by Ky Lehman
But it was in the church car park on a GGM Saturday when our whole world went up in flames. Mum and Nanna were the only casualties because they, and Father Yarden, were the only people there. Father Yarden says that was because Mum and Nanna stayed after the meeting to help him clean up. Sounds like them.
Now, no local will park in that spot, let alone set foot anywhere near its recently painted bright-white boundaries. Out of respect? Superstition? Fear? Who knows. People left flowers there for a while, but that stopped a few months back. To someone who doesn’t know any better, that empty space by the front doors is just a convenient place to leave your car while you’re inside trying to save your soul.
I assumed that restoring the face of the church would be the first thing on the agenda, but the GGM after Mum and Nanna’s funeral was dedicated to planning a fundraiser for me and Georgie Pa. Georgie Pa less than politely refused. And he has refused to have anything to do with the church since.
The straightforward life of a townie has been BLOWN SKY HIGH! as some vile city newspaper journo put it. Our sleepy little hillside shire where no one used to lock their doors now has metal bars barricading every stained glass window. Alarm boxes with lights, sirens, and cameras that stare you down with their accusing eye now greet you at most shop fronts and home entryways. Pictures of the victims, a middle-aged local primary school teacher and a little old lady who has lived in Sky High for most of her life, have been burnt into the collective consciousness of the hills: their deaths a blackened representation of who they really were and how they lived.
My mother: Smart. Warm. Patient. Softly spoken. Beautiful.
My grandmother: Structured. Generous. Wilful. Feisty, but completely harmless.
And it would’ve been Georgie Pa and me too, if what turned out to be food poisoning hadn’t saved our lives.
The inconceivable has scorched the safest, most God fearing town on Earth, and its heat has reduced the strongest man I know into a broken wisp of smoke. Where do you even start pointing fingers? And why would anyone want us dead?
Everyone still insists that it was a case of mistaken identity, but who in Sky High could possibly deserve death by car bomb? I’m constantly nauseous from going around in circles, only to find myself back in the same strange place with the same strange person.
This house and Georgie Pa.
Some of his drunken ramblings are so warped they scare the living daylights out of me. Talk of bubbling, red puddles seeping into the earth, and paths of gold leading across the sea to the Apple Isle. Then he carries on about how, “From blood and bone, trees of emerald green bear rosy fruit!” and curses giants draped in red cloaks, all before completely losing it over fields of pyres, mounds of ash, and the smoke shrouding the moonlight that made him lose his way.
The Apple Isle is the only part that makes any sense to me. Out of all of Nanna’s bedtime stories, the one about the king, the maiden, and the golden apples has always been my favourite.
Georgie Pa used to be a bookworm and Aunt Romey thinks that when he drinks he goes into the fantasy worlds he has read about over the years, trying to distract himself from thoughts of how Mum and Nanna met their end. I think about how Nanna used to say that a drunken man speaks a sober man’s mind - ipso facto, Georgie Pa must be completely nuts when he’s off the grog too.
I stay wrapped up in the warmth of my bedcovers, watching the dawn trying to pry its way through the slit in my heavy curtains. I know I’ve been lingering too long when I hear Chip’s claws tap dancing on the kitchen tiles, his none too polite way of saying that it’s high time I got my arse out of bed to start going through the motions.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I head straight to the kitchen, tip a can of meaty dog slush into Chip’s bowl and change his drinking water. I fill up a large glass with cold water from the fridge, pop two aspirin out of the foil, and quietly make my way to Georgie Pa’s room. After I replace the empty bottle of scotch on his bedside table with the water and the pills, I take off his slippers, cover him up with his quilt, and lightly kiss him on his frowning, sweaty brow.
He stirs and peers up at me.
“Annie?”
“No, Georgie Pa. It’s me, Ren.”
“Oh,” he croaks as he tries to sit up. “School today?”
“Yep. Aunt Romey will be here in…” I look over at his bedside clock, “Shoot! In half-an-hour!” I yell.
