by Micol Ostow
Billie took a moment or two to zone out. She knew all about Fairlawn. In fact, half the reason that she’d applied was that their curriculum was challenging, but “self-designed.” “Self-designed” was apparently code for “spend all day working on whatever you so choose.” Hence, her internship.
Eric wasn’t finished. “Students here are free to express themselves creatively, in almost any way that they choose. In fact, we have no dress code here; as long as you’re not undressed, you’re fine. So you may see that kids take certain, ah…fashion risks that maybe you didn’t find at your school back home.”
He meant that they all wore black, pierced their noses, and dyed their hair green. She’d visited the school Web site before coming, after all. Just as long as no one held her down and tattooed her against her will, she reckoned she’d be fine. After all, prim and proper Eliza Ritter went to Fairlawn, didn’t she? And she hardly seemed to be the piercing type, unless you were talking about ears. Actually, Fairlawn had a reputation for being one of the very best schools in the area, which Billie suspected had a lot to do with why Eliza was enrolled there. And Eliza couldn’t have been the only student to attend Fairlawn for the education as much as for the arts appreciation.
“Classes are small, and many of the students have known each other since as early as nursery school. It’s not uncommon for exchange students to feel edged out. But I assure you that if you’re patient, and you make the effort, you will develop some rich and rewarding bonds during your time here this semester.”
Okay, so in summation, Eric had just basically warned her that kids dressed like weirdos, that classes were, well, fluid in their execution, and that nobody exactly embraced outsiders into the fold.
This semester was suddenly sounding much more inauspicious than Billie had at first thought.
Well, there was no point in whining about it, she decided. She was a friendly, outgoing girl, and she’d do her best to meet people in this new school. She knew from experience—recent experience, in particular, if the plane ride over was to be counted—that Americans were suckers for an accent, so at least she had that on her side.
Or so she hoped.
Chapter Seven
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Fairlawn
Hi Billie!
About Fairlawn, your first impressions are hilarious—and correct. It’s true, people there are definitely “creative.” I always thought it was funny to watch. Obviously, I’m a little more conservative…and most of my friends are, too. Which, so far, has been the complete opposite of the girls I’ve met down here! Do you know Jess and Nomes? They told me they know who you are, but that you mostly hang with the outdoorsy crowd. Craziness! For me, outdoors is the place you go when you’re walking from the Gap to Banana Republic.…
Talk soon.
Eliza
Monday came around and Eliza found herself surprisingly eager to get back to the girls at school. Between the ill-fated beachcombing for her internship and the never-ending mayhem of the twins, she was ready to spend time with people her own age in a dry and warm room—even if that room was a classroom. The Monday morning pre-calculus classroom, to be precise.
First-thing-in-the-morning math should be illegal, Eliza thought as she made her way to class.
“Oi! Zazza,” someone yelled as she entered.
It took Eliza’s brain a second to process her newly appointed nickname. She had quickly discovered that everyone, and that meant everyone, down here had nicknames. It made it very confusing when it came to introductions. Naomi was Nomes, Belinda was Billie, and now Eliza was Zazza. Everyone would introduce themselves with their proper name but refer to one another by nicknames, and for a while it felt to Eliza like there were twice as many people everywhere she went.
Eliza whipped her head up to see Jess and Nomes waving from the back corner. She wound her way over to them, pleased to have made friends in her new school.
“How was the weekend?” Jess asked as Eliza settled into her seat.
“Cold,” Eliza admitted. “This internship at the beach isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Oh mate, nobody goes to the beach this time of year.” Jess snorted to indicate just how lame a person would have to be to consider otherwise. “Unless,” she relented, considering, “you’re going to the Espy.”
“Espy?” Eliza asked.
“The Esplanade,” Nomes said. “The best place to see bands in Melbourne and a good spot for tuning.”
“I see,” said Eliza, though she didn’t. She made a mental note to ask Billie about “tuning” in her next e-mail.
