by C. J. Duggan
I’d posed a million ways in front of the mirror, testing out a million different hypothetical scenarios. ‘Hey, I’m Lexie. What’s up?’ ‘Hi, I’m Lex.’ I was literally yanking out strands of hair every time I readjusted the elastic band into a new style; I decided to quit while I was ahead, rocking up to school with a comb over would not be a hot look.
‘So what do you think?’ My mum’s voice startled me, as I caught her beaming smile in the reflection.
‘Geez, Muuum.’ I clutched my chest, reeling in the pounding of my heart.
‘Sorry, love,’ she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. ‘You look so lovely.’
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. ‘How cool is the uniform?’
‘Pretty cool,’ she agreed.
‘Do you think I’ll be the only girl at Paradise High who is really excited about things like uniforms, and school bags and lockers?’ I laughed.
‘I think that’s exactly why Paradise High is going to be so lucky to have you. You’ve already scored an A plus for enthusiasm.’
Ha! I thought, what would Amanda score then? The simple task of breathing in and out seemed to inconvenience her.
Dad appeared in the bathroom doorway, folding his arms across his barrelled chest and drinking in the sight of his girls. He wouldn’t say anything but you could tell what he was thinking. I was half expecting him to relay some kind of Dad humour like, ‘I’m gonna need a shotgun.’ Or ‘You take after your old man.’ So when he finally spoke and said, ‘It’s time to go, luv,’ I swung around so fast my ponytail whooshed across Mum’s face, momentarily blinding her.
‘What, already? No, you can’t go,’ I said in dismay, my eyes bulging and alarmed. I knew today was the day my parents were leaving for home but, I don’t know, I just didn’t expect the reality of it.
‘We’ve got to, Lexie. It’s a long drive and I have to go to work on Monday,’ Dad reasoned, his eyes sad.
‘But you guys haven’t even been to the beach yet; you can’t come to Paradise City and not go to the beach. That’s just wrong.’
Mum stepped forward, brushing my fringe from my forehead. ‘We’ll be back, and when we are, you can show us around.’
Mum was implying I would what? Be a local by the time they came back for school holidays, in eleven weeks time? Heat began to creep up my neck again. Seventy-seven whole days coexisting with Amanda, of her hissing and glaring at me, stepping on my hair each and every night. I tried to not let my inner turmoil bubble to the surface.
Instead I smiled, hoping it didn’t seem so forced. ‘I will, I’ll plan a whole agenda for when you come back. Surfing, boogie boarding, beach volleyball, rollerblading.’ I counted out the activities on my fingers.
‘Oh, for sure; hang gliding, body piercings, you name it,’ Dad agreed.
•
After the initial chaotic runabout that seemed rather indicative of the way the Burnsteen household operated, we were walking Mum and Dad out to the car, doing the usual pouted, sobbing goodbyes. Actually, that was just Aunty Karen.
‘Oh, you sure you can’t stay a little longer?’ She shuffled in small, heeled steps towards Mum, throwing her arms dramatically around her. I was still a bit perplexed as to why she was wearing heels on a weekend.
I tried to put my big-girl pants on, to not let my mum’s tears affect me and make me want to jump in the car and go home with them. This would be the first time in, well, ever, that I would be living away from my parents for anything longer than a weekend. And now they would soon be gone and I would be gloriously free, living it up in the city: new start, new friends, new me. It was the life I’d imagined I wanted. The only thing was I just wasn’t feeling it yet. I shook off the thought, thinking it would be different once I started school. That would change everything.
In true Uncle Peter style, he stood idly by, his body language making it clear that he would prefer to be anywhere else right now instead of at painful family farewells. Amanda had said her goodbyes before heading out to who knew where for the afternoon. Maybe to hang with the boys from last night? My mind flicked back to Ballantine.
My parents were behaving as if they were sending me off to the warfront or something. Hugging me so fiercely, tears staining my mum’s cheeks. Even Dad was all misty-eyed as he focused intently on straightening the car aerial.
