by J. C. Burke
Seconds? The plate in front of Micki was still heaped with pancakes.
'Well, I'm off to bed,' Bridget announced. 'My legs are killing me. I'm too old for this night duty. Reggie, when are you going to win lotto?'
'Tomorrow,' answered Reg.
Bridget gave me a wink. 'That's what he always says, doesn't he, Georgie?'
I smiled back. I liked Bridget. She was almost like my second mum.
When I was nine, Mum and Dad went on a holiday to Hawaii. Two days after they left I woke up with the worst case of chickenpox. You name the part of the body, I had spots there. It was horrible.
Grandpa and Nanna had moved in to look after us but they were so busy with my high-maintenance little sisters that Bridget ended up having to nurse me. Charlie wasn't even born in those days.
I have these pictures in my head of waking up and seeing Bridget sitting by my bed; of her feeding me salty chicken soup, dabbing cold pink lotion onto my crusty spots and watching every episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch with me.
So that afternoon when I walked in to find Kia cutting herself in our upstairs bathroom, one of the things I thought was: would Bridget hate me?
Because straight away, I knew I had to tell.
And I did. I told Mum. Mum told Bridget. Bridget confronted Kia. But the final one, the big, huge, scary one, never happened, because Kia never confronted me, she just stopped speaking to me.
'Georgie?' Kia was laughing and nudging me. 'Georgie, for the tenth time, do you want maple syrup or jam on your pancakes?'
'Huh?'
'Earth to Georgie, Earth to Georgie.' Behind me, Reg was speaking like a robot or an idiot, depending on which way you looked at it. 'We have contact. We have contact.'
'Oh? Maple syrup, please,' I replied.
There's something different about walking into your own bathroom to find your best friend in a sweaty heap on the floor, one hand holding the flesh of her thigh while the other hand dragged scissors across it.
One, it was in my house, and two, she had specifically come here to do it.
KIA
There was still a heap to organise but it looked ninety-nine per cent definite that Micki was going to move in with us. I was feeling proud of myself too 'cause it was my suggestion. Micki didn't know that though.
About six weeks ago, Dad got one of those late-night calls.
Before I met Micki I used to think that Davo only telephoned late at night because he knew my mum would be at work. I'd also thought that he was calling to invite my dad to watch Micki surf in some contest.
Yeah, I'd love to, Davo, I'd imagine Dad saying. Micki's such an awesome surfer, much better than Kia. I'll come up tomorrow morning. Great! Can't wait.
A few minutes later I'd hear the squeak of the bedroom drawers opening, the zipper of Dad's bag and I'd know that he'd started to pack and would be waiting to leave the second Mum got back from night duty.
My hands would twist the sheets around and around my wrists till they were so tight my fingers would begin to tingle.
'I hate Micki Elvich,' I'd whisper. Sometimes I'd add, 'And I hate my father too.'
These days when the phone rang late at night, I'd tiptoe down the hall and listen to what Dad was saying. I'd catch words like 'That's not good,' 'Oh dear' and 'Micki, you shouldn't have to put up with that.'
It was Micki he'd be talking to. It always had been. Never Davo. I felt so ashamed. A normal girl would never think like that.
That night six weeks ago, I heard Dad's mobile ring and ring and ring. This time I did something different. I got up, marched down the hall and stood right in the doorway of my parents' room.
Dad was leaning against the wall and staring out the window, a frown almost sinking through his face. On the bed lay Dad's phone, still ringing and flashing red.
'Answer it!' I grabbed it and held it in Dad's face. 'Answer it!'
Dad pushed my hand away.
'But isn't it . . .?'
'No.' He sighed. 'She's at school camp.'
It was only then that I noticed the name 'Davo' lit up on the screen. 'Shouldn't you still . . . answer it?'
Dad didn't move. He just seemed to sink into the wall a little more.
'Dad, I know about Davo.'
Silence. Just a tiny, tiny nod from him.
I went and sat on the end of their bed but still Dad didn't move from the window.
'Dad?' I said a bit louder. 'What exactly happens with Davo? Micki didn't really tell me. She just said he was a drug addict.'
