Starfish Sisters
Page 1
Table of Contents
By the Same Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
GEORGIE
KIA
MICKI
ACE
Ocean Pearl
Acknowledgements
About the Author
ABOUT SELF-HARM
Extract: THE STORY OF TOM BRENNAN Prologue
Faking Sweet
The Red Cardigan
Also by J.C. Burke
The Red Cardigan
Nine Letters Long
The Story of Tom Brennan
Faking Sweet
J.C. BURKE
STARFISH SISTERS
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Starfish Sisters
ePub ISBN 9781864715224
Kindle ISBN 9781864717884
Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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First published by Random House Australia 2007
Copyright © J.C. Burke 2007
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Burke, J.C.
Starfish sisters.
For secondary school age.
ISBN 978 1 74166 155 2 (pbk.).
1. Surfing – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
823.4
Cover design by saso content & design pty ltd
Cover images courtesy Getty Images and saso content & design pty ltd
Typeset in Zapf Calligraphic BT 11/14.5 by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Poppy, Francesca,
Natasha and Seraphina
GEORGIE
'Georgie! Please be careful. That board cost a lot of money,' Mum reminded me for the one millionth, no sorry, one billionth, time this week.
'Well, I didn't ask you to buy it for me,' I felt like spitting. I chickened out though 'cause it would've sounded ungrateful. But lately that's what I'd been feeling like – one pasty, ungrateful blob on two fat legs.
It probably had something to do with the fact that in the last couple of weeks I'd been reminded too many times how 'ggggrrrraaaaatefuuuul' I should feel. How 'privileged' and 'fortunate' I was to have been selected for the Elite Young Surfers Camp. And 'howwww' many girls would give 'their right leg' to have been picked for such a thing.
Yeah well, I wanted to tell those girls not to chop off their right legs on my behalf. They could have my place in the camp and my right leg. Come to think of it, they could have both my legs. That way I'd be able to have a double leg transplant and get slim, tanned legs like Kia and not have to go to surf camp.
When I found out that Kia and I had both been selected for the camp, I screamed so loud I had a sore throat for the next two days. But slowly things began to change and I started to feel differently about it.
In the beginning, I thought it was just butterflies. But each day my tummy felt heavier and heavier and I realised it wasn't butterflies. It was a cement brick sitting in my guts. A cement brick also known as 'dread'.
That used to be the way I felt before a sleepover. I'd start off being super, super excited and then slowly, slowly I'd get a familiar feeling in my tummy, like I'd swallowed a brick, and I knew then I didn't want to stay over anymore.
I grew out of homesickness when I was ten. Now I was fourteen but my tummy still told me what I didn't want to do.
This time it had nothing to do with missing home. It had to do with pressure. Pressure with a gigantic 'P'.
I loved surfing. Once, I'd lived for it, but lately – like since the exact time I got selected for the camp – it had been getting too serious and I was starting to feel pressure. Pressure and me meant one thing: I start stuffing up. Big time.
The bikinis that Kia and I made sat on top of my bag along with the latest one, which I'd finished last night. That bikini was meant to be for me and I'd promised Kia I'd wear it at camp so the girls could see our full range of designs.
I seriously must've been in fantasy land when I'd agreed to do that. But at the time it looked so promising. Kia had found the most gorgeous black lycra with silver stripes. She'd bought metres of it with the money we'd made from our stall at the local markets.
'Georgie,' she'd announced a few days ago, 'I am going to design a bikini especially for you.'
Really, what she was saying was that she was going to design a bikini for the 'larger lady'. It's not that I'm fat – according to Mum I just have a muscular body and big bones. Big, chunky, heavy bones.
'Sew the stripes up vertically,' Kia explained, 'and I'll cut the sides of the pants just a little bit thicker.'
'Gee thanks, Kia,' I blurted. 'Is that to counteract the hip-bums I get with string-bikini bottoms?'
'Georgie, you wait. This is going to be so flattering.'
'Yeah, right.'
'Have I designed a dud yet?'
She hadn't. Kia's designs were amazing and she had such a good eye for fabric. I was just the workhorse whose mum owned the sewing machine. Yet our label was called Bikina, which was 'bikini', 'Kia' and 'Georgina' all put together.
Mum dumped another pile of clean washing onto the bed. 'I thought six pairs of undies would be enough.'
'The camp goes for three weeks!' I said, one hand shoving them into my bag while the other removed my personally designed bikini.
Wide pants, vertical stripes – did any of it help? Any of it? No! It still looked disgusting on me. There was no way I was going to wear it. Ever!
'Yes, I know camp goes for three weeks,' Mum replied. 'Haven't you ever heard of a washing machine?'
'Oh great, I'm going to have to do chores as well?'
'What is your problem, Georgina? You're sounding like you're being sent to prison.'
