Always MacKenzie

by Kate Constable

  I stared at her. Georgia never talked about it, but we all knew it was a struggle for her mum to afford the fees. And yes, she did buy her textbooks at the second-hand book sale, and yes, her uniform was shabbier than everyone else’s. But our families, Bec’s and Iris’s and mine, we thought twice before we spent money. We weren’t poor – certainly not compared to most people in the world, who had to get by without clean water or fresh food or even a roof over their heads. If Iris and I weren’t on scholarships, we’d probably have bought our uniforms at the swap shop too.

  Compared to Rosie and Frances and Mackenzie and that crowd, with their holiday houses and their yachts and their skiing trips and their shopping sprees in Bangkok, yeah, we were not silver-spoon-in-our-mouths rich, and Rosie prancing around the corridors shaking her collection box was an attempt to humiliate us all.

  I pushed back my chair and slipped off to the library alone, which seemed to be my natural state these days. So I wasn’t in the lab when Rosie returned – trailing a parade of giggling followers behind her – and presented Georgia with the money, to wild applause and whooping. Georgia took it; what else could she do?

  She was supposed to have Biology that afternoon, but she wagged it to track me down in the library; I had a double spare.

  ‘Look,’ she hissed, and showed me her bulging pencil case. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘How much is there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I propped up my folder and we counted it. Georgia whispered, ‘It’s about three hundred and forty dollars.’

  ‘You can’t keep it.’

  ‘I’m not going to keep it! But I can’t give it back, can I?’

  Georgia glanced anxiously around the library. ‘Everybody’s laughing at me.’

  ‘Bloody Rosie. Viper-cow.’

  ‘She meant well – no, she did, Jem. She was just joking and it got out of hand, that’s all. It’s not her fault – you should hear how her father upsets her. She’s just acting out, she can’t help it.’

  ‘Oh, please. I can’t believe you’re defending her,’ I hissed. I zipped up the pencil case. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to give it to Mrs Dyson.’ Mrs Dyson was in charge of the social service collection. ‘She’ll be rapt.’

  ‘But – what are we going to tell her?’

  ‘Tell her you raised it for refugees. She’ll think you’re a saint.’

  ‘But – it’s not true. Rosie raised it, she should get the credit.’

  ‘Rosie Lee—’ I took a deep breath. ‘When will you get it through your thick skull that Rosie was making fun of you? She can help it, and she wasn’t being nice!’

  Georgia held out her hand for the pencil case and her voice wobbled. ‘I’ll take it myself. You think what you like. But I know . . . I know I’m special to Rosie. She doesn’t want me to miss out on going to Sydney.’

  I gave up. ‘All right, whatever. Tell Mrs Dyson that Rosie’s a refugee advocate now. See if she believes you.’ It worked out pretty well in the end, better than I could have hoped. Georgia did tell Mrs Dyson that Rosie had raised the money for refugees, but was too shy to take the credit, and Mrs Dyson was so impressed she announced to the whole school that Rosie would have to put her talents to good use and join the social work committee. Just the thought of Rosie Lee on the social work committee was so gobsmackingly wrong it cheered me up for a week.

  One day at recess little Sonia Darcy came up to me in the corridor and whispered in my ear. ‘Mackenzie Woodrow wants to see you.’

  I stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘She’s outside the Music School. She said you’d know where.’

  The universe throws us gifts. I shut my laptop into my locker. No one was waiting for me; Bec and Iris had disappeared and Georgia had gone off on some errand for Rosie. I tried to summon up the proper outrage: who did Mackenzie Woodrow think she was, commanding me to her presence? And why not just come up and talk to me? What was with all this skulduggery? (No one knows where that word comes from. It must be something to do with digging up corpses, though, surely.)

  Anyway I tried to be furious, but I couldn’t. What I mostly felt was curiosity and, well, excitement at the thought of seeing her. Pathetic, I know.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  She was sitting on the bench. I stood in front of her, but then it felt like an interview, so I sat down. And that way I couldn’t see her face; it was easier.

  ‘We haven’t got much time,’ she said.

  ‘You recruiting for ASIO?’

