At lunchtimes Fly sprinted to the pay phone across the road from the high school, dialling number after number out of the newspaper, looking for a part-time job. When the afternoon siren screamed across the school grounds, Fly made excuses not to walk home with the rest of the crew. She lingered until the coast was clear so she could trawl the shopping strip asking, begging, pleading for work. She tried milkbars, coffee shops, supermarkets, video arcades. The answers were all versions of the same thing – they didn’t have anything at present, but if they did, they would be sure to call someone older, wiser, stronger than Fly. But good on you for making the effort to come and ask, kiddo.
By the time Friday came, Fly dragged her backpack and her battered confidence towards a tall, middle-aged petrol pump attendant cleaning up at the service station. She wasn’t hopeful, but she’d made a commitment to go to every place she’d circled in red texta in the paper. This was the last circle.
‘Excuse me, can you tell me where the manager is?’ she asked.
The attendant turned and looked down at Fly. ‘Why do you want the manager?’
Fly didn’t need to go through an interview to see if she would get into the interview. Her self-esteem was rocky enough already and it would’ve been so easy to tell the man she’d made a mistake and go home. But she really had made a mistake, a $274 one, so she bit the bullet.
‘I was wondering if the job he advertised was still going?’
The man couldn’t help a smile. He turned back to the two heavy jerry cans he was moving.
‘I don’t think so, love. We need someone physically …’ he trailed off.
Fly knew how the sentence was going to end and she suddenly felt angry. Her eyes flashed and he copped a week’s worth of aggro.
‘I’ve spent my whole life on a farm, you know? Milking, shearing, hauling grain, mucking out sheds. I’ve sold fruit and veg at the local market since I was five years old. And handled the cash. I can drive a tractor and fix a baler and work in a flood. So excuse me if I think being something like a checkout chick in a service station’d be a piece of cake!’
She turned and flounced off, her head held high. Just hearing those words sounded good. One of the interview questions Deb and Simmo had asked her when she’d made it through the trials was to describe herself in twenty-five words or less. Back then she’d have rather stuck pins in her eyes than do what they’d asked. She’d mumbled and fumbled and twenty-five words felt like a novel. But right now, listening to how she’d just described herself, it didn’t sound too bad. Good enough in fact to make her turn briefly and give him one more shot.
‘I bet you’ve never hauled a heifer out of a dam.’
The guy kept right on working. ‘Nope. Don’t have a lot of heifers coming in here …’
Fly just nodded. That was probably a fair enough point.
‘But I am the manager. And I do have a job you might be interested in.’
The toughness on Fly’s face melted into a smile.
George’s petrol station had just installed a newfangled car-washing machine. Even though it was mostly automatic, George had decided not to spend the extra money and get the top of the range, which meant he still needed an attendant. Fly blessed George’s stinginess and gratefully pocketed the twenty-five dollars he paid her for every four-hour shift she did. Even if he did make her wear a pair of fluorescent orange overalls.
There was a certain calmness about Fly’s time at the car wash. While she cleaned the inside of the cars, that great machine circled around her like a giant octopus, its long, flapping curtain of sudsy, rubber strips flapping all over the shop. She wiped dashboards and spritzed windows and accidentally leaned on horns. As time went on she was confident enough in what she was doing to turn these other people’s car radios on. It was like being in an underwater nightclub, rubbing and polishing and cleaning to the beat.
She would arrive home – it was finally starting to feel a bit like that – soaked and dirty and late. She usually waited outside until Jilly was in her own room before she snuck into the shower. Perri and Bec harassed her outright to know what she was doing. They wondered if there was some boy thing going on, and it was driving them mental that they didn’t know the details. Anna was good enough not to ask – that would’ve been the worst, having to lie to her again. The boys seemed too caught up in their own stuff to notice. Even Heath.
Fly wished she could call Nell and prove to her that her suspicions about Heath were wrong. He was just being nice before, making her feel welcome, and now he was off doing his own thing. But the thought of using the phone to call her sister made her shudder. Maybe she’d write her a letter instead.
At nights she stayed up late counting her earnings. She knew if she could just stay under the radar for another couple of weeks, then she’d have the money to pay Anna’s bill. She’d never had a mobile so she wasn’t really sure how the bill thing worked. Maybe, once she had the money, she’d feel okay enough to just explain what had happened.
Tonight Jilly had uni, so Fly stepped more confidently through the door. The rest of the crew were setting the table and unloading chicken and vegetable pies from another basket sent by Bec’s mum. Fly was so hungry she could’ve eaten the lot, wicker basket and all. She didn’t want to risk missing out, so she took a seat; her shower could wait.
They were about to tuck in when the glass door slid open and Jilly appeared. She’d forgotten one of her folders and had ducked back to get it. Everyone froze. Jilly stared at the basket on the table, at the food she knew none of them had cooked.
‘I’m already late, so you get the short version of the riot act. Which is this: realise you have left home. There are no parents to pick up after you. No laundry service. No meals on wheels.’
Bec looked down.
