by Aimee Said
“I heard you were covering the game for Whit’s Wit,” he said, flashing a smile for the camera that made my feet tingle.
I clicked shot after shot, wanting to make the conversation last as long as possible. “You looked fantastic out there … I mean, the team looked fantastic,” I gushed like a tragic fangirl.
“It was the best game we’ve played all season. You must be my lucky charm, Al.”
“Turner,” called Mr Hardy, the team’s coach, “stop chatting up girls and join the rest of the team.”
“I’d better go,” said Josh, “the guys get narky if they think I’m getting all the attention.”
“And we’d better hit the car park and wait for your mum,” said Maz, pulling me with her.
I walked backwards until Josh was out of sight and then turned to link arms with Maz. I felt like skipping. “Oh Mazzle, did you hear that? Josh called me his lucky charm!”
“Sure, but he wasn’t talking to your face when he said it.”
“I don’t care; it’s the sentiment that counts. Do you think he’ll ask me out? Maybe we could go on a double date with you and Nicko.”
“I don’t know, Al. Maybe Tracy’s ri–”
Maz was cut off by the screeching brakes of Mum’s car. It stopped dead in front of us and the passenger door flew open.
“Get in; I’m in a hurry.” Larrie’s face was like thunder.
“Where’s Mum? She promised to take us to Parkville.”
“Change of plan: I need the car.” Larrie frowned at her phone as she read a text message. “After I drop you off I’m going to the university library to do some research.”
Maz gave me a what-choice-do-we-have shrug and got in the back seat. I stood dumbfounded on the footpath. Mum had been saying all week how much she was looking forward to our churros excursion. But all Larrie had to do was say that she had “research” to do and it was cancelled?
“You’ve got two seconds to get in or you’re walking,” said Larrie, tossing her phone into the glove box.
I knew from bitter experience that she wasn’t kidding. I slammed the passenger door after me and yanked on my seatbelt.
Larrie drove like she was still on her L-plates, not indicating until she was halfway round corners and slamming on the brakes whenever she wasn’t quick enough to sneak through a yellow light. By the time we got home Maz’s face was as pale as a geisha’s. I asked if she wanted to come in but she reckoned she needed a walk in the fresh air to settle her stomach after the drive.
“How was the game?” called Mum from the living room when she heard me come in.
“The game was fine,” I replied. “Being driven home by a homicidal teenager who thinks it’s her God-given right to treat me like dirt, on the other hand, sucked. Especially since I thought you and I had plans.”
Mum glanced up from her book. “I’m sorry, love, we’ll go for churros another time. Larissa really needed to get to the uni library before it closes. You know her exams are only a couple of weeks off, and–”
“And whatever Larrie wants, Larrie gets – I know. Did you stop to think about what Larrie could possibly need to ‘research’ this close to her exams?”
Mum’s expression turned from apologetic to indignant. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I don’t think I like it. Your sister told me she has research to do and I have no reason not to believe her.”
I knew there was no point arguing. Since finishing school Larrie had been even more moody and bad tempered than usual. I’d hoped she’d calm down a bit once she was on study break, but instead she’d gone into drama-queen overdrive. The day before she’d complained that I was typing too loudly! Mum took her side, even when I pointed out that I had no control over the volume of my computer’s keys.
Larrie got back from the library (or wherever she’d been) in time for dinner. I waited for her to apologise for wrecking our plans, but all she could talk about was how stressed she was about the exams. Mum and Dad fussed over her like she was a VIP. They didn’t even tell her off when she got a text message halfway through the meal and went to the living room to read it, returning to the table a few minutes later as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If I’d done that, Mum would’ve gone mental and Dad would have given me a disapproving headshake at the very least. But apparently Larrie was excused from having table manners, as well as everything else.
“Give your sister a break,” said Dad when I confronted him about their double standards. “I think she and Beth are whipping each other into a panicked study frenzy by text message. You know how competitive they are.”
As if that made it all okay.
Al Miller is owed churros. And dipping chocolate.
16
By the end of my first week as the only Miller at Whitlam, it really felt like my life really was beginning to change, at school if not at home. Since Wednesday I’d gotten an A- on my New Media Studies essay, Brandy had hardly changed a word of my blog post before approving it, and I’d had three heys and a how’s it going from Josh when we’d passed in the halls between classes. Perhaps there was something to this “change yourself” idea after all.
I hoped my run of good fortune would continue at the SkoolDaze tryouts (i.e. Josh would be there). I had no choice but to go, since after the soccer game/churros debacle Maz appointed me president of the Vertigo Pony fan club. She gave me a long list of presidential duties, but the upshot of it was that I was expected to offer the guys words of encouragement and clap extra hard after every song. I drew the line at writing the band’s name on my forehead with face paint.
I accepted Simon’s offer of a lift back to school for the tryouts before Maz told me she was heading in early with Nicko. Ordinarily, I would’ve made up an excuse to get out of being anywhere with Simon without Maz for backup, but I wanted to wear my new boots and there was no way I could walk that distance in high heels. I crossed every crossable body part that no one would spot us driving down Kingston Street together.
