* Weirdo
* Freak
* Freakazoid
* Nutjob
* Moron
* Goober
* Gumby
* Mayor of Crazy Town
* President of Nerdsville
* Her Right Honourable Dorkmundus of Dorkface
* Anything of that ilk.
Thank you for your cooperation.
I put down the letter. I’m glad I haven’t had to move house all the time. I’ve always had Jackson, EJ and Oliver to hang out with. My laptop is sitting open beside me so I open it and google ‘Quick Reaction Force’. Apparently, it’s a group of soldiers who have to be ready to head out with five minutes’ notice. They’re the ones who get sent wherever there’s sudden trouble. In other words, to the most dangerous places. Having a soldier for a dad would be full on.
When I tell Marshall about the invitation, he gives me a choice: tag along with him while he interviews Korean War veterans for his book or go to the markets with Romola. Staying home by myself is, apparently, not an option. I don’t know … On the one hand, what Romola did has brought me closer to finding Dad than anything I’ve tried. On the other hand, her methods of doing so were really, really annoying. I grab a snack and go back to my room. I’ll make up my mind tomorrow.
‘Revenge is a kind of wild justice …’
– Sir Francis Bacon
SATURDAY AFTERNOON, 16 APRIL
New And Improved Romola is back in charge. I pick up my phone and dial.
‘Hi Riley, it’s me.’
‘Who?’
‘Romola.’
‘Who?’
‘Romola,’ I say clearly, although I’m sure she’s got caller ID.
‘Ohhh, Romola. What do you want?’
‘I was just calling because of … you know …’
‘No, Romola, I don’t know.’
My mouth goes dry and I find it hard to swallow. ‘I just wanted to say sorry I left your party without saying goodbye.’
There’s silence on the other end of the line but I’m prepared for this. New And Improved Romola’s plan is to keep talking. As long as we’re having a conversation, we’re technically still friends. And if Riley and I are still friends, Paige will follow her lead. And Amal likes me anyway. At least, I think she does. She called to see if I made it home okay, which was nice, although, come to think of it, we only became friends in the first place because the teacher asked her to take me under her wing.
‘I was sick,’ I say to Riley. ‘Stomach migraine. I get them sometimes. It’s a genetic condition. I think my grandmother on my father’s side had it. Something like that.’
More silence. My heart is beating like crazy. I tell it to behave itself but, just like my legs, it completely ignores me.
‘I know I should’ve said I was going,’ I continue. ‘The stomach migraine must’ve affected my brain. I really am sorry. Look, I was wondering if I could come round this afternoon and pick up my stuff …? Riley? You there?’
‘I’m pretty busy today,’ she finally replies.
‘Tomorrow then? I have to do some stuff in the morning but I could drop by late afternoon. Maybe we could hang out for a while?’
‘I have to help my mum.’
‘All day? It’s just that my bag’s at your house and it’s got everything in it – phone, keys … I kind of need it. I could come over Monday if that’s better. Or even Tuesday? Anytime, really, I’m totally flexible – I used to be a contortionist. Ha ha.’ My seal-giving-birth/vuvuzela laugh bursts out before I can stop it. New And Improved Romola shakes her head disappointedly. ‘Remember what we talked about?’ she seems to be saying. ‘The cracking of lame jokes is strictly prohibited. And what happened to laughing in a delicate feminine manner? I’m sorry, Old Romola, but you’re on your own.’ Oh, great! Even my alter ego has deserted me.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be free,’ says Riley, interrupting my fantasy. ‘I’ll let you know.’
‘Oh, okay. I’ll –’
‘I have to go now.’
‘Sure, Riley. I’ll see you la–’
The phone cuts out.
Dad says that if you get injured on the battlefield and it’s not life-threatening, you’re supposed to ‘suck it up’ and keep on fighting. That’s what I intend to do. Riley’s mad at me for walking out – fair enough, I would be too – but she’ll get over it. I know she will. I touch the purple and red friendship band on my wrist and make a silent wish. If I hang on tightly enough, they’ll have to keep me around.
