by J. C. Burke
‘They’re using you,’ Calypso hissed. ‘Just like I used you. That’s all try-hards are good for. Jess Flynn is a liar. A big liar. She’s got you fooled there.’
‘You are so jealous of Jess,’ I sniggered. ‘That’s what this whole revenge plan was about.’
‘You can think whatever you want, Holly. But Jess Flynn stole that stuff with me. She just denies it ’cause she’s weak. She saw the shop detectives coming for me – that’s why she ran. Because if they searched her bag they would’ve found that skanky, stripy Zubi singlet she nicked.’ I heard Calypso heave and take a breath. It didn’t sound like a person. It sounded like a monster that’d been festering in a cave for centuries. ‘Jess Flynn watched me go to the school counsellor twice a week for six weeks and she still said nothing. So think what you want, Holly Hankinson, but that’s the truth. Oh and the other one is that Scott would never go for you. Don’t start thinking he likes you. There must be something in it for him. So remember those words, honey. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt again ’cause don’t expect me to pick you up off the floor this time. And by the way,’ Calypso’s tone changed to sickly sweet and she let a poisonous giggle escape, ‘when are you coming back to MLG?’
‘I’m not.’ I kept my voice steady. ‘I’m staying at St Clemmie’s – for good.’
After Calypso slammed down the phone, I didn’t move. I stayed sitting on the floor for probably an hour. I didn’t cry. I just sat quietly waiting for my breath to return so I could plan the three-way chat with Jess and Scott.
The hour-and-a-half three-way chat I’d had with Jess and Scott had travelled through St Clemmie’s. Almost every Year 9 girl, and I’m talking ‘it’ and non ‘it’ girls, came up and congratulated me. I didn’t realise how hated Calypso really was. I’d only used the line, ‘Everyone at St Clemmie’s hates you’, because it sounded good. Nadene didn’t shake my hand, neither did Michelle. Maybe they’d quietly enjoyed what Calypso had done to Jess.
At lunchtime Jess, Saskia and I slipped away and found a secret spot so Jess could have a bit of a cry.
‘Why is Calypso still saying that stuff about me? When’s it going to stop?’ Saskia and I rubbed Jess’s back and patted her shoulder. ‘I’m so over it,’ she sobbed. ‘I, I just can’t deal with it any more.’
‘You won’t have to,’ Saskia soothed. ‘Holly’s dealt with it. That’s the end of Calypso now.’
Jess took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Thanks, Hol. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come to St Clemmie’s.’
I gazed at my lap so I could hide the big swallow I was about to do.
‘You’ve been such a good friend to me. And to Scott,’ she said.
Jess squeezed my hand again. I looked up at her and smiled. Mascara tears were smeared down her cheeks and her lips were swollen from chewing them. Still, Jess Flynn was the prettiest girl in Year 9.
‘Oh Hol, I almost forgot.’ Jess wiped her nose on her wrist. ‘There’s an ice-skating disco on Thursday night. Scott’s trying to get tickets.’
‘Really?’
‘Will your mum let you out on a Thursday night with exams and all?’
‘Yeah.’ I’d tie my mother up and escape if I had to.
‘It only goes from five till eight,’ Saskia explained. ‘It’s pretty daggy. It’s an under-18s thing, but we always have a good time, don’t we, Jess?’
‘It’s dress-up,’ Jess told me. ‘This one’s …?’
‘Seventies,’ Saskia reminded. ‘Jase and I are going as hippies.’
Saskia turned around to look at something and Jess quickly mouthed to me, ‘Come over tomorrow.’
I nodded.
Jess checked Saskia’s back was still turned then added, ‘We’ll work out what we’re going to wear.’
I gave her the thumbs up.
Life was almost perfect, except for the pit in the bottom of my guts that was heavy with guilt.
After school, Jess and I were lying on her bedroom floor flicking through magazines.
‘Have you done any study for English?’ Jess asked me.
‘Not yet,’ I answered. ‘Have you?’
‘I finished reading Much Ado about Nothing last night.’
I sat up. ‘What happens at the end?’
