She gives me a watery smile and says, ‘Thanks for not trying to cheer me up.’
I shrug, like this was what I’d meant to do all along, and say, ‘I know how it feels, being dumped.’
It’s a bit risky saying this, because lately Carolyn hasn’t liked me comparing anything in her life with my own. But this time she doesn’t give me her usual death stare. Instead, she sighs and says, ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’ Like we’re equals for once. And then she blurts something else out too. ‘Max isn’t the only reason why I’m upset, though. I’m failing maths. Like, really failing.’
‘I bet you wouldn’t fail if you tried harder,’ I say.
But Carolyn shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I have tried. I’ve tried really hard. We’re doing algebra at the moment and I just don’t get it at all. I’m too dumb.’
Carolyn is in the bottom stream for maths. Vegie maths, some kids call it. I don’t know what happens if you fail vegie maths. Do you get held back a year? Kicked out of school?
‘Well, you already know you want to be a buyer,’ I say.
‘You won’t need maths for that, will you?’
To my horror, Carolyn starts crying again. ‘I do need maths for that. The buyer for Tude told me it’s really important. She said you have to be able to stick to a budget and do quick calculations and currency conversions all the time. I’m hopeless at that sort of stuff. She said it’s essential that I keep up my maths for as long as I can – but I don’t think I’m going to make it through this term, let alone the rest of high school.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I say. The words come out before I’ve really thought them through. Carolyn is three years above me. Will I really be able to help? ‘I mean, we might be able to figure out your algebra stuff together.’
At first, Carolyn says no way and that it won’t work. But the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that I can help. I get sort of excited about the idea – especially as this might solve my Mr Cartright problem too. Because coaching my sister in algebra has got to count as extra maths work, right?
In the end Carolyn says, ‘Well, we can try it, I guess.’ And then she says something very surprising. ‘You know, I’ve always been so glad that I’m your older sister, and not your little one.’ It’s a very weird thing to say. Why would anyone want to be the younger sister? Being the youngest sucks. It must be obvious how surprised I am because Carolyn goes on to explain. ‘You’re way smarter than I am and it would’ve been hard to follow in your footsteps all the way through school. I’m lucky that you had to follow in mine instead.’
I had no idea Carolyn felt this way. It feels kind of good, to be honest. But also pretty mind-blowing. So I do what I always do when something has surprised me. I make a joke of it. ‘Well, it hasn’t been so easy for me either,’ I say, rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically. ‘Do you know how hard it is to follow in someone’s footsteps when they’re dancing along in high heels most of the time?’
Carolyn actually laughs – a little bit, at least – and then she looks at me, head tilted. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she says, ‘but I’m starving.’
Together we head to the kitchen. There’s a jar of red pesto in the cupboard and I offer to make pasta, but Carolyn shakes her head. ‘Let’s make something different,’ she says. ‘Something totally new.’
We grab a couple of shopping bags and walk to the local shops. Carolyn buys a whole lot of things with her own money. She’s like a madwoman, flinging all this stuff into our trolley. I’m not really sure what half of it is. Then we lug it all home.
‘Right,’ Carolyn announces as we dump the bags on the kitchen bench. ‘We’re making risotto.’ She pulls up a recipe on her phone. In the picture is a bowl of something ricey with bits of chicken in it. It does look pretty good, except that it’s got these little flecks of green stuff mixed through it. Generally I’m not big on green flecks but I’m not about to say that when Carolyn’s looking semi-cheerful again.
‘Have you ever made risotto before?’ I ask.
‘No,’ says Carolyn. ‘But I know it’s going to be good. Trust me.’
We spend the next half-hour chopping and peeling like crazy, and then Carolyn starts cooking. And soon I can tell that she was right. The risotto smells great. I start feeling even hungrier than before. ‘Maybe you could be a chef or something?’ I say.
‘Maybe,’ says Carolyn, shrugging – but I can tell she’s pleased I said it.
We’re just finishing when we hear Mum’s key in the door. We grin at each other. Mum takes a few steps inside, and suddenly stops. ‘Oh my god!’ we hear her say. ‘What is that incredible smell?’
‘We made dinner!’ I call out.
Mum practically runs down the hallway. When she sees the risotto she gets a little teary and has to fan her face with a junk-mail catalogue. It’s kind of weird to me that rice could make you cry, but that’s my mum for you.
We make Mum sit down and I pour her a glass of juice while Carolyn serves the risotto onto three plates. She doesn’t just glug it on like I would’ve done. She puts a neat ladle on each plate and then a little sprig of parsley to one side for decoration. It looks just like it did in the picture on her phone.
The risotto is really creamy and delicious and not at all weird to eat. Even the green flecks taste pretty good. Mum goes a bit over the top with the compliments. Apparently, it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever eaten.