“We’re going to check out some shops up on Brunswick Street tomorrow arvo if you’re interested,” Jess said, interrupting Eliza’s train of thought.
Being invited to go shopping was way more exciting than having a seat saved in class. It was like a whole different level in the friendship hierarchy. Eliza perked up, then deflated when she realized that this was probably out of the question.
“That’d be great,” she began, “but I think my host family is expecting me home after school to help out with the twins. I’ve got the internship two days a week and am responsible for babysitting two other days. That just leaves Friday evenings.” It killed her to say those words out loud, but she thought she should try to stay out of trouble while she was abroad—for the first couple weeks, at least. Even if that meant putting a pin in her whole “newfound independence” campaign.
“That will never do; we’ve got to get you out of this,” Jess said, clucking her tongue thoughtfully. She drummed her fingers against her desk in contemplation. “What about if you say you’re doing house activities or something?”
“I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t thought about that.” Eliza didn’t want to admit that the reason that she hadn’t thought of “house activities” was that she was relatively unclear on what they were. Probably the same thing as “extracurriculars” back home, she decided.
“You don’t have to be living in the campus dorms to be in house activities?” Eliza asked.
“No,” Nomes chimed in, “so why don’t you tell them you’re joining a sport?”
Eliza mulled it over in her mind for a minute—probably a minute longer than she should—but finally felt common sense taking hold.
“I don’t know, guys. I think I should probably just stick with the plan for the moment. If my dad found out I was ditching school, he’d go through the roof. Can we do it Friday after school? Then I’m totally free and I really want to hit the shops.”
“All right, ya piker,” Jess said. “No worries, but we’re taking you around on Friday, no excuses.”
“Definitely,” Eliza said with a grin.
Definitely.
Eliza couldn’t wait for Friday to arrive and, when it did, she was bursting at the seams to get out and see the city. The last four days had consisted of going to school, mucking around in the bay (she had become strangely efficient at prying mollusks off rocks), and trying to keep the twins from tearing the house to shreds while Estelle took classes for a master’s degree two evenings a week.
But now the weekend had come. The three o’clock bell had rung and she, Nomes, and Jess had made their way to a shopping center on Chapel Street a few minutes from school.
You have got to be kidding me.
I have traveled a hundred bajillion miles, spent two days sitting on planes, and have moved into another family’s home, and after all that, I am now standing in front of a…
T.G.I. Friday’s?
Eliza was utterly surprised to find herself in the much-hyped Jam Factory shopping center, where in front of her was the afore-mentioned T.G.I. Friday’s, and flanking it was a Virgin Megastore and a Borders.
It was almost like being back home. Unfortunately.
“Really, you brought me to see this?” she asked Jess. Next they were probably going to eat at McDonald’s. “You do know we have shopping malls back home, r
ight? Heck, I think they were actually invented by us—and these stores, they’re all American, too.”
“Actually, I do believe that Virgin is British,” Jess said with panache, rolling her R to emphasize the British accent she used. “Nomes wanted a CD, then we’re going up to Brunswick Street, and you can stop your bellyaching.”
“Okay. But I’m pretty sure T.G.I. Friday’s is American.” She smirked.
“Shut up and just come on.”
“Aye aye, mate.”
After Nomes had found her CD, they walked back to Toorak Road and waited at the tram stop.
Eliza had come to love the trams even in the short time she had been in Australia. The Metro in D.C. was deep underground, and the long escalators creeped her out. The trams, on the other hand, cruised on tracks down just about every major avenue with arms that reached up to grab the power lines overhead. Riding them meant you got to see the city going by but, unlike with a bus, there was never any traffic to hold you up.
The three girls boarded one of the old-fashioned trams with the wooden interiors that ran on some of the lines, found seats at the back, and gossiped their way across the city. Eliza tried to take in as much of the landscape as she could while chatting with the girls. She recognized the Royal Botanic Gardens, and the view of the Yarra River as they crossed over near Flinders Station was beautiful. The late-afternoon light sparkled on the water as the tram sped across the bridge and then whooshed up the avenue in front of Parliament.