  I think she smiled. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’

  I tried to keep my voice as cool as hers. ‘What about?’

  ‘Georgia Harris and Rosie.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘I’ve been watching them. I don’t think they’ve got a very healthy relationship.’

  I couldn’t have agreed more; I’d been watching them too. But now for some reason all the fury I’d tried to conjure earlier built up inside me. My voice went cold. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘Can’t you talk to Georgia?’

  ‘Why should I talk to Georgia? She’s the victim! Why don’t you talk to Rosie?’

  ‘Georgia hangs around with Rosie making goo-goo eyes; she’s like a puppy. It’s too pathetic.’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘I never believed you could be such a cow.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mackenzie at once. She swung around and seized my hand. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.’

  I shook her hand off mine. ‘Don’t – act at me.’

  There was silence. Mackenzie folded her hands in her lap. At last she said in a strangled voice, ‘I’m sorry, all right? What else can I say? But I’m worried. I don’t know what to do. Rosie’s getting into a bad scene and I can’t stop her. She won’t listen to me. She’s too busy showing Georgia how cool she is.’

  ‘I don’t know what Georgia and I can do. You can’t expect the victim to control the bully.’

  ‘You think Rosie’s bullying Georgia?’

  ‘Well – yeah. Don’t you?’

  For a minute Mackenzie was quiet. Then she said, ‘If you really think Georgia’s being bullied, shouldn’t you tell someone?’

  For the first time I looked her square in the face. Slowly I said, ‘Is that why you got me here? Because you’re too gutless to report Rosie, and you want me to do your dirty work?’

  Mackenzie’s big blue eyes met mine for a second, then she dropped her gaze. ‘I think Rosie needs help. But if I did anything – she’d never forgive me.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘But Georgia’s your friend. I thought you believed in – I dunno, protecting the meek and standing up for the powerless?’

  ‘What am I, Robin Hood?’

  ‘That was your idea, the refugee donation, wasn’t it?

  I knew that was you: Georgia Harris couldn’t think up a scheme like that. That was smart, brilliant.’

  ‘Don’t, Mackenzie! Don’t – smarm up to me.’

  Silence again. ‘I’m not,’ said Mackenzie coldly. ‘I just thought you were the kind of person who stood by their friends. I must have been wrong. I’m disappointed, that’s all.’

  I let out a breath. ‘How can you sit there and lecture me about the importance of friendship after the way you behaved? How dare you. Are you stupid? Or was our friendship so paltry to you that you’ve forgotten?’

  Mackenzie turned her head away.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ I said. I stood up. My knees were shaking. ‘How’s your boyfriend?’

  ‘He’s good.’

  ‘Great. I’m so pleased.’

  ‘So are you going to report the bullying?’ she said, without looking at me.

  ‘No.’

  But I knew I would do something. And I knew Mackenzie knew it too.

  june
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br />   Our school has a bullying policy, of course. But I’ve never seen it put into action. There was a big fuss about it when we started Year 7; we had pamphlets to take home and a two-hour session on bully-proofing ourselves, but since then, nada. Maybe we were all so effectively bully-proofed on that day there was no need to mention it again. Except Georgia’s armour seemed to have cracked, with help from Rosie who was expertly skewering her in all the right places.

  I was still contemplating the best way to tackle this delicate situation when one recess a few days later I saw an email Rosie had sent to Georgia. It was a link to a website that advertised diet pills.

  ‘George, what is this?’

  Georgia turned bright red. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why would Rosie send you this?’

  ‘She sends me stuff all the time.’

  ‘Stuff like this? Fat stuff?’

  ‘No. Other stuff too, lots of things . . .’

  Suddenly I remembered something. ‘Did she say you needed a nose job?’

  ‘She didn’t say I needed one . . .’

  ‘But she sent you a link?’

  Georgia said nothing, but her hand crept up to her nose.

  ‘Right, that’s it.’ I grabbed my books and my laptop and stood up.

  ‘Where are you going? The bell’s about to ring.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said over my shoulder, and as I marched away I glimpsed Mackenzie, in the middle of her gaggle. Though I didn’t look at her directly, I saw her eyes follow me as I went by, and I admit I felt a warm glow of self-righteousness, an essence of Robin Hood-ish rebel bravado bubbling through my veins.

