’s going on?’
‘I know what we have to do to fix all this,’ I say.
‘What? Tell me!’
‘Maxine! Fleur!’ our mother calls from the living room.
‘What is it?’ Fleur asks me again, but my mind is racing.
‘Girls!’ Mum calls.
We arrive in the living room with our arms crossed. Fleur has wrapped herself in my dressing gown to hide the new clothes, but keeps the hat on. She’s worn it everywhere and my parents are used to it now. ‘What?’ we ask in unison.