Simon rang the doorbell at the stroke of 7.00. Right on time – and right in time to witness Larrie going berko when she saw I’d borrowed her silver hoop earrings.
“I told you to stay out of my bedroom,” she sniped.
“They weren’t in your room, you left them in the bathroom.”
“And you think that makes it okay to take them without asking?”
“What’s the point? You would’ve said no.”
“Well, that’s what I’m saying now.”
“Fine!” I ripped the hoops out of my ears and slapped them in Larrie’s hand, pushing Simon out the door and shutting it hard behind me.
It wasn’t until I saw Mrs Lutz sitting in the passenger seat of the car and then noticed the fluorescent yellow L-plates attached to the bumpers that I realised Simon would be doing the driving. Mrs Lutz greeted me with a shaky hello that suggested either she was a very nervous driving instructor or Simon was a very poor driver. After a couple of blocks I decided it must be the former, since Simon seemed pretty calm and in control behind the wheel. The only worrying thing was that Mrs Lutz made him drive well under the speed limit, which got every SUV-driving dad in Kingston leaning on his horn.
The upside of Mrs Lutz’s nerves was that she was too busy concentrating on telling Simon what to do to bother making chitchat with me. I tuned out her tutting, channelling Maz’s revenge skills as I plotted how to get back at Larrie.
“Sorry if that was a bit nerve-racking,” said Simon, as his mum pulled away from the kerb. “I tried to tell her I’m allowed to drive at the speed limit, but she won’t believe me. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Or at least I will be. Right now I’m thinking of how to get back at my sister. Something along the lines of posting photos of her sitting naked on the potty on Whit’s Wit.”
“Larrie uses a potty?” Simon may have topped the class when it came to exams, but he had no head for real life.
“She was two at the time. But still. Naked. On t
he potty.” I chuckled at the thought of Larrie’s humiliation as she walked into Whitlam for her first exam knowing that the entire school would have seen her little face scrunched up with the effort of pooing. “Even better, I’ll put it on Facebook.”
Simon’s expression grew serious. “I don’t think you should do that. I read that over eighty per cent of recruiters google job applicants to find out more about them. A photo like that could come back to haunt Larrie in the future.”
Ugh. Trust Simon to kill a sweet moment with boring facts. I ditched him as soon as we walked through the gates. Not hard since he had to get his whole drum kit inside.
The hall was already pretty packed. I stood on tiptoe and tried to spot Maz so I could tell her what a snark Larrie’d been about the earrings. I was about to text her when a voice behind me said, “Hello, Larrie’s little sister.”
I whirled on my heels, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my mind (and possibly what was left in my water bottle) and saw Josh. My anger must’ve shown on my face because he took one look and raised his hands in surrender.
“Whoa! I was joking, Al. No offence intended.”
I felt my face flush twelve shades of red. “Sorry, it’s just that I came here to get away from being Larrie’s little sister for a few hours.”
Josh nodded. “Believe me, I know how much it sucks to be the youngest. I had to share a room with my older brother till he moved interstate for uni. It was like living in a war zone sometimes.”
We sat on a couple of the plastic chairs that had been stacked around the edges of the hall and watched Vertigo Pony finish setting up. They were the first of twelve bands trying out for the four spots in the final. Prad was making a big show of “one-two”-ing to test every mike, so I had to lean in to hear what Josh was saying. We were so close that our knees were touching. I’d never been so grateful for Prad’s big mouth.
It was all going perfectly until something behind me caught Josh’s eye and he stopped mid-sentence. “Um … I don’t think you’re going to escape being Larrie’s little sister tonight after all.”
I turned to see what he meant. “Oh, shiz. Can’t I even hang out with my friends without her barging in?”
“I think she’s here with her mate.” Behind Larrie, Beth was struggling under the weight of her bass and amplifier. Larrie was too busy scanning the room to help her, no doubt trying to decide who there was worthy of her presence.
I kept my eyes locked on Josh’s and tried to remember where we’d left off our conversation. “So, your next match is against Parkville High, right?”
“Yeah, it should be a walkover. Last time we played them we–”
“There you are,” said Larrie, as if I was a naughty child she’d caught hiding under the bed to escape punishment for shaving the cat. (I was seven. It was a very hot summer. Let’s drop it.)
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be at home studying?”
“The bass player in Beth’s friend’s band has gastro. Beth’s filling in for her.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I said. “Technically, you’re not even a Whitlam student any more.”
Larrie put her hands on her hips. “Technically, I’m a Whitlam student until prize-giving assembly, and I can go where I want. And don’t forget you’re grounded if you miss curfew again.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, determined to keep my cool. It was one thing for Simon to see me and my sister at each other’s throats, but Josh didn’t need to know the details of our family dramas. “Now can you please get lost?”
Larrie’s eyes flashed from me to Josh and back again before she walked away.
“I see what you mean,” said Josh when she was out of earshot. “She really likes to boss you around, doesn’t she?”
I told him Larrie was even worse at home. “When I’m in Year Twelve, it is so going to be payback time.”
“What are you waiting for? Surely you could do more damage now?”
