Sky

by Ondine Sherman

  Chapter 2

  ‘Sky! Welcome!’ David opens my car door.

  I saw him at the hospital and funeral but it’s all a blur. The last time David and I really spent time together was Christmas, nine months ago. We chatted before the Christmas pudding while Paula and Mum fought in the kitchen. The afternoon felt cold, despite the summer heat, and I was been happy to have David there.

  ‘So good to see you, mate,’ David says, hugging me tight.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I can’t help but be glad to see him now.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sky,’ his voice is soft, ‘Your mum, Eleanor, was just a beautiful person, inside and out.’

  ‘Thanks David,’ the words barely coming out. I should say something profound, meaningful, but nothing comes to mind.

  ‘Please, call me Dave,’ he says, ‘That’s what my family and mates call me.’

  He kisses Paula and they hug for a minute before lugging my bags inside. The house is small but light and airy. The furniture is traditional but quaint; a real country house.

  ‘You really love plants,’ I say to David taking in the variety of pot plants that sit on every surface and even hang from the bathroom ceiling.

  ‘Paula’s the real plant Meister,’ Dave smiles. ‘She may have been the city girl, but she’s got talent; I just busy myself with the big boring landscaping jobs.’

  I follow him and Paula to the back room.

  ‘Hope you like it,’ Paula says, as we stand in the doorway.

  I take in the single bed with lavender quilt, small white laminate writing desk and chair placed under a window and large cupboard. A vase of fresh cut red and golden native flowers stand on the bedside table next to a slightly rusty metal lamp.

  ‘It’s great, thank you,’ I say. I’m intruding in Paula and David’s life, and for a moment, my anger and sadness make way for a wave of gratitude. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, sweetie. No need for ‘thank yous’, we’re family. This is your home.’

  I turn away so Paula can’t see my face and pretend to look around. I want my real family, Mum, and this is not my home. I imagine her walking in now, hugging me from behind, her plait tickling my neck. I squeeze my eyes tight for a second, can’t time reverse, the galaxy rewind and everything to go back to how it was?

  Paula and David leave me to shower and settle in.

  I unpack my clothes and fold them into the wardrobe. I notice a couple of boxes stuffed at the back of the top shelf and pull them down to take a peek. Weird, they’re filled with all sorts of baby clothes and breastfeeding stuff.

  I open my suitcase filled with books, so heavy David had groaned lifting it from the car. I’m a bookworm and refused to give a single one to the charity that took all our furniture, the stuff Melody didn’t want. Mum called her style ‘vintage-retro’, now I realise that spells ‘zero-worth’.

  Carefully, I hide my wooden box full of treasures under the bed, after taking out a white pebble. I lie down, and like a little girl, stroke its smooth sea-washed surface, perfectly heart-shaped. Mum found it last year on our beach holiday. It was our best holiday ever; maybe even the best week of my life. It was perfect. We borrowed a caravan and drove into the sunset, walking for hours on white sand beaches, our pastel sarongs billowing in the humid breeze, hair curled with salt, Mum’s multi-coloured Indian bangles tinkling like wind chimes as she searched for the prettiest shells.

  I must have fallen asleep for a while because next thing I know there’s whispering outside my door.

  ‘I know,’ David says, ‘give her time … must be in shock.’

  ‘She has to eat,’ Paula insists in a louder voice. ‘She’ll get sick,’ I hear her say before I fall back asleep.

  A knock on the door wakes me again. I look at my watch, 11.30 a.m. I’ve slept through dinner and breakfast and my stomach is rumbling.

  ‘Sky,’ Paula calls, ‘come and have lunch.’ She knocks again softly, ‘Sweetie?’

  ‘Coming,’ I say, giving in to my hunger. I wish I could stay in my room forever. Then my new life would never begin and I can pretend this never happened. But I have to leave the room some time, don’t I?

  I switch into my favourite jeans and Mum’s old long sleeve Sea Shepherd T-shirt. Mum and Melody went to one of their protests against whaling in the southern oceans. They marched from their ship docked at Sydney Harbour to the Prime Minister’s house. I give it a quick sniff; a mix of flour, cinnamon and rose perfume. Her smell. It’s like I’ve been kicked in the gut, I gasp. And then there’s a flash of thought: what if Mum comes back, miraculously, and finds all her stuff gone? She’d be devastated. Betrayed. I should never have allowed everyone to throw it away. Now that I think of it I should have been a much better daughter. Why didn’t I stay with Mum all day, every day for those last weeks? The thought upsets me so much I have to sit down on my bed again to get myself together.