Dad began to walk towards me, his arms open.
'Kia.' He sat down on the bed and held me tight. 'Just because you're a grown-up and a parent doesn't mean you're perfect and get it right.'
'But what does Davo do? I don't understand.'
Dad began to talk. But he was holding back; I could tell by the way he kept stopping in the middle of sentences. He didn't tell me any bad stories. Mostly just stuff about Micki's home life and how tough it was for her. He explained that I had to think of Davo as being sick and not being able to do normal things dads usually did.
In my opinion, Micki did heaps more than just dad stuff. She did dad and mum stuff. Everything! The cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping. I hadn't even touched a lawn mower, yet according to Dad, Micki mowed the grass outside the front of their house every weekend.
'Well, maybe if she stopped doing it then Davo would have to!'
Dad didn't answer. His eyebrows said it all as they stretched towards the ceiling.
'What? Are you saying it's okay that Micki mows the grass and does basically everything?'
'No, I'm not,' he said and sighed.
'Well, you don't seem to be – to be angry about it.' Dad was hardly moving. His voice was soft, his face was blank. I wanted him to be shouting and yelling 'cause that's what I wanted to do. That's what he should've done with me. 'I mean, why, Dad? Why is he even still your friend?'
'Because he is and because he needs me.'
'Micki needs you!'
'And I'm always there for her!'
'Obviously Davo too.'
'It's not that simple, Kia,' Dad told me. 'Sometimes people do things that aren't good for them.'
He stopped but I knew what he was trying to say. I wasn't a complete idiot. But I wasn't like Davo. I was nothing like him and I would show Dad that.
'I just don't think it's fair for Micki.' I shrugged. 'That's all I'm trying to say.'
'It's not fair,' Dad said. 'It's very, very unfair. But the reason Micki does things like mow the lawn is because she wants them to at least look like a normal, regular family.'
'They are not a normal, regular family.'
'I know that, Kia. But try and imagine you didn't have Mum and Charlie and I was like Davo. Hey? No one to make your lunch; no one to drive you to surf contests; too embarrassed to have any friends over – what would you be like? What would you do?'
'If you were like Davo I'd force you to get better!' I yelled. 'If you were taking drugs, I'd make it so difficult for you that – that you'd just have to quit. I wouldn't do any of those chores. I wouldn't go to school. Stuff the lawn! I'd . . . I'd . . .'
Dad wrapped his arms around me. 'How can Micki stand to live with him?' I continued. It was almost too much, Dad holding me. Was it because I was angry? Was it because Dad thought my 'problem' made me like Davo? All I knew was that I couldn't sit still. I struggled out of his embrace and got up. 'She must hate him. Hate him! I know I would.'
'He's her father, Kia. She loves him.'
'She's too nice, that's Micki's problem.' And that's when I said, 'She should come and live with us.'
Dad grabbed for my hand as I paced around his bed. 'Do you really mean that?'
'Yes, I do! The sooner the better.'
'That's very generous of you, Kia.' Dad smiled. 'I'm very proud of you.'
'Really?'
Coming up with the idea of Micki moving in wasn't the only reason I felt proud that night or proud still, sitting
here having breakfast with Dad and Micki six weeks later.
After Dad and I'd finished talking, I kissed him goodnight, went back to my room, got straight into bed and fell asleep. Eventually.
My mind was rushing around and there were so many things I felt angry about but they were whizzing through my head too fast to catch and see them. But not once did I lie there digging my nails into my wrists while bad thoughts of what Dad really thought of me tricked and teased my brain. I didn't spend hours talking myself out of opening my toiletry bag to use the scissors so the bad thoughts would go away. No. Not me. I simply fell asleep like a normal, regular person.
Each time my foot hit the ground my heart went thump in time. My back was so straight I felt centimetres taller. My eyes burned as I kept them focused ahead, although I really wanted to glance around to see who was watching us – because the Starfish Sisters were heading down to the beach, boards under our arms and wetsuits on.
The little grommets didn't notice us but they weren't the audience I was interested in. Two of the hottest guys from year eleven just about tripped over their leg ropes as we walked past them – or rather, as Ace walked past them in a wettie so tight she may as well have been naked.
