by Erin Gough
Chapter 15
* * *
WILL
I watch Harriet storm out the door. Okay, storming isn’t the word. Storming implies hunched shoulders, noisy limb movements, menacing bulk. No. What Harriet does is more like what a floating tissue might do to express its displeasure: a weightless twist here, a wispy turn there.
As soon as the door shuts, I know she isn’t coming back.
The point is not whether I want her to stay. For starters, I’m perfectly fine with spending the rest of lunch on my own. I’m comfortable with isolation, unlike some people I know who sweat at the temples if Snapchat is taking too many seconds to load.
The point is not that Harriet has decided to quit Amelia Westlake. What do I care? If she steps aside I can choose my own projects. I can do anything I want, although I’d probably draw the line at arson.
Of course, it’s easier with two of us. It’s the perfect number: not too many people to let the secret out, but enough for us to each have an alibi. Best of all, no-one has any reason to suspect her. You’d have better luck pinning a double homicide on Big Bird than accusing Harriet Price of being Amelia Westlake.
The point is this: Harriet has spent the last two minutes shooting accusations at me like arrows, and the very moment I’ve finally loaded my own bow and drawn back, she’s shot out the door. So I do what any self-respecting person would: I go after her screaming.
I get within three metres of her before Her Highness deigns to acknowledge me. At the sound of my screams she breaks into a run. Still making a fair amount of noise, I run after her, which is tricky, what with her being an elite sportsperson and me being an elite couch potato. Since the screaming and the running aren’t working I change tack and begin moaning instead.
This gets her interested: there’s no prefect bait like a person in distress. Her about-face is so swift I barely have time to wince and fake a limp before Harriet’s at my side, offering me an arm to lean on and a freshly ironed handkerchief.
I blow my nose on it loudly.
‘Sick bay’s just down this path.’
‘Oh no! I’m fine. It’s just a sprain.’ I grip my ankle bravely.
‘Are you sure?’ Harriet asks. She sounds genuinely worried and I almost feel bad.
‘Positive. Anyway, I’ve got a test after lunch I have to be there for.’
‘Then I’ll help you walk back to the main block. Only if you’re okay being seen with me in public, of course,’ she says pointedly.
‘You’ve just quit Amelia Westlake, so I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.’
It takes so much effort faking a sprain all the way back to the main block that I almost get a real one. Having Harriet Price’s arm around my waist for an extended period is also weird enough to send my lower back into a series of disturbing spasms, but at least it gives me the chance to set her straight about some things.
‘Just for the record,’ I say between concerted grunts of exertion, ‘and not that it’s any of your business, but you need to understand something about me and Nat.’
‘Okay.’
‘What do you mean, “okay”?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. Just okay.’
‘Well, it certainly sounded like something more than okay.’
‘Well, it really wasn’t,’ says Harriet, flustered.
‘The thing between me and Nat is just – just one of those casual things between good friends,’ I improvise. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t mean I’m going to tell her what the two of us have been getting up to.’
Harriet turns pale. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
I glance around. ‘Amelia Westlake, I mean,’ I murmur.
Flushing from the neck up, she nods quickly. ‘Of course.’ She pauses. ‘Does your boyfriend know about this … casual thing between friends?’
‘My boyfriend?’ I burst out laughing.
Harriet looks uncertain. ‘You don’t have a boyfriend?’
I shake my head, still laughing. ‘Boyfriends are not my thing,’ I say. ‘Sure, I know that some people like to swing in multiple directions. Which is great, if that’s what you’re into. Nat’s like that. But I’m not.’
It takes Harriet a while to process this and it clearly places a strain on her usual brain function because the next thing she says is even stranger. ‘If you don’t have a boyfriend, or anyone else, then you mustn’t be very keen on Natasha if you want to keep things with her … casual.’
