by Bell Davina
I thought of the day Gracie came back from the hospital after her second treatment, all hot and crying. I’d gone to stroke her head, just how she liked it, and a bit of her hair had fallen out in my hand. It was so springy and beautiful, that hair. It was the most Gracie thing about Gracie.
‘You’ll look good bald,’ I’d told her. ‘Like a rock star.’ ‘I’m going to save a bit,’ she’d said. ‘Will you keep it? To remember me?’
‘It will grow back,’ I’d said.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Gracie.
I thought of how her rabbit, Lemon Tart, sat on her lap when she had to start using the wheelchair, so patient, and then how she tucked herself into the crook of Gracie’s elbow all those months when she was stuck in bed. I thought of how hard it was to see Gracie be sick. How it was even harder to watch her be brave.
‘Don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again,’ I told Dad as I set the oven timer for the cookies. ‘Maybe I’m the one who needs some space.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly.
But I didn’t say anything back.
‘Hi Mrs P,’ I say when Lola’s mum opens the door of their giant house at nine o’clock. The sky’s grey and it looks like it might storm. The wind is whipping the falling leaves around, like we’re inside a snow dome. Lucky I didn’t have far to come because I live over the Powells’ back fence.
‘Sophia! So lovely to see you. You look nice, baby! You’re here for the meeting about the clubhouse?’ says Mrs Powell, pulling me in for a hug that crunches my bones. ‘You girls, always doing these good things round town. When are you coming round to watch some more old movies, hmm? We have so many now on the Netflix.’ She kisses me on the cheek and then bustles back to the kitchen. Even though she’s the strictest mum I know, Mrs P is so nice.
Don’t judge, OK, but for once, I have made a real effort with my appearance. I’m wearing a denim skirt and a stripey top and Gracie’s peach lip gloss. I’ve tried to put my hair in a bun on top of my head. I feel half grown-up and half like a little kid pretending to be grown-up. We’re meeting in Lola’s basement, which is huge, by the way, and it’s where Rishi’s band practises. They’re called RexRoy and everyone in Sunnystream is crazy for them. The lead singer is called Grey Dare and a guy called Jules plays the electric banjo and designs all their posters. Lola has a crush on him like you wouldn’t believe. ‘Banjos are incredibly hot,’ she says. But are they really?
So, umm, Rishi is the reason for the lip gloss etc. As I walk down the stairs, the cheesecake I made last night banging against my leg in its bag, I see him sitting at the drums, showing Maisie something. ARGH! I can feel myself going red already.
I almost trip on the bottom step as he looks my way and says, ‘Hey, Hargraves.’ Hargraves is my last name. I think I told you that already. I don’t know because when I’m around Rishi I can’t remember what my name is or anything important. When he smiles, I get the tummy love feeling.
‘Hey Rishi,’ I say, trying to do a casual wave that turns out like a robot kid putting their hand up in robot school.
‘Your turn, Killer,’ he says to Maisie, jumping up off his drum stool so she can sit down.
Even though it’s stupid, I feel jealous when he calls her Killer. I feel jealous as I sit down on one of the big couches and he hands her the drumsticks and then snatches them away at the last second and they laugh together, like it’s a joke they’ve had going for ages. His laugh is higher than you’d think for someone so tall. Did I mention he’s tall? Everyone in their family is – even the little sisters, Gwynnie and Pop. It’s nice. He’s nice.
‘How’s the ukulele going?’ he asks me.
‘Oh – ah, I haven’t played it since … since forever,’ I say, feeing myself blush even more.
Rishi nods like he understands. As Maisie starts drumming, he looks at me. His eyes are the same as Lola’s, sparkly brown and usually cheeky, but right now they’re serious. ‘I read a book last week that I think you’d like,’ he says. ‘It’s about a girl who reminded me of you. Let me go find it. That’s sounding good,’ he calls to Maisie, ‘but a little lighter on the snare.’
As Rishi disappears up the stairs, Maisie sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her eyes. That’s her ‘you were talking to a boy’ face.
‘Shut up, Killer,’ I say, trying not to smile.
Maisie isn’t that fussed by boys. Maisie never seems that fussed by anything, except gym. ‘Chill’ is how everyone describes her.
