I'll Tell You Mine Page 7

  The year levels are mixed, so some of the guys are six foot tall with stubble and others are Year Sevens with puppy fat and baby faces. Most of the guys aren’t dancing. They’re just leaning against the far wall, drooling as the girls shimmy and grind like they’re in some dodgy music video. Everyone seems disappointed – peering around the room as if they’re waiting for someone, or something, to arrive. Jess and Emma stand in a tight group with some awkward-looking Holston guys, while Louise tries to look like she’s actually hanging out with them and not just standing near them.

  A couple of guys from Year Twelve have an iPod hooked up to some speakers playing music so bad I could cry. They won’t even take requests. They’re too cool for school, thinking they’re at some club in Ibiza. I wish I could take over and do a playlist. I can just see Harriet and Jess going off to Alien Sex Fiend.

  Maddy and I sit cross-legged on the floor and sip cups of Coke Ollie McKenzie enhanced with a slug of Bundy in the boys’ toilets. I sniff it cautiously and hope that he didn’t decide to slip some Rohypnol in there too. Maddy is deciding who she’s going to kiss and has it down to a shortlist. When I ask her about Steve, she shrugs and says, ‘What goes on tour stays on tour.’

  The list:

  Ollie McKenzie [Second-round offer. Show-off.]

  Stu Littleton [Funny. Nice bum.]

  Alan Chan [Sexy. Soulful eyes.]

  Jason McManus [Hot bod. Good drummer.]

  Alex Katsikis [Skilled kisser. Wandering hands.]

  Luke Dennaghy [A-list. Newly single. First-round offer.]

  Luke is slouched on a chair, staring morosely across the room. He plays soccer for the firsts and just broke up with his girlfriend – Sophie Wiseman, a pretty Year Eleven girl who edits the school magazine.

  ‘Luke’s hot, don’t you think?’ says Maddy. ‘Like a young David Beckham.’

  Luke has a shaved head, slightly bucked teeth and angry acne on his forehead. He leans back on the chair and scratches his crotch lazily.

  ‘Well, he does know how to handle a ball,’ I say.

  ‘Watch this,’ says Maddy. She strides across the room and sits on Luke’s lap. Within a few seconds she’s leaning into him – her hair fanning his face like a screen. They go for it like a couple of internet porn stars, mashing tongues.

  A group of Year Seven boys look on in amazement. ‘Get a room,’ says one. ‘That girl got off with nine guys at the last social,’ he adds in awe.

  ‘Do you think she would kiss me?’ a small, pudgy boy with tight jeans and a crooked haircut says hopefully.

  ‘Nuh,’ says his friend. ‘You’re a fat nerd. She’s a supermodel. Do the maths.’

  Eventually Mrs Graham, our computer studies teacher, breaks it off, looking mortified at having to get in between them. ‘All right, you two,’ she says, tapping Luke on the shoulder. ‘Let’s come up for air, shall we?’

  As Maddy’s arguing with Mrs Graham about her right to kiss whoever she likes, however she likes, it’s a free country last time she checked, I sneak out the side door – breaking free into the empty quad. It’s like coming up for a gasp of air after being trapped underwater.

  There’s a strict rule that no one – under any circumstances – brings boys into the dorm rooms. But there’s one in ours. Harriet is lying on the bed, still wearing her dress. Grant is on top of her, his jeans halfway down his legs. He pushes up Harriet’s dress.

  ‘Not here,’ she says, kicking her legs.

  Her face is bright red, her eyes wild and panicked. Grant grabs her jaw, kissing her forcefully. ‘Relax,’ he hisses. ‘It will only take a minute.’

  Harriet tries to twist herself out of his grasp. I freeze in the doorway, staring at them. Harriet needs help. And I’m it.

  I go in, slamming the door on my way.

  Grant leaps off Harriet, pulling up his jeans. He’s sweating – his shirt crumpled and eyeliner smeared across one eye.

  ‘Why is she here, Harriet?’ he says. ‘I thought you said everyone was at the social?’

  Harriet pulls her doona over her. ‘Get out!’ she yells. I think she’s saying it to Grant but then I realise she’s saying it to me. ‘Kate! Get out!’