  Paula has set the kitchen table with three plates and a vase of flowers from the garden.

  ‘Here we are, hope you like lasagna,’ she scoops some onto my plate; the smell of beef hits my nostrils like a truck. ‘Corn, beans, mash?’ Paula asks.

  Aagh. Guess she really forgot I’m veggie. I’m not telling her. If she doesn’t care enough about me to remember I haven’t touched the stuff for two years, she doesn’t deserve to know. I’ll just throw her food in the bin.

  ‘Check out the colour,’ David holds up a green bean, ‘rich and dark. Paula’s veggie patch is unbelievable, Sky, you have to take a look.’

  I smile and nod as I pick at the sides of the dish. Luckily I’m not hungry.

  ‘Now I’m off work for a while I can do some weeding.’ Paula says to David and turns to me. ‘Eleanor loved the Asian eggplants, I remember the last time she came we picked …’ her voice cracks.

  ‘Mum hates gardening,’ I want to say, ‘probably just pretended to be polite.’

  ‘Are there lots of farms around here?’ I change the subject instead. I can’t stand her talking about Mum all the time like they were so close when they weren’t.

  ‘Yep, this is an agricultural area, plenty of sheep and cows - Angus, Hereford …’

  ‘There’s a chicken farm not too far from here,’ Paula interjects.

  ‘The one we smelled?’ I ask, and Paula nods before continuing,

  ‘Dave’s doing a big landscaping job at a lovely horse ranch, but that’s a while away, where is it again?’ she turns to him, ‘along the north-west road …’

  My phone beeps and I take it out of my pocket.

  A comment from WildRider, ‘Hate it when you can’t find decent veggie food on the road,’ he adds a sad face. ‘Why are you in West Creek? Thought you were from Sydney?’

  I stare at the screen for a while smiling, not ready to tell the truth about Mum but happy to hear from him. It’s the very first time he’s asked me a personal question, and I have to admit I’m more than a little excited.

  My fingers fly over my phone screen: ‘I’m moving house,’ I write. ‘Leaving the big city and—’

  ‘Sky,’ Paula frowns. ‘No phones at the table, this is family time.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I say, continuing to write. Who’s she to tell me what I can do anyway? It’s not like I’m on the phone all the time; hardly anyone keeps in touch with me these days, save for Melody.

  ‘Sweetie,’ Paula says, looking to David for back-up, ‘I’m sure Eleanor wouldn’t have allowed …’

  I grit my teeth, I’m so annoyed. How would she know what Mum does or doesn’t do? Paula hasn’t been a part of our lives for ages.

  ‘You really have no idea, do you?’ I bark, pushing the chair back so roughly it falls with a crash. I’ve never done anything like that before. Paula looks at me like I’m a lunatic.

  ‘Hold on there, mate, no need to …’ David says, his voice gentle as he picks up the chair.

  But it’s too late. I’ve already slammed my bedroom door.

&nbs
p; I stand by the wardrobe mirror and study my face. It’s crazy. How can something gut you from the core, scoop out your insides like ice cream, and you still look the same?

  I pull up my shirt. Guess I’ll make the change myself. A tattoo of Mum’s name or maybe a portrait of her, right here; I feel the spot on my tummy. Melody has a tonne up her arm and down her back. She would tell me stories of each one; memories engraved on her skin. Of course, Mum said no tattoos, no way. But now I can. I am still thinking of the perfect design so she will always be with me.

  Sitting on my bed, I read a text from Melody. ‘Sorry love, can’t see you yet, off to a silent meditation retreat, need to gather my thoughts. Love you.’ Melody’s known me my whole life and almost feels like a big sister, since she, Mum and I lived together the last few years. I miss her and she’d promised to visit next week. I know Paula and Melody barely talk. I haven’t told Paula about our plans yet.

  I finish my reply to WildRider. ‘Haven’t started my new school yet, but I already hate this place.’

  Could life get any worse?

