Maddie in the Middle

by Julia Lawrinson

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Do you have many friends?’

  ‘At the moment?’

  ‘Sure, let’s start with that.’

  I consider what I can say:

  Once upon a time I had two friends. That was then, in the past, when everything was different, and better.

  That was then.

  Right now, Katy keeps turning around in class to look at me, but I keep my head down. Even though I’ve been horrible, I’m sure Katy would be pitying me, as well as being angry, if she knew the whole story. Compared to Katy, my life is a mess. Compared to Katy, who has focus and direction and strength, I drift like a leaf on a river, going here and there. I’ve driven Katy away without meaning to, and now, after Katy tried to make things better, I’ve driven her away for good.

  Right now, the other friend, Samara, isn’t at school every day, but when she is, she ignores me completely. If we walk past each other, Samara’s eyes slide over me as if I’m not there. Tom and Dayna are still there, too, so I hope they’ve been moved together. They are avoiding me the same way Samara is, which stings.

  Right now, the picture of Samara and me no longer exists. I’ve been deleted from her account, as if I never existed.

  So right now, things are terrible with one friend, and abysmal with the other.

  ‘That sounds challenging,’ the psychologist says. ‘So what is the whole story?’

  ‘What?’ I am startled to find that I’ve spoken aloud what I was thinking. Maybe I need a psychologist for real.

  ‘Is there something else you should be telling me?’

  ‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I do hang out with a girl called Brooke. I guess she’s my friend. And Dan and Simone.’

  I make sure I don’t say aloud that often I make an excuse not to hang out with Brooke, Dan and Simone, even though they are perfectly happy to have me sit with them. I say I have to go to the music room, or I go over to the library when it is open. Or sometimes, for whole recesses and lunchtimes, I will hide in the less used toilets at the back of the senior school block. I close the seat and sit on the lid, and if anyone comes in, I lift up my feet so if anyone looks underneath, they will think the door is jammed shut.

  I guess this is not behaviour that would suggest I am a normal, well-adjusted girl with lots of friends who just happened to steal a ton of chocolate.

  ‘Maddie?’ the psychologist leans forward.

  ‘I have friends,’ I say. ‘Not a best friend, but I have friends.’

  The psychologist writes something down. Then she says, ‘What about your schoolwork?’

  ‘Oh, my schoolwork is fine,’ I say, relieved to be off the topic of friends, ex-friends and half-friends. ‘I’m actually doing pretty well.’

  I do not add that this is because I have nothing better to do. By focusing on the history of the goldrush, or learning about the life cycle of a butterfly, or working out how to multiply fractions, I can forget the terrible and friendless state of my existence. I especially look forward to the creative writing and the topic box. I get so absorbed in what I am writing about that the time goes by in a state of dreamy attention, where I am removed from everything that has happened. When I look up, or the siren goes, I feel shocked all over again, remembering the trouble I am in, how Katy pities me and Samara hates me, how disappointed Dad is, and how, horror upon horror, Mum is threatening to make me move to Port Hedland.

  ‘And do you have any extracurricular activities?’

  ‘I play the clarinet,’ I say. ‘And I used to be in an ensemble.’

  I don’t mention that I’d gone to Mrs C early one morning, when I knew nobody else would be around, and told her I didn’t want to play in the ensemble anymore. There was no way I could rehearse with Katy and Samara, not anymore.

  ‘But Maddie,’ Mrs C had said. ‘Your playing has improved so much already this year. You’re my best year six clarinet player.’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Leo,’ I’d replied.

  ‘But you will be with Katy and Samara,’ Mrs C had said. ‘Your friends.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I’m sure Mrs C knew something was up, but she didn’t press it.

  ‘All right,’ the psychologist looks up from the notes she is writing. ‘And what about your parents?’

  ‘My mum’s in Port Hedland with her new husband,’ I say. ‘And my dad … he’s really disappointed in me.’