  I feel stupid. I walk backwards away from them, tripping on Grant’s backpack. I pick it up and throw it at him – hard. He catches it and pulls it onto his shoulder.

  Outside, I slump on the worn carpet, my neck burning. Grant opens the door quietly and crouches down next to me. I move away from him and he looks surprised. Most people want to be near Grant – like he’s a frigging pop star. I’m not one of those people.

  ‘You won’t tell will you?’ he whispers. ‘I could get expelled.’

  I look him in the face. He has a scared look in his eyes similar to Harriet’s a few minutes earlier. ‘I don’t know,’ I say evenly. ‘You’d better get out of here.’

  Harriet passes me a note at my locker at school the next day, which just says: Please, don’t tell. H

  I decide I won’t. Not because I want to suck up to Harriet but because I’m not a dobber. And besides, I have a secret too. A big, fat, juicy one.

  7

  We’ve gotten into a routine in our room. Maddy and I on one side, Jess and Harriet on the other. It’s like there’s a line painted down the middle. On one side is a neat IKEA showroom with everything in its right place. On the other are shoes, clothes, bits of make-up, paper, books and leftover cups of crusty Milo which Gabby says are a health hazard and MUST be removed immediately. Guess which side is ours?

  On Wednesdays we have an afternoon room inspection. Even though we know it’s coming, Maddy and I decide not to clean our room in the morning because we’re both running late for roll-call. Instead we run back after the last bell, shove everything into our cupboard and slam the bulging doors shut. We clean up the butts from the windowsill and spray deodorant around.

  Harriet and Jess sit primly on their neat beds and tell us we’re disgusting pigs.

  ‘I would rather live with anyone else, even Susie Kwan and Abi Wu and their stinky ramen noodles and Chinese pop music,’ says Harriet.

  ‘That’s racist,’ says Maddy. ‘I could report you.’

  ‘Go ahead. As if anyone’s going to believe you over me.’

  ‘Your mess is coming over to our side,’ Jess says, pointing at a shoe that’s rolled over the invisible line. She picks it up by one lace, like it’s a tampon. Then she flings it across the room. It hits Maddy in the face with a thunk. Maddy holds her head down and makes a sound like a wounded puppy whose paw has just been stomped on. I’ve heard that noise before. It’s then that I really lose it. I stand in the middle of everything, hold out my arms and scream.

  Maddy, Jess and Harriet stare at me – gobsmacked. At least it shuts them up for a minute.

  ‘Kate, what’s wrong with you?’ Jess asks.

  I sit on my bed and rock back and forth, holding myself. ‘Just stop, okay? Stop it!’

  ‘Weird . . .’ murmurs Jess.

  Maddy looks down to see blood on her fingers and growls like a wild animal. She leaps up, flies across the room and pins Jess to her bed with her tiny frame. Then she slaps her. Jess pushes her off, rubbing her cheek, which now has a scratch mark on it. This is getting out of hand. I need to do something to stop it. I snap out of my freak out and pull Maddy back to our side of the room, trying to put some space between her and Jess. Her elbow accidentally jabs into my eye.

  ‘Sorry, Kate!’ Maddy says.

  I hold my eye. ‘Ow!’

  It’s then that Gabby decides to pop in for her inspection.

  Maddy has blood dripping from her lip, Jess has a red-raw cheek and I have the makings of a black eye. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out a massive bitch fight is on.

  ‘Girls!’ Gabby says, her eyes widening. ‘What’s g
oing on?’

  She looks at Maddy’s face. ‘What happened to you, Maddy?’

  Maddy shrugs. ‘Nothing.’

  I’m surprised Maddy doesn’t give Jess up but I guess she’s not a dobber either.

  ‘Sit down on your own beds,’ Gabby says. ‘Honestly. You’re all too old for this sort of thing.’

  We perch on the ends of our beds, glaring at each other.

  Gabby has no actual power in the boarding house and is essentially just a glorified babysitter. So she has ‘no choice but to take this matter to Miss Gordon. We do not tolerate violence at Norris Grammar. Whatsoever.’

  My parents will be furious if I get kicked out of this last-chance saloon. The worst part is I didn’t even do anything. For once, I’m an innocent bystander.

