Jane turns up and is scooped up by Jess and Amira. ‘Catch you two in class,’ says Amira, as the three of them head off into the school building.
‘Yeah, see ya,’ I call. ‘Save us some seats!’
I turn back to Mia. ‘So, how are Lexi and Alysha? I really missed our little sessions in Pink HQ.’
‘So why didn’t you give them a call?’ Mia asks. ‘They were both still around.’
‘Oh, you know,’ I say, being deliberately vague. ‘I was going to, but stuff kept getting in the way.’
‘Right,’ says Mia, but she doesn’t look convinced. She turns to greet Sofie, another student from our class. I nod hello but my mind’s racing off on another tangent.
Why hadn’t I called them?
Alysha is the easiest to work out. We just don’t like the same kind of stuff. Sure, we play music together. Alysha’s got a really good voice and is pretty musical. And we hang out together in Pink HQ. It’s such a cool place to be. But only when Mia’s there. Mia’s definitely the link between us. I can’t imagine what we’d talk about if it was Alysha and me together.
Besides, no way am I ever going to fit in with Alysha’s other friends – Paige and Jayde. It’s like we come from different planets. Theirs is all fluffy and gossipy and shopping-cataloguey, whereas mine is more realistic. Real stuff happens there. Stuff that matters, like sticking up for your beliefs. And having beliefs in the first place. No way would I ever be cruel to an animal, for example. And that includes eating one. That’s why I’m vegetarian, and don’t use any products that have been tested on animals.
And then there’s Lexi. I’m still a bit freaked out by what happened last term. I know she was having a hard time fitting in with some of her friends, and that her mum and dad were fighting all the time. But I don’t see why she had to take it out on Mia and me. After that trick she pulled, I didn’t speak to her for a week. Okay, so she’s apologised since then. But it still hurts that she thought I was trying to take her best friend away from her. That was so not my plan.
And even though Mia eventually caved in and forgave her, I don’t think things are totally rosy between them still. Or maybe they are … it’s hard to tell sometimes. They looked happy enough getting off the bus together this morning.
The first bell rings, jolting me back into the present. The streams of students coming through the gates have slowed to a trickle. Mia finishes up her chat with Sofie, then turns to me. ‘Guess we better get going, or we’ll be late for class.’
By the time we get to our lockers, Amira and Jess have already gone. I open my locker door to get out my maths book. The crazy card Amira made me in art on the last day of term topples to the floor. ‘Happy Hols, Mich,’ it says, in swirly black and mauve letters. Amira’s artwork is amazing. She and Jess were at Summerlands with me last year. It wasn’t like a normal primary school. We did lots of music and art and drama and other creative stuff – you know, pretending we were trees being blown about by the wind. Amira sucks at music – even she’ll tell you that – but when it comes to art and design, she rules.
I pick up the card and tuck it under my folders so it can’t fall out again. Plus, I don’t want Amira to see I forgot to take it home with me. She’d probably be really hurt. I jump as a cold voice sounds in my ear.
‘Michi Kano. Late for class on the first day back? I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this. And Mia Zugaro. I’d have expected more from you. Now hurry along, the pair of you, or I’ll give you both a late pass.’
It’s Turnip Turner, the duty teacher. Her flabby face is as red as a ripe tomato. Giggling under our breath, we grab our books and speed off up the corridor to the north wing, where the maths rooms are. At least I know how to navigate my way round the school now. The place was like a big maze the first couple of weeks of last term.
We make it to class just as the second bell sounds. Mr Ertegin gives us a bit of a greasy as we rush through the door, but what can he do? We’re officially on time. Amira waves frantically from the back of the room and we find seats beside her and Jess. Different kids in our class look up and smile at me as I brush past them, and a couple mouth hellos. After a couple of weeks spent mostly on my own, it’s good to be back at school, surrounded by friends again.
‘So, Amira,’ Mia says, once Ertie has finished explaining his latest maths concept and we’ve all settled down to solving the problems he’s set for us. ‘Have good hols?’
‘Not bad,’ Amira tells her. ‘I went to the beach and then spent most of the time working on my MyPlace page.’
