by Aimee Said
Now all I had to do was figure out a way to break it to Maz. And make her admit that I’d been right about him all along.
Al Miller will have the last laugh.
37
Simon’s absence in assembly was the final confirmation that I was right.
“I hope he’s okay,” Maz whispered as Mr Masch droned on about showing consideration for Year Twelve in their final week of exams. “It’s not like him to be away the day a Science assignment’s due.”
I tried to think of a tactful way to bring up my suspicions about the reason for Simon’s absence. “Maz, what if the person behind all this Larrie stuff doesn’t so much hate her as like me?”
Maz looked at me blankly.
“Simon,” I said.
“Yeah, he might be able to help figure out who it is,” said Maz. “But I thought you’d banned me from discussing it with him.”
“No, I mean Simon’s behind it. He’s Camille.”
“Shut it or I’ll see you in detention,” hissed Brandy from behind us.
We whipped our heads to face the stage, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Maz shaking her head.
“You’ve really lost the plot this time,” she said when we got out of the hall. “First of all, Simon would never do anything to hurt you – the poor fool worships you. And second, who would he have got the photo from in the first place? He’s not exactly wired into the Year Twelve social scene.”
“But he does know all about how to create fake online identities and hack into Facebook accounts, doesn’t he? And he’s got access to every username and password the school office has ever used – in fact, he probably created them himself.”
“True, but Simon would never – I mean, why would he?”
“I don’t know, Maz. Maybe he’s under some delusion that he’s helping me by making Larrie look bad? Or maybe he’s trying to get me back for not being interested in him? Face it, he’s the one person at Whitlam with both reason and know-how. And when I confronted him yesterday he didn’t deny it.”
“Okay, say you’re right – and I’m not saying you are right, but I can’t think of a more plausible explanation right now – maybe now he knows that you know it’s him he’ll stop?”
I shook my head. “Larrie got another message this morning, and it was the nastiest one yet. I have to do something before Simon goes too far.”
“What have you got in mind?” asked Maz.
“Revenge, obviously, but first he has to be stopped. Larrie was really upset this morning, Maz. I don’t know how much more of this she can take.”
“You’ve changed your tune! What happened to my-big-sister-is-a-bitch-and-she’s-ruining-my-life?”
“Let’s just say I realised Larrie and I have more in common than I thought.”
Maz looked sceptical. “Really?”
“Except for fancying Beth,” I added. “I still have way better taste than Larrie does.”
“Ahem, do I have to remind you about Josh ‘the-love-god’ Turner? Ugh, speak of the sleazebag.” Maz nodded over my shoulder.
I turned to see Josh walking towards us. My knees gave an involuntary wobble.
“Al, wait,” he called when Maz grabbed my arm and started to pull me in the opposite direction. “Please.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say.”
Maz’s expression suggested she disagreed, but she stopped tugging me.
When he reached us, Josh pulled a red rose from behind his back. “Can we talk?”
“I’d better be getting to class,” Maz said through tight lips. “I wouldn’t want to be late.”
Josh held out the rose. “It looked better before assembly. I had to stick it up my jumper so Brandy wouldn’t confiscate it.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, too thrilled about receiving my first-ever rose to worry about the fact that it was half-dead. “It’s the thought that counts.”
I held the drooping flower to my nose, ready to make a big show of how lovely it smelled, but it had no scent.
“Mmmm, nice,” I said anyway, because, after all, a rose is a rose – the universal flower of love.
“I bought it to say sorry for the Facebook stuff. I didn’t mean to make it sound … you know, it’s just that you’re so pretty and I’m so lucky to be with you, I couldn’t help bragging.”
I sniffed the rose again to hide my smile. I didn’t want Josh to think he could get me back so easily.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Please give me another chance. The soccer final’s after school tomorrow, and I can’t play my best knowing that I’ve blown it with you. Please, Al, we haven’t beaten Westside Grammar all season. Please.”
His voice was so sad and so remorseful, there was no way I could maintain my grudge. “Maybe. But you’ve got some serious sucking up to do if you want to get back in my good books.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “How about we start with churros after school?”
“Make it after the game tomorrow,” I said. “I’ve got a few things I have to take care of this afternoon.”
Maz narrowed her eyes when I put the wilting rose in front of me on the art table. “Why do I suspect you’ve forgiven him?”
“Josh is really sorry. He begged me for another chance.”
“Hmph,” said Maz.
I didn’t want to have to justify my reasons for taking Josh back. I opened my sketchbook to the portrait of Maz and erased most of what I’d drawn in the last class.
“At least Josh has admitted he did the wrong thing. Now, what are we going to do about Simon?”
