Melissa, Queen of Evil

by Mardi McConnochie

  ‘Of course not,’ Soph said breezily. ‘All our friends are going to be there and none of them have boyfriends.’ She gave me a sly smile. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  Although Soph was my best friend, I had five other really close friends I hung out with at school: Kelly, Emily, Sarah, Mina and Celeste.

  ‘Soph,’ I said, ‘Ravi’s already got a girlfriend, remember?’

  And that girlfriend was my enemy, Vicky Lind.

  Vicky Lind had blonde hair and blue eyes and small, fine, regular features and skin that had never known a blemish, and she was officially the most beautiful girl in our year, because she was a model. Vicky Lind’s parents only let her do modelling in the school holidays, but it still meant that a couple of times a year she caused a big stir by being in a catalogue or doing one of those totally lame fashion parades in a shopping mall. She had even been in a TV commercial once, which was almost like being famous. The problem with Vicky Lind was not that she was beautiful. It was that she knew she was beautiful and acted accordingly. She strutted around the school corridors as if the eyes of the world were upon her, tossing her hair and checking her lip gloss, while all the boys stared at her, goggle-eyed. It wasn’t just the boys, either. Teachers had been known to lose their train of thought when they looked at her. It was actually kind of disgusting.

  ‘So?’ said Soph. ‘What’s she got that I haven’t got?’

  Soph had seen the same TV shows as me, and she had a touching faith in the transformative powers of the school social. In her mind, the social was a sort of Cinderella’s ball where all the old romantic couplings could be detonated and new partnerships formed. It was a magical night, a carnival where everything was turned upside down and anything could happen, and if that was the case then why shouldn’t she have as good a chance as anyone of elbowing out Vicky Lind and getting off with Ravi?

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll bring the money tomorrow.’

  I spotted Mr Boris as I was heading for my locker. I half hoped that he would fang me about the bracelet so I could shoot him down in flames – I’d finally remembered to get a note from Mum – but then I remembered I already had shot him down in flames. He looked tired and preoccupied and not at all interested in chasing down uniform violations. To my astonishment, I almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Did you hear what happened about his house?’ I asked Soph. ‘Was it really bad or did they put the fire out?’

  ‘I heard he lost everything,’ Soph said. ‘Hopefully now he’ll go out and buy himself some decent pants.’

  It crossed my mind to go up to him and tell him I was sorry about what had happened, but then he spotted me and I saw his face convulse with that familiar look of disdain. ‘Don’t just stand there dawdling, Melissa,’ he snapped. ‘Get to class.’

  So I decided he could do without my sympathy.

  That afternoon as I was walking home from school I found myself thinking about Mr Boris – and about Amanda Dean too. If Ben was right, I could do whatever I liked to the people who pissed me off, and there was nothing they could do about it. I know Soph thought it was cool, but now that I thought about it, I wasn’t so sure. Mr Boris was a creep and he deserved what was coming to him, but when I tried to imagine how he’d felt coming home to a burning house, and losing everything, I couldn’t help feeling kind of sorry for him. The same went for Amanda Dean – she was a shocking cheat and someone ought to do something about her, but that lightning bolt could have killed her and she probably didn’t deserve to die for cheating at cricket.

  I told myself that when I did those things I hadn’t even known I was doing them so I couldn’t really be held responsible for them. But now that I did know . . .

  Ben had told me I had to make my own rules. Maybe, I thought, that should be my first rule: no zapping people for frivolous reasons.

  At the time, it didn’t seem like it would be a difficult rule to keep.

  I began to wonder what Ben’s rules were. He struck me as someone who’d definitely have a strong moral code, although I couldn’t quite imagine what that would be yet. Only smiting bad people maybe. Fighting injustice. I had no real reason for thinking that, but the two times I met him, he’d struck me as someone with integrity.

  I still had no idea who he was or where he’d come from. Did he live in some kind of secret destroyer bat cave? Or did he have a regular life, and a house, and a job? I was desperately curious to know more about him but I didn’t even know how I’d begin to ask. Although he came across as perfectly relaxed and friendly, I’d got the strong sense that there were lines with him which I wasn’t allowed to cross. It was intriguing, and frustrating.

