by Lora Inak
‘Not that hairy. What he needs is a good wax.’ Natalie pretended to rip a strip of wax off her own leg and then yelp in pain. That only set Misha off again.
‘Stop it, Nats. I’ll end up cutting myself. I’m gonna open the gift they brought.’ She tore open the expertly wrapped parcel. ‘Wow!’
Natalie turned from the stove. ‘What’s in it?’
‘It’s a set of cut crystal champagne glasses.’
They were beautiful. Showy. ‘Well, it’s pretty obvious they’re loaded. Too bad Jozef is so ancient. Although, he might die early and leave you a wealthy widow.’
Misha seemed too enthralled by the glasses to laugh.
After the coffee was served, and the desserts and fruit taken out and arranged on the coffee table in the centre of the living room, Natalie snuck upstairs. She wondered how the evening would end. With a betrothal? Though, Jozef was too old for Misha, and Misha clearly not interested.
Natalie was curled up on her bed finishing the fifth chapter of her book when she heard the front door shut.
‘I don’t care about that,’ Misha cried.
‘We want what’s best for you,’ Baba replied evenly.
‘No. You want what’s best for you.’
‘What is this disrespect?’ Baba boomed. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of it. It’s decided.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Misha sobbed.
‘That’s enough.’ Baba’s tone made it clear that the discussion was over. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, they all knew not to push their luck.
Moments later Misha stormed into her room and slammed the door. Mama followed. Natalie jumped off her bed and skipped in after them.
‘What happened? Is Baba forcing her to marry him?’ It was hard to believe her father would be so backward, but then again, neither she nor Misha had ever had a suitor before.
‘No. Selim wouldn’t force either of you to marry someone you didn’t want to. He simply doesn’t approve of Jozef,’ Mama explained, moving the pile of cushions off Misha’s bed and taking a seat. She stroked her elder daughter’s heaving back.
‘Baba doesn’t?’ Natalie parroted. ‘What’s the problem then?’
Yippee! Baba wouldn’t force her to marry someone she really didn’t want to. But she wondered how many times she could get away with refusing suitors before her parents stopped being reasonable.
‘Why does he get to decide?’ Misha turned on her side, her face covered in tears and snot, her make-up smudged. ‘I like him. I want him.’ Her sister wailed, drawing her knees to her chest.
Mama handed her a tissue. ‘Misha. Habibi. Your Baba is right. Jozef is far too old. Now, it doesn’t seem so bad, but in ten or fifteen years, it will matter.’
‘I don’t care about that,’ Misha sobbed.
Natalie could hardly believe her ears. Wasn’t it Misha who had said Jozef was a silver fox? Hadn’t they laughed about how hairy he was?
‘She wants him? Seriously?’
Misha sprang to her feet. ‘Shut up,’ she screamed into Natalie’s face. ‘What would you know? You know nothing about marriage, or being a woman. You still act like a child.’
Natalie blinked, too shocked to retaliate.
‘Get out,’ Misha cried. ‘Everyone just get out.’ She threw herself back onto her bed and howled.
Natalie followed her mother out, dumbfounded.
Mama turned to her in the hallway. ‘She wants very much to marry and have children. She thinks it’s a fairy tale. She thinks money will bring her happiness. Anyway, one day she will meet someone else and today will be forgotten.’
Chapter 2
Natalie arrived at school an hour early and walked out onto the oval. It was deserted, just as she’d hoped. She sat on the freshly cut grass and took long deep breaths to help settle her nerves. She’d been up most of the night listening to Misha sob, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d been drawn into a pointless argument between Misha and Mama that morning about convincing Baba to change his mind. Hopefully Misha’s sulky mood wouldn’t last too long. It became unbearable after a few days.
Natalie twisted her head from left to right to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. She was jittery, her stomach in knots. It was the way she felt on the first day of every school year, but this year was more important. It was her last year.