I’d assumed Maz would come up with some super-gruesome, super-evil revenge ideas (starting with kicking Simon out of the band and banishing him from our group of friends, if I had any say in it), so I was surprised when she said the only way to stop him from doing any more damage was to let my parents deal with it.
“We might be the best at thinking up how to get back at him, but there’s nothing like a bit of parental rage to stop someone in their tracks,” she said.
I tried to hide my disappointment. “I guess you’re right. But how am I going to break it to them?”
While I waited for the bus after school, I tried to think of a way to tell Mum and Dad about Simon that would make them get on the phone to the Lutzes but not be angry with me. There didn’t seem any way to frame the situation that didn’t point to me being the cause of Simon’s crazy behaviour, even if it’d been completely inadvertent on my part.
I was glad of the distraction when my phone buzzed with a message. Until I saw it was from Simon. I prepared myself for something unpleasant and hit “Show”.
Meet me at Say Cheese asap.
My first thought was that it could be some kind of trap. Why would Simon want me to meet him at the shop when it wasn’t even open on Mondays? Still, if he wanted to confess, it would make the whole situation much easier. Maybe I could even convince him to leave Larrie alone and my parents need never know.
I ran to the shopping village, too impatient to wait for the bus. I was rounding the corner into Kingston Street when someone reached out of the laneway next to Say Cheese and yanked me backwards. Before I could catch my breath enough to scream, a hand covered my mouth. My heart raced and images of kidnapping scenes from movies flashed through my mind.
“It’s okay, Al, it’s me,” whispered Simon, which made me panic more. “I need you to be quiet so I can show you something. If I let you go, will you promise you won’t run away or scream?”
I nodded, planning to scream and run as loud and as fast as I could, straight to Mum’s work.
“Okay. If you look round the corner, you’ll see Camille standing outside Say Cheese right now.”
It occurred to me that Simon might be lying, but my curiosity was sufficiently aroused for me to put my plan on hold. He let me go and we both crept to the corner of the building. I stuck my head far enough around the corner to see the front of the shop. There was s
omeone using the payphone.
“Recognise them?” asked Simon.
I couldn’t see the person’s face, but I was pretty sure they were too big to be female. Then they shifted out of the shadows and I saw a thatch of blond hair.
I whirled round to face Simon. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“I knew you wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it for yourself.”
“What I see is someone using a public phone. Why should I believe Josh is Camille?”
“Have you noticed how long he’s been dialling?” asked Simon. “Like, the whole time we’ve been watching him. And why? Because that payphone can send text messages. Anonymous text messages.”
I peeked back around the corner. He was right, Josh was still tapping at the keypad.
Simon continued. “I thought he was up to something, using the payphone all the time, but I didn’t know what it was until you said that Larrie had been getting anonymous texts. After I saw Josh make two separate trips to this phone last night, I knew my suspicions were correct. He came back on the way to school this morning, and he’s been there for at least the last fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, Sherlock, but that doesn’t explain how ‘Camille’ managed to join Whitlam’s Facebook group. I don’t think Josh is known for his computer hacking skills. Unlike some people.”
If Simon understood what I was inferring, he ignored it. “He didn’t need any hacking skills – all he had to do was offer to help his mum out with a little boring administration work after school and he’d have access to everything, including Larrie’s mobile phone number. Getting onto Facebook was the easy part, since the office stays logged into every application Whitlam uses, despite my memo to Mr Masch about how vulnerable it makes the school network’s security. And once he was there, changing the password would’ve been a cinch.”
I studied his face, trying to work out whether he was telling the truth. What he said made sense, but it could equally apply to him. The front pocket of my bag made a muffled brrring. When I pulled out Larrie’s phone, there was a message from a private number.
Hi, girlfriend – I’m getting ready for my big finale. Did you know over 100 million people visit YouTube every day? No wonder hot videos spread like wildfire! Mwah mwah, Camille
Al Miller got it wrong.
38
I read the message twice, slumping against the wall as the full impact of the truth hit me. Simon reached out as if he was going to hug me, but then seemed to think better of it and leaned against the wall next to me.
“Now do you believe me?”
I started to shake my head, but it turned into a nod. “I don’t get it. The Camille stuff started around the time Josh and I were getting close – why would he want to attack my sister? And why would he have written all those awful things about me?”
My face burned with shame when I realised how completely Josh had sucked me in, but my embarrassment morphed into rage. I took a stride towards Kingston Street.
Simon pulled me back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to tell Josh Turner exactly what I think of him,” I said, attempting to free my arm from Simon’s firm grip. “And then I might break his texting fingers.”
