I'll Tell You Mine Page 11

  ‘You can share with me,’ Louise says, just before Maddy does. Louise looks mortified to have gotten between us. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean. Of course, you guys can share,’ she says.

  ‘Whatever, dude,’ says Maddy dismissively, although I think I detect a hint of annoyance. Maddy slouches into her seat. She finds a picture of Steve between the pages of her hymn book and kisses it dramatically.

  Louise holds out her book between us as Reverend asks us to stand up for the tuneless opening hymn. I pretend to sing, joining in with every third chorus and humming the rest of it. Mostly I listen to Louise. Shockingly, she has the sweetest voice – clear, confident and pitch perfect.

  ‘You should be in a band,’ I whisper as we bump back on the hard pews and Reverend winds into some tirade about how we’ve lost our values.

  Louise shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t,’ she says.

  ‘You could. Your voice is gorgeous.’

  Louise smiles and dips her head so low her chin hits her chest.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not,’ she says.

  After chapel the three of us eat lunch together at the tuckshop. As we walk across the oval afterwards – the Goth, the beauty queen and the fat country girl – I can feel the whole school turning our way and raising a collective eyebrow. If we were a band we would be called The Outcasts.

  I’m in the laundry room sorting out whites from colours when Maddy walks in. ‘So, is this a regular thing?’ she asks.

  ‘Me washing? Yes, unfortunately. Unless you want to volunteer for the job.’

  Maddy frowns. ‘No – I mean. Louise. Oh I’m sorry. Lou. Is she hanging out with us now or what?’

  ‘Yeah. I guess. Why, is that a problem?’

  Maddy pauses. ‘Well, she is a bit . . . awkward.’

  ‘I think she’s nice.’

  Maddy crosses her arms and looks irritated. ‘Yeah, that’s the problem. She’s too nice. Cleaning up the tennis courts for us was weird. Why would she do that?’

  ‘Maddy, I don’t think anyone can be too nice. Especially seeing as she saved us from getting expelled.’

  Maddy sighs. ‘All right. She can hang out with us if it’s what you want.’

  ‘It’s not like we have a VIP guest list for our group,’ I point out.

  Maddy hoists herself onto one of the machines and crosses her legs. She can fit anywhere it seems. ‘Have you done that writing thing for English? That essay about The Great Gatenby?’

  ‘The Great Gatsby. Yeah. Have you even read it?’

  ‘It’s so boring. I keep falling asleep every time I start.’

  ‘I’ll help you write it if you help me with my maths,’ I offer. ‘I just don’t get algebra, it’s messing with my head.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. Deal. What are you doing for mid-term?’ Maddy runs her fingers through the huge bucket of laundry powder.

  ‘I was going to stay here but my parents are making me go home.’ Home. Is it anymore? After five weeks in the boarding house it feels more like home at school.

  ‘I don’t want to go back. I think Steve’s dumped me. I’ve left about seventeen messages on his phone.’

  ‘Seventeen? That’s stalker behaviour,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll stalk you,’ Maddy says, throwing a handful of sandy powder at my chest.

  I scream. I fill up a bucket with water and slosh it on her head. We tumble out of the laundry wet and soapy.

  ‘Steve’s probably lost his phone or something. Besides, even if he breaks up with you it’s not like you can’t get another boyfriend,’ I say once we’ve both stopped laughing.

  It amazes me that someone as gorgeous as Maddy could ever get dumped. But as soon as a guy pays her any attention she latches on like she’s got claws. She seems to leech love and attention out of guys until they’re just dry bones.

  ‘Yeah. Suppose I can. I’m pretty hot.’ She poses with her wet hair plastered across her forehead, pouting and strutting up the corridor like she’s on a catwalk.

  *

  Lou and I are in the reading atrium of the library during our free period. Maddy is locked in a private study session for English. Despite my help with her essay, she’s failing dismally. It would be helpful, I tell her, if she at least read the books.