It was the last year she’d sit in the musty classrooms that sweltered in summer or froze in winter. It was the last year she’d gaze upon the yellow-brick eyesore of a gymnasium defaced with graffiti, or shuffle through well-worn books in the cramped library. She’d never again wear her checked school uniform or carry her matching navy blue school bag, peppered with yearly messages, inside and out, from her best friend Katelyn. She’d had the same bag since Year Seven, and now almost five years later, it was tattered, the messages faded but still a record of their lasting friendship. The zip stuck and the handles were ready to tear off, but it had survived being stuffed into lockers and flung on the oval. It had endured being kicked under desks and thrown over fences. Year after year she’d resisted her mother’s attempts to replace it. It held far too much sentimental value to be simply discarded.
It was also the last year she’d have to ‘miss out’ on the school formal because her parents refused to let her go. Or hear about how much fun the school camp was, or listen to her schoolmates squealing about who kissed who and who said what at so-and-so’s party. It was the last year she’d have to invent excuses for not being able to go pretty much anywhere, but she supposed that wasn’t such a big deal anymore since no one invited her. Why invite the girl who never rocked up? She convinced herself that she wasn’t really missing out on anything, but she knew better. At least after this year she wouldn’t have to walk that tightrope anymore.
A few cars were parked in the lot, and one or two students haunted the hallways, but everything was quiet. That’s what she needed. Beside the oval, slender gum trees swayed in the same warm breeze that lifted her hair. Her stomach eased. It was hard to stay nervous on a beautiful morning like this. The sun on her face. The birds squawking. The gentle hum of traffic like an urban lullaby in her ears. Her shoulders relaxed as she gazed upon the tennis courts, the aging reception building, the Wattle tree she and Katelyn always sat under. Sadness plucked at her heart. Her school was dated and not very pretty, but it was hers and she knew she’d miss it. Miss all the memories it held, good and bad. Only one more year, and then it was all over.
She ambled into the empty senior’s common room, took out her folder and textbooks, shoved her bag into her tiny locker and padlocked the door.
‘Hey.’
Surprised, Natalie spun around and almost dropped her stuff. Grappling with her folder and textbooks, and coming close on two occasions to dropping them completely, through a set of expert manoeuvers, she managed to hold on.
‘Do you need help with that?’ He was tall and had a sprinkle of freckles across his nose.
Her cheeks coloured. ‘Ah, no thanks. I’m fine.’
‘I’m Chris.’ His eyes locked with hers.
‘Hi.’ She paused, hating the heat crawling up her neck. ‘Are you new?’
‘Yeah. I just moved here from Perth.’ He dropped his school bag on the cracked concrete floor and withdrew a set of keys from his pocket.
‘With your family?’
‘Just Dad. Mum and my sister are still in Perth. My parents are divorced.’
‘Oh!’ She wanted to smack her hand across her forehead, but she bobbed her head instead. ‘Well then, ah … welcome to Melbourne.’ Great! Now she sounded like her father. Maybe she should crack open a box of chocolates and offer him a shot of cherry liqueur to go with it.
He smiled. ‘Yeah. Thanks. So do you have a name?’
‘No. Unfortunately my parents still haven’t decided what to call me.’ Natalie wished she co
uld muzzle herself. She gave her father a hard time about making bad jokes and here she was doing the exact same thing.
‘Good one.’ He stepped in a little closer. ‘Looks like my locker is the one next to yours.’
He brushed past her, their arms lightly touching. It sent a tingle all the way up to her shoulders.
He stuffed his bag into his locker and ran a hand through his messy bronze hair, pausing at the nape of his neck to give it a rub. ‘So I’ll see you around then … no name.’
Natalie couldn’t help smiling. ‘Yeah. See you around.’
Chris walked out of the locker room leaving the sapphire blue of his eyes seared into her memory. She shook her head. She’d seen blue eyes before, so why was she so fluttery? And his smile! Crooked. Cheeky. Warm. She used the back of her hand to cool her cheeks.
‘Fatso Natso,’ a shrill voice suddenly called across the locker room.