‘You have a MyPlace page?’ says Mia. ‘Cool! Hey, Michi, we should get one too.’
‘Definitely,’ I say. I’ve been thinking about getting a page organised for ages. There’s so much you can do with graphics and sound files. It’s perfect for me. Mia, too. ‘Is it hard to set up?’
‘Nah,’ says Amira. ‘It’s fun. Come over to mine after school and I’ll show you how to do it.’ She grins. ‘You too, Mia, if you want. I need more friends to link to, or I’ll look like a loser.’
‘Maybe we should bring Lexi and Alysha along too, then,’ says Mia.
Amira wrinkles her nose. ‘Well, maybe not. Things might get a bit crowded. How about I just show you guys, and then you can show your own friends later.’
‘They can always do friend requests once we all get our pages up,’ I point out to Mia. I’m about to ask Jess if she has a page, too, when Ertie interrupts us. ‘Could we keep the social chit-chat for out-of-class time, please, ladies?’ His voice is sarcastic. ‘Unless you’ve all finished those problems already, of course. Michi? Mia? Well, have you?’
Mia blushes and drops her head. She hates getting into trouble at school. Me? I don’t care that much. But the last thing I want today is Ertie on my back. If I end up on detention, I won’t have time to go over to Amira’s to do the computer stuff before dinner and violin practice.
Chapter 2
monday afternoon
‘Wow, Amira, your house is really cool.’
Mia is wide-eyed. She hasn’t been to Amira’s place before. I’ve been coming here for parties or the occasional sleepover for the past couple of years, so it’s no big deal to me anymore. I guess if it’s the first time you’d seen it, it would look pretty spesh, though. Amira’s dad is a sculptor and her mum’s a painter so their house is full of statues and giant paintings. The walls are white with little touches of colour here and there, and there’s lots of glass and stainless steel. It looks like an ad from one of those designer living magazines.
‘Thanks,’ Amira says. She grabs some drinks from the fridge and leads us down a long hallway to her bedroom at the back of the house. Everything in it is tidy and well organised – not like the bomb site that is my room. Amira’s a bit of a neat freak, I guess. In the corner, a white desk holds all the latest computer equipment. I’d die for a screen as big as hers. I know I won’t be getting it any time soon, though.
Amira makes sure we’re comfortable, then brings up her MyPlace page on the screen.
‘Hey,’ says Mia, ‘I really like the background graphics.’
‘Thanks,’ Amira says again. ‘There’re different ones you can choose from, to reflect your personality and personal style. You can even create your own. Remember that painting I did in art last term?’
‘The one with all the purple swirls?’ says Mia. ‘I loved that painting!’
Amira smiles. ‘I scanned part of it, then added some computer graphics.’
‘Cool,’ says Mia.
‘Yeah, it still needs a bit of work though,’ Amira tells us. ‘People can tell a lot about you from your background stuff.’ She shoots me an evil grin. ‘Michi will probably choose all black.’
I poke my tongue out at her. ‘Will not. Just because it’s my favourite colour, and I choose to dress in black clothing, does not mean everything in my life has to be black. That would just be too depressing.’
Mia looks at me sideways. ‘Alysha reckons you’
re a goth or emo or something.’
‘Are you kidding?’ I laugh. ‘Where did she get that idea from?’
‘The way you dress. The way you look – you know, your hair and everything.’ She pauses for a moment, obviously embarrassed now. ‘That … bat thing you wear on a chain around your neck –’ ‘This?’ I say, pulling out the delicate chain bearing my little bat from inside my uniform. We’re not allowed to wear jewellery to school, but I keep Batty well hidden. None of the teachers has discovered him yet. Just as well, cos I’d die if anyone took him away from me. He’s really spesh. He’s actually more like a cross between a dragon and a bat, with delicate wings and fiery red eyes. Aunty Miriam gave him to me when I was a baby. Aunty M’s presents are always pretty out there. She’s even kookier than my mum, and that’s saying something! Batty’s like my good luck charm.