  ‘Because of the shoplifting?’

  I nod.

  ‘What about before that?’

  ‘It was fine,’ I say. ‘It was great, actually.’

  The psychologist raises an eyebrow at me. ‘So you wouldn’t say you were trying to get his attention by stealing?’

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘No, nothing like that.’

  ‘And you said in court it wasn’t your friends encouraging you to do it?’

  Maybe I should say something. I have suffered for what I did, and for keeping my promise to Samara. But Samara doesn’t care.

  Then I think about Samara, Tom and Dayna probably still being together, even though they are being taken care of by someone else. Maybe that is only the case because Samara isn’t in trouble. If Samara got in trouble, maybe their family really would be split up.

  Plus, I’d made a promise to Samara. It is the one thing that makes me feel the teeniest tinyest bit better about myself. Even if nobody else knows, or cares, I know I am someone who is true to my word.

  That matters. To me, anyway.

  I lift my chin. ‘It was my decision,’ I say firmly. ‘Nobody made me do it.’

  The psychologist writes a bit more. When she’s finished, she looks up and says, ‘All right, Maddie. I’ll look at the other reports from your school, then I’ll complete my report and my recommendations, and have it ready for your lawyer before you go back to court.’

  At the mention of court, my stomach turns over.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ the psychologist says.

  But I’m not free.

  Because in a few weeks, I have to go back to court.

  ‘You haven’t changed your mind about pleading guilty?’ Jay says, taking note of my answers on a yellow, lined notepad.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘And have you had time to think about what option you want me to ask for?’

  ‘The community service order,’ Dad says. ‘We don’t want her to have a record.’

  ‘Maddie?’ Jay asks.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say.

  ‘And you have your references from school?’

  Dad hands over a letter from the principal. Jay reads it, then reads it again.

  ‘Well,’ she says. ‘That is a very good reference. It says you have special talents in music and especially in writing.’

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ Jay looks at me. ‘The psychologist’s report is also largely positive, saying you have a solid understanding of right and wrong. While you are currently having some difficulties in your peer group, you show insight into this. Also, your parents’ separation, while upsetting, hasn’t had an especially negative impact on you and you have a strong relationship with your primary caregiver.’

  ‘It says that?’ Dad looks more hopeful than he has for a while.

  ‘The report commends your parenting practices, yes,’ Jay says.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘So, I have a strong argument for mitigation,’ Jay says. ‘To make your order as short as possible. But ultimately, it is for the magistrate to decide.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I ask.

  ‘It means, I can only recommend,’ Jay says. ‘Mostly the magistrate will accept my submissions. But not always.’

  ‘What happens if she doesn’t?’

  ‘Well,’ Jay says. ‘She may extend the period of supervision. She may add extra conditions, such as requiring you to attend counselling. You may have to see the local juvenile justice office each week at the pol
ice station. Or, she may record a conviction if she thinks that you are likely to reoffend.’

  ‘But I won’t!’ I say.

  ‘The problem is, Maddie,’ Jay says, ‘because there’s no real explanation for why you took the chocolates, and so many of them, and for so long, the magistrate may feel you need an extra eye kept on you. To deter you from ever stealing again. And to deter any of your friends as well.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s possible,’ Jay says. ‘But hopefully not.’ She glances quickly at her watch. ‘Oh goodness, we must go in, or we’re going to be late.’

  There is a different magistrate to the one we’d seen last time. This one has blonde hair, is younger, but her face is more severe. She sits on the lofty seat, above the court, and the sky in the oblong window behind her is grey with cloud. Jay points at a seat near the door for me to sit on. I watch anxiously as Jay whispers to the attendant, then waits, her eyes on the magistrate. I am aware of the others in the court, but am too flustered to look around.

  ‘Matter number 1415, Madeleine Lee for sentencing,’ the clerk reads.

  Sentencing. The word sounds hard and heavy, like an iron pole. I swallow.