Georgie Pa winces.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Gotta run. Love you.”
“Love you too, kid,” he whispers back as he groaningly reaches for his glass of water.
I scoff down my breakfast, making more of a mess than Chip did. After a quick shower, I throw on my school uniform, tie up my hair, stuff everything I need into my school bag and race for the door. I fling it open to find Aunt Romey standing on the front mat flicking through her huge set of keys.
“Good timing,” she says. “Running late?”
“Yep. Is Mike out there?” I ask.
She nods and smiles. “Waiting patiently, as always.”
She doesn’t get us at all. I roll my eyes at her and her smile gets bigger.
“So, anything out of the ordinary?” she asks.
“No,” I sigh. “One bottle and about four hours sleep.”
Expressionless, she nods again.
I give her a quick peck on the cheek. “See you after school, OK?”
“OK,” she says, throwing me a kiss. “Learn something!” she hollers after me as I bolt down the porch stairs.
“Oh, and no matter how much he whines, don’t let that mutt in my room,” I call over my shoulder.
Mike is waiting in his usual spot, sitting under the huge Black Wattle tree by our front gate.
He sees me and stands. “Mornin’.”
“Mornin’ yourself,” I puff.
“Run a marathon?”
“Feels like it. Slept in. Running late. You know.”
“You slept?” he asks, surprised.
“Yeah. A bit. Had that dream again.”
He puts his arm around me and we start the short walk to school.
“But this time they broke free and they walked out of the fire with not a scratch on them. Then they walked over and hugged me, and I woke up,” I explain, trying to shrug off my disappointment.
“What does your aunt say?”
“I haven’t told her yet. I’ll fill her in tonight.”
It’s a mild Spring morning. The cockies are squawking, the kookaburras are joking, and the little singsong birds have all joined in a high pitched chorus trying to be heard over the din. We walk the rest of the way talking about normal things like what we think will be on the canteen menu this week, what the school committee is planning for our senior muck-up day, and who Liesel Hadley’s current squeeze is.
“Lucas Cartwright? No way. She’ll eat him alive!” I say, placing my hand over my mouth.
Mike laughs. “Yeah, I know. These days, he walks around looking stunned like he’s finally realised what he’s gotten himself into.”
“You know, she’s just practising on the quiet ones until you finally cave in.”
“Never gonna happen, Ren. Not if she was the last girl on Earth.”
For a while, we mosey along quietly, lost in our own thoughts. Going from how Mike is kicking his feet as he walks, I’ll bet he’s thinking about his footy grand final this Saturday. Me, I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have him as my friend. Ever since we were kids, he has always looked out for me, even more so since Mum and Nanna died. And most of the popular girls haven’t picked on me since high school first began because they know Mike won’t give them a second glance if they do.
It’s obvious why so many of them want to be his girl. Michael Dural Kuldey is smart, sporty, tall, and as sturdy as a tree trunk. His short, intentionally messy, rusty-brown hair never has a bad day, and his eyes remind me of the chocolate drops from Mr. Walker’s sweet store. And he’s kind, most of the time. He can get pissy and l
ose his temper on occasion like the rest of us. Stubborn. My God, is he stubborn. But that’s only because he’s so sure of himself and what he believes in. I really like that about him. I wish some of it would rub off on me.
Mike is not one for dating, or having girls as more than just friends for that matter. Gay? No. I’ve seen the way he flirts with the girls who catch his eye. Virgin? We’ve never really discussed it, but I bet he isn’t. Again, I’ve seen the way he flirts with the girls who catch his eye.
He has never made a pass at me, but that’s no great surprise. I’m too plain for him to find me even remotely attractive. I am short and skinny. I have next to no boobs. I bite my fingernails. The freckles dotting my cheeks and my nose make me look five years younger than I am. I have long, springy hair the colour of hay. I have big poo-brown eyes. Mum used to call them amber, but they’re poo-brown.