It’s not until we’ve eaten the entire pot of risotto, and I’ve cleared away the plates, and Mum’s produced a block of chocolate from somewhere (which we’re almost – but not quite – too full to eat), that Carolyn tells her about Max. She looks sad as she says it, but she doesn’t cry this time.
Mum gives her a hug, and then pulls me into it too. ‘There’s something very strange going on in the world when three people as fabulous as us are single!’
It’s nice the way she says it. Like the three of us are in this together. Because break-ups suck, no matter how old you are, no matter what the reasons were, no matter how long the relationship lasted. We talk about it for a while, and then Mum squeezes our hands tightly. ‘We’ve got to look after each other. Be kind. Help each other through.’
We all promise that we will.
I’m in my room after dinner when Mum knocks and comes in. She’s holding a catalogue and she puts it on my desk in front of me. It’s open to the lingerie page and one of the bras has been circled with red pen. ‘What do you think of that one?’ she asks. The bra doesn’t have diamantés or padding, but the fabric is a pretty pearly-pink colour with darker pink swirls across it.
‘I like it,’ I say.
Mum looks pleased. ‘Carolyn pointed it out. It’s a good brand too, one that will last.’
I’m feeling kind of excited now. Because she wouldn’t be showing it to me if she wasn’t planning on buying it for me, right? ‘I’m going to put it on layby for you,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll pay a little bit off each month and I’ll have paid the whole thing off by your birthday.’
My birthday! That’s over six months away. But I know better than to complain. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, giving her a hug. ‘Could you get the 8B? I think I’ll really need that size by then.’
Mum opens her mouth like she’s about to disagree, then changes her mind and nods instead. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’
I’m kind of dreading the night of the school social. Leni and Soph must’ve agreed not to talk about it in front of me, but I still know it’s coming up and everyone else talks about it all the time. On the Friday night I’m planning to watch a DVD, but Carolyn stays home and we end up working on her algebra stuff together. I know that spending Friday evening doing maths doesn’t sound like the most fun, but it’s actually fine. It’s nice to spend time with Carolyn, for one thing. I’d never say it to her, of course, but I’m kind of glad that she and Max split. It means that I’m seeing a lot more of her. And we’re getting along a lot better too.
&n
bsp; It took a bit of work convincing Mr C to go along with my idea of coaching Carolyn for my ‘extra maths’ assignment. I think he was worried that the algebra would be too hard for me – and I have to admit, I was a bit worried too. But I can be very determined when I want to figure something out, and I really wanted to do this. I think the tipping point for Mr C was when I said I was thinking about becoming a maths teacher when I left school, and that helping my sister would be good practice. A total lie, by the way. There’s no way I’d be a maths teacher.
It was difficult at first – and not just because of the algebra itself. It was mostly that to begin with, Carolyn was embarrassed about having her little sister tell her how to do stuff. But after two days, she was used to it. The good thing is that she doesn’t mind asking me questions when she doesn’t get something. She says that sometimes in class, Mr Cartright goes really fast and she’s always too embarrassed to put up her hand and admit she didn’t understand it. And then she’s even further behind.
So like I said, on the night of the school social, Carolyn spends most of the evening in my room, working. She’s doing pretty well but I can tell she’s getting tired. Eventually she shuts her book and says, ‘That’s enough for now.’
I check the time. It’s 9.30. The social will be finishing soon. It makes me feel a little sad. ‘Wanna watch a DVD or something?’ I suggest. I need distractions. I’m still not allowed to have my friends over for a DVD night, but surely it doesn’t matter if I watch one with my sister.
‘No,’ says Carolyn, smiling in this mysterious way. ‘Now it’s time for me to teach you something.’ Then she disappears off to her room, returning a few minutes later with her bulging make-up kit. She pulls out my desk chair. ‘I’m going to show you how to put on make-up so that none of the teachers notice you’re wearing it,’ she tells me. ‘Then you won’t have to wipe it all off before recess.’
I don’t really think this is possible, but Carolyn sets to work with her little brushes and tubes and I just let her go for it. She flicks on my radio and sings along, although whenever I try to join in too, she tells me to sit still.
Eventually she lets me look at myself in the mirror, and I’m pretty impressed. She’s put on the make-up in this subtle way that makes me look good, without being too obvious.
I’m just getting her to show me how she did it when there’s a knock at my bedroom door. ‘Come in, Mum!’ I call, figuring it has to be her. But it’s not – it’s Leni and Soph, all dressed up in their clothes for the social. Soph has on a purple tie-dyed maxi dress and Leni – who only ever wears jeans – is wearing a short flippy skirt (which I gave her because I knew it’d suit her) and leggings. I feel a little pang looking at them, thinking that I missed out on all the fun of dressing up and going to the social with them.
‘Hi!’ says Leni, hugging me before she throws herself on my bed. ‘Mind if I take my shoes off? They’re killing me.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But what are you guys doing here?’
Soph and Leni grin at me. ‘We left a bit early,’ says Soph.