‘Don’t cry. You’ll see me in school holidays,’ I said, trying to pacify them in some small way.
Mum gave a small and totally unconvincing smile. ‘Home just won’t be the same.’
‘Are you kidding? It will be even better. Less laundry to do, no more nagging me to keep my room clean or me whingeing that I don’t want to watch the ABC. You’re going to love it.’
‘She has a point, Jen,’ said Dad, ‘I’m kind of regretting not opting for boarding school earlier.’
I tilted my head as if to say ‘Ha-ha’ but it was exactly the distraction Mum needed, and I felt less sad about her being upset, because I knew five minutes into their journey Dad would have her laughing again. He was good like that.
‘Oh, Lexie. Wait a sec, I almost forgot,’ my mum said, sniffing as she moved to the passenger seat and grabbed her handbag, delving into the contents.
My interest piqued; the bag search usually meant money, and any donations to the Lexie Atkinson fund were always greatly appreciated.
‘Here, take this.’ Mum held out her fist, indicating I should hold out my hand.
Ooh, what’s this, I wondered, offering my open hand eagerly as Mum dropped something into my palm.
My brows narrowed, my smile slowly falling as I studied what sat in my hand.
A whistle?
‘Um, did you sign me up for some sporting team I don’t know about?’ I eyed the whistle with disdain.
‘It’s a safety whistle; you wear it around your neck and if anyone tries to mug you, you can alert the neighbourhood you’re in trouble.’
Oh my God. Was this a joke?
When I didn’t so much as move, Mum took it upon herself to step forward, picking it up from my palm and looping the cord around my neck. I looked down at it, studying it with disbelief.
‘Why didn’t you just ask Uncle Eddie if I could borrow his safety vest?’ I asked, horror lining my face.
‘Come on, Lexie, you’re not in Red Hill anymore.’ Dad adopted his disciplinary voice.
Thank God for that, I wanted to say. I wanted to throw the biggest mind-blowing tantrum of my entire seventeen years, but instead I took a deep breath, and tucked the whistle under my t-shirt before Amanda came home. They held all the cards here and I was half convinced that this was some kind of test – a minefield laid out before me so that at any moment they could declare that this wasn’t going to happen and then whisk me away, never to see Paradise City again.
I was almost there. Only a few more moments of playing it safe, of saying yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. Not long and I would be waving my parents goodbye, home free.
I straightened my shoulders. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.
My mum blinked in disbelief. I think she had actually mentally prepared herself for Armageddon and when it didn’t come, her shoulders relaxed, and that sad look she would break into every so often since my enrolment had been accepted at Paradise High appeared. The tilt of the head, the watering of the eyes and the pout. Followed by a bone-crushing hug.
‘Aww, our baby girl is growing up,’ she cried.
Well, at least I was trying to.
Chapter Six
Like many things, I had played this moment over and over in my mind.
I had imagined it in so many ways: me sliding out of Aunty Karen’s car, my hair blowing in the wind as I walked in slow motion through the school gate. Low hums and whispers surrounded me as Amanda and I strutted side by side, giving each other knowing glances as the sea of bodies parted, letting us through.
But reality was nothing like that. I inched my way out of the car, self-consciously pulling at my dress, trying
to stop it from riding too high and revealing all to the world. I shrugged on my backpack, heavily laden with textbooks – somehow my fantasy didn’t include the practicality of a school bag. And instead of Amanda standing diligently by my side, she merely stood in contempt, sighing deeply with a ‘let’s get this over with’ expression.
‘Now, remember, Amanda, show Lexie around, and help her meet some people.’ Aunty Karen smiled through the open car window. ‘Have a great day, girls.’
Amanda and I turned and began to walk through the crowds, but no-one parted: it was a fight to the death to weave our way through the masses. Girls chirping in groups, boys pushing and shoving each other. No-one so much as looked my way until I accidentally stepped on the back of some girl’s shoe.
‘Sorry.’ I grimaced, knowing how hard I had stomped, not paying attention.