SUNDAY, 17 APRIL
It’s the morning of the market and I’m stacking the boot with trays of cupcakes. Each cake has a bright red tag attached with the name of Mum’s business, ‘Go Ahead, Cake My Day’. I’m about to go inside for another tray when I spot Sebastian crossing the street, his hair flopping in his eyes. I’ve often noticed how characters in books are described as having ‘a shock of hair’. What does that even mean? That their hair is shocked to find itself on their head? That the person stuck their finger in an electric socket and their hair is really surprised? When I look at Sebastian’s hair, it looks black, but is it a shock? Not particularly. It’s more lethargic, if anything. Sebastian does nothing to push it out of the way – I get the impression he likes the privacy it gives him.
‘You came!’ I wave enthusiastically.
He responds with a single wave. ‘I’m here on one condition – that there is no, I repeat, no nose recorder playing.’
‘Done,’ I laugh. ‘Yodelling’s okay though, right?’
‘No yodelling.’
‘I’m a very good yodeller.’
‘No yodelling,’ he insists, but he’s wearing the beginnings of a smile – the first I’ve seen since I met him.
‘Fair enough,’ I reply. ‘Come inside and give us a hand.’
The Old Bus Depot Markets are held in a massive shed by the lake. When we get there, we grab the trays out of the boot and head inside. Mum’s trestle table, we discover, is between the juice man and a woman who sells homemade relishes.
Mum sticks up the ‘Go Ahead, Cake My Day’ sign while Sebastian and I unpack. She wants half the table set out with decorated cupcakes and the other half with plain ones. She’s prepared little containers of sprinkles, lollies and edible icing shapes so kids can decorate their own cakes. I watch Mum as she finishes counting the cash float. As usual, her hair is wound into a bun at the nape of her neck, reminding me of a sleeping lizard curled up in the sun. She lets it out and starts winding it into a coil again – something she does when she’s nervous.
‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ I say.
She smiles but her lips disappear. ‘First day jitters. You guys okay to supervise the kids while I take care of the adults?’
‘It’s all under control,’ I reply. ‘Right, Sebastian?’
He unscrews a container filled with tiny silver balls. ‘Absolutely.’
By the time the market officially opens at ten, we’re ready to go.
Sebastian’s pretty quiet at first but he begins to spark up when little kids come over to the table. A couple of hours later, and we’re covered in icing sugar and sprinkles.
‘You’re a hit,’ I say, as yet another little girl chatters away to him.
Sebastian shrugs. ‘I’ve got a six-year-old sister. The secret is to talk about fairies, glitter or pink stuff.’
The girl pays her money and walks off scoffing a bright pink cupcake, her dad’s arm draped around her shoulders. I watch them disappear into the crowd and feel a pang beneath my ribs. Sebastian, I notice, is watching them too.
‘How long since you’ve seen your dad?’ he asks, breaking the silence.
‘Three months,’ I reply. ‘You?’
‘Bit longer.’
‘Blows, doesn’t it?’
‘Sure does.’
Mum decides to give us a break around lunchtime, so we brush edible glitter off our clothes and go exploring. The market is filled with rows of tables load
ed with candles, crystals and lanterns. There are hand-carved walking sticks, glass jewellery, soaps stacked like mini skyscrapers, and hanks of wool twisted up like multicoloured DNA strands. After Sebastian buys his sister a hairclip, we find ourselves gravitating to the second-hand bookstall.
‘Oh, I love this!’ I cry, picking The Hobbit out of a box. ‘Dad calls me Bilbo Baggins ’cos of my giant hobbit feet. See what I mean?’ I lift up one foot to show him my size elevens.
‘Bizarre,’ he says.
Bizarre? My heart sinks. He’s wearing the exact same look Riley wore when I admitted I owned eighty-two fantasy novels. Why, just when we’re getting along, do I go and reveal such an uncool fact about myself? I slip the book back in the box as quickly as possible. ‘Sorry, that was a bit of an overshare. You don’t need to know my foot size.’
‘No, I mean it’s a bizarre coincidence your dad calls you Bilbo Baggins. My mum sometimes calls me Frodo.’
‘Seriously?’ I reply, relief flooding through me.
