Have You Seen Ally Queen?

by Deb Fitzpatrick

  He’s trying to keep down a smile. ‘Okay,’ he manages. ‘10.30, Ally, okay?’

  I look at him. He’s so annoying. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘And Ally?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks a lot. For the other day. The picnic.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I mumble. ‘Anytime.’

  As I head down the stairs, I hear Jerry whine, ‘Why can’t I stay up till 10.30? I always have to go to bed at eight. It sucks.’

  I have to concentrate on this thing with Rel now. I wonder if I should change my clothes. For a minute, I feel kind of older, going out at night to some guy’s house, even if it is only to drink mulberry smoothies.

  I pocket my key and check that my torch batteries are still bright. I decide to stay in what I’m wearing and pull on my Chucks. My hair’s messy and I leave it that way—it looks too neat when I brush it; I always have to mess it up again, anyway. In the mirror, I make sure I haven’t got any oregano stuck in my teeth and pull my shirt so it sits right. I then decide to brush my teeth, anyway, in case of bad breath. I catch sight of my wrist, and the shell looks really cute. I adjust it so you can see it better and then shut my door in case McNerd decides to explore while I’m out.

  ‘Bye,’ I call up the stairs.

  Dad sticks his head down and smiles at me. ‘Have fun,’ he says. ‘What’s his name again?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘God, Dad, you’re being such a pain.’

  ‘That’s my job,’ he says, a little too cheerily.

  ‘It’s Rel,’ I say, and before he can quiz me on that, I slip out the door.

  SHELLTWISTS

  The night’s cool and we sit on his verandah, checking out the sky and hoping for possums. My mulberry smoothie is going down fast. It’s the best colour I’ve ever seen. Milky purple.

  The sky’s got rock salt sprinkled in it and I scan for any constellations I recognise, which is about three. The southern cross, the saucepan and ... one other. Jerry knows them all. The moon’s just a sliver off full.

  Rel’s pretty quiet, just in a mellow way.

  ‘Camp on Tuesday.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘All packed?’

  ‘Nah.’

  I laugh. ‘Jeez, you’d better get on to it. When are you gunna start?’

  ‘Dunno. Depends.’

  I look over at him. ‘On what?’

  He looks back. ‘On you.’

  My own personal sunrise is creeping up my face. Lucky it’s dark. ‘Whaddya mean?’ I manage.

  ‘Are you still skipping to Perth?’

  ‘I guess,’ I say.

  He doesn’t say anything then.

  ‘Haven’t you paid and everything?’ I say. ‘For camp?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods.

  The sky is completely still but the bush scratches away in the breeze like it’s got an itch it can’t reach.

  ‘They’re hardly gunna give your oldies a refund, Rel. It’s too late.’

  ‘Yeah, well, the money’s not important.’

  There’s a gap then.

  ‘I might come with you,’ he says finally, kind of loudly.

  He’s looking over at me and I’m not returning the favour.

  Shite. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to come. I don’t even know what I’m gunna be doing there yet. I’m not even really sure if I still wanna go.

  He’s twisting his shell really tight. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I dunno.’ I look at him. ‘I don’t even know where I’ll be staying or anything, Rel. I was planning to go to my friend Shelly’s, but there’s no way you’d be able to stay there, too.’

  He leans back into his chair.

  I’m not sure if that was what I was meant to say.

  ‘Come on camp, then.’

  ‘Are there any places left?’

  ‘A couple, I think.’

  I sigh. ‘I dunno.’ All those kids.

  He leans towards me all of a sudden. His eyes are shining. ‘It’ll be cool, Ally! We don’t have to hang out with anyone else much. We’ll just blow them off, hang out on our own.’

  All this we talk is a bit ... full-on. It’s okay, actually. Kind of a nice change, after hanging out on my own so much the last couple of months.

  ‘I dunno. What about ... the kids from English?’

  ‘What about them? All I wanna do is the ridge walk. Ally, we get to sleep in a cave on the top of Bluff Knoll on the first night—can you believe that? Half the kids won’t even wanna do the whole walk; it’s three days, or something. They’re just gunna go on day walks around the Stirlings with another teacher, so there are going to be two separate groups. You can’t go up to Perth and miss this, Ally. You can go to Perth any weekend.’

  He takes a break for a moment, and I try to take it all in. Talk about pressure!

  Rel leans out into the night. ‘I know which I’d rather do,’ he says, without looking at me.

  We’re both quiet then.

  The thinnest cloud ever scuds across the moon, making it dark for a moment.

  ‘Go on, Queenster, it’ll be cool.’ He pokes me in the side.

  I come to the end of my smoothie and suck too hard and make a loud, rude sound into the night.

  ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t leave it too long. You have to pack, you know.’

  I look at him and try not to grin.

  NIGHT OWL

  I don’t go straight home. It’s only ten o’clock and the batteries in my torch are strong, so I feel okay about being out here on my own at night. Rel offers to walk me home, but how fifties is that? Next he’ll be asking me out to a movie or something.