  I marched straight to the counsellor’s office. The bell rang as I got there.

  ‘I need to see Ms Wells. It’s urgent.’

  Maybe the counsellor’s secretary thought I was going to kill myself or, even more serious, drop Maths, because she sent me straight in. Ms Wells gave me a plastic smile.

  ‘Jessica, isn’t it? What can I do for you?’

  Ms Wells is the only person in the universe who doesn’t call me Jem.

  ‘I’d like to report a case of bullying.’

  Ms Wells’s face instantly snapped into no-laughing-matter mode. ‘I see.’ She shut the door. ‘You’d better sit down. This is a very serious accusation, Jessica. Who has been bullying you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not me. It’s Georgia Harris. She’s being bullied. By Rosie Lee.’

  At the mention of Rosie’s name, Ms Wells’ expression underwent a subtle and unreadable shift. I figured that Rosie must be a frequent customer in the counselling department, due to the difficult home life we were always hearing so much about. Ms Wells must know a lot about Rosie.

  ‘I see. And why isn’t Georgia with you?’

  ‘I didn’t – I didn’t tell her I was coming.’ Which did sound feeble, I admit.

  ‘So you’ve taken it upon yourself to report this alleged behaviour on Georgia’s behalf?’

  ‘Well – yes, I guess so.’

  ‘And what is the behaviour, exactly?’

  ‘Rosie sends her emails for diet pills and plastic surgery and she makes her go to parties. And she – looks at her . . .’

  ‘Rosie invites Georgia to parties? And she looks at her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ms Wells frowned at me. I felt helpless. Anyone else would have understood what I meant; any girl in the school would have known. The poison looks that slid sideways across the classroom or the corridor or the quad; the stifled laugh, the sly smile, the whisper. Georgia’s uncertain smile back, her hopeful, pleading smile . . . I knew exactly what it felt like. Bec and Iris had been doing it to me for weeks – except they were my friends; Rosie wasn’t a friend to Georgia, not really and truly . . .

  ‘Rosie makes jokes about her,’ I said in a rush. ‘You remember when Rosie raised money for the refugees?

  Well, she didn’t raise it for refugees, she raised it for Georgia – she took up a collection so Georgia could go on the Sydney trip, to hear Charles Le Tan – Georgia’s mum doesn’t have much money . . .’

  ‘Rosie collected money for Georgia. And you interpret this as bullying behaviour?’

  ‘It was. She was being mean, she was trying to humiliate Georgia, not help her.’

  Ms Wells stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Jessica, but unless Georgia is prepared to substantiate what you say, I really can’t act on what you’ve told me.’

  It was hopeless; Ms Wells just didn’t get it. She never would; she was on Rosie’s side. I said desperately, ‘Well, can we get Georgia in here?’

  Ms Wells pursed her lips. ‘Excuse me a moment, would you?’ She stalked through to the outer office and picked up the phone.

  I stared at the posters on Ms Wells’s wall. Anorexia, self-harm, depression. Maybe I’d become a school counsellor – it seemed like a fun job. I laughed. Probably not a good move. Ms Wells stared at me sharply as she re-entered the room, and I pulled my face back to the most serious expression I could muster.

  A couple of minutes later, there was a tap on the door and Georgia came in, looking scared. When she saw me, her eyes widened and she glared.

  ‘Sit down, Georgia.’

  Georgia sat in the chair furthest from me. I pulled a face at her, but she pretended not to see me. Then there was another tap on the door and Rosie Lee let herself in. Oh, great. I sat up straight, but my heart was thumping.

  ‘Good morning, Ms Wells,’ said Rosie in her best, softest, politest voice. She must have been taking lessons from Mackenzie. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m hoping you can tell me, Rosie,’ said Ms Wells. ‘Take a seat, would you?’

  Rosie smoothed her skirt as she sat, and the second Ms Wells wasn’t watching, she narrowed her eyes at me. I almost yelled out, There! That’s the look, that’s what I mean! But in a flash it was gone again. Rosie shot a glance at Georgia; Georgia stared at the carpet.