The girl, a Year Seven at a guess, spun around, anger flashing in her eyes. ‘Watch where you’re going, skank.’
My mouth gaped, looking down at her – that’s right, looking down, because she was a full half-foot shorter than me, with a serious slathering of freckles across her face, and a heavy layer of black eyeliner on her eyelids, flicked up into little ticks at the corners. I was shocked on so many levels and apparently my reaction was somewhat hilarious to her and her friends as they continued on their way, chucking me filthy looks.
Amanda just walked on, shaking her head. ‘You’re going to be eaten alive,’ she said.
I had gone from a world of slumber parties and giggling about boys to a school where Year Sevens were wearing makeup and weren’t afraid to lash out at seniors.
I now wished I had made more of an effort to get my bearings at orientation. Why didn’t I locate the locker block, find out what house I was in or where my first class would be? My heart started to race, heat creeping up my neck as my eyes lifted to the imposing greyscale building, its pebbled concrete exterior stretching out like a prison minus the barbed wire.
This wasn’t the first day of school for everyone, just me. So every student went along with their own sense of routine, with their own surety. I quickstepped up the concrete steps, aiming to keep up with Amanda as I took the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket that I had studied over and over again. ‘Um, where is 11F? Is that a room?’ I asked, chasing after her.
She stopped at the top of the steps, looking back towards the front of the school, making sure the Volvo had departed before turning to me with a shrug. ‘You’re on your own.’ And just like that she pushed through the door of the main building and made true on her promise.
I was on my own. That was painfully clear.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.
I may have been lost and the bell may have sounded but I did know how to get to one place.
The line was three deep to the main reception, where, from memory, the lady minding the front desk was called Ms Ray, an older woman with military precision for all things admin and a particular fondness for tweed material. It was also to my genuine surprise that she was still rocking the perm, something I didn’t know was legally happening in any self-respecting salon. Not since the eighties.
It seemed like all I had done since my arrival at Paradise High was avoid collisions in fear of being abused again. I thought it safest to just opt for a seat against the wall and out of the way until the line cleared; the second bell sounded, causing my heart to spike in anxiety as the last of the stragglers cleared out of the halls.
Great, late on my first day of school, just great. I cursed Amanda. With each lagging student getting served by Ms Ray I watched anxiously as every tick of the clock on the wall made me later and later. At 9.16 a.m. I wanted to give up, to cry, and then Ms Ray called out to me. ‘Can I help you?’
I jumped to my feet, approaching the bench and scrabbling for my piece of paper.
‘Did you want to sign the late book?’ Ms Ray spoke to me without taking her eyes from her computer screen. I paused, before looking down and seeing a blue bound book in front of me, titled, very helpfully, ‘Late Book’.
‘Oh, um, I actually don’t know where I’m meant to be.’
Ms Ray looked up from her chained bifocals.
‘It’s my first day.’ I cringed, sliding over the tattered piece of paper.
‘Oh dear.’ She pursed her lips.
‘I was here last Friday; I had a meeting with Mr Fitzgibbons prior to my orientation.’
‘Honey, there are six hundred and forty-three students in this school. It’s going to take more than a brief walk-in on a Friday afternoon for me to remember student six hundred and forty-four.’
Okay, so she didn’t remember me.
‘Do you know which house you belong in?’ she asked, continuing to type.
‘Um, I don’t . . .’
She took the page from me with a sigh, looking at the grids and tracing a finger along the top blue line.
‘You’re a Gilmore girl,’ she said, pointing to a place on the paper that read 11G+. ‘The number is your year, the letter is your house, and the plus means acceleration. We like to keep it simple here,’ she said.
Yeah, real simple.
She pointed her pencil behind me to the wall. ‘We have three houses here, three divisions: Kirkland, Gilmore and Chisholm.’
My eyes followed hers to the framed pictures of three students, all sporting different-coloured polo tops, below a plaque that read, ‘House Captains’.