‘Yeah, that,’ says Mia, waving her fingers around in the air. ‘Isn’t that the sort of thing goths are into? You know, all that “creatures of the night” vampire stuff?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe. Doesn’t mean I’m one, though, just because I like wearing black and own a bat on a chain.’
I’m a little bit hurt that Mia would think that about me. Alysha – sure. She’s the type of girl who gets her style sense from fashion magazines and ads on TV. But I thought Mia was a bit more sensitive than that. No way am I into all that dramatic doom and gloom goth and emo stuff. I just like to be a bit different, that’s all. Who wants to be a carbon copy of every other twelve-year-old girl fashion-tragic on the planet?
‘So,’ says Amira. ‘Why don’t you go first, Michi? You need to choose a username and password, then you can start to set up your page.’
‘’Kay,’ I say. I sit down at the desk and type in my email address: [email protected]. The program prompts me to enter a password.
‘Ummm …’ I stall, trying to think of something clever. ‘What should I put?’
‘Why don’t you just use the same one you use for IM,’ suggests Amira. ‘That’s what I do. Saves me having to dream up different ones all the time.’
‘Good idea,’ I say, typing in a series of letters and numbers. ‘It’s not like anyone else in the world is going to have a password like BATTY4EVA,’ I joke to Amira.
‘Cute,’ she says, her eyes twinkling. ‘Not to mention unforgettable.’
‘That’s what I figured,’ I tell her.
‘I just use my first and last name, joined together,’ Mia tells us.
I laugh. ‘Definitely unforgettable.’
‘Yeah, easy to remember,’ says Mia, ‘that’s for sure – but boring. I’ll have to think of something else. Something cool like Batty. I love it.’
‘Your friends all go here,’ says Amira, pointing out the Friends Place section. ‘You can order them so that your Top Friends always show up first.’
‘You’ll be there on mine,’ Mia says. ‘Along with Lex and Leesh, of course. If they behave themselves this term, that is.’ So there is still a bit of resentment there, after all. Although sometimes it’s hard to tell whether she’s joking or not. Mia doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.
‘And this bit here,’ Amira tells us, ‘is where you can download your fave music track.’
‘Cool,’ says Mia. ‘I’m going to put that recording Dad made of us playing “Living in Pink” on my page.’ She turns to me, eyes shining. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll become really famous and get signed by some big record company, like those English girls on YouTube. You know, the ones who recorded their songs in their bedroom? And now they’re all millionaires with top ten hits around the world?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, though I think we’ve got a way to go before we’re that good. Doing okay in a schoolbased Starsearch contest is one thing. But international stardom? I don’t think so.
‘So, what music are you going to put on yours?’ Mia asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer. And I don’t. Not yet. There’s so much amazing music out there to choose from.
‘Something classical, probably,’ says Amira. ‘You still going to play in that dopey youth orchestra this term?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ I tell her. Me playing classical music is something Amira’s never really understood. I don’t know why. It’s just a different way for me to express myself. Besides, it’s fun. I haven’t got to know all the people in orchestra – mainly just the ones in my year level. But they’re all really cool.
‘Have you actually heard Michi play?’ Mia says. She’s such a loyal friend. ‘There’s nothing dopey about it.’
Amira grins wickedly. ‘Sure there is,’ she says, though I know she’s only half-serious. Amira loves to wind people up. ‘Classical music’s for freaks and geeks.’ She clicks on the music link on her webpage. A Summer Meares track blasts out through her speakers, filling the room with a heavy pop beat. ‘Now that’s music,’ she grins, dancing around the room. She grabs for my hand, trying to get me to join her, but it’s not really my style. Mia doesn’t look that keen either, so Amira carries on by herself.
‘Now, if the geekoids in your orchestra played like this, it’d be okay,’ says Amira.
‘Come on, Amira,’ says Mia. ‘They can’t all be geekoids.’
Amira stops dancing. ‘Oh, yes, they can.’ She tosses me a smile. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’
I poke my tongue out at her. ‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Well, actually,’ she goes on, ‘there is one guy in there who’s not too bad.’
‘There’re lots of guys in there who aren’t “too bad”,’ I correct her. ‘Which one in particular?’
‘Ben,’ she tells me. ‘He’s a friend of my brother’s. He came round on Saturday with Joe after their soccer game.’