  It’s such a clear, clean night and there’s so much for me to sort out in my own mind, as Mum always says. Always used to say. Don’t go there, Ally. That’s a whole other thing.

  I push off my Chucks and the dune sand is cold on my feet. The sand is almost pure white under the moon. I climb up my favourite dune, the highest, and make indents in the sand for my bum to nestle into.

  The water’s black and white like the night and making the same sound over and over. The sand hisses each time the water slides back into the ocean. There are little scurrying and bustling sounds in the scrub around me. Whenever I’m out here at night, I wish for the same thing: infra-red goggles to see what’s going on in the bush. Dad reckons he’s gunna attach a camera to a roo one of these days, like roo-cam or something, and then play it back and see what the hell they get up to and where they hang out all day and stuff.

  Mum, of course, said the RSPCA would be on to him in no time.

  One thing I’m glad of: I didn’t tell Shelly I was planning to come up to stay. Not that I’ve changed my mind, or anything, but it just means that my options are open.

  The ridge walk does sound cool, and most of the pus-head kids won’t go the full distance, I’m sure of that. I’ve heard it’s a pretty killer hike. I dunno which teachers are going, apart from Ms Carey, but I guess there’ll be some from phys. ed., like Miss Main and Mr Roberts. They’re okay. The main thing is Rel being there. It would be a bummer to miss out, especially if everyone comes back raving about how awesome it was. And I guess getting out of here, going back home, doesn’t seem so all-important now.

  Telling Dad’s gunna be fun. I think he’s forgotten all about camp, too.

  BLUNDIE CHICK

  ‘What?’

  ‘Year 10 camp—you wanted me to go, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, but this Tuesday? Wasn’t I meant to sign something, or pay, or something?’

  Poor Dad, he’s totally confused.

  I pull the form from my bag. So lucky: I found it last night in my maths file. ‘I forgot about it, sorry. It got squashed under my lunch box.’

  He looks at me as though if there was an axe in the room, he’d use it.

  ‘Tuesday! That’s tomorrow, Ally. Tomorrow!’

  ‘Sorry, Dad. I know. I forgot.’ And I’m p
raying thatyou’ll believe that.

  He rubs his neck and I keep quiet for a change.

  ‘I don’t know if there’ll be enough time for you to get ready now. I mean, you’ll need a sleeping-bag—this is a camping trip, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘And your wet-weather jacket, a good torch, a backpack, some thermals ... Have we got all that stuff? Mum normally looks after all these things...’ He drifts off, looking around, kind of lost.

  ‘I’ll find it. And the school’s organising the tents. I’ve got everything except proper boots.’

  He looks around the floor as if there’ll be a pair lying around. ‘What about your Blundstones?’

  ‘My Blundies? They’re not proper hiking boots, are they?’

  He shakes his head as if I’d forgotten the golden rule. ‘Ally, anywhere a pair of Blundies can’t go isn’t worth going.’

  ‘But all the other kids will have Colorados and stuff, proper lace-up hiking boots.’

  He completely ignores me. ‘Do your Blundies ever give you blisters?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Your mum and I did a ten-day trek through the mountains in Patagonia, Ally, with Blundstones.

  Everyone else had Gore-tex this, that and the other—all sorts of special gear—and at the end of the day we had no blisters, and a credit card that was still in the black.’

  ‘Dad! This isn’t the eighties anymore. No one goes hiking in—’

  ‘Believe me, Ally, I’m aware that this is not the eighties. That’s got nothing to do with it. This is Monday and you are going on this hike tomorrow! That’s one point we have to take into account here. The other is this—and your mum would say exactly the same thing—it’s about image and functionality.’

  Image and functionality? I know by his face that there’s no changing his mind. I guess I’m just relieved that it looks like I’ll be going. I’m gunna look a total dickhead in my Blundies, but what can you do? I just let it go, and mumble, ‘I’ll go downstairs, then, and sort out my gear.’

  Dad looks up at me. He’s far away, probably off in South America somewhere. He and Mum are always reminiscing about that trip, especially the mountain trekking stuff. Patagonia this, Patagonia that, blah, blah, blah.

  ‘Okay, Allycat, you can go. Remind me to write the cheque tonight.’ He adds, ‘I’m glad you’re going. It’ll be fun. The walk will be hard, but it’s often the hardest things that turn out to be the best.’ He nods, off in that other world again.

  I nod, too. Sounds like something Mum would say.

  At recess, Rel and I meet under the peppy trees.

  As he walks over, he looks at me like he’s waiting for something big.

  ‘What?’ I manage innocently.

  He widens his eyes. ‘Whaddya mean, what?’

  ‘Well, what was that look for, with the eyebrows and everything?’

  He looks away and shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’ And then looks back at me, trying not to grin.

  Of course, I know what he’s wondering, but it’s pretty embarrassing and I’m not sure that it doesn’t make me feel slightly sick, all this boy stuff. Sick like nervous, you know?