  Soph would know how to go about finding out everything she wanted to know about Ben – she’d probably just come straight out and ask him – but I wasn’t like that. Something always held me back.

  And for some reason, I couldn’t quite imagine telling Soph I was interested in Ben. Not yet, anyway. She’d want to know what he looked like and whether he was cute and she’d start planning ways to get the two of us together and there was no way I could explain to her that our relationship wasn’t like that, it was different, it was special, it wasn’t romantic. He was my guide. That little shiver I felt in the pit of my stomach every time I thought about him had nothing to do with liking him; it was just something to do with my powers. And as for the fact that I could communicate with him telepathically just by thinking about him – there was absolutely no way I could explain that.

  I had forgotten all about the snowdome and the safe house, but as I walked up my street towards my house I felt a subtle change in the atmosphere, as if the air around my house was a little bit different from everywhere else in the street. And then, as I walked through our garden gate, I discovered what Ben had meant when he said you could smell a safe house. It wasn’t any particular smell, but it made me think of toast, and cut grass, and that smell the asphalt gives off when it’s started to rain on a hot summer’s day, and lemons, and my mother’s favourite perfume, and pizza dough. The minute I smelt it I knew I was safe.

  Soph called not long after I got home. ‘We’re going to the mall.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘A new juice bar just opened and I want to try it.’

  It seemed like a long way to go for juice, but never mind. ‘Okay,’ I said.

  Me and Soph spent a lot of time hanging out at the mall and talking about the things we’d buy if we had any money, but today’s excursion was not about shopping or window-shopping. Or rather, it was about a different kind of window-shopping, because when we got to the mall I discovered that the juice bar had more to offer than just juice. It also had Ravi.

  We hid behind a potted palm and watched him work for a while. There were three people working behind the counter, all decked out in orange T-shirts and yellow baseball caps, one taking the orders, one making the drinks, and one washing the blenders. It was one of those places where you gave your name with your order, so that whoever was making the juices had to call out your name when your juice was ready. As luck would have it, Ravi was the one calling the names. I watched the way the light fell on Ravi’s forearms as he shook the last bits of fluffy drink into a gigantic disposable cup, called out a name, smiled that slightly mocking smile. The girls were already three-deep around the counter.

  ‘He is so gorgeous,’ Soph sighed. ‘So what do you want to get?’

  ‘I haven’t got any money,’ I said.

  ‘But you have to order something, otherwise how are you going to talk to him?’

  ‘You talk to him. I’m fine.’

  ‘Okay.’ Soph took a deep breath, then sauntered casually up to the juice bar. I followed her and we stood there for a little while, pretending to study the menu.

  ‘Which is better?’ she asked, when she noticed Ravi glance in her direction. ‘The triple berry or the banana and strawberry?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, I can’t stand banana,’ he said, showing his white teet
h and laughing. ‘But don’t tell the boss.’

  ‘Me too!’ Soph said eagerly. ‘I thought I was the only one who hated bananas!’

  I knew for a fact that this was a blatant lie, and kind of a stupid one, because why would anyone who hated bananas even consider ordering a banana drink? But Ravi didn’t seem to notice this inconsistency.

  ‘I’ve always hated them,’ he said. ‘They’re disgusting. Especially when they’re all soft.’

  ‘Ew, and they get those squidgy black bits in them!’ Soph agreed.

  ‘Yuck,’ said Ravi.

  Soph could have kept the banana banter going for a lot longer but the girl taking the orders was getting impatient. ‘What’s it going to be?’ she asked, straightening the orders piling up on the order rail.

  Soph opted for a berry smoothie, and we stood in the crowd around the counter waiting while Ravi made the drink.

  ‘Banana smoothie with extra banana for Sophie,’ he said, when her drink was ready, and twinkled at her.

  ‘Soph,’ Soph said, accepting it. ‘Thanks.’