Natalie cringed as Katelyn bounced over. Behind her, a mess of familiar faces crowded in and made their way to their lockers. Some eager, some nervous, a few bored. They called out greetings, huddled in groups on the worn, stained couches in the corner of the room. They hugged, squealed, and high-fived each other. Sridevi, Angela and Tara from last year’s English class waved and smiled on their way through.
‘Can you please not call me that, at least not loudly, and in public.’ Natalie shook her head as Katelyn threw her arms around her. ‘It’s embarrassing, and it makes me sound like I’m obese.’
‘I missed you too, you skinny cow.’ Katelyn squeezed Natalie so tight she grunted.
‘You’re the one who went overseas for practically the entire summer break and didn’t even message me.’ She squirmed out of Katelyn’s grip. She was still a little sore at her for that.
‘So you did miss me then.’ Katelyn smirked, unlocking her locker. ‘And … aren’t I nice and brown?’ She spun clockwise and then again, anti-clockwise.
‘Yes. Just like a roast chicken. Brown and crispy.’ Natalie appraised Katelyn’s cropped blonde hair and smooth tanned skin. ‘I like the red streak through your fringe. Did you get it done in Thailand? How was Thailand anyway?’
‘It was like heaven,’ Katelyn said, ignoring Natalie’s joke. She pulled a can of deodorant from her bag. ‘Even if my parents and stupid little brothers were there. I’m actually suffering from post-holiday depression.’ Katelyn sprayed her armpits. ‘No. Don’t laugh, Nats, it’s a real condition. I can’t adjust to being home. I have so much to tell you. I’ll save it for lunch break.’ She held up a hand. ‘I know you’re pissed at me for being MIA, but we didn’t have free Wi-fi in the hotel and my tight-arse parents threatened to make me pay for all my overseas calls. I posted pics on Facebook and Instagram when I got back Saturday night. Did you see them? Anyway, what’s news with you?’
‘Nothing much, but I’m pretty sure I want to be a foreign correspondent. I did a whole bunch of research on the holidays and it’s perfect for me. I’d be doing really worthwhile work, not just reporting on the latest fashion trends or celebrity goss. You know how I’ve got a thing about gender inequality—well, I could investigate the kinds of things women face in countries where they hardly have any rights at all.’ Natalie’s heart thrilled with all the possibilities. ‘Did you know women in Afganistan during the Taliban regime couldn’t even leave the house unless they were chaperoned by their husband, or son, or someone like that. How unfair was that?’
She’d been dying to tell Katelyn about it. Tell her that she finally knew what she wanted to do with her life.
‘I could even report on major world events like the Syrian crisis. Mum and Dad hear so much through friends of friends, more than they do on the news. I could provide another angle to the story, an insider’s perspective—well, sort of. Anyway, there’s a great course at J School in Queensland. I’m putting it down as my number one preference. After that … who knows? Maybe an internship somewhere, or I could do more study.’
‘That’s really great, Nats, but how will your parents feel about that? It’s in Queensland, so you’d have to live away from home. They don’t even let you come to my place for a sleepover.’
Natalie bit her lip. Why was Katelyn killing her joy? ‘I don’t know. I haven’t sorted it all out yet, I just know that I want to see the world, and write about women’s issues. I don’t want to end up in some boring admin job like Misha.’
‘What about studying straight journalism? You could do that at a local Uni.’
‘But the course at J School is renowned in the industry. And straight journalism might mean a desk job. I definitely want to travel.’ Of that part, Natalie was absolutely sure. She had an old atlas her mother had given her as a child. It held a strange sort of magic for her. Over the years, she’d circled every country she wanted to visit, memorised the capital cities, learned to identify all the national flags.
‘Well, I haven’t seen much of the world yet, but what I’ve seen is pretty bloody awesome. So you go girl. Follow your dreams.’ Katelyn gave Natalie’s shoulder a rub, and then stuffed her bag and deodorant into her locker. ‘Speaking of awesome, did I mention how much I have to tell you?’
She raised an eyebrow and nudged Natalie with her elbow.
