MIRROR ME
Rachel Sanderson
Mirror Me
Copyright © Rachel Sanderson 2018
Creator: Sanderson, Rachel, 2018 – author
Cover by Rachel Sanderson 2018
Subjects: Young Adult contemporary fiction
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording scanning or by an information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
First published 2018 by Rachel Sanderson.
Chapter one
‘Whatcha got, Abbie?’ Tom leans into his seatbelt towards me, forehead furrowed, hair the same monotonous yellow as the grass outside flopping down over his thick-rimmed glasses. No nine-year-old should wear glasses like that. I blame Mum.
I ignore him and pull things out of the box.
Two packets of Tim Tams. A fancy box of peppermint tea from T2. A flash drive which I’m betting has the entire second season of Stranger Things on it. The cute t-shirt Leah’s always loaning me, with a picture of a dinosaur vomiting up a rainbow. It’s like Leah thinks I’m moving to Antarctica or joining a convent or something. Like where we’re going there won’t be Seven Elevens or Netflix or online shopping.
At the bottom of the box is a book: The A to Z of How to Survive Absolutely Anything.
I flick through it. A is for asphyxiation. B is for snake bite. C is for car crash. D is for drowning. E is for electrocution. There are case studies, statistics, helpful diagrams, and step by step first-aid instructions. There’s a note from Leah in the front:
Watch out for Drop Bears! Don’t Die!! Come back Soon!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!
On first impressions, the place is a dump. Mum is as close as she gets to frowning. Stacey, on the other hand, has her hands on her hips and is actively glowering, her face going red like her spiky, un-brushed hair. Tom is looking at them and looking at me like he’s not sure what’s going to happen next.
‘It’s a bit smaller than it looked in the photos, isn’t it?’ he says in his helpful voice. Tom likes talking things through, which generally means repeatedly stating the obvious.
‘Yes, it is darling,’ Mum says.
‘What are those things?’ he asks, pointing to some piles of rusting metal that are poking out of the long grass.
‘Probably just some old farm equipment.’ There’s an actual crease on Mum’s forehead. I’m sure she’ll be jabbing us both with tetanus shots before she lets us anywhere near the house.
‘Are you sure it’s the right house?’ Tom asks finally, in a quiet, hopeful voice.
‘It’s the address they gave us,’ Mum sighs.
‘Well, let’s have a look around,’ I say cheerfully. I was going to be miserable whatever the house looked like. This way we’ll all be miserable together and with a bit of luck Mum will realise that moving was a terrible idea and we’ll get to go home to Sydney again ASAP.
The grass fringing the driveway and surrounding the house is overgrown. There are, as Tom pointed out, bits of rusted metal peeking up through it like a reef that might sink a ship in a movie about ships. The house just looks – wrong. There are cobwebs everywhere. Rubbish is piled up on one end of the veranda: old newspapers, empty bottles and cans, a broken tricycle, some plastic pots that are half-full of soil and growing weeds, a dented saucepan. The screens on the windows are all busted and a faint buzzing noise leads Tom to discover a wasps’ nest hanging in a huge lump of clay near the front door.
‘Hey look, wasps,’ he says, pointing. Tom loves bugs and creepy-crawlies of all kinds. He even loves the giant cockroaches we get at home in Surry Hills. And they are disgusting and they FLY.
‘Um,’ I say.
Mum has her phone out. ‘I’ll call the real estate and find out what’s going on. There may have been a mix up of some kind.’
Stacey scowls. ‘You tell them this is bloody unacceptable. Tell them there are kids here.’
One thing I like about Stacey, other than the fact that Mum is a lot happier since she moved in, is that she swears. A lot. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve heard Mum swear.
While Mum walks further down the driveway, trying to get more than half a bar of reception to make the phone-call, I go closer to the house and look in through one of the windows. Tatty, stained blinds hang down so I can’t see anything much inside. I try the door and it opens.
‘Whatcha doing?’ Tom is right behind me.