  And for a moment, just a moment, she had his full attention. But then the girl taking the orders slapped another one on the rail in front of him and the moment was broken.

  ‘Did you see that?’ Soph cried ecstatically, as soon as we were out of earshot. ‘Did you see the way he looked at me? Did you see the way he smiled?’

  ‘There’s something there,’ I said, ‘definitely.’ Although it was possible he was just being friendly to a customer and it didn’t mean anything at all.

  ‘The test,’ Soph said, ‘is whether he remembers me at school tomorrow.’

  ‘And what if he doesn’t?’

  ‘I’ll just have to keep coming back.’ Soph studied her huge, sweet, purple drink. ‘They’d better not be lying about these things being non-fattening.’

  At school Soph was very distracted through the morning classes. It looked like she was being extra studious but in fact she was writing Ravi’s name over and over in the back of her exercise book. We went looking for him at recess time (so we could pretend to casually bump into him) but we didn’t find him. By lunchtime Soph was incredibly tense.

  ‘What if he’s forgotten me?’ she muttered, as we roamed the yard.

  ‘If he has we’ll go back to the mall and you can buy another drink from him,’ I said soothingly.

  ‘But won’t that be humiliating?’

  ‘Not if he doesn’t remember you.’

  At last we spotted him, kicking a footy on the oval with his mates while Vicky Lind and her posse sat on a bench with their skirts hitched up to their knickers tanning their legs.

  ‘There he is,’ Soph squeaked. ‘Try and look natural.’

  We had to promenade three times along the side of the oval before Ravi noticed us.

  ‘Hey, banana girl,’ he said, and laughed.

  ‘Hey,’ Soph replied, giving him her most fascinating smile.

  A footy came flying towards us and we managed to jump out of the way just in time. Ravi’s mates guffawed.

  ‘Idiots,’ Ravi said, and jogged over to collect the ball. ‘Just ignore them.’

  Soph couldn’t think of anything to say, so she laughed merrily.

  We had caught the attention of Vicky Lind, who was giving us the death glare from beneath perfectly groomed brows. Ravi spotted her glaring at us and switched the charm off like someone flicking a light switch. He turned to the mate who’d kicked the ball and yelled, ‘What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t hit the side of a house!’ With a few swift steps he’d moved away from us and the ball was in flight again.

  ‘Did you see the way Vicky was glaring at us?’ I asked, as we walked away. ‘It’s like she owns him or something.’

  ‘It can’t be easy going out with the hottest guy in the school,’ Soph said generously.

  I could tell she was already thinking about how she’d handle it if she was going out with Ravi.

  The Business

  It was Saturday again – cricket day – and I could tell Dad was excited as we finished our breakfast and got ready to head off to the ground. ‘The important thing is just to relax and enjoy yourself,’ he said. ‘Don’t spoil it by trying too hard.’ He was trying not to psych me out, but I knew he’d packed the video camera just in case I had another day of glory.

  My dad loves cricket. Always has. He loves cricket even more than he loves dams. He spends his summers watching the cricket on TV and listening to the cricket on the radio and whenever it’s on in our city he packs himself some sandwiches and heads off to the cricket ground to watch the game. He’s told me that if he ever wins the lottery, he’s going to give up building dams and take a year off to follow the cricket. Every country, every competition, every match our team plays, he’ll be there. That, to him, would be the ultimate holiday. Mum doesn’t get the cricket thing. She says if he ever goes on his ultimate cricket odyssey he can drop her off in Paris.

  Jason isn’t interested in cricket either. He tried it a couple of times but he couldn’t handle all the standing around waiting for the ball to come to him. He’d always end up fighting with the other boys or chasing pigeons or wandering off and getting lost. (And still no-one believes me about the ADD.) Which just leaves me and Dad as the hard-core cricket tragics in our family. When Dad’s home we watch all the games together on TV and when we go to the cricket together I help carry the Esky. It’s Dad who takes me to my matches and helps out with training and remembers who all the other teams are and what their strengths and weaknesses are. Sometimes I think he’s more interested in my cricket than I am, but still, it’s nice. Building dams takes a lot of time and he’s often away, so if it wasn’t for cricket I don’t know when I’d see him. And I’ve got to admit, as a cricket experience, watching my team play doesn’t offer a lot of rewards. For one thing, girls’ cricket is a bit of a niche sport. For another, we’re pretty bad and nearly everyone else in the competition is pretty bad, and personally, I’m a little badder than most. He’s clearly doing it out of love – and not of the game.