“Lost ya, Ren?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“It’s nothing.”
Damn it. I didn’t look him in the eye when I answered so he’s going to start.
He abruptly stops, turns me to face him, and with a hand on each of my cheeks he searches my eyes. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” I snap as I throw his warm hands away from my face. “Can’t I even think without getting the third degree?”
He exhales like he’s been punched in the gut. He drops his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“No. I’m sorry.” I say, reaching for his hand. “I just don’t know how to ask you this,” I add, wincing.
He stops us again. “Ask me what?” His eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly meet his hairline.
“About girls,” I sheepishly answer.
“About girls?” His face scrunches up in confusion. “What about them?”
“Why don’t you have one?”
“Ah,” he says with a small grin.
“Well?”
He goes quiet. He suddenly seems more interested in our shadows blurring together on the footpath than answering my question.
I nudge him with my elbow. “It’s not as if there’s a lack of interest.”
He rolls his eyes. “Give it rest, Ren.”
That has always been Mike’s polite way of telling me to quit it.
After a short, uncomfortable silence, we walk the rest of the way, hip bumping each other, sideswiping each other’s feet and whacking each other with our backpacks, both of us resorting to what we know will lighten the mood.
We get to the school gate, and as I start saying my see-you-later’s, he cuts me off. “There is a girl, Ren.”
A hot rush sears the back of my neck. Is that panic? Or am I actually mad? I have no clue why I’m reacting this way. Is it because he has a girl, or because he hasn’t told me about her before now?
“Who?” I splutter.
“She’s not here right now,” he confidently answers. “When she comes back-”
“Back? So, she’s from around here?”
“Not originally-”
“But, she has lived here.”
“Yep.”
“So I must know of her then?”
“I have no doubt you’ll remember who she is.”
“So, I’ll get to meet her-”
“When she comes back,” he reiterates.
“From where?”
He answers me by looking straight up like the start of an exaggerated eye roll and whistles an annoying little tune.
He’s dangling the carrot and he’s enjoying every minute of it. I hate it when he does this. “Cut the crap, Mike! Who is she?” I scream.
“Yes, Mike. Who is she?” Liesel-effing-Hadley says with a snort as she strides our way.
We both sigh and turn to face her. “What’s it to you, Liesel?” Mike asks looking bored.
“Eavesdrop much?” I add. I always feel braver when I’m with Mike. Usually when Liesel is around, I keep my mouth shut and do all I can to slink away.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You were screaming so loud, I think the whole school heard you!” she snaps, throwing her hands in the air in one of her dramatic displays. Then, like someone flicked a switch, her teeth retract and her face softens. “I saw you two arguing and I just wanted to make sure everything was OK.” Her attempt at feigning innocence has us both rolling our eyes.
“Thanks for your concern, Liesel, but everything’s fine. Now piss off,” Mike growls.
“Testy. Testy,” she singsongs, waggling her perfectly manicured finger.
I giggle-snort when I notice how her pus-green nail polish perfectly matches her snakelike eyes.
“Something funny, Avalon?” she spits.
“I thought your finger was infected until I saw it was your nail polish,” I say.
All three of us gasp in shock. Me, because I can’t believe my mental jibe shot out of my mouth. Mike, because he’s happily surprised that I’m standing up to her. Liesel, because it seems she’s in the presence of another mouse who’s growing a little too big for her hidey hole.
She grins at me, fangs and all. “Grief has made you angry, Serenay. It’s very unattractive,” she snarls.
I know Mike would never hit a girl, but his wide eyes, set mouth and balled fists would have you thinking otherwise.
I’m completely dumbfounded, but it doesn’t matter much because I know Mike will fill in the blanks for me. True to form, he takes a step towards Liesel with his finger pointed when Edlee comes prancing up beside me.
“Hi everybody!” she squeals.
Mike in his furious state doesn’t even flinch. Liesel half-heartedly groans, seemingly annoyed but relieved by Edlee’s arrival. I lightly yank my friend’s long, strawberry-blonde ponytail and throw her a small smile.