  ‘I’m going.’

  His face drops. ‘Oh. To Perth?’

  ‘On camp, actually.’

  ‘Unreal!’ he says, before catching himself and mumbling, ‘Cool.’ He looks across the oval, nodding, and, while we stand there, the leaves of the peppies brush the ground over and over like a broom clearing the way for something.

  THE LOCAL HUNCHBACK

  Just as the driver’s looking at his watch and getting ready to pull away from the Melros bus stop, Rel runs on to the bus. He’s red and sweaty, like he’s run all the way from home, which he probably has. I was getting nervous, and have to restrain the smile of relief as he gets on.

  He comes and sits right beside me, and a wave of cooing sounds and theatrical sighs come up to us from the kids at the back. It doesn’t bother me as much as before.

  ‘Where’s your stuff?’ I ask.

  ‘Mum’s gunna drop it off at school later on.’

  ‘Yeah, me, too. I mean ... Dad is.’

  I try to look cool, but I know it’s not a very good effort and I just end up feeling like a sack of spuds sitting next to this hot guy on the bus, like it should be someone else or something, like he’s gunna find out about me and it’ll be back to the same old on-her-own Ally, with this really screwy family that everyone knows about, even though I haven’t actually talked to anyone about it.

  After recess, Dad rolls up with all the other oldies, lugging my backpack like it’s full of sand. He’s really hamming it up, a genuine Hunchback of Notre Dame. It’s very, very embarrassing, and I have to pretend for a bit that he’s not anyone I know, let alone someone I’m related to.

  I swap him my schoolbag and say, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  He grins stupidly. ‘See you on Saturday, then, right?’

  I nod. ‘They said we should be back about two.’

  ‘Well, have a good time, Allycat.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Dad, please.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, grinning. ‘Be careful. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And wear your clothes to bed at night if you’re not warm enough in that sleeping-bag. And don’t kiss any boys,’ he whispers loudly.

  God! ‘Okay. I’m going now. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?’

  ‘Okeydoke.’

  ‘Tell McJerry I’ll see him then, too.’

  ‘Yep.’ He squeezes my arm, smiles right at me and then turns back towards the car.

  There’s kids and people and bags everywhere and everyone’s moving and talking in the sun and being excited and I’m going away and Dad’s walking back to the car to go to the house on his own.

  Well, there’ll be Jerry, but he doesn’t really count.

  The wind gusts a few leaves down on us. I see one land in Dad’s hair.

  Now I really wish Mum was home.

  TRAVELLING TEACHERS

  It’s when the bus door hisses shut that I realise who is coming on this camp.

  Mr Taylor, for one. He’s driving. I see him looking at me in the rear-view mirror as I get on. God. I hope he’s not going to get all heavy on me.

  The freaky chick with the red hair.

  The new phys. ed. teacher, Mr Roberts, who looks like he just finished uni. (Apparently, Karen Mason’s after him, reckons she might join the girls soccer team so she can ... I dunno, be near him, or something.)

  Ms Carey. Okay, I knew that.

  My stomach churns. Was this was a mistake, me coming on this trip? Rel, Ms Carey and Mr Taylor in one very small enclosed moving space? As well as all the pus-heads! What was I thinking?

  I do the only thing I can: find my iPod Mini and push my earphones in as far as they will go and turn Sarah Blasko on as loud as possible. Rel is sitting further back, talking to some guys, and I’m next to Angie, who’s okay, but we’re not really mates, or anything. Anyway, she’s leaning across the aisle, talking to Sophie, who thinks she’s a real glamour-puss ‘cos she’s got uber-long hair and only wears clothes from Saba.

  I actively avoid eye contact with Mr Taylor and concentrate on the Ms Carey factor. I haven’t spoken to her since that class. I’m in Mr Kent’s English class now.

  Ms Carey smiled at me before. She probably thinks I’m a complete wuss for swapping classes. She’s got fisherman’s pants on, and a white Indian top. It looks unreal. I feel like a toad in my jeans and Blundies. Thanks, Dad.

  I wonder about the tents—who am I gunna be sharing with? Apparently, it’s three to a tent, and most people have already sussed out who they’re sharing with. It’s not like I can share with Rel; I hardly think they’re gunna allow mixed tent-sharing. I look around and realise I actually don’t have any proper friends here. I mean, I know people, and they know me—in fact, yep, they know all about me—but there’s no one I hang out with, apart from Rel. No girls. So now I’m gunna look like even more of a freak.

&
nbsp; Ben passes up a CD and Mr Taylor puts it in. It’s Powderfinger, and obviously someone cranked up the volume on the bus CD player before we got going, because it fairly booms out. Ms Carey gives Ben a withering look as Mr Taylor fumbles with the knobs, trying to turn it down, but it’s Day One, so no one really minds. It’s actually pretty funny and there’s a fair bit of snorting coming from up the back.