  Instead of just separating us into different rooms, which would solve all our problems, the school decides to hold a ‘circle session’, where Gabby says we can ‘discuss our feelings and reflect on the issue’. It’s the sort of problem-solving thing my mum would absolutely love but it gives me hives just thinking about it.

  ‘We’ve decided to keep this a school matter,’ says Miss Gordon as we file into her office after dinner. ‘But it’s time to sort out your differences. This open warfare simply can’t continue.’

  We slouch on plastic chairs. It’s so quiet I can hear myself breathing and Maddy chewing on a wad of gum. Jess and Harriet look worried. This might put a black cross against their prefect and sports captain chances.

  ‘Kate, would you like to start?’ asks Miss Gordon.

  I look down at my lap and it feels exactly like getting in trouble at home. After dinner my parents would put Liv to bed and make me come into the quiet room for ‘a chat’. The chat would inevitably turn into a screaming, crying match.

  ‘Not really,’ I say.

  ‘Come on, Kate, this is meant for everyone to clear the air. Get a fresh start.’ Miss Gordon glances at her watch. I can tell she’d rather be back in her apartment having a cuppa with her cat on her lap than dealing with us.

  ‘She started it,’ I say, motioning to Jess. ‘She threw a shoe at Maddy’s head. What was Maddy supposed to do, just stand there and take it?’ I ask.

  ‘She nearly took my teeth out,’ says Maddy. ‘And that could totally ruin my modelling career. I should sue.’

  ‘All right. Let’s not get carried away,’ says Miss Gordon.

  ‘It was an accident,’ says Jess. ‘I just threw the shoe over to their side of the room. I didn’t mean to hit Maddy. Then she slapped me.’

  ‘Why did you throw a shoe across the room in the first place?’ Miss Gordon asks Jess.

  ‘Because she’s a pig,’ says Jess. ‘They both are. They leave their stuff everywhere, all over the room. It’s disgusting. We’re going to get rats.’

  ‘I’m not sure having an untidy room is reason for you to throw something at your roommate, Jessica. Perhaps talking to Maddy about cleaning her side of the dorm would have been a better solution.’

  Maddy and I give each other a little high-five – down low. Miss Gordon catches it and frowns. ‘You’d think I was sitting with a group of Year Sevens. Is it that hard to get along?’

  ‘We’d be fine if we were in a room with normal girls,’ pipes up Harriet.

  I feel the same way. Only my normal is kids with police records, screwed-up families, drugs under their beds and porn on their hard drives. Fingers stained with tobacco and spray paint. My normal isn’t anything like Jess or Harriet.

  ‘Part of the boarding house education is learning how to get along with different types of people,’ says Miss Gordon.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. There are so many groups in the boarding house that I can’t keep up. Jocks. Asian Mafia. Scholarship girls. Library dwellers. Debaters. Populars. Academic straight-A hunters. Weirdos (that’s me). Rich kids. Rurals. Nobody really gets along. We all just tolerate each other.

  ‘I think it would be better if Jess and I had our own room. Maybe we could move in with Emma Cobb and Lisa Barrett,’ says Harriet.

  I give Maddy a look. This speech is rehearsed

  ‘We could move our stuff out really quickly. Louise wouldn’t mind swapping her bed, we’ve asked her already,’ says Jess.

  I look at Jess’s blunt yellow fringe. She cuts it every week with a pair of scissors, her forehead about two centimetres away from the mirror. I want to pull the hairs right out of her skull.

  ‘Go then,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to live with you two bitches either.’ I know that bitch is a word Miss Gordon won’t abide, that’s why I say it.

  ‘Okay, that’s quite enough,’ Miss Gordon says, reaching the end of her tether. It doesn’t take long with me. ‘Kate, for not trying to participate in this session and for your role in this . . . incident . . . you are gated this weekend. You too, Madeline, you can’t go around slapping people. Take the weekend to think about how you could have handled this better. And clean up your side of the room before I have to get the exterminators in.’

  We’re filing out when Miss Gordon notices the look of victory on Jess’s and Harriet’s faces. It doesn’t please her.