Trust Harriet to make a judgment in the absence of any knowledge whatsoever. ‘Of course I’m keen on her!’ I say. ‘What’s not to be keen on? She’s very attractive. She has a political conscience, a love of culture, and the clarity to see Rosemead for the elitist brainwashing factory it really is. We don’t see eye to eye when it comes to music – she’s obsessed with garage punk – but other than that we have heaps in common. We’re practically the same person.’
‘I’m not sure that clears things up,’ says Harriet stubbornly.
We’re passing the oval. The hockey players are in a scrum in the middle, jostling against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Someone pushes too hard and the whole scrum collapses. I think about shifting the conversation in another direction, but Harriet needs to have the full picture. ‘I like her. I do. A lot,’ I say. I sound as convincing as a rookie real-estate agent.
‘But?’ Harriet prods.
‘Just perhaps not in that way,’ I admit, realising it’s true. Nat is my friend and I love her, but I don’t want to be with her. Just because we get on as friends and both happen to like girls, doesn’t mean we have to be together.
The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Nat feels the same way as I do. We gave it a try and it hasn’t worked, but we’re both too worried about offending each other to break it off.
Of course, I should be having this conversation with Nat instead of Harriet Price. But it feels good to finally be talking about it with somebody.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ I tell Harriet. ‘Personality-wise, we’re far more compatible than I was with any of my previous girlfriends.’
‘Exactly how many other girlfriends have you had?’ asks Harriet.
I pretend to count in my head. ‘Four or five,’ I lie. It’s more like a couple of pashes with Sami Farouk at the end of Art Camp in the year-nine summer holidays, but Harriet doesn’t need to know that. ‘I’ve lost count, to be honest. Why? How many boyfriends have you had?’
Harriet pauses. ‘No boyfriends. Just, ah, Edie. Who I’m seeing now. She’s head girl at Blessingwood.’
‘Oh! I didn’t realise,’ I say, keeping my eyes firmly on the hockey players.
Harriet Price has a girlfriend? Why didn’t I know this? Her tendency to play by the book has clearly fucked with my usually impressive intuition in this field. I already had her married off to a Head of the River chump with a square jaw and a receding hairline. I clear my throat. ‘Not that every romantic relationship has to be utterly electric.’ I look at her. ‘Of course, I’m sure you and – Edie, is it?’
Harriet nods.
‘– I’m sure you guys have a whole truckload of fireworks going off whenever you’re –’
She drops her arm abruptly. ‘Will, I’m sorry I mentioned your major work earlier,’ she says. ‘Where you are up to with your schoolwork is absolutely none of my business.’
Talk about an unsubtle change of topic; clearly Harriet doesn’t want to discuss Edie with me. I wobble to regain my balance. ‘It’s fine,’ I tell her, and it is. I don’t feel so angry anymore. The exhaustion of walking a kilometre on one foot has expended my emotional stores.
We reach the end of the oval and I pause to rub my ankle. Fake injuries are the worst. With my hand on Harriet’s shoulder I make a performance of moving my foot gingerly in a slow circle. ‘I’m sorry about what I said to you earlier. About being a condescending bitch.’
Harriet flinches.
‘I didn’t mean it. I’m just a bit sensitive right now about my major work
. I have a bit of a block about it at the moment,’ I explain.
‘What kind of a block?’ Harriet asks, holding my hand to help me balance.
‘I can’t work out how to explore what I need to explore, I guess.’
‘Which is?’
‘A sort of phobia-type thing that escalates the closer I get to, um, airports.’
‘You have a fear of flying?’
My parents aside, this is not something I’ve talked about to anyone. But Harriet deserves to know why I lost it earlier. ‘A few years ago, we went to India for an art festival Dad was keen to go to. On the way home we hit some major turbulence. We got there okay. But while it was happening …’
I’m not sure what to tell her. There are the facts, of course: how the lights went out and the oxygen masks dropped down. How the guy sitting next to us hit his head on the ceiling and got concussed. How a woman three rows behind us broke her arm when she landed on the deck.