‘We read The Hobbit together when I was in primary school, then The Lord of the Rings after that.’
‘That is bizarre. Maybe I’ll buy it after all.’ I pay for the book and we step out into the aisle. ‘So, Frodo, where do you want to go n–’
I stop dead, my mouth going dry. Only a few stalls down from us are three girls with their heads bent together: Riley, Paige and Amal. ‘What are they doing here?’ I whisper to myself.
‘Who?’ asks Sebastian, looking around.
‘My … friends,’ I reply, nodding in their general direction. It’s as if a grenade’s gone off in my belly. Riley said she couldn’t see me today because she had to help her mum. That means she lied and my friends made plans without me. I should never have walked out on that party.
Amal straightens up and spots me before I can hide. ‘Romola!’ she calls, waving at me. She’s got black hair like Sebastian only hers is longer and, I suspect, cleaner. She drags the others over with her and gives me a hug. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it.’
My heart jackhammers in my chest. ‘I didn’t even know you were coming.’
Amal turns to Riley. ‘But didn’t you say …?’
‘No,’ Riley says firmly, arching her newly plucked eyebrows. (She bought the latest Dolly mag so she could get the right shape.) ‘What I said was that I couldn’t get on to Romola. I rang her house but no one answered. You must’ve been out, Romey. Sorry.’ She touches my arm. Riley’s petite – a bit like a sparrow. With her tiny hand on my ginormous arm, I feel like Big Bird. ‘Anyway, who’s this?’ she asks, smiling without showing her teeth. (Riley has braces and doesn’t like anyone, particularly boys, to see them.)
‘Who?’
‘The guy standing next to you, of course,’ spells out Paige. ‘Who do you think?’
‘I’m Sebastian,’ says Seb, looking at them from behind his fringe. Not much protection behind there, I think to myself. Not with Riley around.
‘Hi, Sebastian,’ say Riley and Paige together. Their hands fly to their faces and flutter about as they whisper something. Then they burst out laughing. Amal just smiles shyly.
‘I’m Riley and this is Paige and Amal. Wanna hang out with us?’ Riley pauses to look me up and down, then, as an afterthought, adds, ‘You too, Romola.’
Sebastian glances at me to see what I think, but I just stand there, mute – a mutant.
‘Good, that’s sorted then,’ Riley says. ‘This way, peeps.’
I trail along after them, unable to think of anything to say. Turns out it doesn’t matter. With Sebastian around, I might as well be invisible as far as Riley and Paige are concerned. Only Amal bothers to make the odd comment to me.
‘What do you think of this, Sebastian?’ asks Riley, pointing to a jacket.
‘Does this suit me?’ adds Paige, holding up some earrings.
‘Do you think blue’s my colour?’
‘How long are you staying in Canberra?’
Sebastian never answers them with much more than a shrug or an ‘It’s okay’. He spends most of the time staring into space or checking his mobile, presumably for messages from Marshall about his dad. His monosyllabicism – if that’s a word – doesn’t, however, seem to discourage them. After looking at a homemade goods stall for what seems like ages, Riley holds up two bags and says, ‘What do you think, Sebby? This one or this one?’
Sebastian looks up wearily, then something catches his eye. ‘Hey, Romola, look!’ High up on a hook is a bag with a peacock design, the feathers fanning out in green, aqua and gold. ‘You like peacocks, right?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘How did you know?’
He points at my head. I reach up and touch my peacock comb. ‘Ohhh.’
‘Plus, you told me in your letter.’
Riley and Paige giggle. ‘Oooooh, Romola’s been writing lurve letters.’
My cheeks burn. I hate it when they go on like that. Why can’t a girl and a boy be friends without it being a romantic thing? To distract from my stupid blushing, I lift down the bag and examine it. The fabric is covered in tiny glass beads that glint in the light.
‘Looks as if it’s made out of a vintage shawl,’ says Amal. I’m thankful she’s moved the conversation away from love letters. ‘The beadwork is gorgeous.’
‘I’ll say,’ I breathe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.
‘You should get it,’ says Seb.
‘Yeah?’
