The Yearbook Committee

by Sarah Ayoub

  ‘Ummm, okay,’ I say, confused. ‘Is that on your bucket list or something? You’ve never mentioned it before.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she says, laughing, ‘it’s not something I’m planning on doing. I’m just saying it’s good to know in case it ever comes up.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ I say, still confused, ‘although maybe I should mention that there’s no such thing as a “modest” topless shoot, in my opinion anyway.’

  ‘Well, in my opinion, you’re a prude,’ she says.

  ‘That line is getting a little old,’ I say, smiling. ‘Tell it to someone who cares. Anyway, what’s up?’

  ‘Just wanted to know if you want to meet me in Burwood for coffee later?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’ I reply. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna pass this Business test anyway.’

  ‘Can’t study?’ she asks.

  ‘Honestly, it’s like some fairies crawled into my brain last night and built a fortress to prevent anything going in.’

  ‘Eugh,’ she replies. ‘Sounds painful.’

  ‘You think all study is painful.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll just make a sex tape and build a reality-TV empire instead.’

  ‘I’m hanging up now,’ I tell her.

  She giggles. ‘OK, see you soon!’

  I arrive at our favourite cafe and get a seat outside. After ten minutes of sitting alone, I check my phone and find two missed calls and a text message.

  Changed my mind. Meet me at the fro-yo shop?

  I shake my head and try to sneak out of the cafe.

  ‘Sorry,’ I tell the waiter when she sees me, red-faced. ‘My friend . . . can’t come any more.’

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ I tell Lauren when I get to the frozen yoghurt shop. ‘I was sitting there for ages.’

  She shrugs. ‘Sorry, I had a craving.’

  I shake my head. ‘Where are we even gonna eat these? There’s no tables here.’

  ‘I don’t know — stop getting antsy, I’ll figure it out.’

  We order the yoghurt (I pay, of course) and walk outside, the cold wind blowing our hair in all directions.

  ‘I’m really going to kill you,’ I tell her.

  ‘Relax, it’s not that bad,’ she says.

  ‘You have yoghurt in your hair!’

  ‘Let’s just sit here,’ she says, gesturing to a table in front of the gelato shop. ‘They won’t be able to see us.’

  I look at her guiltily.

  ‘Just do it,’ she says, sitting down. ‘We’ll be done in three minutes. If they tell us to go, we’ll go.’

  I take a seat across from her and start shovelling the yoghurt into my mouth so we can leave.

  She looks at me and bursts out laughing.

  ‘It’s not a race, you know,’ she says.

  I grin at her. ‘I don’t want to get in trouble.’

  ‘From the gelato-shop owner?’ she asks, mocking me. ‘Gosh, you overthink everything. Relax.’

  Her words remind me of my earlier conversation with David, so I decide to ask for her opinion.

  ‘Do you think I will be able to handle it in Goulburn?’ I ask her. ‘It’s going to be a lot of hard work.’

  ‘Do you want an honest answer?’ she asks me.

  I nod, biting my lip.

  ‘I think you’re a bit wussy,’ she says. ‘You don’t have the backbone for it. I can’t see you as a cop.’

  ‘What can you see me as?’ I ask.

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t know, but policing . . . you have to be in control, strong. But you let the world get away with everything.’

  I look down at my yoghurt. ‘I think I’ll be good at it,’ I say quietly. ‘Maybe I’m not assertive all the time. But I can do it in my work . . .’

  ‘Yeah, ’cause clowning gives you so much experience in being assertive,’ she says, rolling her eyes.

  I look at her for a moment, but say nothing. Maybe she’s right.

  ‘My dad found the police academy pamphlets anyway,’ I reveal. ‘And someone told him about the clown stuff, which means I probably won’t be doing it any more. I have one party left and then I think I’m done.’

  ‘Good,’ she says, smiling at me. ‘You hated it.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ I say. ‘I finally felt like I had my future in sight. Now I have to work on a new plan.’

  ‘So do it,’ she says dismissively.

  I sigh inwardly, wishing I could talk to someone who got it.

  ‘Is the pavlova flavour nice?’ she asks a second later.