  Lou’s lying on a pillow, flipping through her chemistry prac notes. I’m doing a last-minute job on an RE essay. ‘RE. How’s that going to help me when I leave school?’ I ask Lou. ‘It’s not like I’m going to become a Christian church leader or something.’

  ‘Ugh. I’d do RE over the periodic table,’ groans Lou, lying down on her notes, her glasses slipping off her nose. ‘CA, MG, BA. I’ll never remember it all.’

  I lean back and put my folder aside. ‘Finished.’

  Across the room are Lou’s twin sisters – Emmie and Celeste – legends around Holston for their cascading chestnut hair, tiny waists and cute button noses.

  ‘Don’t you talk to your sisters?’ I ask Lou. ‘They’re right over there.’

  Lou glances over at the twins, who are studying in a big group of Year Twelves.

  ‘I’m not allowed talk to them at school.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re embarrassed by me. I suck at tennis. I’m not thin. I never seem to wear the right clothes.’

  Emmie is on the state junior tennis squad and is considering going pro. Most of her time is spent whacking balls around the tennis courts wearing a tiny white dress. Celeste plays A-grade tennis and is vice captain of the boarding house.

  ‘I don’t care anymore,’ says Lou. But I don’t believe her.

  I stretch out my legs and yawn. ‘What are you doing for mid-term?’ I ask. It’s the question on everyone’s lips. We can’t wait to get off school property.

  ‘Picking grapes,’ says Lou.

  Her family runs a huge winery in the Yarra Valley.

  ‘All holiday?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Is that hard?’

  ‘Knackering. Mum likes me to do it. She says it might help me lose my puppy fat. Emmie and Celeste slack off because they’re doing the VCE and, besides, it might ruin their serving arms.’ Lou picks up her book again and starts murmuring the periodic table to herself.

  On our way out of the library we skirt so close to Emmie and Celeste that they’re just a metre away but neither one of them even shows a flicker of recognition.

  *

  All the wannabe prefects are doing their election speeches in the Great Hall. Harriet is first, buttoned up in her pressed, decorated blazer and clutching a thick stack of cue cards. Jess has been enlisted to record the entire thing on a video camera, no doubt for posting on YouTube later. The rest of Harriet’s group are up the front clapping way too enthusiastically.

  She needs the support. I’m close enough to see she’s rattled. Her hands shake and she grips the lectern to steady them. She clears her throat, the microphone picking up the sound and echoing it around the room. Everyone is hushed, waiting for something great. Something funny and vote worthy. Harriet puts her mouth too close to the microphone and her first words screech.

  ‘Robert Louis Stevenson said: “Your success is determined, not in the harvest you reap, but in the seeds you plant.”’ Harriet pauses for effect but it comes off more like she’s forgotten her next line. Which in fact, she has.

  She looks down at her cards, flapping her lips.

  ‘Um, hang on,’ she says. Then she utters a swear word into the microphone. Harriet. Poised, icy Harriet has sworn in front of the entire school. Stunned, everyone draws in a collective breath. Then the Year Sevens start tittering. Pretty soon everyone is cracking up and wolf whistling. This may actually be the best prefect speech ever.

  Mr Greenway looks alarmed and takes the microphone away from Harriet, lest she u
tter any more profanities.

  Harriet can’t quite figure out what’s gone wrong. She looks confused, then angry, then upset. She bursts into tears and runs off stage – our Year Ten coordinator Mrs Kingsford follows close behind with tissues and a pep talk.

  ‘Well, that was unexpected,’ says Maddy.

  ‘What’s wrong with Harriet?’ I ask Jess when we are back in our room. She looks devastated by Harriet’s failure to launch.

  Jess sizes me up. ‘I really shouldn’t say anything.’

  ‘Oh come on. Who am I going to tell?’ I press.

  ‘Okay. But it’s not meant to be gossip. Harriet had a massive fight with Grant right before her speech. It really upset her. That’s why she lost her place. I mean, she’d practised it a million times. It was perfect.’

  ‘Is she still allowed to run?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. I think they’re going to give her another go at her speech – after mid-term.’