'Hey, Kia!' The uglier one (if you had to pick) waved at me. 'Good luck at camp.'
I smiled back, careful not to open my mouth too much in case my heart shot out of it. It was the first time that guy had ever acknowledged my existence. And he knew my name! And he knew I was going to camp!
Georgie gave me a wink. 'Close your mouth, Kia!'
'But did you hear that, Georgie?'
Thousands of times I had walked this path to the surf. Some days I'd be nervous, like if I was on my way to a contest. Other times I'd be peaking 'cause the waves were pumping. But never, ever had I felt as awesome as I did today.
Just as predicted, the swell had picked up overnight. The ocean was a steely blue colour that made me shiver just looking at it. Waves crashed and swallowed the rails of the sea pool, churning it up into a washing machine.
'This is our break,' I announced on behalf of me and Georgie. 'Good, eh?'
'Pumping,' Micki said. 'Not crowded either.'
'So are we meeting this photographer first?' Ace asked. 'Or going for a surf?'
'Hey, I reckon that's him, over there.' Micki pointed to a guy sitting on the fence that lined the carpark.
'Go on, Kia.' Ace's fist pushed against my back. 'You're the contact. You arranged it. Up you go.'
'I'll go with you,' Georgie offered.
'No need to,' Micki said. 'He's seen us.'
Ace groaned. I know it was her even though she looked at me and smiled.
'Hey, which one of you's Kia? I know it's not you,' he said, laughing and pointing to Ace. 'I know who you are.'
'Oh?' Ace stepped forward and shook his hand. 'Courtney McFarlane. Lovely to meet you.'
'I didn't know you were going to be here at Lennox with the others.'
Ace laughed. Well, sort of laughed, then pushed me forwards. 'This is Kia.'
'Hey Kia, I'm Kent Doherty,' he said, shaking my hand and really grinning. 'Great to meet you. Now, what I had in mind was a shot of you girls holding your boards and looking out to sea with an expression on your face that says something like, "My dream is out there,"' he told us. 'I'm thinking the caption's going to read something like "Is this the Dream Tour of tomorrow?"'
I looked at Georgie. 'Wow!' we said together.
The Dream Tour was the ultimate international circuit that only seventeen women could qualify for.
'Now, let me work this out,' Kent said and chuckled. 'You must be Georgie Elwood Ross because you,' he said, turning to Micki, 'you must be Micki, the baby of the Oz training team. Am I right?'
'Yep.'
'I heard you were coming down to Lennox,' he said to Micki. 'You're from up the Sunshine Coast, aren't you?' As he fiddled with the buttons on the camera he said, 'They say you girls are really going to be the ones to watch in the next few years.'
Micki was blushing, which didn't make me feel like such a dork. I could feel my cheeks burning up, which must've been making me look pathetic. I was a sponsored surfer now and I had to look it too.
Ace was right at home. Her chest was sticking out, one hand was on her hip and she looked like she was sucking in her cheeks and raising an eyebrow. I couldn't possibly do all of that at once.
Georgie seemed comfortable. She was chatting to Kent about the camera and how it worked and stuff. But then Georgie would be comfortable around an axe murderer.
'Just be yourself.' That's what the photographer who did the Seahorse Girl shoot had told me. It helped too. By the end I was actually having heaps of fun.
Getting your photo taken while surfing was easy, 'cause you're thinking about the next wave and the camera's not right in your face. Out of the surf was harder. Much harder.
I said that to Georgie once and she answered, 'You'd better get used to it, Kia.'
I felt bad after that 'cause I wasn't saying it to make myself look good in front of her. I didn't understand why I had a sponsor and Georgie didn't. It made no sense. She was the best surfer out of all of us. One day Georgie really could be on the Dream Tour.
One night when I was chatting to Ace on msn, the topic of why Georgie didn't have a sponsor came up. I didn't start it. How could I, when Dad kept banging on and on about being sensitive towards Georgie and Micki 'cause they didn't have sponsors and I did?
It was Ace who brought it up. She asked me if Georgie'd had any bites from sponsors.
I answered truthfully and said no.