“‘Bell’s going soon guys. Let’s go!” Giddy, chirpy, oblivious Edlee. It’s like she has this filter that only lets the sunshine through.
She prances away assuming Mike and I will follow. I start to, but then I have to turn back to convince Mike that now is not the time to get into it with Liesel. One second late to homeroom without a note and Mr. Fernandez starts handing out after school detentions like candy.
The day churns on uneventfully. Biology. English. Recess. Then a double period of Social Studies. But through it all, I haven’t really taken in a damn thing. I’ve been thinking about every female who has left town over the eighteen years Mike and I have been alive and I can’t pinpoint anyone as a likely candidate. Holly Rice from the year above us moved away to a Queensland university at the start of the year, with her girlfriend. In year seven, Ebony Belfort went to the U.S. to live with her father, but no one has really heard from her since. Alyssa Lloyd and her family made a sea change, three, maybe four years ago, but I remember her as not really being Mike’s type. However, recent experience has taught me that people really can change. Maybe her and her family are moving back to Sky High?
I imagine Mike walking someone else to and from school every day. I immediately push that thought from my mind because I don’t like how it feels. I think about him being protective of another girl the way he is of me. The play by play of that scenario makes me want to rip Alyssa Lloyd’s head off.
It’ll be impossible to keep pretending to cope if I lose him too.
While everyone else tiptoed around me, Mike stomped his feet the same way he always has. He gave me time to grieve, but not long enough for me to defect from the land of the living. At first, I resented him for it, but now I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him. Knowing I’ll see him at the start and the end of every day is the reason why I force myself to face it and get through it.
The bell signals that it’s time for lunch. Edlee and I are walking to our lockers when an announcement comes over the loud speaker.
“Serenay Avalon, please report to the office immediately. Serenay Avalon, please report to the office immediately.”
The tingling at my neck starts and rapidly grows stronger as worsening images of Georgie Pa, pale, co
ld and unresponsive, blanket my thoughts. I realise my panic must be written all over my face when Edlee forces a smile, throws her arm around me and chirrups, “Maybe you won the school raffle?”
I push my books at her and start running. People are in my way and I scream at them to move before I mow them down. I can see Mike’s blurry silhouette out of the corner of my eye; he is calling my name, but I don’t turn and I don’t stop. I finally make it to the heavy glass office doors and throw them open.
Aunt Romey is sitting in the foyer with her head in her hands. I stand rooted to the spot, absorbing the fact that she’s here at my school, openly shattered, and the only likely thing that could mean.
Oh, Georgie Pa. No...
She looks my way. Her eyes are bloodshot and her cheeks are strewn with tears. Experience hauntingly reminds me that the death of a loved one is the only sadness that will allow her to cry in public. But, when our eyes meet, there’s an emotion in them I can’t place.
“Georgie Pa?” I just manage to choke out.
She smiles, shakes her head, and stands. Her unexpected response leaves me confused and reeling.
Aunt Romey takes a few hurried steps towards my frozen form. She places one hand on my shoulder and uses the other to gently dab my eyes with tissues. Then she puts her mouth to my ear and calmly says, “It’s OK, Renay. I’m not here about Georgie Pa.”
Relief makes me slump, but her index finger lifts my chin so we are once again eye to eye. She is smiling big like she used to. The corners of my mouth instinctively turn up in response.
She places her wet cheek next to mine and whispers, “Renay, we’ve just received word that your mother is alive.”
Chapter 2
My nanna’s side of the family has a thing with R names, especially for the girls. My mum’s name is Rhoda and her twin sister is my Aunt Romey. My nanna’s name was Rosanna. Some of our aunties and our female cousins living on the other side of the world are named, Raisa, Roselani, Roxanne, Rydia and Ruzena. And although my given names are Serenay Rose, some of my family call me Renay, but most people call me Ren.