  ‘Good,’ I say. And I mean it. I don’t like Harriet, but her not making prefect would be messing with the natural order of the universe. She was born for the job.

  ‘What happened with Grant?’ I ask.

  Jess looks angry. ‘Don’t tell Harriet I said this, but her boyfriend is a total loser.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Pretty much everyone thinks that except Harriet.’

  *

  We’re sprawled out on the front lawn, waiting for the bell to go for afternoon classes. Maddy has her skirt hitched up to just below her undies, sunbaking. I don’t like to sunbake. I want my skin to be as white as possible. I’ve got a hat on, long sleeves and I’m sitting under a tree.

  Lou has her shoes and socks off and is lying on her tummy, finishing her biology homework. Every now and again she tells us something about homeostasis and thermoregulation.

  ‘We don’t care,’ groans Maddy, as she lathers up with a generous slick of coconut-scented Reef oil.

  ‘Reef oil?’ asks Lou. ‘Hello? Skin cancer?’

  Maddy rolls onto her stomach. ‘I like being tanned.’ She shrugs. ‘Sue me.’

  I come out from under the tree for a minute, pull up my sleeve and put my white arm next to Maddy’s brown skin. ‘We look like a zebra,’ I say. I lie back on my arms feeling peaceful, watching cloud tufts drift across the blue sky. It’s been cold and soggy for months but suddenly summer feels close. I’m half asleep when Maddy slips a note into the pocket of my dress. We could text but we like writing to each other.

  Who do you like?

  A part of me wants to say Lachy since I still think about our short phone call. But I don’t even know him so I write, Nate.

  Maddy reads my answer then looks at me sideways. ‘You have a crush on Nate?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘For, like, a year.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘No, I mean, before.’

  ‘I dunno. Does it matter?’

  Maddy shakes her head. ‘I just thought we told each other everything.’ She scribbles another note to me and slips it into my pocket. It’s folded into a very small square, and I open it slowly, half knowing what the question will be.

  Just between you and me

  Why are you in the boarding house????

  ‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,’ Maddy says.

  I fold the note up and zip it into my pencil case. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  The next class I have is Australian Studies. Mr Jackson is yakking about Aboriginal history. It interests me but I can’t concentrate. I take out Maddy’s quiz question and slip it into my folder, shielding it from the prying eyes of Janet Greer, who is sitting next to me. I stare at the paper for a long time, my pen hovering above the white space.

  Why are you in the boarding house?

  I don’t have to tell anyone. That’s what my parents and I agreed on. But when I write the first words I feel like I do when I’m writing poetry – like someone else is guiding my hand. Everything is sliding out. I use the front and the back of the paper, scribbling furiously. Now that it’s down on paper I can’t deny I did it. Can’t shove it deeper in the black murk. I have to own it. It’s awful but it’s part of me.

  I don’t read it over. I just fold it up and put it into my pencil case for safe-keeping. Then I look up at the board and start a new page.

  Maddy’s eating a chicken wing in the dining hall, sucking on the sticky bones. I push the note over in front of her plate. She wipes her fingers and starts to open it but I can’t see her reaction. Can’t hear her say, ‘How could you do this?’ the same way my dad did.

  ‘Don’t open it,’ I say. ‘Read it later. Then destroy it.’

  ‘Of course. You can trust me, Kate.’ She resumes eating her chicken but with a more serious look on her face, like she’s been handed a very important parcel to deliver. I do trust Maddy. But part of me wants to grab the paper back and eat it.

  11

  It’s mid-term. We’re getting let out of our cages for five whole days and everyone’s charging up and down the halls rattling the bars. Most people are going home for the break – catching up with their families. Harriet is off to Noosa to strut around in swimwear, eat gelato and make up with Grant Skenner. She recovered from her flop prefect speech, and somehow managed to spin it into a lie about ‘not feeling well’. She asked me if my mum had any tips for giving a good speech. And would I mind if she asked her a few questions?

  I called Mum and handed the phone to Harriet. Mum seemed chuffed that I wanted her to talk to one of my new boarding school friends. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Harriet and I are pretty much sworn enemies.