Twenty minutes later they exited the tram at Elgin Street in an area that looked a lot like some of what she’d seen on her way in from the airport.
“Is that the university there?”
“Yeah, that’s uni, and those fancy-looking buildings are the residential colleges. You want to take a look? There’s the footy pitch inside there.”
“Can we?” Eliza was curious. She thought “footy” probably meant soccer, and “pitch” meant “field,” but she decided to wait until she had a visual for confirmation.
Jess checked her watch. “Yeah, but then we should hoof it if we want to get some time at Brunswick Street and still get you home for dinner.”
They crossed the street and cut down a little access road and onto the university grounds. Soon they came to a wide-open area rimmed on one side by the industrial buildings of the university and on the other three by a sweeping oval bounded by the residential colleges. They stood on a small rise in the center and looked around.
Eliza could see a bunch of guys in matching sleeveless sports jerseys, shorts, and knee-high socks running back and forth on a large oval field with stands on one side. She was impressed that they were willing to be out in 45-degree weather without sleeves. She, by contrast, was pleasantly bundled up, including a very cute wool-cap-and-scarf ensemble she was proud to be sporting.
Every so often one guy on the field would break from the pack and sprint down the lawn, bouncing what looked like an American football on the ground every few paces, before finally kicking it down the field. There, another group of guys would leap into the air and start grabbing and punching for the ball. It all seemed to be little more than controlled chaos.
“What’re they playing?” she finally asked.
“It’s Aussie Rules,” said Nomes. “Greatest game on the planet.”
“Don’t get her started.” Jess snorted. “I can’t stand the game. Don’t see what everyone sees in it.”
“Bloody oath! What’s not to like? Cute boys getting all sweaty…”
Eliza had to admit, there were some good-looking guys on the field. They spent a few more minutes appreciating the view until Jess broke in.
“Come on, guys, put your tongues back in your mouths and let’s get moving.” She led them off back toward Elgin Street. “We’ll find Eliza a good bloke soon enough,” she said, her eyes twinkling with promise. “That is, if you’re over Mr. Parker yet…but for now, it’s shopping.”
Eliza was fine with that. The shopping…and the bloke hunting. Melbourne was way too interesting to be worried about people back home.
Jess said it was about a kilometer walk, and Eliza furrowed her brow as she tried to figure out what that meant from an effort perspective.
What’s a kilometer?
She knew what a kilometer was, of course—it was distance. But…how much distance? Suddenly she realized why Ms. Isaacs, her eighth-grade science teacher, had insisted they would one day need to know what the metric system was. Sadly, Eliza had used that opportunity to learn to text message underneath her desk.
A quick ten-minute walk from the uni landed them on Brunswick Street (it turned out a kilometer was definitely less than a mile). Both sides of the street were lined with low, two-story buildings, and in the ground floor of each one was a funky boutique, a bar, or a restaurant. Down the middle of the road ran a tramway. This was kind of what Eliza imagined Sunset Strip in Los Angeles to be like—but more, well, Australian.
She wasn’t quite sure how to define “Australian,” but she could just sense it. Back in D.C., people were loud, brash, aggressive. Here, it was more laid-back, with people strolling casually and even making eye contact on the street!
You did not make eye contact on the street in Washington. And people didn’t stroll—more like strode, with purpose. People in the Northeast were usually in some kind of big, important hurry.
They traipsed along as Eliza eyed the shops. She wanted to try on every single thing they had for sale. Washington had Adams Morgan as its cool, funky neighborhood, but even that was getting super-trendy and yuppified. And it wasn’t just the Aussie clothes that Eliza loved. The staff was all friendly and smiling, crowing “G’day” every time they walked in. Back in D.C. everyone took themselves so seriously. In Melbourne, it seemed, no one took anything too seriously.