  Jay approaches the same lectern she’d stood at last time, and she indicates for me to sit next to her.

  ‘Your honour, I table a report from Ms Lee’s school, as well as the pre-sentencing report of the court psychologist.’

  The clerk passes up copies of the report to the magistrate. The magistrate spends a long time reading them. As she reads, I try to work out what her expression is. She looks slightly disapproving, but it is hard to tell if that is her normal expression or something different.

  ‘Ms Lee, stand up please,’ the magistrate says after a time.

  I stand straight up, so fast that for a moment I feel dizzy. I put my hands on the desk in front of me, to steady myself.

  ‘Ms Lee, all these reports are very positive,’ the magistrate says. ‘It says you have a stable family home, and that you are a good student, with a regular friendship group, and you have some areas of special talent.’

  The magistrate puts the reports down and leans forward, weaving her fingers together.

  ‘The thing is, Ms Lee, none of it makes any sense to me,’ she goes on. ‘I’ve been a magistrate for a while now, and I don’t see anyone doing what you’ve done without a reason.’

  I stand still, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the way the magistrate is looking at me.

  ‘So while you are remorseful, you pleaded guilty, and you have no prior record, I don’t feel satisfied at the options I have to sentence you.’

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘I think I need more reports, and perhaps have you seeing a regular psychologist for a while, to ensure the punishment fits with the crime,’ the magistrate says.

  Jay quickly gets to her feet. ‘We accept that, your honour.’

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘I don’t want that!’

  ‘Ms Alzgren, please control your client.’

  ‘Maddie, shh,’ Jay says. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

  ‘But I can’t,’ I hiss. ‘I don’t want to! I just want it over! What do they want from me?’

  From behind me, a clear, confident, familiar voice says, ‘Your honour, if I may approach the bench, I can explain what Maddie won’t.’

  I turn. And stare. My breath catches in my throat.

  It is Katy.

  And next to her is Samara.

  Everyone in the courtroom turns and stares at Katy.

  ‘I realise this is irregular,’ says Katy, ‘but if you would allow us to present oral evidence in support of Maddie, it will mean the court will be able to make a fully informed and fair decision.’

  The magistrate stares. I boggle. Jay whispers to me, ‘Did you know this was going to happen?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Jay says. ‘I don’t think the magistrate will –’

  ‘How old are you?’ the magistrate asks.

  ‘Twelve,’ Katy answers. ‘Samara is also twelve. We both attend Eastlake Primary School with the accused.’

  The magistrate keeps staring for a while longer. Then she says, ‘As you correctly observe, this is most irregular.’

  ‘Yes, your honour,’ Katy says. I wonder how she knows all the right words to say. This is a courtroom, not assembly. Yet she seems as poised as she always is, using words like accused and evidence and irregular.

  ‘But,’ the magistrate says, ‘as long as you are brief, I see no issue with hearing from you. Ms Alzgren, any objections?’

  ‘None,’ Jay says.

  ‘All right then,’ the magistrate says. ‘Come speak into the microphone for the transcript.’

  Katy and Samara weave their way from the waiting benches to the two spare microphones between me and the place the police usually speak from. Samara stands on the other side of Katy, so I can’t see her expression. I can see Dad’s, though. He looks at me suspiciously, and nods in Katy’s direction, as if to say, ‘Is this your doing?’ I widen my eyes and shake my head in reply, which I hope he understands as, ‘Absolutely not, I’m as surprised as you are.’

  Katy stands up, her eyes on the magistrate, and begins, ‘Your honour, I have known the accused since we were in year two together. We became friends then, and I can tell you that the accused is a loyal person who is always – most of the time, anyway – there for her friends.’

  I am torn between wanting to ask what Katy means by ‘most of the time’, and stinging pleasure at being described as loyal.