‘Because we were dying to see you!’ finished Leni. ‘It just didn’t feel right without you there at the social.’ I’m happy they’re here – really happy – but something’s bothering me.
‘I’m not allowed to have anyone over,’ I remind them. ‘My parents are punishing me until the next millennium, remember?’
‘Your mum let us in, you doof!’ Soph says.
‘She said we could stay for a bit,’ explains Leni. ‘We have something to show you, you see.’ She pulls a Flip video camera from her bag.
‘I’ve seen your mum’s camera before, Leni,’ I say, even though I know she’s talking about what’s on the camera. Leni puts it on and we all crowd around – even Carolyn.
My friends – my sweet, funny, awesome friends – have made a film of the social so I can see what it was like. They have taken it in turns to record different things and do the commentary. They’ve filmed the fairy lights strung across the front gate. They’ve filmed the outside of the hall with the ‘welcome’ banner above the door. And they’ve also recorded a message for me from pretty much everyone in our entire year level. It’s kind of embarrassing, but it’s also nice.
A lot of people say the same thing. Most of the girls say, ‘ Hi, Anya! Sorry you can’t make it – it’s SO awesome!’ Most of the boys say, ‘You’re lucky you got out of it.’ But I can tell they’re mostly enjoying themselves, even if they’re pretending that they’re not.
A few people say different things, though. Like Edi, for instance. She says, ‘It’s not the same without you here, Anya.’ Which makes me feel good.
Then suddenly Leni stops the camera. ‘The next bit is Ethan,’ she says. ‘Do you want to see it?’
‘You actually got him to talk on the video?’ I say, my stomach rolling like a wave.
‘Soph made him,’ says Leni. ‘After she gave him a huge serve about dropping people via text messages.’
I turn to Soph. ‘You did that?’ I ask, starting to laugh.
‘Of course I did,’ says Soph. ‘I’ve been meaning to for ages – I just had to find the right time.’ She shakes her fist.
‘No-one dumps my friend like that and gets away with it.’
Leni shakes her head, laughing. ‘You should’ve seen him, Anya,’ she says. ‘He was shaking in his shoes by the time Soph finished with him.’
‘So,’ says Soph. ‘Do you want to see what he said?’
My stomach rolls again. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘No. I’m not sure.’
‘Go on,’ says Carolyn. ‘You should.’
So Leni presses play and suddenly there’s Ethan, his nervous-looking face filling the screen. I notice that he’s dropped most of the improvements I made to him. His hair is back to how it was and he’s wearing a terrible shirt, but the funny thing is, it kind of suits him.
‘Go on, Ethan,’ I hear Soph’s voice saying sternly offcamera. ‘Talk.’
Ethan coughs. ‘Hi, Anya,’ he says. ‘Sorry you couldn’t come tonight because I know you were really looking forward to it. But don’t worry, you’re not missing much. The food is terrible and so is the music.’ It’s funny, though, because as he’s speaking I hear one of my favourite songs playing in the background. And as he talks, I realise that I’m not feeling so bad about the break-up anymore. I guess I’m over it. Pretty much.
Ethan stops talking and I hear Soph say, ‘Isn’t there anything else you want to say?’
And then Ethan’s expression changes. ‘Actually,’ he says. ‘Yes, there is.’
‘Well, go on, say it,’ says Soph.
I guess I’m expecting him to apologise for text-dumping me, but instead he says, ‘Anya, I know you got the highest mark in our class for the last test. And Mr C told me you’re helping Carolyn with algebra. So I’m wondering if we could be study buddies.’
I shake my head. ‘Do you believe the nerve of this guy?’
I say. ‘First he dumps me because I’m not smart enough and now he wants me to help him study!’
A song comes on the radio and Carolyn suddenly jumps up to dance, swaying in time to the music. I know it’s one of her current favourites and I like it too. It’s meaningful, you know? And true. It’s a song about how when someone breaks your heart, your friends will be the ones to help you put the pieces back together. Someone like Ethan would probably say it was a cliché, and maybe he’s right, but I actually don’t care. Right now it feels true to me.
Leni gets up next and starts dancing in that longlegged, spider-like way of hers, and even Soph joins in, swirling around, jumping on and off my bed in a kind of crazy gypsy dance. It’s funny because in one way we’re all off in our own little worlds, doing our own dances, but in another way it feels like we’re dancing together too. I know that sounds confusing, and maybe impossible, but that’s how it is. And it just feels right somehow. Like life, I guess.
How to Boost Your Profile
published in 2013 by
Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
www.hardiegrantegmont.com.au
This ebook is also available as a print edition in all good bookstores.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.
A CiP record for this title is available from the National Library of Australia.
eISBN 9781743580080
Text copyright © 2012 Meredith Badger
Illustration and design copyright © 2012 Hardie Grant Egmont
Design by Michelle Mackintosh
Text design and typesetting by Ektavo
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