  ‘She was amazing,’ Harriet said afterwards. ‘I asked her to come in and talk about her job for careers day. Would you mind? It’s not until next year.’

  I shrugged. Mum used to do school talks when I was in primary school but lately she’d been too busy.

  ‘Did she say yes?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Harriet.

  ‘You think she’s amazing?’

  ‘Well, yeah. She talked to me about her policies on health care, housing and the environment. Don’t you think they’re fantastic?’

  I shrugged. It had been a while since Mum and I had talked about her policies or ideas. We used to talk about that stuff all the time. I used to love going with her to women’s shelters or elderly homes to talk to the people there about their lives. Loved watching her give speeches – how she would get so caught up in what she was saying she would almost run out of breath.

  Somewhere along the line, though, the politician’s gloss wore off and just like the people who didn’t vote for her, I started seeing her as someone who didn’t keep her promises.

  *

  Jess is in the Australian Short Course Swimming titles, competing in the 100-metre backstroke. She got her name in the school newsletter and read out at assembly. But even though Jess is the one doing something really important, it’s Harriet we’re all supposed to fawn over as she finalises her packing.

  As Maddy and I struggle to zip her case, Harriet models her new bikini for Jess, standing in the middle of our room in a tiny piece of white lycra, showing off a newly waxed bikini line and a perfect size eight body.

  ‘Do I look bikini model hot?’ she asks.

  Maddy and I stop straining with the case to gawk at Harriet’s utter lack of modesty.

  ‘You look really pretty,’ says Jess a little too enthusiastically.

  ‘Pretty? No. I’m going for smoking hot. Can you imagine I have a tan?’ says Harriet.

  I’m sure Jess imagining Harriet with a tan isn’t a problem for Jess. I reckon she could also picture her naked. What Jess doesn’t seem to notice are the fingerprint-shaped bruises on the sides of Harriet’s neck that even thi
ck foundation can’t hide.

  Jess is first to leave, a bulging swimming bag over her sturdy shoulder, a determined look on her face. ‘Bye Harry,’ she says. Harriet barely looks up from texting on her phone. Jess waves her hand in front of Harriet’s face. ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘Okay, see you,’ Harriet says, distracted.

  I can tell Jess is disappointed Harriet hasn’t leapt up and given her a good luck hug.

  ‘Smash ’em, Jess,’ I say, compensating for Harriet. ‘Go for gold.’

  Jess turns around, shocked.

  ‘Thanks, Kate,’ she splutters. ‘I’ll try.’ Then she smiles and I smile back. Maybe it’s the pre-holiday buzz but it’s a nice moment.

  Maddy, Lou and I sit on the steps in front of the boarding house with our luggage, waiting to be picked up. It’s one of those clean spring days and there’s a tang of honeysuckle in the air that I can almost taste. The younger girls practise handstands and backbends on the lawn, tucking their dresses into their underwear.

  ‘Modesty, girls,’ Gabby says, looking exhausted. ‘Your parents are about to arrive en masse and they don’t need to know the colour of your undies.’

  One of the Year Twelves, Jane Monk, drives up in a new VW her parents brought her for her eighteenth, and toots the horn. She packs in her mates and drives off.

  ‘Lucky cow. I want my own car,’ says Maddy dreamily. ‘I’m going to get a broken down muddy ute.’

  Mum’s coming to collect me. It would have been easier if Dad picked me up. He doesn’t work Fridays but she wanted to come, apparently – and somehow she managed to juggle all her meetings so she can actually show up. I’ve become so good at pretending to hate her from a distance, brooding and scowling at the very mention of her name that I have no idea what it will feel like when we are together. In lots of ways I’ve missed her but I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.

  Gabby’s boyfriend putters in on a scooter, waving at her to climb aboard. He’s tall, with a goatee and pretty good-looking, considering he’s going out with Gabby.

  ‘Oooo-ooooh, Miss Simons has a boyfriend,’ sing-songs one of the Year Sevens.