‘Having a look at our new home.’
‘It smells funny.’ My brother, master of the obvious. And then the smell gets suddenly stronger, like it’s flowing out at us in waves.
‘Oh my god, I think something died in here,’ I say. My stomach twists. I put a hand over my mouth and take a step in. I want to see how bad it really is.
You could call it open plan. I think they did in the description on the website. There’s a kitchen sink under the window, though one of the taps is missing. Beside it is a small electric stove. A long bench is covered in faded linoleum marked with what look like cigarette burns. The rest of the room is empty. I take in the stained, mustardy-yellow carpet, the slight dip to the floor, the dents in the ceiling. And then I see it. Lying in a corner of the room, like it has just crawled in for a little nap. A possum.
I walk back out to where Tom is waiting on the veranda. I walk past him to where Stacey is watching Mum talk on the mobile. Mum sounds like her usual reasonable self, hardly even flustered. Stacey looks at me and raises a pierced eyebrow.
‘Stace, this place is uninhabitable,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort it.’ She smiles a tense smile, like she’s trying to be a reassuring grown-up.
‘Stace, there’s a rotting corpse in the lounge room,’ I try again. The smile evaporates. Stacey’s vegetarian. I imagine dead possum will be to her what garlic is to vampires.
‘Oh fuck and here come the removalists,’ she says, and a large white truck which I know contains all our worldly possessions comes trundling toward us down the road.
‘F-Bomb!’ Tom and I say simultaneously, and high-five. Stacey groans and rubs her temples. Mum’s forehead creases. I count five wrinkles. One two three four five.
The day is looking up.
Mum sends Tom and I off to explore the main street while she and Stacey go in to talk to the real estate agent. The main street in Derrington is called George Street, which kind of cracks me up when I think of the George Street I know in Sydney’s CBD. This one is big and wide and empty. There are hardly any cars and the cars that do drive past are for the most part dusty, dinged-up utes with hay bales and angry dogs in the back. These are not like the dogs you see in Surry Hills. These dogs have never been to Perfect Pooch for a wash and a doggy massage. They’ve never seen a sequinned collar in their lives.
Tom wants to stop and look at everything. Hey look, a bakery! Hey look, a newsagent! Hey look, a tree! Hey look, a weird clothing store that sells things that maybe come from another century! Hey look, a boring historical plaque!
‘You hungry Abbie?’
How could a person not be hungry with so much excitement? Actually, I haven’t really felt hungry since we started packing the house up a week ago. I’ve had a kind of dull aching sensation in my stomach, but it’s different to hunger.
‘Sure.’
‘Wanna come to the bakery with me?’
‘Of course.’
We trudge back up the street to the bakery under the glaring sun. I’m already ready to melt. On the front door are those long trailing bits of plastic designed to ke
ep out flies. Tom goes first. I follow. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t eaten all day, but it actually smells pretty good inside.
‘Can I help you guys?’ The girl behind the counter has hair so blonde it’s just about white and her glasses are identical to the ones Tom is wearing, with thick black rims.
‘Hey, you’ve got my glasses,’ Tom says.
‘Snap,’ the girl says, smiling. ‘They look better on you though.’
Tom blushes. ‘I’ll have a sausage roll, please,’ he says. ‘With sauce.’
‘Make that two,’ I say.
The girl looks at me for a second with a strange expression on her face and I think she hasn’t heard me, then she smiles again and looks away, rustling around with paper bags and tongs. ‘You guys here visiting rellies or something?’ she asks as she hands us over the bags.
‘We just moved from Sydney,’ Tom says. ‘Mum’s the new doctor.’
‘Hey cool, so you’ll be going to school here?’
‘Derrington State High,’ I say. ‘Starting Monday.’ I try to ignore the dread I feel. New school. New classes. New people. New everything. Ugh.
‘And I’m in year five,’ Tom says. ‘I’m going to the Holy Spirit Primary School.’