She stops drumming for a second. ‘I probably shouldn’t stay for the whole thing,’ she says, and makes an ‘eek sorry but I have to be strong’ face. It’s the same face she made when she had to leave my Mexican-themed birthday party before pin-the-tail-on-the-taco.
I try not to take it personally, but sometimes it’s hard. I’m so proud of Maisie, but sometimes it hurts that I know I’ll never come first. It’ll always be gymnastics over me.
Belle arrives with all her brainstorming notebooks and Maisie gets out her iPad. Lola comes in and says hi and sits down, all while typing stuff on her phone and eating two pickles, which is actually a skill. Today she’s wearing tights that have this pattern of brightly coloured diamonds – pink and black and yellow and turquoise – with black basketball shoes and an aqua-blue blazer with the sleeves pushed up. Her earrings are tiny peace signs.
It feels so familiar, having them all close around me. I know my friends like I know my bed, or Togsley, or the feel of my hairbrush running through my hair. I wish every day could be like today, us together, no school, the autumn leaves in Corner Park starting to fall like giant amber snowflakes. You know that feeling? Like you miss something even while it’s happening, and you know you’ll remember it forever.
‘OK, get off Ultimate Pizza Fantasy now,’ says Belle to Lola, kind of breaking my whole remembering-the-good-times vibe.
‘I am NOT playing Ultimate Pizza Fantasy,’ says Lola, flashing her screen at us. There’s a video of two really cute baby orangutans putting their hands over each other’s eyes. ‘I’m making people aware of Orangutan Outreach so that –’
‘Whatever. If you’re here, actually be here,’ Belle says sharply. ‘If you’re just sitting there scrolling, you might as well leave. Time is how you spend your love – you put that on your Instagram yesterday. So spend it on actual people, you giant poo emoji.’
‘YOU’RE the poo emoji,’ Lola says back, grinning.
‘Phone addiction is an actual thing,’ says Belle, and I can tell she’s about to go on a serious rant. ‘My friend Matilda did a presentation about it. She found out that app companies have researched the exact colour combinations that our brains will respond to with –’
‘I’m sure it was fascinating,’ says Lola. ‘Almost as interesting as Sunnystream: A History. Have you lent her that yet?’
‘Guys,’ says Maisie. ‘Seriously?’
Belle’s eyes are flashing and now Lola is sticking out her chin and I don’t want them to fight but I can’t think of anything to say besides, ‘I made cheesecake.’
And suddenly everything’s OK again.
‘YES!’ they all say together. ‘Soph food!’
‘I’ll get the plates,’ says Lola, and sprints up the stairs two at a time.
‘OK,’ says Belle as I get it out of the container. ‘Down to business. Item one. How are we going to convince people to come to a rally to save a clubhouse that nobody cares about anymore?’
Then there’s a really awkward silence. We look at each other and swallow a lot.
This plan seemed so exciting yesterday! But even though we’re almost thirteen and – I don’t mean to brag here – pretty mature, we’re actually just kids, and Mayor Magnus is the actual mayor. Plus he’s obsessed with getting his own way. He wears people down until they just give up, which is how my mum thinks he got elected. The only way we can stop him is if we convince the ENTIRE town to stand up to him.
‘I know that the news about the clubhouse has been
on the internet,’ I say, ‘so I guess some people know about it, but maybe … maybe we need to remind them exactly why the clubhouse is so special. Why it matters to them. And to all of us. And why old things can still be good things. And how buildings hold the memories of times we’ve loved. And the people we’ve loved, too.’
The others turn to look at me, sort of surprised. I guess it’s the longest thing I’ve said in a while.
‘But it’s looking pretty crummy,’ says Maisie. ‘Shouldn’t we, like, fix it up a bit before we try to get everyone feeling so emotional about it? It’s hard to care about a dump. It’d be like trying to get people to care about that car park out the back of Buck’s where the dudes from Sunnystream High skate on the dumpsters.’
‘Where exactly?’ asks Lola, returning with plates and those things that are half spoons and half forks. Sporks. And a giant knife, which she hands to me. Lola thinks skating is super hot.
Belle just ignores her. ‘You’re right,’ she says to Maisie. ‘Plus, it’ll be harder to demolish it if it’s looking all sweet and smart. And while we’re getting it back in working order, we can arrange the rally. We’ll need stuff for repairs.’ She starts listing supplies. ‘Paint. Rollers. Cement.’