Ace swore me to secrecy but she thought that although Georgie was the best surfer, she probably wasn't quite what surf companies were after.
I'd asked Ace, 'What exactly does that mean?'
Ace answered, 'What I'm trying to say nicely, Kia, is that Georgie probably doesn't take such a good photo. Get it?'
'Okay, ladies,' Kent said, picking up the camera with a bit of a grunt and directing us over to the sand. 'We'll start with a few shots down by the water.'
'Do you want us to take our boards?' Georgie asked.
'Definitely,' Kent replied. 'We'll stagger your heights, from shortest to tallest.'
'I'm still taller than you!' I reminded Micki.
'Just,' she said and laughed.
'Georgie, you're the tallest,' Kent said, 'so we'll start –'
Ace corrected him: 'Kent, I'm taller than Georgie.'
'Yes, but darl this is just a shot of the other three. The piece is about the Australian Junior Team Training Camp. You've got the day off.'
'Oh, yeah.' Ace folded her arms. 'I – I knew that. Sorry. I – I was thinking . . . um . . .'
'No sweat, Courtney,' Kent replied, 'but I was thinking in one of the shots it'd be really cute if Micki wore your Kelly Slater hat.'
ACE
The girls knew I was faking when I said I had a headache and was going back to the house. Kia shot me a total greasy like I'd just ruined the whole weekend. As if I'd expect Kia to sit around for an hour while I had my photo taken.
Anyway, it was better for me if they thought I was faking a headache and having a sulk rather than finding out the real reason, which was Operation Get My Balding, Hatless Head Out of Sight.
I handled it okay when Kent so kindly reminded me that this was a story about the Australian Junior Team Training Camp, which I was fully aware I was not a part of. I didn't like the way he called me 'darl' but then I didn't want to be in his stupid photo. Georgie knew that.
Lucky I'm a quick thinker, 'cause when he said that bit about Micki wearing my hat, I nearly began to hyperventilate. So far, I had got through the weekend without having to take my hat off once.
Height, height, height, my head started chanting. Find the highest point and then you'll be safe. Gee, I'd be good in a tsunami.
So, casually, I strolled up the sandhill and sat there.
My quick thinking had also come in handy last night
when I had the brainwave to tell the girls what Megan'd said about starfish having no brains. Kia completely forgot about checking out the Kelly Slater signature on my hat after that. But then it did kind of ruin the atmosphere and boy, did I cop an earful from Georgie this morning.
From the sandhill I watched – along with a snooping little crowd that was gathering on the beach – as Kent styled the girls in a line from shortest to tallest, on their knees, arms around one another, in a circle facing their boards, in a circle without their boards, blah blah blah . . .
I'd almost drifted off with such unbelievable boredom when I heard Kent call, 'Can we have the hat now, please?'
'Sure,' I replied, sending it down the hill like a frisbee.
'Gee thanks, Ace!' Kia shot me another greasy as she jogged down the beach to retrieve it. 'We wouldn't want you to move.'
But that was my cue to get the hell out of there and back to Kia's bedroom. Time to unpack my second favourite hat, the one with Jack Johnson's autograph. Only then could I relax. Well, sort of.
Apart from Kia's mum, Bridget, whose snores occasionally rumbled down the hallway, I was the only one home. It was so nice to have the house to myself. It meant I could have a good long look at how my scalp was going and what my latest hair count was. Plus, I needed to chuck and punch the pillows around Kia's room to let off the steam that was sizzling inside of me.
Tomorrow I had to say goodbye to my Starfish Sisters. The weekend wasn't turning out how I'd hoped. I knew it was my fault but I just couldn't relax. My jaw was sore from smiling too hard and too much and my neck felt tight and stiff from keeping my head still all the time.
I crawled into Kia's bed, half of me wishing I was back home while the other half wanted to slap myself across the face and go back to the beach.
It wasn't like I meant to. But I got bored lying on Kia's bed waiting for the others to come back. I didn't go looking for it. That'd be worse. I simply noticed there was a lump in the bottom of Micki's sleeping bag and I wanted to know what it was.
How was I meant to know it was going to be a diary? It just looked like a notebook.