  ‘Mmmhmmm, try it,’ I say through a mouthful of yoghurt. I scoop some out with my spoon and move to hand the spoon to Lauren, but it falls out of my hand and into my lap.

  ‘Aww, damn,’ I say, wiping away at my pants. ‘These are new.’

  I’m still trying to deal with the mess when a voice behind me calls out my name. My stage name.

  ‘Tatty? Tatty the Clown?’

  Lauren nearly spits out her yoghurt in amusement. I look at Mike in shock, then stand up really quickly, knocking my bag off the table in the process and sending lip glosses, scraps of paper, loose change and tampons flying all over the pavement.

  The first time I saw Mike, I was sweaty and had remnants of face paint all over me. Now there is a splodge of yoghurt on my jeans and my feminine paraphernalia is scattered everywhere. What is it about this guy that makes me so clumsy?

  I force myself to stop staring at him and pick my stuff off the floor, all the while trying to work out how to deal with this situation. I hadn’t mentioned him to Lauren, which meant her brain was currently working overtime reading into this.

  ‘Hi, I’m Mike,’ he says to her, extending a hand. ‘Tammi and I met through . . . clown stuff, I guess.’

  ‘Lauren,’ she replies politely. ‘You’re too cute to be a clown.’

  ‘So is Tatty, and yet she seems really into the kids.’

  He’s quick, I’ll give him that.

  ‘Mmmhmmm,’ Lauren says, giving me a suspicious look. I pretend not to notice.

  ‘Are you feeling rebellious today?’ he asks me.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Yoghurt at the gelato store?’

  ‘Ohh,’ I say, wishing I were anywhere but here. ‘Ha, yeah, something like that.’

  ‘Well, you better not get into trouble,’ he says. ‘Or let one of those kids see you setting a bad example.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll recognise me,’ I point out.

  ‘That’s too bad,’ he says, smiling. ‘Your costume doesn’t do you justice.’

  I blush and swallow hard, wishing Lauren wasn’t here to see this.

  ‘So Tatty, Tammi . . . whatever. Um, I haven’t seen you around the park lately and I was hoping to run into you. A client wants me to do some extra work for these . . . events that she runs for charity, and I could really use some pointers.’

  I look at him blankly. He’s probably thinking I’m a dimwit.

  ‘I don’t know if you have my new mobile number, so I’ll just write it down on this napkin for you and hopefully you can let me know.’

  He scrawls his number on one of my napkins with the letter M underneath it and hands it to me coolly. I blush again, vaguely aware of Lauren watching this exchange with interest.

  ‘Hang on,’ she says a second later, ‘didn’t you say you were quitting the clown business?’

  I swallow hard.

  ‘Um, I’m meeting some friends for sushi so I better run,’ he says, extending his hand to shake mine. ‘Good to see you again, Tatty. I hope I hear from you.’

  He walks off, leaving me with burning cheeks.

  ‘Who was that?’ Lauren asks.

  I’m so busy staring off in his direction that it takes me a moment to register the question. ‘You heard him,’ I tell her. ‘A clown guy.’

  ‘Oh yeah? What’s his work name?’ she demands.

  ‘Uh, Max. Max Laughs,’ I say. ‘I know, such a cliché. No wonder he needs my advice.’

  ‘
Uh huh,’ she says, looking at me intently. ‘Well, it sounded like he wanted more than just some advice, and seeing that you’re in a relationship with our good buddy Davo, you really don’t need this napkin.’

  She watches my face intently as she starts to tear at the napkin. Then she seems to think better of it, and slips the napkin into her pocket.

  ‘What?’ she asks. ‘You didn’t want it, did you?’

  I shake my head, unable to say anything.

  ‘Good,’ she says, smiling brightly. ‘You do have a boyfriend after all, and you know I’m into the bad boys.’

  I give her a dark look.

  ‘What?’ she asks. ‘It’s totally obvious — he has “bad boy” written all over him. And you say you want to be a cop. Pfftt.’

  I shake my head and find myself jealous of her for the first time in a long time. She’s so strong, so tough, so confident. And I’m just the weakling sitting next to her. Always have been.

  I look down into my lap, where my hand lies. It’s tingling where he touched it, like a little electric current is running through it.