But how can I describe the feeling: the sense that everything was ending? The sudden knowledge I was a speck in the universe and that death could be as fast and simply executed as someone flicking a switch? Even worse: that in my time on the planet I’d done bugger-all worth speaking of. I would die and be forgotten. End of story.
‘We landed safely in the end. But it freaked me out. Plus, all these explosions and disappearing flights in the news lately …’
She is gazing at me.
‘What?’
‘Your voice is shaking,’ Harriet says.
‘So?’
‘I’m surprised, that’s all. You don’t seem like the type of person who’s scared of anything.’
I grunt.
‘It’s true,’ Harriet says. ‘You’re always standing up to teachers. Protesting for causes you believe in even when you know it will get you into trouble. Choosing to study subjects like Art that have no market val–’ She drifts off. ‘I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if I couldn’t fly,’ Harriet says.
‘Those charcoal pyjamas they give you in first class are really something, hey?’
Harriet blinks. ‘It’s more that my grandma’s in Brisbane and can’t get down much. She doesn’t have any family up there so I like to visit her a couple of times a year. I help her with shopping and house repairs, that kind of thing.’
Okay, so maybe Harriet isn’t quite the selfish trust-fund brat I pegged her for.
‘Why don’t we sit down for a minute?’ Harriet points to a bench near the main block. ‘Give you some rest?’
I consider the response that is most consistent with my hypothetical level of pain. ‘Great idea.’
When we reach the bench I sit down with a gigantic sigh, as if being off that darned ankle is the best thing that’s happened all year. From here the hockey players on the oval are tiny battery-operated action figures, programmed to run back and forth until their motors give out.
When I think back on that plane trip, that’s the overwhelming sense I have: one day my motor is going to give out. I’ll be dead, and I need to make a mark on the world before that happens.
‘My dad lives in Perth,’ I tell Harriet. ‘So I never get to see him anymore. He knew about my phobia and still chose to move there.’
‘Are you two close?’
‘We used to be.’
Harriet is silent for a moment. She gives me a serious look. ‘I think you’ll get there. With your major work, I mean. The hard stuff inspires the best kind of art.’
‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about.’
She looks at her hands. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you. About the first cartoon we did.’
‘Oh?’
She takes a breath. ‘I’m being silly. Never mind.’
Something in the tone of her voice makes my ears prick. I realise I’ve been waiting for this. ‘Did something happen with Hadley? Is that it?’
‘Oh no.’ She shakes her head. ‘Not really. Forget I brought it up.’
I consider dropping the subject. But only for a moment. If that creep has done something to her … ‘Whatever it is, you’re still thinking about it. I’m sure it would help to talk it over.’
‘You’ll think I’m completely overreacting.’
‘Try me.’
Harriet crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. Then she crosses them back the other way. ‘It was at the end of last year, and I was coming out of tennis practice after school. I’d been chatting with my tennis coach about something so I was late getting to the change room.’ She clears her throat. ‘It was just after Edie and I started dating, and everyone had recently found out about us. The whole Sports Department knew.’
‘I see.’
‘Anyway,’ says Harriet quickly. ‘You know the corridor you have to walk through to get down to the change room? The one with the blue grip on the floor?’
I nod.
‘I was walking through there and I saw Coach Hadley coming in the other direction. It was just the two of us in the corridor; there was no-one else. As he approached, I smiled at him. Generally, we’d stop if we met like that and have a bit of a chat. He’s always – was always – so nice. But this time, instead of smiling back he gave me this kind of, I don’t know, lewd grin.’
I make a face. ‘Gross.’
‘And he was looking me up and down in a way that he’d never done before. He’s looked at me before, certainly. He often used to say nice things about my hair or my figure –’
‘Are you serious?’
Harriet wraps her arms around her chest. ‘Anyway, this time as we passed each other he leant in and said something in my ear.’
‘What did he say?’
She flushes. ‘He said – “What a waste”.’
Something curdles in my stomach.