  Chapter 3

  It’s 7 a.m. and David, mid-coffee, promises to ‘take care of any boys’ if they mess with me at school today, exclaiming his fist is ‘feared across the land’. I want to tell him it’s the girls we need to worry about. But I let it slide; he’s funny and makes me smile. Something I haven’t done in a while.

  I’m wearing my new uniform, a blue skirt and crisp white blouse, and Paula drives me to school early. Late last night, through our paper-thin walls I heard her crying and David consoling, saying ‘she’ll come around’. I felt a pang of guilt but brushed it aside. But this morning she’s cheerfully buttering my toast and more chatty than usual, only mentioning Mum once; a new record.

  ‘Everyone’s going to love you,’ she squeezes my shoulder as I finish breakfast. I can’t shake my anger towards her, maybe it’s not fair but I don’t care. I only grunt in reply.

  She drives me to school early to meet the principal and take the tour around the school. Unlike my last school, West Creek Public is tiny with only one Year Ten class. The school grounds are surrounded by bushland and it’s far greener than my old one. I ask the about kangaroos and the principal smiles. ‘A greenie, are you? Yes, there are a number of species in the area’. The principal seems nice and the school pretty, but I’m terrified.

  The bell rings and the principal opens a classroom door and introduces me to my Home Room and HSIE teacher, Mr Peterson. The class is already seated as he ushers me inside and closes the door. I take a nervous breath. No escape.

  ‘This is our new girl, Sky,’ my teacher smiles. Argh! Really? ‘New girl’? He raises his black bushy eyebrows. ‘Let’s give her a big welcome.’

  A few people respond with a ‘hey’ and Mr Peterson makes the class do it again, this time ‘with enthusiasm’. Still, the response is pitiful. I wish a big hole would swallow me up.

  He leads me to an empty desk at the side of the room and introduces a girl, Lucy, who will be my classroom buddy.

  ‘What’s your last name?’ Mr Peterson asks. ‘I’ve been on leave for a month and they gave me your file this morning but it’s here somewhere,’ he rummages amid piles of papers. ‘I’m sure I saw it, didn’t I? Or was that … Anyway, I’ll look later.’

  Lucy smiles at me and pushes her glasses up her nose. She looks so friendly I relax a little. She has short, brown hair that is layered. Not fashionable. Short and thin, her shirt lies flat on her chest, making me feel buxom in comparison. Just by the look of her, I’d bet a billion dollars she’s not popular. I wonder what vibes I’m giving off. Do I look like an obvious dork too?

  ‘Please show Sky which page we’re on,’ Mr Peterson says and Lucy opens my geography book to the right spot.

  I look around the room as everyone works on the exercises. If my previous class was a fruit salad, immigrants from all over the world, the kids here are like boiled rice, all white. And boys in the class? So strange.

  Three girls behind me, pretty and confident, constantly whisper to each other. Hidden under their tables, their phones vibrate with messages, causing them to giggle. I immediately want to be with them, safe in popularity. But the chances seem slim. A boy in front with spiky gelled hair flicks a rubber band, the victim turns to give him a birdie.

  My pencil tip breaks and neither Lucy nor I have a sharpener.

  ‘Need to borrow one?’ the boy in front of me turns. Time stops as I stare. His wavy hair the colour of maple syrup falls over one eye. The other eye glows green like winter grass and I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch his skin, so tanned and smooth it looks Photoshopped. The perfection is broken only by a single freckle next to his left eye, which makes it even better. I close my mouth and feel my cheeks burn. Our eyes catch and I gasp. Silently.

  I nod and open my hand to take it, and as his skin brushes mine, like a slow-mo scene in a movie My body breaks out in goosebumps and the sharpener slips onto the floor.

  I lean down to pick it up, but accidentally kick it under the chair where it skids behind to the next row. I motion to the blonde ponytailed girl behind, who passes it back with a frown. I sharpen my pencil and hand it back to him, trying not to touch his skin again and repeat the scenario.

  Morning classes begin and end, Lucy showing me to classrooms and helping me find the pages in textbooks. She has a slight accent, and when she says ‘yeah’, it sounds more like ‘ya’. Her notebook is filled with beautiful drawings of birds, their feet, beaks and wings finely illustrated with a black felt-tip pen.