  There’s something about him — a charismatic-stranger vibe that I find exciting, even though I also feel guilty for thinking so. But after all these years of sameness, he is something different.

  And I am desperate to find out more.

  Gillian

  Gillian Cummings added a new photo.

  Cristiana Lopez Love the new hair, Gill! Suits you.

  Lauren Pappas So how many outfits did you try on before you got the perfect selfie?

  Sylvana Darrar ^ Moll. PS, SO sorry I haven’t replied to your message. Things are crazy here. Will ttyl I promise xxx

  ‘No, not that one,’ I tell Matty. We’re in the library choosing pictures for the yearbook. ‘I look like a loser.’

  ‘We all looked like losers in year 8,’ he says, sighing. ‘You should’ve seen me.’

  ‘Lauren and Tammi didn’t look like losers,’ I point out.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘No, seriously, you weren’t here. They had no —’

  ‘For Pete’s sake, you’re wasting my time. Pick some pictures so I can get out of here before I’m old.’

  ‘Fine, use this,’ I say, picking an image off the screen.

  He opens the file just as Lauren and Amanda emerge from one of the private study rooms.

  ‘Oh, the school play in year eight,’ Amanda says to me, peering at the screen. ‘You were such a cute Sleeping Beauty.’

  ‘Lucky we did it back when you were thinner,’ Lauren scoffs. ‘If we did that play now, you’d be waiting forever for someone to kiss you — even with your new try-hard hair.’

  Amanda bursts out laughing, then bites her lip, feigning embarrassment, while Lauren just smirks at me.

  ‘Leave me alone, Lauren. I’m busy,’ I say, turning my back to her.

  ‘Yes, Tammi told me how protective you are about your little “project”,’ she says, complete with air quotes. ‘What was it that Gillian said to Tammi, Amanda? That I can’t control everything?’

  Amanda lets out another snort of laughter and Lauren looks pleased with herself.

  My face reddens.

  ‘Piss off, Lauren,’ says Matty.

  ‘Oh, cute,’ she says. ‘She protects the yearbook, and you protect her. Dregs and dregs. You two are made for each other.’ She walks away, almost bumping into Charlie on the way out.

  ‘No one has brought in any photos,’ Charlie says, sitting on a chair next to us. ‘I thought Ryan said Mrs H would make them do it.’

  ‘As if she can make them do anything,’ Matty says, turning back to the computer.

  ‘We have so many blank pages,’ she says, putting her face in her hands. ‘I can’t be bothered with this. I have a Legal assessment due in two days that I’m nowhere near finishing.’

  ‘I’ve done mine,’ I tell her. ‘I can help you if you want.’

  ‘Don’t look so happy about it,’ she says, giving me a look. ‘Do you always cry when volunteering to help someone?’

  ‘You’re crying?’ Matty says, turning to me. ‘If you let her make you cry, then you’re as stupid as she is.’

  ‘Who? What? What are you talking about?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘Lauren,’ he says. ‘Who else.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘I just had something in my eye,’ I say, rubbing it for effect.

  Matty grunts.

  ‘OK, what is going on between you two?’ Charlie asks.

  I shrug, and start gathering my stuff up into a pile. She gives me a stern look.

  ‘Matty?’ she asks again, like a teacher who’s caught out a student.

  He shakes his head. ‘Not my business,’ he says.

  ‘Or yours,’ I tell her, walking out.

  I go sit under the same tree I found Charlie under some weeks ago. We’ve spoken a lot since then, even hung out at lunch occasionally. But I wouldn’t call us friends just yet.

  Moments later, she emerges from the library with Matt in tow.

  ‘Don’t pretend that you’re sleeping,’ Charlie says, throwing her bag down on the ground next to me. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘What, are you going to give me an empowerment speech from one of those feminist books you’re always reading?’

  She smiles. ‘No, I just want to know why you let her do that to you.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me, Gill,’ she says, folding her arms.

  ‘You fold your arms too much,’ Matty says, looking at her. ‘Usually when you think you’re right. Which apparently is all the time.’

  ‘Not helping,’ she says, sliding a look at him.

  He takes a deep breath and sits down on one of the logs that separate the concrete floor of the quad from the grassy area where I’m sitting, tossing his school bag between his legs.