‘Yes, okay. I get it.’ Natalie smiled. ‘You’re going to tell me about some hot Thai guy, right?’
Katelyn had a ‘hot guy’ episode every term break, family holiday, or camping trip. Generally, she’d make out with the ‘hot guy’, exchange email addresses or phone numbers, and then forget all about them a week later.
‘Maybe.’ Katelyn shrugged as she threaded her arm through Natalie’s.
The morning bell rang. With a throng of other students, the girls dashed out of the common room, and made their way to the gym for a quick orientation session. The teachers were busy shushing students or opening doors to let in fresh air. Mr Warren, the principal, stood on the raised stage used for school productions, ready to make a speech. When the stragglers finally took their seats, he spoke about a fresh year bringing with it a fresh start and how for the senior students, these years would define their lives. They were reminded to review the class schedules given to them during their two-week prep the previous year. Natalie was relieved to find Katelyn in her English class. It was the only subject they shared. When they were free to go, the girls found their classroom, filed in, and sat beside each other. One thing Natalie wouldn’t miss about school was the plastic bucket chairs. Whether you had arse padding or not, they were totally uncomfortable.
‘Who’s that? Hmmm. A newbie. Not bad.’
Natalie followed Katelyn’s gaze. Chris walked across the room and took a seat. Their eyes met. He smiled.
Katelyn whipped around. ‘You know him?’
‘Not really. I met him in the locker room before you got there. He’s from Perth.’
She peeked over at Chris again. He gave her a friendly nod, before grabbing a pen, scribbling something down on a pad of paper and holding it up for her to see. It said: Do you have a name yet?
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She mouthed back.
Katelyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘What was that about?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
Mr Nelson, their English teacher, strode into the room, turned on the smart-board and scribbled on the tablet: Identity and Belonging. The words appeared on the screen behind him.
‘Okay … okay. Settle down, guys. I know it’s the first day of term and you want to catch up with your mates, but this is your final year of high school. We have a lot to cover this year, and exams to prepare you for, so we need to get cracking.’ Mr Nelson ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and waited for everyone to quieten down. ‘Did everyone read the first book we’ll be covering in our syllabus this year?’ He held up a copy of Alice Pung’s Growing up Asian in Australia.
About three quarter
s of the class raised their hands; a few looked around confused as if they hadn’t been told about it during their two-week prep last year.
Mr Nelson sighed. ‘Okay, for those of you who actually read the book, the theme we’ll be focusing on is’—he pointed to the smart-board—‘identity and belonging. Please take out your copy of the book … if you have it with you of course.’
Natalie had read the book during the first week of holidays, and then re-read it a week ago. She loved it. An anthology of short stories and poems from a variety of writers who talked about their experiences of being an Asian person growing up in Australia. Parts were funny, parts were heart-breaking; the poems were so poignant, but most of all it was enlightening and she could totally relate to it. She might not be Asian like the characters in each story, but she was from a non-Australian/English background and most of her Syrian Orthodox community lived in the western suburbs. Her father had bought a house in the southeast to be closer to his work place and, except for Misha’s friend Juliette, there weren’t any other Syrian Orthodox people living nearby. That pretty much translated to her being the only Middle Eastern girl at school. There were times she’d wished her father had bought in the western suburbs, it would have made her life easier, but then, she’d never have met Katelyn.
‘Those of you who haven’t read the book, read it. In the meantime, who can give us a quick summary—just to make sure we’re all on the same page?’
There was a lengthy silence.
‘It’s a group of stories and poems written by Asian writers who all grew up in Australia, and the different experiences they had, both positive and negative, given their different cultural backgrounds.’
Mr Nelson clapped his hands together. ‘That’s it in a nutshell. Good work …’—he paused, scanning his class list—‘Chris. You’re new, aren’t you?’
Chris nodded. Natalie noticed the faintest blush touch his cheeks, and for some reason, she liked him more for it.
‘Good work, Chris. Very concise.’
Chris glanced at her. It was quick, but it made her heart flip.