‘I’ll look out for you at Derro,’ the girl says to me.
‘There you go,’ Tom says, with a look of victory as we walk out the door and back into the wall of heat. ‘Your first new friend.’
Like it could be that easy.
Chapter two
Mum wants to drive me but as the school is only a few blocks from Quiet Waters Motel, where we’re staying until the house is fixed up, she agrees that I can walk. This is meant to be one of the bonuses of living in a small town, right? Safely walking the streets? If I’m being honest, it’s just that I don’t want her dropping me off in the Clio. Over the past two days, from the short periods of time I’ve left the motel room, I’ve realised: nobody here drives a car like that. It’s too small. There’s not enough dust. And even the colour’s wrong. Purple? Seriously? And don’t get me started on the bumper stickers. It’s like the car has a big flashing neon sign hovering above it saying WE. DON’T. BELONG. HERE.
Plus, I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous I like to be on my own. I don’t want to have to talk to anyone or pretend to be positive or enthusiastic. And I definitely don’t want Mum worrying over me.
‘Good luck chickadee,’ Stacey says.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Mum says. ‘Just be yourself.’
As it turns out, that was the worst possible advice she could have given me. I realise this about a block from the school. I’ve seen one Harry Potter and two Wonder Women already. There’s a Gandalf and I spot someone I think is meant to be Jughead from Riverdale.
When I get to the front gate, Princess Leia is holding a bucket, collecting coins. Well the girl bears a passing resemblance to Princess Leia, though she’s shorter and chunkier and wears glasses.
When she sees me, she flat-out glares. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ she says. ‘Because if it is, it’s seriously not funny.’
I look around, hoping to see something that will explain her expression. I start talking too fast, the way I always do when I’m uncomfortable. ‘Um, sorry, this is my first day. I just moved here from Sydney, I didn’t know about this –’ I gesture to the bucket. It says Book Day on it in big letters. ‘I like books though,’ I say, feeling a flush rising in my cheeks, scrabbling in my pockets for a coin.
And then I hear another bunch of kids coming and the girl very obviously blanks me, her face lighting up with a saccharine smile to greet them. I scoot in through the gates and contemplate looking for somewhere to hide, ideally until about 3.20pm when the school day will be over.
Derrington High is a scatter of low buildings set along one side of a huge oval. There aren’t enough trees and the school grounds feel open and exposed to the glare of the sun. The sky today is a blank, cloudless blue. I’m starting to sweat and it’s not even nine in the morning. I find the classroom easily enough, and grab a desk up the back. I hear a lot of excited laughter as people wander in from the hallway, comparing costumes and checking each other out, but it all seems to stop when they see me. They look at me and their expressions shift. They stop talking, stop laughing, and look away.
I blink, feeling a sudden tightening across my chest. I guessed it wouldn’t be easy being the new kid turning up from Sydney, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.
When I see her, the relief almost makes my eyes water: it’s the girl we met at the bakery on Saturday. She’s hard to miss. Her hair is literally white and her eyes are bright blue. She had her hair tied back at work but now it’s looped in a braid over the top of her head with the rest hanging down around her shoulders. She isn’t wearing glasses but I figure that’s because it’s Book Day and they’d interfere with her costume. She’s dressed as Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones. I get it straight away. She’s even got a little toy dragon sitting on her shoulder. She sits down at the desk next to me.
‘Hey, it’s so good to see you,’ I say. ‘You look great by the way.’ The words bubble out of me more out of supressed anxiety and the reassurance of seeing a familiar face than anything else.
She looks at me for a full second and frowns, then looks away and doesn’t say anything. My cheeks burn. So much for a friendly face.
The teacher arrives. From studying my timetable, I know I have Ms Masters for home room and biology. Everything about her seems shiny: her long dark hair, her pearl earrings and cream silk top, her pink-painted nails. But despite the gloss, she looks tired and nervous. She sees me and gives me a quick, encouraging smile, then drops the pile of books she was carrying onto the table and stands beside it, resting one elegantly manicured hand on the top of them.