Edge piped up in her defence. ‘This one’s my fault, Jilly. Bec’s mum called while she was out – she said she’d made extra and wondered if we wanted it. I knew I should’ve said no, but I was weak.’
Fly clocked the brief soft glance pass between Edge and Bec. She was sure there was a little tingle growing between them. But Jilly wasn’t interested in blossoming romance.
‘I don’t care whose fault it is. There’s a reason you all pitch in here, and it’s not really about the food. It’s about taking responsibility and being part of a team. You might be competing but you also have to look out for each other.’
Everyone was silent, taking in her words.
‘For this year, we’re all each other’s family. Get used to it. Anyone want to say anything?’
Edge put his hand up. ‘You’re not really gonna throw out Bec’s mum’s pies, are you?’ he asked.
Jilly looked at Edge, at the dinner, at the other kids. ‘Not if you save some for me.’
Jilly was almost out the door when she turned back again, frowning at Fly’s dishevelled appearance. ‘What on earth have you been doing, Fly?’
All eyes were suddenly on her; they wanted to know the answer too.
‘I … um … I’ve been doing community service.’
It was out of her mouth before she could think too hard about it. Another lie. She didn’t know what was happening to her. Maybe once you started lying you couldn’t stop. Maybe she’d turned into a non-stop lying machine. And she had no idea how she was going to get out of this one. She knew they needed to have their hours recorded on a special chart, signed by the person in charge. Maybe she could get George to sign it anyway, even though her work at the service station wasn’t exactly voluntary.
She was shocked at the thought. Now she was trying to get other people to lie too? She wanted to give herself a slap, but it probably would have looked weird.
Thankfully Jilly didn’t ask Fly where she was actually doing her community service. She was too busy asking the others how they were getting on. This time the eyes were on Bec as she reluctantly admitted that she had failed to get them into the lifeguards. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, avoiding Edge’s gaze. Her disc
omfort only increased when Perri piped up that she’d met Casey on the bus that afternoon. He’d said he’d be thrilled to have them. Fly felt sorry for Bec, who was obviously humiliated. It was pretty clear to everyone that Casey hadn’t said yes to Perri because she looked like the back of a dump truck.
Fly ate like a horse. In spite of this disturbing run of lies she couldn’t seem to stop telling, she was actually making some headway. The worry that had been nibbling away at her nerve endings was starting to pipe down. She was doing something about her problem. She was – not her mum or dad, or Deb and Simmo. She’d created a mess and she was fixing it up. And it made her feel a little ember of pride somewhere deep down in her chest. Now that she thought about it, she was feeling better than she had in weeks.
She probably should’ve known it was a bad sign.
Chapter 11
Some problems take their time to stick up their ugly mugs and scream GOTCHA! Others are desperate for the spotlight, they can’t wait to pop out of their box. Fly’s problem was going to take its time. Perri’s, however, was keen as a cucumber.
While Fly trudged off to her date with the mechanical octopus, Perri and the others geared up for their first day as volunteer lifeguards. Perri was enjoying the credit for having scored them the perfect community service jobs. Ah, if only she’d known: what Bec had failed to mention about Casey Ryan was that he had a nasty streak. He’d been good-looking but nasty in primary school and he was still good-looking but nasty now.
At the beach, Casey made them all stand in a row on the sand. He’d even drawn a line and checked each of their toes was touching it. He’d probably have a great career ahead as a school principal. He made a long speech about the value of the coast. About its pristine beauty. About its place in the nation’s pride. Edge pulled a face at Bec – what was this guy on?
Casey reached down into a large canvas bag and pulled out six pairs of yellow rubber gloves. He silently handed a pair to each of them. As he walked back to the bag Matt held up his rubber gloves and hissed to Heath, ‘Are we going to need these in the surf boat?’
Casey returned with six screamingly loud yellow T-shirts. Written in bold black letters across the front – and the back, in case you missed them on approach – were the words: BLUE WATER LIFE SAVING CLUB LITTER LEAGUE.
They all stared in silence as Casey explained that their community service would consist of picking up cigarette butts, ice-cream wrappers and whatever other trash the unthinking beachgoers had failed to take home with them. If the nation was so proud of their coast, why did it fling so much crap about?
Everyone stared at Perri. It was clearly news to her. And then, just to make the shame sharper, they heard wolfwhistles and looked up to see a row of Year 10s sitting on the concrete wall at the top of the beach. Bec saw Casey’s small evil smile, and she knew he had probably, ever so casually, worded them up about the show.
Heath dragged on his T-shirt. ‘I sure hope Fly’s having a better time than this.’
Fly was having a better time. Even though she was hot with sweat and down on her haunches cleaning grime from the hub cap of a ute. This dirty work was helping her come clean, so she didn’t care how hard it got. She gave the ute’s roof a final polish, handed the car keys to the young driver and waved him off.
George tooted from the front of the car wash – there was another one ready. Fly wiped her sweaty face and headed back, her footsteps slowing as she got closer to the little blue hatchback waiting at the mouth of the car wash. The car was very, very familiar. It was the same car which had driven her back and forth to dormitory D her first night. It was Deb’s car!