  But for the first time ever, I’d given him something to be excited about. It had been a long time coming but at last I’d shown I might have the makings of a real player. My dad had never been so thrilled by anything I’d ever done before and it was a pretty great feeling.

  ‘Let’s hope you can do it all again this week, eh?’ Dad said. ‘You’re playing Souths; you should have no trouble.’

  I laughed. ‘They’re even worse than we are,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got a good little team,’ Dad said stoutly. ‘You just don’t always manage to pull it together on the day. But if you keep playing like you did last week . . . ’

  ‘Darling,’ Mum said, lightly but warningly, ‘don’t put too much pressure on her. This is meant to be fun.’

  ‘Exactly right,’ Dad said, ‘and it’s more fun when you win.’

  He winked at me, and I laughed. Mum just rolled her eyes.

  All my life I’ve wanted to be really great at something. It wouldn’t even matter what it was – ice-skating, quantum physics, I don’t care. I just think it would be so satisfying to know that you could do some incredibly complicated thing really well: that every fibre of your being was working towards accomplishing that one thing that you were born to do. And up until recently, there’d never been anything I was really good at. But that all changed last week.

  I know it takes more than one good game to change people’s minds about you – especially when you’ve been as resolutely ordinary as me – but when I walked onto the ground that day I really felt like the other girls were starting to look at me differently. I could feel the sense of expectation in the air and I knew I was on the brink of something. My coach, my team, the parents, all of them were looking at me as if I’d suddenly become interesting, in a way that I’d never been before. They were all wondering whether I could do it again.

  And I had to admit, I was wondering about that myself. Because I really wanted
it not to be a fluke.

  The other side won the toss and elected to bat. I tramped out onto the field with the others and took up my usual position in the deep, fully alert to any warning tingles or suspicious feelings of omnipotence, but the first over passed without incident, and so did the second. The ball didn’t come my way. Nothing much happened. Balls were bowled, runs were scored.

  It wasn’t until the fourth over that things started to get interesting. The ball came cracking in my direction. The batters started running. I found myself charging forward to pick up the ball and collecting it cleanly. Although most of my attention was on the ball, some instinct told me to look up – and as I did I saw one of them slip. Pow! I sent that ball rocketing in to the keeper, low, flat and fast – the run-out was on for sure! If the keeper had gloved it cleanly the batter would have been gone and I would have scored my first run-out. But the keeper dropped the ball and had to go and chase it and both batters got safely home.

  But the excitement of it had got my adrenalin racing and after that I was on fire. I was drawing energy from everyone on that ground: my team-mates, my opponents, the spectators. It even felt like I was sucking it out of the grass and the trees and the wind. Power, heady and exciting; power, sharpening my mind, my nerves, my senses, until I felt like I could do anything, anything at all. But at the same time I knew that all this power building up inside me would eventually hit overload, and then it would discharge, and I had no idea what might happen next. I knew it was risky to keep playing, I knew it, I knew it, but as the overs ticked by and I turned into a running, diving, throwing, catching machine, I felt a wonderful, terrible excitement building up in me, because man, I felt fantastic. I was it, I was the one, I was the business. I knew I could win this match for my team single-handed, and I wanted it. I really wanted it. Just a few more overs, I told myself. Just a few more overs. I thought if I could get the match won and then get home, maybe I could discharge the energy harmlessly. Kill another pot plant, something like that. So I pushed it. I pushed it for as long as I dared. I pushed it until I saw the umpires going to the batters (we were into the tail end by now) and asking them if they wanted to suspend play due to bad light.