  ‘Hang on just a minute. Jessica and Harriet, I’d like 1000 words from each of you on making your room a more harmonious living space. In my pigeon-hole by Monday. Harriet, I must say I’m very surprised to see you here. You should think seriously about how this sort of thing will affect your chances of being elected prefect.’

  Harriet looks mortified. If Miss Gordon knew she’d had a boy in her room last week, she would be kissing more than a prefect nomination goodbye.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Gordon. It won’t happen again.’

  Being gated is not my parents’ idea of ‘fitting in at the boarding house’. Apparently it’s costing them a lot of money for me to be there, and from the looks of things I’m going backwards. This is what Mum says on the phone. From Canberra, of course.

  We haven’t been speaking but the minute Mum heard I was being punished by the school I was on speed dial again. She was even sneaky enough to block her number so I would take the call.

  ‘Listen, I don’t have long before I have to go into another meeting but I’m very concerned about this gating thing. How did you manage to get gated anyway? That’s the same thing as grounded, right?’

  ‘Yes, the same. The girls in my room were fighting. Someone threw a shoe at someone else.’

  ‘That wasn’t you, was it?’ Mum says.

  ‘No. It wasn’t me, Mum.’

  ‘How long are you gated for?’ she asks.

  ‘Just the weekend.’

  Then she says something which I’m pretty sure a good parent shouldn’t say and certainly not someone who might run the country one day.

  ‘Well, at least if you’re locked up in the boarding house I don’t have to worry about you getting photographed drunk at some Goth nightclub.’

  I hang up.

  Of course she rings back. ‘Kate. That was a joke . . .’

  I hang up again. I’m done talking with her.

  Then Dad calls. He’s trying to be the peacemaker as usual. ‘Can you at least try with Mum?’

  ‘Me? Try? I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I haven’t spoken to Mum in weeks, and then she rings to have a go at me about the gating? She couldn’t have called earlier to ask me how I feel living by myself in here? To say hello?’

  ‘She’s actually been really worried about you. This was meant to be your chance to find new friends. To have your own space. And then we hear that you’ve been gated on your third week in the place. What’s going on in there?’

  ‘I hate it! It’s a prison. You have to take me out. Please.’

  Dad sighs. ‘It’s not a prison. It’s an exclusive private school. Try to make the most of it.’

>   Dad likes to bang on about being poor and going to a state school with no ovals or tennis courts and having to drop out to get an apprenticeship. When he married Mum, her parents gave him the money to go to graphic design school. And what an amazing opportunity that was. He didn’t waste a minute of it. I’ve heard that speech a thousand times.

  ‘Okay, Father, I’ll just run right out and join the debating team. Maybe I’ll try out for cross-country or fencing.’

  ‘Make an effort, that’s all we’re asking. We’re trying to help you.’

  So we’re gated and it’s Saturday morning. A two-day prison sentence.

  I’m still in bed, trying to sleep, while Jess and Harriet dress up in their hipster jeans and low, low-cut tops (which make no difference to Jess who’s flat as a mouse pad), slapping on bronzer and straightening their hair with a GHD. They’re off to meet Grant and his friend in the city. Something about going to a movie and then back to Grant’s brother’s apartment.

  Harriet has been debating whether to have sex with Grant. It’s been going on for weeks. If you ask me, she should dump him. He’s nasty and he’s making her miserable.

  ‘He wants me to. Today, after the movie,’ whispers Harriet to Jess.

  Jess looks disgusted. ‘Do you want to?’

  Harriet shrugs. ‘I’m not sure exactly what to do . . .’

  ‘Just do it. It’s not that big a deal!’ Maddy shouts from her bed.

  Ever since our meeting with Miss Gordon the room has frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Personally I think silent warfare is worse than loud fighting. My parents are big fans of quiet hostility. My stomach is starting to hurt again.

  I groan from under the covers.

  ‘Shut up!’ says Harriet, storming out of the room with Jess not far behind.

  Maddy leaps out of her bed and wiggles under the covers with me. She has no respect for personal space. ‘I want you to get up now,’ she says, poking my cheek with her finger. ‘I’m bored.’

  ‘Get used to it,’ I say. ‘Boring is all we’re going to get for the next forty-eight hours.’