Penny Aldridge was a smiley-faced, perky, ponytailed blonde with a yellow polo – Gilmore captain. James Masters was a green-shirt-clad boy with a monobrow doing it for Chisholm. But my eyes couldn’t help but linger on the dimpled image attached to a cocky grin of the boy in red, the gold plaque mounted with his name: Luke Ballantine.
My brows lowered. ‘Are these the school captains?’ I wondered, thinking it unusual that a school captain was called to the principal’s office and was aiding girls sneaking out of their bedroom windows in the middle of the night.
‘We don’t have school captains here, only house captains voted in by the students themselves.’
‘So kind of like a popularity contest,’ I said, mainly to myself.
But Ms Ray nodded. ‘Something like that,’ she said, slipping over a fresh piece of paper. ‘Here’s a map of the school. I’ve marked out today’s timetable with where you need to be. This is where you should be now,’ she said, drawing a big red circle on the sheet. I tilted my head, looking at the mark.
‘So is that 11F, Biology?’
‘No, that is the main hall. It’s Monday and every Monday there’s a school assembly.’
Oh God.
Ms Ray must have seen the colour drain from my face.
‘Yes, I suggest you get a wriggle on.’
I worked fast to fold up my pieces of paper, frantically shouldering my bag, ready to bolt down the empty corridor.
‘Wait a minute, the green block on the map is the locker room, and you are 1138,’ she said, sliding over my key.
I simply held the key in my palm. ‘Oh, okay,’ I said, without much conviction.
Ms Ray sighed. ‘Leave your bag here and come and collect it after assembly, you’re late enough as it is.’
A small bubble of relief lifted my heart. ‘Thanks,’ I said, handing over my bag as quickly as I could.
‘Just don’t make a habit of it; new or not, next time you sign the book.’
‘Oh, I won’t. Promise,’ I said, raising a small smile and starting down the corridor.
‘Miss Atkinson?’
I slid to a halt, turning on my heel. ‘Yes?’
Ms Ray pointed her pencil in the opposite direction. ‘That way.’
Chapter Seven
I stood slightly to the side, peering through a small glass window that looked into the main hall, the main hall being the indoor basketball arena.
My chest heaved, mainly because I had run the equivalent of two football ovals in order to get there, but my laboured breathing didn’t lessen
when I realised how late I was and worse, that there was no way of delicately slipping in undetected: the entrance was in everyone’s direct line of sight. I might as well have had a spotlight shine on me. I bit my lip, frantically looking for Amanda, wondering where she was among the hundreds of students and patrolling teachers. The only thing I could distinguish was the house factions, which was something. The school was divided into three stands. A red banner, a yellow banner and a green banner connected to the front bar of the front row. I just had to make my way to the middle section and find a seat. Desperately searching for a spare spot, I realised I would have to walk right up the back of the tiered stadium. It was such a long way up. While mentally assessing my plan I finally set eyes on Amanda, who was seated in the green section for Chisholm looking bored and as disengaged as ever even among her friends. I bet she’d spark up the moment she saw me do my walk of shame. I made a mental note not to make eye contact with her and just focus on getting to my seat.
Mr Fitzgibbons stood at the microphone; the muffled sounds of the PA system echoed in the large arena as he addressed his minions. Unlike the Friday before, he seemed in good spirits, passionate and bubbly in his body language.
And then as my eyes skimmed to the stands, I froze. There he was, standing to the left of the first section. His arms crossed over his chest, his stance casual as he leant on the front bar of the front row stand. His hair, which I’d thought was as dark as the night was actually a warm brown colour, cropped short and dishevelled. Unlike in his captain photo, he was dressed like everyone else – white shirt, navy tie, his long legs clad in dark denim, something only the seniors were allowed to wear. By the look of things, though, he wasn’t there out of choice; the Gilmore captain and Chisholm captain were also front and centre of their houses, a show of leadership no doubt, and they seemed to take it rather seriously, their attention hanging on every word Mr Fitzgibbons delivered, unlike Luke Ballantine, who cricked his neck from side to side and rolled his right shoulder as if struggling to stay awake.