I went to open my mouth, but I couldn't think how to explain to my mother that that was exactly how it felt. Apparently, there was no computer, which meant three whole weeks of no msn, no myspace and no way for me to design the website I was building for our bikini empire.
Plus Kia's dad told me they didn't 'encourage the use
of mobiles' either. This was actually going to be worse than gaol! Much worse.
'Oh, I forgot to tell you,' Mum said, 'Mr Parsons rang last night. He wanted to know if you were definitely playing indoor soccer next season. He thought he better check if it clashed with your surfing commitments.'
I heard my voice bounce off the ceiling: 'It doesn't!'
'Well, it does a bit, Georgie,' Mum began.
'How?'
'Because the deal was you wouldn't take too much on next year.'
'I'm not taking too much on.'
Mum stopped folding the washing and sat on the bed, always a bad sign.
'My recollection, Georgie, is that when you made the Elite Young Surfers Camp, you, me and your father sat down and discussed . . .'
It was like Mum's words were being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. All I could hear was the sound of my panic. It was too late to admit that I'd just been caught up in the excitement with Kia and that I'd changed my mind now. How could I tell Mum and Dad that all those weekends they'd driven for hours so I could compete in some surfing contest were pointless? If I told them that competitive surfing wasn't fun anymore, that it was too serious and the pressure was starting to strangle me, they'd probably tell me I was being dramatic and to pull myself together. So I couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell anyone. Not even Kia.
If it wasn't for my tree-trunk legs, I wouldn't be in this situation. That was just another reason to have them amputated. My legs supposedly, if you listened to the experts, made me a powerful surfer. According to my coach, Steve, they even gave me the potential to surf like a boy. Apparently that was meant to be a compliment. So why did it make me want to hide under my bed and never come out?
'So what did you say to Mr Parsons about indoor soccer, Mum?'
'I told him you were still keen.'
I gave Mum such an enormous kiss we almost somersaulted off the bed.
'Oh, I so hope we keep the same team!' I squealed. 'We promised each other we were going to try to stay together. Even Emily said she was going to put off horse-riding if it –'
'Mr Parson's a bit worried there's going to be too many girls registering.' Mum had that cautious tone in her voice. Like the one she used when I didn't get into the surf camp last year and really – like really, really – wanted to. 'He said seeing you'll probably have weekend surfing commitments it might be better if he puts you in as a reserve. For the A's, of course.'
'But I don't want to be a reserve!'
'Georgie, how can surfing be your top priority if you have to be available for indoor soccer every weekend?'
'I really, really want to do indoor soccer, Mum,' I explained. 'And when winter comes I want to do proper outdoor soccer, like I always do.'
'Well, darling, you can't do everything. Not anymore.'
'Why can't I?' I propped my board against the wall, hitting the window frame a bit too hard.
'Georgie!'
'That board was very expensive,' I mumbled.
'I beg your pardon, Georgina?'
'Nothing.'
'I don't think you understand how lucky you are to be going to this camp,' Mum regurgitated. 'I don't get it. Are you nervous? Is that what it is?'
'A bit, I suppose.' I went to bite my nails but there was nothing left to chew. 'I guess I just don't know what it's going to be like.' That was true.
Mum hugged me then looked at me with hopeful eyes. She was trying to make me feel better, but it just made me feel rotten inside. 'You earnt your place in that camp, Georgie. You worked damn hard for it too.'
Just as I felt my bottom lip going floppy and starting to tremble, my mobile erupted into a Jack Johnson tune.
'I bet that's Kia,' I said, and gulped.
Knowing Kia and her dad, they were probably already there. Last night Kia kept texting me saying she was so excited she couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep either, but it wasn't because of excitement.
KIA
'Welcome.' Carla, the camp director, shook my hand. 'You must be Kia.'
I managed a smile and a nod even though I was still screaming inside at Dad, who had just conveniently 'remembered' to tell me that Micki Elvich, a girl I'd hoped I could go through my entire life without ever meeting, was going to be here, at this camp, for three whole weeks.
'Reg.' Carla and Dad gave each other a peck on the cheek. 'It's so great to meet your girl at last. She's already in her wetsuit. She must be keen.'
Dad gave me a squeeze and I felt my shoulders stiffen and freeze.
'Okay, housekeeping.' Carla picked up a clipboard and flipped over a pink sheet. 'You're in the Starfish Bungalow, Kia.'
'Am I with Georgie Elwood Ross?'
'You certainly are.' My shoulders relaxed.
'Where are we putting the boards, Carla? I might as well start unloading them.'
'Hang on, Reg, the keys to the board shed are in my office.'
'I'll get them,' I offered.
'Thanks Kia.' Carla smiled. 'Go through the glass doors and my office is at the end of the corridor.'