‘It’s all happily ever after. Hero and Claudio get married. So do –’
‘What about Don John?’ I closed my magazine. ‘What happens to him?’
‘He’s captured at the very, very end.’
‘That’s it?’ What a shame he wasn’t chopped up into little pieces.
‘That’s it,’ Jess shrugged. ‘Hey Hol, here’s a good hairstyle you could wear tomorrow night.’
‘Show us.’ I studied the photo of a model I could never hope to look even vaguely like. ‘My hair won’t go dead straight like that.’
‘Have you ever heard of a straightening iron?’
‘I’ve never used one,’ I replied.
Jess got up and stretched. ‘They’re easy to use,’ she yawned. ‘Hang on. I need to do a wee.’
‘Okay.’
At the doorway Jess stopped and turned. ‘Hey, I think I’ve still got Aunty Pat’s straightening iron. It’s an older one than Saskia’s but I reckon it’s heaps better.’
‘I’ll give it a go.’ Cool. I’d never straightened my hair before. I wondered if Jess would let me take it home and practise.
‘I think it’s in a drawer.’ Jess wandered down the hall. ‘Have a look in the top left-hand one,’ she called back.
The top left-hand drawer was so stuffed with junk I couldn’t see how a straightening iron could fit in there. I checked the right-hand one but that just had undies, bras and a few pads.
The next drawer was longer and took two hands and a bit of muscle power to open. I sifted through t-shirts and belts until my hand felt something hard at the very back. I began to pull it out before realising it was a book.
I pushed the clothes away and saw the cover. It was a diary. The words DEAR ME were written on the front.
Put it back! Put it back! I glanced up at the doorway as I piled the clothes back on top. I’d die if Jess knew I’d seen it. I wasn’t a snoop. I would never ever look at someone else’s diary. I was so paranoid about my mother doing that to me that I didn’t even keep one.
I tried to shove the book to the back of the drawer but my fingers kept getting caught in the buckle of a belt. I wrestled my hand free. Then I saw what the buckle was attached to. I froze.
‘No!’ I yelped. ‘It can’t be.’ I took it out of the drawer. ‘No. No!’
It was like my heart was sliding to my feet.
I held it up: a black-and-white singlet with a belt attached to the back straps. It even had the Zubi tag hanging off it.
Suddenly two hands appeared over my shoulder and snatched it.
‘I said the top left-hand one.’ With a single push of the knee Jess slammed the long drawer closed.
I went to speak but I couldn’t move my jaw. Jess was still standing behind me. I could her short panting breaths. The buckle of the singlet was just touching my elbow.
‘Jess?’
Silence.
‘Jess?’
Her footsteps padded across the room. Then the springs of her mattress wobbled. I turned around. Jess was sitting on her bed, crying.
‘Jess?’
She shook her head and held up her hand to stop me from going to her.
‘Okay.’
Silence.
‘You know I wasn’t looking for it,’ I said.
She nodded then whispered, ‘No one knows.’
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Really?’ Little tears like glistening crystals were slowly slipping down Jess’s face. ‘I felt so bad. Honestly, I did. I do. I’m, I’m not a bad person.’
‘I know that.’ I took a few steps towards her. This time she didn’t try and stop me.
‘It’s been like this horrible, horrible secret I’ve had,’ she wept. ‘It’s
with me all the time. All the time. You probably hate me now.’
‘I don’t hate you.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’
My time had come. This wasn’t how I’d imagined it. I felt strangely calm, like my feet weren’t quite touching the carpet, as I walked to her bed and knelt down on the floor beside her.
‘Jess,’ I began. ‘I have a secret too.’
Ice-skating was hard. It was even harder in flares and a floppy hat. But Scott and I linked arms, and around and around we whizzed singing along to We are Family, which was blaring through the speakers.
‘You’re not bad, Hol,’ Scott shouted in my ear.
‘Let’s go faster,’ I shouted back.
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Okay.’ Scott’s grip tightened around my elbow. ‘You ready?’
I nodded. He dug the toe of his boot into the ice and we were off.
‘Just go with me,’ he called. ‘I’ve got you.’