  ‘Well?’ he says.

  I sigh and close my eyes.

  ‘I really don’t want to talk about it,’ I say.

  The bell rings and I let out an internal thanks to the universe. Saved by the bell. But when I open my eyes, they’re both still there.

  ‘The bell rang,’ I say.

  ‘We heard,’ she says.

  ‘You should go to class,’ I say.

  ‘I make it a point to avoid things I should be doing,’ she says, smirking. It was one of those looks that makes you just want to shove her face into a pie. Or, if you’re Ryan Fleming, dog poo.

  ‘You are irritating,’ I say.

  ‘I know, I love it.’

  Matty smiles at us and I look from him to her.

  ‘So, no class?’ I ask.

  ‘Guess not,’ he says, shrugging.

  ‘Want to go get some ice-cream?’ I ask. ‘I’ll tell you all about what happened.’

  We escape via the blind spot near the quad and catch the bus to Burwood, then on an impulse decide to hop on the train to Newtown, just to go somewhere different.

  ‘Thank God I didn’t bring my car,’ Charlie says, when she sees the traffic on King Street. ‘Sydney traffic sucks.’

  ‘You have a car?’ I say. ‘Wow.’

  ‘What?’ she says. ‘No big deal.’

  Matty scoffs. ‘You make out as if you’re above all this privileged elite business, and turns out you’re just like the rest of them.’

  ‘It was a gift,’ she says, offended.

  He shakes his head. ‘That’s not a way to win this argument.’

  Charlie declares that it’s too cold for ice-cream despite my protestations, retaliating with her ‘guest’ status in our city.

  ‘You don’t even want to be here,’ I point out. ‘You can’t use that argument.’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ she says. ‘If I must suffer here, at least let me choose where to go.’

  ‘OK,’ I say defeated, even though I could eat ice-cream in sub-zero temperatures.

  We end up at Doughbox Diner on Enmore Road, where they get a savoury crepe each and I get a sweet one.


  ‘If my mum saw me eating this, she would die,’ I say, wiping melted chocolate off my hands.

  ‘You’re making a mess,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Leave her alone; this is the happiest I’ve seen her,’ Matty says.

  ‘You softie,’ she says, winking at him. He smiles and my heart melts a little.

  ‘You guys, this is, like, real friendship!’ I say, excited.

  ‘Don’t ruin it,’ he says.

  ‘But in the spirit of this alleged friendship, tell us what is going on with you and bitch face,’ says Charlie.

  ‘Honestly, I thought she’d be over it by now, because it was months ago, but I guess not,’ I say.

  Charlie looks at me expectantly. ‘Go on, elaborate.’

  ‘Well, when my best friend moved overseas last year, I started hanging out with them, you know? They were being nice to me and I didn’t really have anyone else — it had always been just Syl and me. So we hung out for about three months in year 11 and then at the end of the year, when the year 12s had their muck-up day, they invited me out with them.’

  ‘But why were year 11s at the muck-up?’

  ‘It’s tradition here,’ I explain. ‘In the olden days, the year that was leaving used to invite the year below to one of its final events as kind of like a hand-over. Anyway, I went with them one night. And they decided they were going to vandalise the main street of Croydon — The Strand — and blame the public school. They spilled garbage everywhere, sprayed a little graffiti, broke one or two shop windows — stuff like that.’

  ‘And you didn’t show?’

  ‘No, I showed up,’ I say. ‘I just didn’t know that I was being followed by a journalist.’

  ‘Huh?’ Matty says. ‘So that’s why you were on the news — not because someone saw you and dobbed you in?’

  ‘Well . . . I don’t know. Maybe someone was trying to get some dirt on my dad so they had someone watching the house. And when they saw me sneaking out at 3 a.m., they might have followed me. Or someone could have dobbed us in . . . either way, it ended up in the papers under the headline “MP daughter caught in school prank” or something. With photos.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Charlie says. ‘So they all got busted?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I say. ‘One guy in year 12 even got arrested.’ I look at their faces, trying to assess the damage. ‘Really, it wasn’t that bad — it only took the council, like, two hours to clean up the mess — but Lauren just can’t get over it.’