It hadn't crossed my mind until I was standing at the entrance of Carla's office and staring at the piece of paper. It had to be the list of who was in what room 'cause it was pink like the sheet she had outside on her clipboard.
I tiptoed out to the corridor and had a quick peek. There was no one around. It was dead quiet except for my wetsuit, which was rolled down to my waist and made a rubber-groaning squelch as I walked.
'Come on, Kia,' I whispered to myself. 'Don't be such a chicken.'
I took a step through the doorway and into the office. Then another one and another one. I now could read 'Bungalow Allocation' at the top of the pink page. Just two more steps to find out if it was good or bad news.
Unbelievably good would be Courtney McFarlane in our room. I'd read her shoulder injury was better and that she was coming to camp. Bad – no, worse than bad, disastrous, like the whole camp ruined – would be if Micki Elvich was in the Starfish Bungalow.
Just as I was one centimetre off reading the names, I heard a voice in the corridor. I scuttled back to the doorway and looked around, pretending I wasn't sure if I was in the right place.
Carla squeezed past me. 'There they are,' she said, picking up the keys off her desk. I followed her out of the office.
'The water is so warm, Kia. It's divine.' Don't be pathetic. Just ask her. Ask her, my mind teased. 'You're not going to need a wetsuit in the middle of the day.'
'Um, um?' It came tumbling out: 'I was just wondering if you could tell me who else is in the Starfish Bungalow?'
'Oh?' Carla turned and looked at me. 'I thought I did.'
'No, you just said Georgie Elwood Ross was with me.' I stopped at the glass doors. It was probably best not to have this conversation near Dad. 'Do you, um, remember who else is with us?'
'Let me think.'
Come on, baby, I willed her with my mind. You can do it. Come on. Spit the names out. Say 'Courtney' and not 'Micki'.
'Well, Micki Elvich, of course. Your dad thought it would be great if she was in the room with you and Georgie.'
My throat clamped shut.
'And Courtney McFarlane. She's the other starfish. I'm sure you've come across her even if you've never met her!'
One good and one bad, I told myself. Now I just had to work out how to get Micki out of our room. There had to be a way.
I leant against the doors, barring Carla's exit. 'Courtney's how old?' This strategy was worth a try. 'Sixteen or seventeen?'
Carla went to speak.
'And Georgie and I are fifteen next month.'
'Yes?'
'But Micki's twelve, isn't she?'
'Thanks for reminding me, Kia.' Carla's face suddenly beamed. Maybe she'd just bought my idea. 'Reg told me she's turning thirteen while she's here at camp.'
'Dad told you?' What was my father? The Micki Elvich fan club director!
'And I must make a note of it. You must remind me.'
As if! But I could
n't get sidetracked on that.
'Thirteen, hmm?' I steadied my breath. 'That's still pretty young though, isn't it? I mean, if I was twelve or thirteen I'd want to be in a room with girls my own age, not older. That'd totally intimidate me being with older girls. I'd hate it.'
'She's very mature,' Carla said, stepping around me and opening the glass doors. 'Anything else, Kia?'
De-Micki my life, I wanted to request.
'Go and enjoy the surf while it's all yours. Well, almost.' Carla said something else but by then I didn't care and wasn't listening.
There was something I had to do before I hit the surf. I had to call Georgie.
'Hey Georgie.' I concentrated on making my voice sound normal. It was hard to take the wobble out of it when I felt this mad. 'Are you packed yet?'
'You're already there, aren't you?' she replied.
'First here. I told you I would be.'
'Do you know if we're in the same room yet?'
'Yep.'
'And are we?'
I could tell Georgie was busting. Stringing her along would take my mind off what I was really wanting to spit out.
'We might be.'
'Kia!'
'We might not be.'
'Kia,' Georgie growled. She wasn't having fun and to be truthful I wasn't either.
'We are,' I relented.
'Fantastic! How many in a room? Do you know who else we're sharing with?'
It was awesome that Courtney McFarlane, the actual Ocean Pearl model and an amazing, fully sponsored surfer, was going to be living with us for three whole weeks. It almost balanced out the disaster of Micki even being at the camp let alone in the same room as me, but not quite.
'Four to a room,' I replied. 'And guess who is in ours? You are sooo going to die when I tell you.'
'Who?'
'Actually' – I felt my nails dig through the rubber of my wetsuit – 'there're two girls I need to tell you about and they're both in our room. One's good. One's bad.'
'Well, come on, tell me.'
'I'll get the bad one out of the way first.'
'You're so loving this,' Georgie whined.
'No, I'm not loving this bit, I promise,' I told her. 'I can't believe Dad only just remembered to tell me on the way here. Of course, he thinks it's the best thing ever.'