Faster and faster our skates cut into the ice. I felt so light. It was almost like we were about to take off into the air.
Jess’s speed had picked up too. She whizzed past and winked at me. I knew she felt lighter. I could even see it in her face. She said she could see it in mine too.
‘You’re going well,’ Scott grinned. ‘Do you want to really get some speed up?’
‘Okay.’
Again his grip tightened.
Now Scott’s cheek was almost touching mine. It was like a force was sucking us together. ‘Woooooooo,’ I squealed.
‘Jess told me I’m not your type.’
‘Hey?’ I shouted. Had I heard right?
Scott swerved out to look at me. I grabbed his hand. ‘Don’t let me go.’
‘Jess told me I’m not your type,’ he said those words again. ‘It’s a shame ’cause I really like being with you, Hol.’
Oh no! This was a potential disaster.
‘Scott?’ I tried to pull myself in closer to him so I could meet his eyes but I was going all unco and I was terrified of losing my balance and looking like a complete idiot.
‘Scott!’ I yelped. ‘You are!’ My left skate began to twist and slip. ‘You are my type.’ I could feel myself beginning to slide across the ice but I kept shouting. ‘You are my type. You are sooo my type. I just said that. I, I …’
‘Take my hand,’ Scott laughed as this time he tried to grab my arm and pull me into him, but I kept skidding out of his reach.
I knew I looked like I was doing the worst tap dance you’d ever seen.
Scott was killing himself. He reached out his hand and I managed to grab his fingers. But it wasn’t enough to balance me. Suddenly it was all skates and arms and legs in the air. Down I fell, taking Scott with me.
‘Aggghhh!’ I somersaulted towards the ramp. But I was laughing, shrieking, squealing with joy.
Didn’t Calypso say that Scott would never ever go for someone like me? Calypso was wrong!
J.C. Burke was born in Sydney in 1965, the fourth of five daughters. With writers for parents, she grew up in a world full of noise, drama and books, and the many colourful characters who came to visit provided her with an endless supply of stories and impersonations.
Burke decided to become a nurse after her mother lost a long battle with cancer. She specialised in the field of Oncology, working in Haematology and Bone Marrow Transplant Units in Australia and the UK.
A creative writing course at Sydney University led to a mentorship with Gary Crew and the publication of Children’s Book Council Notable book White Lies (Lothian) in 2002. Burke has since written The Red Cardigan, also a CBC Notable Book, and its sequel Nine Letters Long (Random House Australia). Her latest book, The Story of Tom Brennan, won the 2006 Children’s Book Council of Australia Book of the Year: Older Readers award and also the Family Therapists’ Award for Children’s Literature 2006.
J.C. Burke lives on Sydney’s Northern Beaches. Her teenage daughter now provides her with an endless supply of stories and impersonations! J.C. Burke loves writing for young adults, as they still have an optimistic eye on the world.
Visit www.jcburke.com.au for more information about J.C. Burke and her books.
The author would like to thank:
Victoria Shehadie
Shakti Burke
Louis Burke-Xie
Tara Wynne
Zoe Walton
Anne Perkins
Read on for an extract from
The Red Cardigan
She searches for the smell. She finds it – the sweet perfume of a Murraya bush in summer. It’s the only memory of her grandfather and it’s still exactly as it was. She is sitting on his knee in an old green kitchen. A loose thread hangs from his singlet. Winding it around her finger, she listens to him speak.
‘Your gran knows things, Evie.’
She nods.
‘Sometimes,’ his voice drops to a whisper, ‘sometimes she knows things before they’ve even happened.’
Today, Evie turns this memory over and over, trying to hear each word as if for the first time. She needs to fill in the gaps, make sense of something she knows she cannot ask others. Somehow she understands dark times lie ahead. This is who she is. This is her curse.
At recess Alex watches her. ‘Are you okay, Evie?’
‘Yeah,’ agrees Poppy. ‘You look kind of – weird.’
Evie sees Alex mouth ‘shut up’, but doesn’t care. She wants to go home. She needs to be alone. ‘I feel like I’m going to spew.’