‘I can deal with paint,’ says Lola, ‘but who has a clue what to do with cement?’
‘And, um, where are we getting the money for all of that?’ asks Maisie. Maisie is really good at saving money. I, on the other hand, am not. ‘Mayor Magnus sure isn’t paying.’
‘As if that guy would ever pay for anything,’ Belle spits. Truly, she hates him with the fire of a squillion suns – maybe more. ‘We’ll have to fundraise.’
‘But how?’ Lola asks as I slice into the cheesecake.
‘We could grow our hair really long and shave our heads and sell our hair?’ suggests Maisie.
‘In one week?’ says Lola sceptically.
‘You can put tonic on your hair to make it grow faster,’ Maisie says. ‘I saw it on TV.’
‘Since when are you ever allowed to watch TV?’ Belle asks.
Maisie grins. ‘I have my ways.’
‘LOLA!’ Tally yells from upstairs. ‘What have you done with my –’
‘NOTHING!’ Lola screams back, not even waiting to hear what Tally’s looking for. ‘And stop accusing me of stealing your stuff!’
‘Then stop stealing it!’ yells Tally. ‘You little thief!’
‘MUM!’ yells Lola. ‘Tally called me a THIEF.’
‘Tally, Lola – kitchen! NOW!’ calls Mrs Powell.
Lola rolls her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘This will just take a second.’
It actually takes quite a few seconds and quite a bit of yelling to sort out the situation.
‘Should we leave?’ whispers Maisie.
‘No – this is fascinating!’ says Belle, who is an only child. ‘Do you think she’s going to get grounded again?’ Lola gets grounded a lot.
But not this time. ‘Sorted,’ she says as she slides back down the bannister. ‘Sorry, guys. Where were we? Still on the fundraising ideas?’
‘We could put on a concert to raise money,’ I say, thinking back to last year’s Sunny Stream of Talent Show. Belle’s mum played ‘Shake It Off ’ on the panpipes and it went for a really long time. Maisie’s dad put on a leotard and a headband and pretended to be an aerobics instructor, and our school principal, Mr Jenkins, laughed until he literally cried. Maisie’s dad is really funny.
Then my mum was supposed to sing ‘Edelweiss’ in a duet with me. Gracie learned it on the guitar and everything so she could play along. She practised SO hard, but at the last minute Mum couldn’t come because she was working. I pretended I didn’t mind about ‘Edelweiss’, but I really, really did.
‘Nah. Forget it,’ I say. ‘Stupid idea.’
‘There are no stupid ideas,’ Belle reminds me as Gwynnie and Pop come barrelling into the room and start jumping on the sofa. They are super cute – they’re only, like, four and six – but boy, they are cheeky.
‘Can we play?’ asks Gwynnie, the older one, climbing onto Belle’s lap.
‘It’s not a game,’ says Lola, and I can tell she’s trying to be patient. ‘This is grown-up stuff. Why don’t you go upstairs and see what Tally is doing?’
‘Tally told us to leave her alone and come down here,’ says Gwynnie.
‘Did she now,’ says Lola darkly.
‘Can I have cake?’ asks Pop.
‘No,’ says Lola. ‘You’re allergic to dairy and this is a cheesecake.’
‘It doesn’t look like cheese,’ says Gwynnie. ‘Are you lying again?’ She turns to us, looking kind of smug, and says, ‘Lola lied to Mum and Dad about school and she got into heaps of trouble. She said that she’d been –’
‘OK, show’s over,’ says Lola, jumping up and throwing one kid over each shoulder.
The girls scream, and Pop reaches out and grabs a fistful of cheesecake on their way past the coffee table. She mashes it into Lola’s hair and across one eye. Lola shrieks and drops her, sort of maybe a little bit on her head, and Pop begins to wail. Boy is she shrill. I’m starting to remember why we never usually hang out here. Stressful! Rishi rushes in to see if there’s been some catastrophic accident, and then Gwynnie starts to cry too, but I think it’s just to get his attention. Then there’s a giant crack of thunder as the storm outside finally breaks, and Gwynnie and Pop start crying for real.
‘What do you think Lola lied about?’ Belle whispers to me as Mrs Powell swoops down the stairs to sort things out. ‘That sounded kind of interesting.’