Riley comes over and takes the bag from me. ‘Hm …’ she says, giving it the once-over. ‘It’s nice, I suppose, but aren’t peacock feathers meant to be bad luck?’
‘What?’ I exclaim.
‘Yeah,’ says Riley, passing the bag to Paige for inspection. ‘I read somewhere that if you have them in your house, you’re inviting sickness and death to come inside. Something like that.’
A cold chill runs down the staircase of my spine. ‘But I gave Dad the tip of a peacock feather before he went on his tour of duty! You don’t think I’ve put him in danger, do you?’
‘Course not,’ says Amal, quietly.
‘It’s just a dumb superstition,’ adds Sebastian.
‘You sure about that?’ says Riley, raising an eyebrow.
Paige thrusts the bag back into my hands and shudders. ‘Maybe you should call your dad. Get him to burn the feather.’
I stroke the fabric gently. While my logical brain knows Amal and Sebastian are right, my non-logical brain can’t stop worrying about Dad getting hurt – or worse. I put the bag back down, then pick it up again. ‘I can’t decide if I should get it or not.’
Riley checks the time on her phone. ‘Our mums will be here soon to pick us up. Look, Romola, it’s your decision, but seeing as your dad’s a soldier, personally, I wouldn’t risk it.’
I weigh the bag in my hands. The green is the exact shade I love. ‘Nah, it’s okay,’ I say, hanging it back on the hook. ‘I don’t need it.’
After my friends have left, Sebastian and I go back to the cupcake stall so Mum can take a break. I stab a stray chocolate shaving with my finger and lick it off. While we wait for more customers, Sebastian plops his encyclopedia in front of me. ‘Read this,’ he says, pointing at the section entitled ‘Peacocks’.
I scan the page quickly. ‘It says that in some cultures, peacocks are a symbol of protection and that the eye of the feather is supposed to watch over them and keep them safe.’ I look up at him. ‘So peacocks can also be good luck!’
‘Exactly.’
I stare at him a moment then leap out of my seat. ‘Do you mind –’
‘Holding the fort?’ he finishes. ‘Sure.’
I race off to buy the bag, excitement whizzing through my veins like a roller-coaster. But when I get there, it’s not on the hook.
‘Excuse me!’ I say to the stallholder. ‘The peacock bag that was here before – where is it?’
‘Oh, yes, I know the one. I’m sorry, darl, I just sold it. What a shame you m
issed out – it was one of a kind. Here, I’ve got some other bags if you’d like to take a look.’
‘No thanks,’ I say, my shoulders slumping. I can’t believe I’m too late. If only I hadn’t listened to Riley! But being angry with her is a dangerous train of thought – a train I’d better not board in case it takes me someplace I don’t want to go. Looks like time for a quick round of burialisation.
MONDAY, 18 APRIL
Maisie always says there’s nothing like a good night’s sleep to help you see things clearly. While I didn’t exactly sleep well after the market business yesterday, I did realise a few things:
In all of the schools I’ve attended, this is the first group of friends I’ve had.
Making friends is a skill – a skill I’ve lacked in the past, but am determined to acquire.
When you’re learning a new skill, there are bound to be a few glitches.
It’s important not to go messing things up by making mountains out of molehills. Mountains are mountains, molehills are molehills.
Ergo (don’t really know what ‘ergo’ means but smart people use it whenever they’re building an argument so it seems appropriate here) it’s best to put the past behind you and focus on the future. And the future is …
‘Mum, can I go to Riley’s?’
I’m hoping that if I get to her place early enough, she won’t have gone out. Then I’ll have a chance to (a) get my stuff back and (b) chat a bit so I can (c) make her like me again.
‘So long as you get your chores done sometime today,’ Mum replies, wiping her hands on her chocolate-splattered apron.
‘I promise. Hey, Mum, could I please take some cupcakes with me?’
She does a quick calculation in her head. ‘I can spare two.’ She puts them in a plastic container and seals the lid. ‘You okay, darling?’ she asks, passing me the box.
‘Mum,’ I say, tapping my finger on my mouth. ‘Lipless.’
Mum smiles, releasing her lips. ‘Well, are you?’
The Beginner's Guide to Revenge Page 4