The girls went from shop to shop investigating the wares on offer. They browsed the racks at a vintage clothing store where Jess tried on a pair of flared jeans that hung perfectly on her hips. Eliza found a very cute blousy top to wear over jeans when the weather turned a bit warmer. They picked through the offerings in a funky little jewelry shop where Nomes grabbed a pair of dangly earrings with some sort of purple stones in them.
Too quickly, however, evening was approaching, and the girls had to find their way back home. Eliza stuffed her new shirt in her school bag, and they hopped a tram through downtown, back over the bridge just after dark, and on into South Yarra and Toorak, where they parted.
Eliza found herself alone on the tram for the last few stops. As she looked at the people walking along Toorak Road, heading into restaurants for dinner, she thought back on what a great day she had had. It hadn’t taken long for her to make great friends, she loved Melbourne already, and she didn’t miss suffocating D.C. one bit.
The following week passed quickly for Eliza. After spending a day of her internship up to her thighs in the muck of the bay collecting enough specimen jars to start her own museum, she had caught a pretty good head cold.
But she’d recovered quickly and now was looking forward to spending a Saturday afternoon with her new friends.
She met Jess at the tram stop, and the two rode all the way down to the beach at St. Kilda. There, they walked to the Espy—the famous Esplanade Hotel—to listen to some bands. It was a gray afternoon, and there was a strong wind blowing from the sea. As they strolled easily along the boardwalk, Eliza noted the palm trees she had complained about to Estelle. They waved so…tropically… mocking her. The imposters.
“Stupid palm trees.”
“What’s that?” Jess asked.
“Nothing…” Eliza shivered, but she tried not to let it show. “I’m just glad I’m by the bay this Saturday and not in it.”
They crossed the street and hopped up the steps of a big, old Victorian building. They opened the front door to a blast of music and voices from the inside. It was warm and inviting, the music sounded rocking, and in they went.
The place was crowded. Jess led the way to
ward a back room with a small stage and some old velvet couches lining the walls. The music from the band in the front room faded, and they found an empty couch with a couple chairs across from it and sat down. Jess pulled out her cell phone and rang Nomes.
“We’re in the back room. It’s crowded as all get out, but we’ll save some seats for you. When are you getting here?” She paused and then rolled her eyes and made a hand-puppet yapping symbol with her free hand, smiling to Eliza.
“Right, see you in a few.” She snapped the phone shut.
“Oi, the girl can yammer on something fierce. So, you stay put, and I’ll get us some drinks.” Jess tucked her cell phone back into her handbag.
At the mention of “drinks,” Eliza suddenly realized that there was one small problem with Jess’s plan: she didn’t think her friend was talking about lemonade or iced tea. The drinking age in Australia was eighteen, and though Eliza had tried on various occasions to procure ID, she’d never been able to get her hands on one. Thus, drinking was, regrettably, off the table for her this evening. She sadly shared that fact with Jess, who promptly threw back her head and laughed.
“That won’t be a problem, mate. Nobody has fake ID here. We don’t need it. You Americans are so prudish about some things. Just sit tight and guard our seats, okay?” She grinned.
Eliza nodded and spread out their coats to cover as much of the empty seating as possible. She sat back and picked an invisible piece of lint off of her jeans. This afternoon’s wardrobe had required careful consideration. She had told the Echolses that she was spending the day with the girls, but she hadn’t said they were going to a club; thus, she had needed something that could be covered up when she left the house, so as not to arouse suspicion, but would be suitably flattering should they encounter any members of the male of the species. She wasn’t sure that they would be mad, necessarily, but she felt like perhaps a sin of omission was the best policy. In the end, she’d settled on jeans, which looked nondescript enough underneath her jacket, and a fitted black sweater, which, once her jacket was removed, made the outfit a bit sexier.