  Then the door opened again, and the Head came sweeping into the room. We all scrambled to our feet.

  ‘Sit down, everyone,’ she said pleasantly, pulling back a chair for herself. ‘Now, what’s all this?’ She smiled around the circle of chairs, then they all turned and stared at me.

  Ms Wells said, ‘Jessica has come to me with a most serious allegation. Jessica? Will you repeat what you told me just now?’

  So I said it over again. It sounded even more lame than the first time, with Rosie Lee and Georgia and the Head and Ms Wells staring at me, all furious with me for their own reasons, but none of them noticing how furious the others were.

  The Head turned to Georgia. ‘Is there any truth in what Jem says?’

  Points to the Head for getting my name right; points off for asking such a terrible question. Did she really expect Georgia to rat on Rosie while she was sitting right next to her?

  Georgia stared at the carpet and mumbled something.

  ‘Speak up, please, Georgia, so we can all hear.’

  Georgia flung her head up; her face was scarlet. ‘Rosie isn’t – she doesn’t – she sends me things, but—’ ‘You don’t feel there’s any malicious intent behind Rosie’s actions?’ suggested the Head helpfully. Georgia nodded. I closed my eyes.

  The Head turned to Rosie. ‘And what do you say?’

  Rosie spread her hands, the picture of injured innocence. ‘I don’t know where Jem gets the idea that I’m mean to Georgia. Sure, I tease her a little, but that’s what friends do.’

  ‘I’d rather not interfere with girls’ friendships,’ said the Head. ‘If Georgia can take a joke in the spirit in which it’s intended, then I don’t see the need for other people, however well-meaning, to become involved.’

  Everyone stared at me.

  ‘We’ve never had a bullying problem at this school,’ said the Head. ‘And I suspect we don’t actually have one now.’

  Suddenly Rosie began to cry. ‘I can’t believe Jem could call me a bully,’ she sobbed. ‘Over noth
ing – she’s just jealous because I’m friends with Mackenzie and she wants to be and Georgia used to be her friend and now she’s friends with me and Jem’s had a falling-out with Bec Patel and Iris Kwong.’ All this tumbled out in a rush.

  Ms Wells ripped some tissues from the box and handed them to Georgia, who passed them to Rosie, who mopped at her eyes.

  ‘All right, Georgia, Rosie, you can go,’ said Ms Wells briskly. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to take this any further. Jessica, would you mind staying for a moment?’

  I sat down again. I heard the door click shut as Rosie and Georgia left the room. The Head leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers and peered at me over the rim of her glasses.

  ‘So, Jessica,’ said Ms Wells. ‘Rosie seemed to suggest that you’ve been having a rough time in your own friendships lately. Is that the case?’

  ‘Well, yes – I guess so – but that hasn’t got anything to do with—’

  ‘I believe in girls sorting out their own problems for themselves,’ said the Head. ‘I’ve never had much time for tattle-tales.’

  ‘But isn’t it school policy?’

  The Head raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you, Jem, I don’t need your help to elucidate school policy.’

  Ms Wells said, ‘Jessica, is there anything you’d like to talk to me about? Privately?’

  ‘This isn’t about me,’ I said, maybe too loudly. I could feel my face getting as hot as Georgia’s had been earlier. ‘You’re the ones who are acting like bullies!’

  There was a terrible silence.

  Slowly the Head rose to her feet. ‘This school has always prided itself on its tradition of encouraging girls to be assertive. But I will not tolerate rudeness, aggression or disrespect. I hope I will not have to require you to suspend your studies to provide you with an opportunity to think about the difference.’

  It took me a minute to untangle that, but when I did I nearly fell off my chair. The Head was threatening to suspend me. I stuttered, ‘No, Miss Ezard. Sorry, Miss Ezard.’

  ‘I’m extremely disappointed in you, Jessica. I’m always trying to expand the range of diversity in the backgrounds of our students. I had hoped that you would appreciate the opportunity you’ve been given at this school. You realise, of course, that a suspension would result in the cancellation of your scholarship.’