  Lucy notices me looking during class. ‘I’m a bird freak’ she whispers, ‘Dad and I go birding, he’s got these amazing new binoculars and …’

  ‘Shhh!’ Ms Adams, the maths teacher, glares at us and I quickly turn back to my book.

  ‘He might get me some too,’ Lucy whispers again after a minute.

  The drawings are amazing, but it only confirms my suspicions that she’s a nerd. But a talented one at that.

  The lunch bell rings, ‘Sky, please come here,’ Mr Peterson catches me in the corridor and ushers me to the staff room where I smile awkwardly at the teachers. Oh no. What have I done?

  ‘The class has been working on projects for the last few weeks,’ he tells me. He’s rummaging around desks again, ‘Your file has to be here somewhere …’ he says. ‘Barbara, have you seen it? Sky Larson, the new girl?’ But she shakes her head. ‘Anyway,’ he continues his search, ‘it’s called “Celebrating Australian Agriculture” and it’s a competition with a cash prize of $200 from the Mayor’s office, and the winner presents at the Town Hall at end of year Presentation Day. I know it’s late in the day, but if you want to give it a shot, you’re welcome to participate.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, thinking of all the things I could spend the money on. I’ve always got good marks, love researching and writing and even got an award, second place, at the end of year assembly. I feel a tinge of excitement.

  ‘There’s a list of topics and I recall one left unchosen,’ he pulls out a list, ‘Wheat, Beef, Corn, Rice … okay, here’s one that’s not taken, Canola Oil. Interesting, right?’ he says. My face falls. That’s totally random, he can’t be serious.

  ‘I guess …’ I start, hoping my voice doesn’t give away my disappointment.

  ‘Oh, and Chicken. How can I have forgotten that one?’ he says.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I say happily, thinking of the farm we drove by. It’s local, I already know a lot about animals and have fact sheets on Franimals to help. A cinch.

  ‘Here’s the assignment,’ he hands me a sheet and as I turn away adds, ‘And Sky, make it extraordinary. The students who go above and beyond will be rewarded.’

  Extraordinary. What does that mean?

  ‘Would be great,’ he continues, ‘if you could also say a few words about yourself this afternoon and where you’ve come from. It’ll help us get to know you. Break the ice a little. Nothing fancy.’

  I nod as my
stomach sinks. I walk outside biting my nails. This is going to be a disaster. I’m shy, hate public speaking and am trying to start off on a positive note, to give myself a shot at popularity. What will I say? No way can I tell everyone about Mum: too personal, too soon, too … everything. I’ll focus on Sydney and my old school. Short and simple.

  I force myself to plaster on a smile. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that what they say? This is a chance to prove myself, to reinvent. And that green-eyed super cutie. I can’t mess this up.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Eww, hummus sandwich, that’s so gross, Jules,’ someone says three lockers down. We’re standing in the hallway, the bell rung for recess. It’s the high-ponytail from the row behind.

  ‘And, hello? Totally fattening. Aren’t you trying to lose some kilos before the gala? It’s, like, weeks away.’

  What’s the gala? I take my jam sandwich and Granny Smith apple and close the locker quietly. If I spy a little, maybe they’ll reveal something that will help me fit in.

  ‘I know!’ Jules exclaims, ‘Mum’s become a health freak, she made me drink a green smoothie,’ she throws her food into the bin, ‘with spinach! I saw this awesome retro dress on Insta, but it’s way too expensive. Have you found something, Marissa?’

  Marissa shrugs, and flicks her ponytail, ‘Still looking’.

  I realise I’m biting my nails and stop. Is the gala an end of the year dance? I’m not ready for that.

  Jules has dark shiny hair cut into a short bob with a sideways fringe. ‘Want some gloss?’ she asks Marissa. ‘It’s black cherry.’

  ‘You know that colour doesn’t suit me,’ Marissa says, unzipping a charcoal-coloured bejewelled purse and then layering pink gloss on to her cherub lips. Her eyelashes are thick with mascara that highlights her bright blue eyes.

  ‘Can I have some?’ another girl asks with thick wavy blonde hair loosely pulled back with a clip.

  ‘Next time, get your own, Kristy,’ Marissa says, handing it to her anyway, ‘It’s not hygienic to share.’