And there was Deb, standing at the boot of the car, giving instructions to George with one hand, and giving instructions to someone else on the mobile phone with the other. Fly froze. She had no idea what to do.
‘This lady wants a full interior clean,’ George hollered.
Deb was too busy taking money from her wallet to turn around to see who would be doing the full interior. Then George pressed the start button, so the only idea that had found its way into Fly’s frozen brain – which was to yell out in a low voice that she needed a toilet break and bolt the other way – was no longer an option. There was nothing for it but to pull her fluoro orange cap low, bolt for the car and scramble inside.
As she hurried to pull the door shut, Fly leaned on the automatic window control panel. Over the sound of the car wash machine grinding into gear, she didn’t hear the soft whirring of the back window sliding down … All the way down. She was too flustered to notice. She swiped at the dash and sprayed and prayed that between now and when the machine spat her out at the other end she would’ve discovered the hidden key to invisibility. Soap squirted from nozzles. The soft curtain swayed. The huge whirling brushes bore down on the car and a steady spray of sudsy water flowed into the back seat.
It was only when the pool of water on the floor in the back was large enough to overflow into the front that Fly realised there was a problem. She leaned into the back seat to see the rolling car washers spinning soapy water in through the open window. A fresh spray of water copped her in the face. No question about it. Time to panic.
Fly jabbed at every button on the control panel, desperate to get the window back up. Perhaps it was the desperation that led her further into trouble. Finally the back window started to rise. As it jammed into the top of the door, Fly realised she’d trapped three long straps from the polishing unit inside with it. The straps hung down the window like huge, dripping German shepherds’ tongues.
There was an awful screeching. There was smoke. A small explosion. And then she could hear Deb’s voice.
‘What’s happening? That’s my car in there!’
Outside George lunged for the controls and the whole thing shuddered to a horrible stop. There was one more small explosion for good luck.
Fly caught sight of herself in the mirror. If she weren’t her, she would’ve felt sorry for herself. Then, through the windscreen, she saw the sudsy cloth strips part, and the faces of an irate George and a completely bewildered Deb looking in at her.
Fly must’ve gotten out of the car, because at some point she realised she was standing in front of Deb. But something was wrong. It was like all her senses had gone home for the day without telling her. Deb suddenly seemed stupidly tall. And even though Fly could see Deb’s mouth moving, the words glanced off Fly’s ears, leaving only fragments of information. She could sense they were serious words, searching, but not unkind … Fly blinked. Maybe she had swallowed too much Windex?
Some of the words she managed to hang on to were: ‘What were you thinking?’ … ‘against surf school rules’ … ‘We’re responsible for your safety’. Fly realised the more she blinked, the more words were getting through, and even though she didn’t necessarily want to hear what was being said, it made her feel less like she was going mad. So she started blinking. A lot.
‘If you have money problems, Fly, you have to talk to us. It’s what we’re there for. To help you.’ Deb kept looking at her, waiting for a response.
‘Fly? Fly?’ Deb was worried now. ‘Are you alright? You’re blinking an awful lot.’
One of the things about living with six sixteen-year-olds (yeah, yeah, her birthday wasn’t that far away) was that nothing, nothing, stayed private. She had no idea how, but by the time Fly walked in the door of the boarding house, everyone knew. She could tell by the way they looked at her. All sort of sorry and kind. Fly put her head down and went straight to her room.
Anna was at her computer when Fly opened the door. Much as she liked Anna she was the last person Fly wanted to see. There was no escape in this house – maybe she could take a late-night shower and just stay in there till morning. Anna was trying to set up a video phone to Germany on the internet. She wasn’t very happy with how her efforts were going.
‘The stupid thing keeps crashing,’ she said without turning around.
Fly was so grateful that she didn�
��t turn around with sorry eyes, that she didn’t ask about the car-wash crisis. She knew Anna would have heard all about it, and she loved her for not asking.
Fly sat on her bed. It was time to tell Anna the truth, but there was something she wanted to know first.
‘Do you feel homesick, Anna?’
Anna thought about it a moment. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re so far from home. Different language. And customs and stuff. But you never act homesick.’
Anna fiddled some more with the computer. ‘I miss things. I miss good black bread.’
In the short time they’d been living together Fly was well and truly across Anna’s bread issue. Anna stood in the kitchen every morning, holding a piece of white, square bread between two fingers as if it was a specimen she’d found in a drain. Her question was always the same: how could any of them, seriously, call this square of foam rubber bread?
‘I miss German TV,’ said Anna, warming to the topic. ‘And Mum and Dad. My friends.’
She turned around, but Fly had fallen asleep.
In the morning, after training, Heath found Fly out on the grass. She had her knees tucked up under her chin.
‘I’ve got a problem,’ he said.
‘Join the club.’
‘Yeah, well mine’s massive. I’m supposed to be making a documentary about the year and no-one will speak when I turn the camera on.’
Blue Water High Page 7