“Well, I did have an idea about posting her embarrassing baby photos on Whit’s Wit …”
“That’s a good start, but I bet you could do way better than that. How about changing her uni preferences? Or burning all her revision notes? I bet she’d go mental.”
I couldn’t tell whether Josh’s mischievous smile was serious, so I laughed. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t take a joke but, even in my current mood, his ideas sounded a bit full-on. I mean, Larrie was a giant pain in the bum, but I didn’t want to stuff up her chances of becoming a vet. It was what she’d dreamed of doing since we were little kids.
Luckily, Mr Masch introduced Vertigo Pony then, which put an end to our conversation. From the audience’s immediate reaction I knew I’d chosen the playlist well. During the love song I noticed that Prad was directing his singing at Lily and wondered whether there was something going on between them that I didn’t know about. I didn’t have long to ponder the question though, because the moment Josh’s arm slipped smoothly round my shoulder, transmission from my brain went fuzzy. Good fuzzy.
Al Miller may have just died and gone to heaven.
17
After Vertigo Pony’s set I asked Josh to come backstage with me to congratulate Maz and the guys.
I hugged Maz. “You were amazing,” I said before she could ask.
“Really?”
“Really. If you don’t get into the finals I’ll … I’ll lick Prad’s foot.”
“Ew. You must be absolutely certain to risk that.”
“That was pretty good,” Josh agreed. “Considering you haven’t had any professional training.”
Maz registered the backhanded compliment with a snarl, which I pretended not to see. Luckily, Prad was less easily offended.
“Thanks, dude. I guess we’re blessed with so much talent that we don’t need to pay people to teach us what comes naturally.”
Josh turned to Simon. “Nice percussion section you’ve got going there. If your rhythm on the field was that good, you might’ve made the team this year.”
Maz, Prad and Nicko turned their heads in unison to check Simon’s reaction. I laughed an awkward “ha” to try to relieve the tension, which worked to the extent that it made Simon break his staring competition with Josh and stare at me instead.
After an uncomfortable pause, he said, “Come on, Maz, I’ll help you pack up your gear.”
The atmosphere backstage had turned icy, so I suggested to Josh that we go and check out the other bands. He took my hand and led me back to where we’d been sitting. Sneaking a glance at our entwined fingers, I gave a silent squeak of happiness. So what if Maz and the others didn’t like Josh? I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be with.
The rest of the contestants were pretty standard high school rock bands: teenagers in dirty jeans, expressing their anger with the world in general through dark lyrics and long guitar solos. It was a relief when Beth and four other girls, who looked like they all shopped at the same Punky-Librarians-R-Us outlet, got on stage and introduced themselves as the Gym Cynics. Their first song was catchy, but the singer couldn’t hold a note and the drummer kept catching her platform Mary Jane under the kick-drum pedal. I crossed them off the list of serious Vertigo Pony competition.
“You’re not the only one your sister’s got it in for tonight.” Josh pointed to the doorway where Larrie and Mitch were having an all-out fight.
From her body language (lots of standing with arms folded and one hip jutting out, interspersed with liberal amounts of finger pointing and air stabbing), she was pretty narked with him. Mitch kept shaking his head until she gave up and stomped out of the hall.
“Ugh. Your big brother can’t have been anywhere near as bad as that.”
“Oh, he was way, way worse,” said Josh. “He used to fart on my head to wake me up in the morning.”
“Larrie’s not that gross,” I conceded. “But I bet she’s meaner.”
“Really? Has she ever made you e
at a caterpillar to win a bet with a mate? Or dacked you at Parkville Metro? Or poured water in your bed to make your mum think you’d wet yourself … when you were thirteen?”
Josh’s list went on and on until I was doubled up with laughter.
“Your brother couldn’t have done all that to you. He’d be in jail by now for child abuse.”
He reached for my hand. “Maybe not. But I bet it makes you feel better about your big sister, doesn’t it?”
All I could do was nod and smile.
I’d hoped she’d gone home in a huff, but Larrie reappeared the moment the Gym Cynics left the stage. It was as if she’d materialised out of thin air to torment me. Her eyes flicked to Josh’s arm, which was again resting round my shoulder.
“Come on, Beth’s giving us a lift home.”
“I’m not ready to go.” I raised my hand to my shoulder to thread my fingers through Josh’s. “I’ll get a ride with Maz or something.”
“Something” like maybe being walked home by Josh and stopping at the park round the corner for a little snogging action.
“If you don’t leave now, you won’t make it home by eleven,” said Larrie. “And Dad didn’t sound like he was joking about grounding you this time.”
Beth stood gawkily behind her, weighed down by her equipment.
“Sounds sensible, Al,” said Josh, drawing his arm away from me. “After all, you have to work tomorrow. Can I help you carry that?”
Beth handed over her amp with a grateful nod and led us outside to where her ratty old station wagon was parked. Larrie waited until Josh had loaded Beth’s gear into the boot and waved us off before starting in on me again.
“What are you doing hanging out with Josh Turner?”
So that’s what this sudden sisterly concern for me getting home on time was about. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to like him. And I think he likes me.”
Larrie sniggered. “I can’t believe you’re so naive. Take it from me, the guy’s a complete sleaze.”