‘I’m probably overreacting,’ Harriet rushes on. ‘But it just made me, oh, I don’t know … so –’ She is struggling to find words. ‘I’m not sure why I even keep thinking about it. It’s probably a compliment, in a way, I suppose.’
‘A compliment?’ I lean forwards, almost forgetting about my fake ankle sprain. ‘Are you kidding me? Did it feel like a compliment? Being judged by a sleazebag?’
‘No,’ says Harriet in a small voice.
‘No. Because it’s not a compliment. It’s a fucking disgrace. In my view, coming from a teacher, it’s also a sackable offence. Who did you go to?’
‘Go to?’ She seems confused.
‘Who did you tell? Bracken? Watson? Who?’
‘Oh! No-one like that.’
I sit back. ‘Why not? You didn’t want to cause trouble? Or … ?’
‘I don’t know.’ Harriet prods her hairline with her fingers. ‘I guess I didn’t think it was important enough to cause a fuss about. I mean, it’s not like I’m the only one. I’ve seen him say far worse things to other girls. We all have. I did tell Beth and she said – she said …’
‘What did she say?’
‘That I wouldn’t be so upset about it if I were, you know, into guys.’
Beth Tupman. I could kneecap that girl. What a piece of work. So she thinks the straight girls are all doing just fine with his inappropriate behaviour, does she? I have a feeling Ruby, and Nakita, and Trish, and Anna, and all the others he’s had a go at might see things differently. Hadley is a sexual predator and Beth Tupman is a fool who probably thinks he should be forgiven because nine hundred girls in uniform is too great a temptation. Or that it’s just the way of the world, so get used to it. Whatever Beth thinks, she’s not helping.
‘And how has he treated you since?’ I ask.
Harriet grimaces. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘It sounds like you do,’ I say.
‘It’s hard to know.’ She shrugs. ‘I mean, he’s certainly making me do extra laps in the pool more frequently than he used to. But then, he makes lots of people do extra laps.’
I reach for Harriet’s hand and squeeze it. ‘Listen to me,’ I say. ‘Beth’s wrong about this. You’re not overrea
cting. You need to tell somebody.’
Harriet shakes her head vigorously. ‘I’m not telling anybody.’
I try again. ‘What about your parents, at least?’
‘My parents?’ Her eyes are wide. ‘No. We don’t talk about that kind of thing.’
‘Then what the hell do you talk about?’
‘School and Tawney, mainly. When we do talk. Look Will, it’s fine,’ she says, pulling her hand away.
But I’m not letting this go. ‘You really need to talk to somebody.’
‘Will. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not doing it,’ she says firmly.
I can’t believe this. ‘But don’t you see, Harriet? This is the problem with this school. It’s conditioned us so completely that nobody even considers questioning what goes on here anymore.’
‘I don’t think that’s true.’
I remember my recent meeting with Croon and how she shut down everything I implied about Hadley. ‘This is why we have to keep doing what we’re doing,’ I say. ‘This is what Amelia Westlake is all about. Changing how this place operates. It’s not about protecting Rosemead’s values, like you pretend it is. Rosemead’s true values are rotten to the core. And things are only going to change if people learn to stand up for themselves. Right now, we’re all being crushed.’
Harriet looks incredulous.
‘You know it’s true,’ I say. ‘Otherwise Hadley would be out on his arse by now.’
‘I’m sure Principal Croon is investigating. These things can take time …’ She peters out.
I search for her gaze until she meets mine.
‘If anyone can show them how to stand up to the school and its warped values, it’s Amelia Westlake,’ I say quietly.
Harriet watches me, her teeth clenched. She firms her mouth. ‘Then what’s our next move?’
Chapter 16
* * *
HARRIET
Will’s idea is this: a series of pranks in quick succession. Major enough for people to take notice, and regular enough to make it difficult for Rosemead to respond before another one begins. I suggest a codename for our new accelerated phase and Will agrees.