‘Class, we have a new arrival. I’d like you to welcome Abigail Fray. Abbie has just moved here from Sydney with her family. I expect you all to extend her the kindness and courtesy you would wish for if you were new.’
I blink. Nobody says anything. A couple of girls turn to look at me, their expressions wary. I wonder if I’m meant to say something, but I don’t think I could speak now if I tried. Welcome is the last thing I’m feeling. The silence is broken when the classroom door swings open so hard it bangs the wall.
‘Heyyall, wassup? What did I miss?’ The guy who walks in also didn’t get the Book Day memo. He’s dressed in school uniform, or at least a very rough approximation of it. His shirt is untucked and his shorts hang low on his hips. His hair is greasy and his skin is marked with inflamed pimples. He walks with a loose swagger.
‘Whoa,’ he says, scanning the classroom, shading his eyes like he’s looking directly into the sun. ‘Gandalf, is that you? Did I step into the wrong universe or something?’
Ms Masters face takes on that unsurprised-but-disappointed expression that seems to be the staple of teachers and parents everywhere.
‘Dave. You forgot it was Book Day?’
‘Book Day’s not supported in my house,’ he says. ‘I hereby declare myself a conscientious objector to the written word.’
‘Sit,’ the teacher says, indicating the back of the room.
Dave starts walking down the centre of the room, nodding his head like he’s got an appreciative audience, then I see him see me. I wait for him to give the same response as everyone else – the blank expression, the looking away. Instead he stops dead. His eyes narrow. ‘What the fuck is that?’ he glares.
I can’t believe it. How can he talk about me like that when he hasn’t even met me? Anger starts to form a hard ball in my chest.
‘No warnings today Dave. That’s a detention. After school. Now sit down and I don’t want to hear another word from you.’
He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he makes his way past me to the back of the room. My skin prickles and my heart beats faster. Dave drops his bag with a heavy thud that sounds even louder in the unnatural silence. I swear I’ve never heard a classroom
this quiet before.
And of course, in the silence, my phone pings. Shite. It’s sitting on my lap and I scramble to turn it off. As I do, I see that Leah’s sent me a GIF of a baby monkey wearing a tutu. The words Good Luck flash in neon pink above it as it trips and tumbles.
‘Abbie, we have a no phones in class policy at Derrington. I’m sure your old school had the same. Bring it up the front please, you can have it back at the end of the day.’ Ms Masters smiles at me, but her voice is firm. This is a woman who believes that rules exist to be applied equally and without favour.
I swallow. She’s looking at me, waiting. Everyone is waiting. I stand and walk to the front of the room. My cheeks are burning up and I want to cry. The reason I knew I could get through the day was because I could message Leah at lunchtime. Now I have to make it through on my own. Ms Masters takes the phone without another word, inclining her head slightly and giving me a reassuring smile. As I turn back to find my seat I feel Dave Hill’s gaze on me. His expression turns my stomach. It’s not just curious or unfriendly; he looks furious. And I have no idea why. I can’t have done anything to him. I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t know what’s going on.
I lower myself back into my seat, my head throbbing, my legs shaking.
It’s going to be a long year.
Leah rings me at 8pm as arranged. Technically we could just call each other whenever, but we like to make it a date. Leah’s parents keep her pretty tightly scheduled, and if we’re going to talk, we want to be able to talk properly. Now Leah’s voice sounds scratchy and distant, like she’s on another continent not just half a day’s drive down the highway.
‘So, what’s Shittsville like?’ she asks.
‘You know. Small. Quiet. We’re in a motel until the house gets fixed up.’
‘Oooh fancy. Are you having spas and stealing towels?’
Leah’s family go on holidays to resorts in Bali or Fiji every winter. I don’t think she’s ever stayed in a motel in her life and definitely not one of the Quiet Waters variety.
Mirror Me Page 1