‘I heard that,’ Lola calls. ‘Busybody.’
‘Magnolia!’ says Mrs Powell. ‘Baby, that is no way to talk to a friend. What’s happened to you lately? So sulky.’
‘Nothing,’ snaps Lola. ‘Can everyone who’s related to me please respect our privacy and leave the basement NOW?’
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ says Mrs Powell firmly as she herds everyone away.
Lola clears her throat, looking embarrassed. ‘Yes, well, apologies about that. Where were we?’
But right then Rishi comes back down the stairs and hands me a book with a purple cover. ‘Here you go, Big H,’ he says. ‘And, um, sorry, guys, but I need to kick you out now. We have band practice here in ten minutes.’
‘But we’re right in the middle of our meeting!’ says Lola. ‘That’s not fair!’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Rishi, ‘but we’re writing our new album. It’s important.’
‘And so’s the clubhouse!’ Lola fumes.
‘I know, I know.’ He really does sound sorry. He really is the nicest guy on earth. Maybe even in the whole galaxy. ‘Did you guys know that RexRoy used to jam in the clubhouse after Seniors Bingo on Tuesdays?’ he tells us. ‘Our first gig was there – back when we were a One Direction cover band. No way they can tear that place down. Don’t you usually meet over there anyway?’
‘But we were going to make nachos!’ says Lola.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, and Maisie nods.
‘We need to check out what needs doing at the clubhouse, anyway, to formulate a more accurate forward plan,’ says Belle, starting to whisk all her paperwork back into her backpack.
‘Thanks for the book,’ I say to Rishi as we’re leaving. ‘You look great. Oh! I mean, it looks great. The book, I mean. Not you. Oh! I mean, you too. But not … Bye, Rishi.’
As I sprint up the stairs, my face literally on fire, I can feel Maisie grinning beside me.
‘Shut up!’ I whisper.
‘Didn’t say anything,’ she whispers back.
Once we’re at the clubhouse, we realise it’s in worse shape than we could have imagined. It’s actually almost impossible to get in there because of all the junk, but even from the doorway we can see how grimy everything is. There are giant loops of ceiling cobwebs, which Lola thinks look like epic chandeliers, and the walls are the colour of old teeth.
‘Don’t lose heart,’ says Belle after we’
ve squeezed past all the stuff in the entrance and looked over the rest of the clubhouse. ‘Basically, it’s just a lot of clearing and cleaning and painting and fixing. We can just google that stuff and watch online tutorials. Easy. All we need is a five-step plan.’
And so together we make this one:
Step 1: Clearing Out (the junk)
Step 2: Cleaning Up (and fixing)
Step 3: Operation Undercoat (that’s the first bit of paint)
Step 4: Paint Paint Paint (no explanation needed)
Step 5: Finishing Touches (to make it seem professional)
We decide to get cracking on Step 1 after lunch because, not counting today, we’ve only got five days to do everything. Oh – and we have no money. And no plan of how to get any. And we also need to plan the rally and get the whole of Sunnystream on our side. That sounds doable, right? Sort of …?
‘By the end of the week it’s going to look incredible,’ says Belle confidently.
‘Um, a question … Are we actually allowed to be doing this?’ I ask. ‘Are we going to get in trouble?’ I actually really hate getting into trouble.
‘Of course we’re allowed,’ Belle says quickly. ‘We’re saving history from an evil pony-killing, puppy-slaying shark. What’s wrong with that?’
I’m not entirely sure that’s how the law works. But when I think about it, I’m pretty sure my mum would think it was a good idea if she’d stop and listen for three seconds. She loves community action. Or the idea of it, anyway. So I guess it’s OK.
‘OMG – once we’ve fixed it, we can decorate!’ says Lola. ‘Just how we want! Like, we’ll get to choose the colour and the vibe and –’
Just as I start to say ‘Yellow’ and Maisie starts to say ‘Purple’ and Lola starts to say ‘Boho loft’, Belle starts to say, ‘Sounds expensive.’
The rain’s cleared up, so thankfully we can work outside, because all the dust was starting to give me asthma. We write lists of jobs and supplies and responsibilities. We look up prices online and plan trips to the Hard Hair Store, the two-in-one hardware store and hairdresser in Cloud Town. That’s the suburb next to ours, and it’s sort of our rival, but mostly in a jokey way.