‘And he plays in the youth orchestra?’
‘That’s what Joe reckons.’
I mentally run through the guys in the orchestra. I can’t remember any that are called Ben. Not that I know everyone’s names yet, especially if they’re in a different section, like brass or percussion.
‘What does he play?’
‘How should I know?’ says Amira, checking her eyebrows. ‘Something loserish, probably, like you. All I know is, he’s cute, he’s hot, and I am officially in lurve.’ She leans forward and plants a kiss on the shiny surface of the mirror, then turns back to us. ‘So, mitts off, you two, ’kay? I saw him first.’
‘I don’t even know who he is,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
‘Just so you know,’ says Amira, coming back over to the computer desk. ‘He likes me, too, I can tell. I reckon by the end of next week we’ll be officially “going out”.’ She wrinkles her nose at me, making quote marks with her fingers, then flops back down in her chair. ‘Hey, wanna see my holiday snaps?’
We spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through the photos on her MyPlace page. Looks like her holidays were way more exciting than mine. After the gazillionth picture of Amira in a wacky pose with a bunch of people I don’t know at her beach house, I check my watch. ‘OMG,’ I say. ‘Is that the time? I’m going to have to get myself home and start practising or I’ll be in ten different kinds of trouble with my dad.’
‘Aww, come on, Mich,’ Amira coaxes me. ‘Stay a bit longer. I’ve got heaps more pics to show you yet.’
I pick up my bag. ‘Nope. I really have to go. Once I get my page set up I’ll look at them all properly. ’Kay?’
‘Me too,’ says Mia, grabbing her own bag from the bed. ‘Thanks for showing us what to do. I can’t wait to get started on my own page.’
Amira pouts. ‘But I wanted to show you the little movie I made last week. You’ll love it, it’s really arty. Dad showed me how to use Editing Suite and I’ve got all these special effects on it.’
‘Look, Ami,’ I begin. ‘I’d really love to, but –’ ‘Hey. I know what!’ Amira swivels round in her chair, all excited. ‘How about we have a sleepover here Friday night. We haven’t had one for ages. I’ll get Jess and Jane and Tara along and we can all watch my movie t
ogether.’
She turns to Mia. ‘You can come too, if you like.’ ‘Thanks,’ Mia says. ‘Sounds great. But I’ve got something else happening on Friday.’
I know what she’s talking about. Mia’s been having sleepovers at Pink HQ every Friday night for the last few years. Now that I’m tight with Mia, I’ve started going along to them, too. We do all the usual girly sleepover stuff – make-overs, movies, stuffing our faces with junk food (meat-free for me, of course). I’m a bit torn. I really enjoy the Pink HQ sleepovers, but it would be fun to hang out with Amira and the two Js as well. Mia sees me hesitating.
‘You go, though,’ she tells me quickly, making the decision for me.
I turn back to Amira. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say.
‘Cool,’ says Amira.
Then she and I do the kiss and hug thing while Mia gets her stuff together.
‘See you tomorrow, ’kay?’ I tell her.
‘Count on it,’ Amira fires back.
Chapter 3
monday evening
Dad’s sitting in the lounge room when I come in, work papers spread out all around him.
Dad [tapping his watch]: You’re late home.
Me [brushing past him to get to the kitchen]: Not very. Don’t worry, I let Mum know I would be. I’m going straight off to do some exam practice now. Just getting a drink first, okay?
Dad: Oh. So, you want to fail, then?
Whuh-oh, here we go … Me [eye-rolling]: Da-ad. I’m getting a drink, okay? I’ll be, like, two minutes. Two minutes’ less practice time is not going to make that much difference.
Dad: That’s not the way your ojiichan would think. Every minute is precious. It might make the difference between a high distinction and a pass or some second-rate honour. You don’t want to just get a pass, do you?
Me [serious voice]: No, Dad. Of course I don’t.
Dad: I should hope not. You wouldn’t want to dishonour your ojiichan’s memory.
Me [cheekily]: So, can I go now? Remember, every minute is precious.
A Year in Girl Hell Page 8