  ‘I am head councillor at Eastlake Primary –’

  ‘Congratulations,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘Thank you,’ Katy says, and a pinkness appears on her cheeks. ‘I am also trying to get a music scholarship to Lakelands College of the Arts. To improve my chances, over the summer I began taking piano lessons with a new teacher who had just moved here from the southern coast.’

  ‘I am hoping you are soon going to get to the relevance of your musical ambitions,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘I am, your honour,’ Katy says. ‘The teacher told me she had three children who were starting at my school in the new year. How her son had been in a terrible car accident, and took many months to recover. How he was badly scarred. How when he went back to school he was avoided by some kids, and taunted by others. How after being teased he lashed out. How she was afraid something similar would happen at Eastlake Primary.’

  ‘I am still struggling to discover relevance, Katy,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘When we started school, I was present when my teacher’s son did get taunted,’ she says. ‘At that point, I met Samara and realised she was my teacher’s daughter. She reassured me she would deal with her brother, and although I should have reported the incident as head councillor, I didn’t. Because I knew that the family had been through a lot.’

  The magistrate raises an eyebrow.

  ‘But then, my piano teacher seemed to disappear,’ Katy says. ‘And at the same time, I saw her son and the boy who had taunted him selling muffins and then other delectable items to the younger kids – things that aren’t available in our canteen, seeing as we have a healthy eating policy.’

  ‘And did you suspect how these items were being obtained?’ the magistrate asks.

  ‘I knew where the muffins were from,’ Katy says. ‘But I couldn’t work out the chocolates. They weren’t the normal ones you get for fundraisers, which is what they said they were doing. But that’s the first thing that made me suspicious.’

  I listen, wide-eyed.

  ‘The second thing was that Samara and Maddie became friends.’ Katy turned to me briefly, and I see a flash of hurt in her eyes. ‘I could see how much Maddie admired Samara. But soon Maddie seemed to change, and –’

  ‘Katy, how is this relevant to this case?’

  ‘Perhaps I can explain,’ Samara says, stan
ding. Katy sits down. She doesn’t look over at me. But I see her brush a tear from the corner of her eye.

  The magistrate sighs.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she says.

  ‘When you look at someone’s face, you don’t see who they are,’ Samara begins.

  ‘Sorry, Ms – what is your name?’ the magistrate interrupts.

  ‘Samara,’ Samara says.

  ‘Samara, please keep your comments to the specific rather than the philosophical,’ she says.

  Samara begins again. ‘My brother has a big scar on his face from the car accident my father caused,’ she says. ‘After the accident, I learned a lot of things about the way people treat other people.’

  The magistrate raises her eyebrows again.

  ‘Some people blamed my father, or people pitied my mum,’ she says. ‘Some people avoided my brother, others teased him. Some people whispered behind their hands about Mum and her becoming sick. Since then, I don’t pay so much attention to what people look like, or what they say. Only what they do.’

  Samara glances at me.

  ‘Maddie didn’t have to be nice to me or my family,’ she says. ‘She just was. And when our family needed help, Maddie was there.’

  Samara takes a big breath.

  ‘I got Maddie to steal,’ says Samara. ‘I got her to steal so we wouldn’t have to go back to our old town, or be split up to stay with foster carers. I got her to do it, and to promise she wouldn’t say anything if she got caught. And, even though I didn’t believe her at first, that’s exactly what she did.’

  ‘Samara,’ the magistrate says. ‘I’m not sure if you are familiar with the concept of free will, but unless you threatened Maddie in some way, or if she lacked the capacity to understand what she was doing, she is still responsible for her actions.’

  ‘I know,’ Samara says. ‘But she was doing a bad thing for a good reason. Doesn’t that count?’

  ‘Actually, no,’ says the magistrate. ‘But I appreciate your input.’

  ‘It’s because of her that my aunty’s come to stay with us,’ Samara says. ‘So we didn’t get split up after all. And social services are helping out with things, so we’ve got electricity and food. And maybe my dad’s coming back.’