Poppy jumps behind Alex. ‘What? Now?’
‘I think I’ll go up to the office and see if I can go home.’
Alex and Poppy glance at each other.
‘Do you really think that’s, um – a good idea?’
‘You’re sounding like my mother, Alex.’ Evie fiddles with the buttons on her cuff. It’s best not to look at them. ‘I’m okay. I just feel sick.’
‘Want us to come to the office with you?’
‘I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.’
Evie walks briskly through a draughty corridor leading to the school office. ‘The walk of shame’ the students call it. Shivering, she pulls her cardigan around her chest. The cardigan is crimson red and made from the softest wool. Her dad brought it back from Adelaide, last week. He’d picked it up at a vintage store near where he’d stayed. ‘Impulse buying,’ he’d grinned. Evie never lets on, but she understands why he spoils her. It helps relieve his guilt.
Usually she feels good wearing the cardigan to school. Red is the regulation colour for jumpers at Goulburn Street Girls’ High but Evie’s cardigan is vintage. She saw the ‘cool girls’ or, as Alex calls them, ‘the CGs’ eyeing it off at morning assembly. But now she wants to escape their prying eyes, in case they notice, too.
Outside, heavy black clouds sit low in the sky. Evie doesn’t have to look up; she feels them crowding her space, sucking her air. She wishes she could push them away, up where they belong. But today she lacks the strength. It’s all she can do just to keep it together.
‘Thank god,’ she sighs, closing the front door. ‘Home and alone.’
Thursday is her mum’s university teaching day. If it wasn’t, Evie would have stayed at school – anything to avoid her mother’s frown and pursed lips. It’s been ages since Evie’s had a bad day. She figures no one needs to know about this one.
She climbs the stairs to her bedroom, takes off her cardigan and goes to hang it over the chair. Hiding inside the shoulder seam is a tiny knot of hair. She pulls it out and holds it up to the light. It’s the colour of dark copper.
A sharp pain strikes the back of Evie’s head. She slumps onto the bed trying to catch her breath. Her throat is making a rasping noise that sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the room. She buries herself under the doona. It’s safer in the dark.
‘Not again,’ she moans. ‘Pleeease, not again.’
‘Muuum?’ Evie calls from the laundry. ‘I can’
t find any socks and I need you to sign a note.’
‘Evie! Don’t just chuck everything out of the clean washing basket.’ Her mum sighs. ‘What do you want? Socks?’
‘There’s none here.’ Evie stuffs the clothes back in the basket.
‘Give me the basket. I folded all this stuff last night and I’m not doing it again.’
‘Come on, Evie,’ her dad calls from the kitchen. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘Have you looked in the dryer?’ her mother snaps.
‘No. I haven’t,’ she snaps back.
‘Hurry up, Evie. I’ve got a press conference this morning.’
‘Hang on, Dad. I’m coming.’
‘Here.’ Evie’s mother thrusts a pair of socks in her face.
Evie hops to the kitchen trying to put the socks on while her mother stuffs things into her school bag.
‘For godsakes, Evie. Sit down and put your socks on properly.’
If there’s one piece of public knowledge in the Simmons’s household, it’s that Nick Simmons, Evie’s father and Executive Producer of Radio News, cannot under any circumstances be late for a press conference.
‘What was the other thing you needed?’ Her mother is fighting with the bag’s zipper and isn’t winning.
‘Evie, you’ve got to be more organised.’ Now her dad’s on the case. ‘You’re in Year 12 next year. You know, final exams and all that stuff.’
‘Nick, be quiet,’ her mum says. ‘Evie, did you say I had to sign something?’
‘Yeah.’
Evie takes the note out of her pocket. She has folded it, just to show the dotted line where a signature is required.
She points, ‘Just sign there.’
Nick is walking to the front door. Evie picks up her bag with one hand, still holding the note firmly in the other. Her mother takes the corner of the note but Evie won’t let go. She tugs at it and Evie’s grip tightens.
‘Evie!’ Her mother prises it out from her daughter’s fingers, unfolding her secret.