“Leave it, Al,” said Simon. “There are more effective ways to deal with scumbuckets like Turner, and I’m sure Maz has thought of all of them.”
“I know the perfect revenge,” Maz said when I phoned to tell her what Simon had discovered. “It’s an oldie, but a goodie. I’ve been saving it for someone who truly needs to be taught a lesson. All we need is a few supplies and a kitchen.”
Simon and I split up to get the ingredients Maz dictated. While I visited Kingston Health Foods, Simon nipped back to the pharmacy. We met back at the laneway and practically jogged to my place, where Maz was waiting for us, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Are you sure this’ll work?” I asked, unloading my shopping bag full of dried figs, dates and apricots onto the kitchen bench.
“The website said it was one hundred per cent effective,” said Maz, ticking each item off the recipe she’d printed out.
“It won’t actually harm him, though, will it?”
“No permanent damage,” said Simon, studying the recipe over Maz’s shoulder. “But it’ll put him out of action for a few hours.”
“And if those few hours happen to be during the soccer final,” grinned Maz, “then that’s simply bad luck.”
“I still don’t get how some dried fruit is going to have that big an impact,” I said.
“Sorbitol,” answered Simon. “It’s a naturally occurring sweetener in stone fruits. And when it’s consumed in large amounts, it has a laxative effect. The bran’ll also help it along a bit.”
Maz tossed all the fruit into a saucepan and added a glug of prune syrup. “And the chocolate-flavoured senna will make sure nothing’s left to chance. If you’re feeling guilty about it – which I suggest you shouldn’t after everything that creep’s done to you – think of it as a detox.”
“I don’t feel any guilt at all,” I assured her. “If I can humiliate Josh Turner one tenth of the amount he’s humiliated me and Larrie, I’ll be satisfied. I can’t wait to see his face when these hit him.”
“I promise, these will really put the ‘power’ in power bar,” said Maz.
“You know, I wasn’t planning to go to the game tomorrow, but I think I’ve suddenly rediscovered my passion for soccer,” said Simon.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” agreed Maz. “I think I’ll take my camera, in case there are any good action shots for Whit’s Wit.”
While we waited for the sticky concoction to set, we went through the rest of the plan for the next day.
“How long before the game does he need to eat them?” Maz asked Simon.
“I’d say three or four hours will be plenty of time, if he has a few.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” I said. “From what I’ve seen, Josh can scarf down energy bars all day.”
“So, if you give them to him at recess and do the whole what-a-lovely-girlfriend-I-am-making-you-treats-before-your-big-game routine, that should be plenty of time before the match starts.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Time for the finishing touch,” said Maz after we’d cut the cooled mixture into bars. “Al, I think you should do the honours.”
I dipped a bar into the saucepan of melted brown goo, coating it thoroughly. “This stuff’s so freaky – it even smells like chocolate.”
“That’s why we tell people with little kids to keep it where they can’t reach it,” said Simon. “One piece is all you need to, uh, get things moving.”
Maz laughed. “Oh, Josh’ll be moving all right. Moving off the field to the toilets as fast as he can!”
Once the bars were all dipped to her satisfaction, Maz left to feed Ziggy and Major Tom. Simon stayed behind to help me clean up.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, watching me fill the biggest lunchbox I could find with our special bars.
“Absolutely certain,” I said. “Josh Turner must pay for his crimes.”
“Don’t you think you should tell your parents, so they can do something more official?”
If Simon had been Camille, Mum and Dad could have spoken to his parents directly and the Lutzes would’ve made sure he left Larrie alone. But Mrs Turner was a different case all together.
“Like what?” I asked. “Missing the most important soccer match of his life is a much harsher punishment than anything Masch can dole out to Josh when he hasn’t actually broken any school rules.”
We were still scraping hardened dribbles of energy-bar mix off the baking trays when Mum got home. Her face fell when she saw us in the kitchen together.
“What do you think you’re doing having friends over when you’re grounded? Getting help with an assignment is one thing, but–”
“Sorry, Mrs Miller,” interrupted Simon. “It’s my faul
t. There’s a bake sale for charity at the soccer final tomorrow, and I’m not much of a cook. Al very kindly offered to help me.”
I nodded mutely, holding up the container as proof.
“I suppose it was the least you could do after all the help Simon’s given you with your schoolwork,” said Mum. “But you still should’ve called me to make sure it was okay.”
Simon turned to face me. “See, I told you she’d understand,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I won’t forget to bring the energy bars.”
He picked up the lunchbox and his backpack and headed for the front door.
Simon’s inspired excuse gave me an idea.
“Mum, about the bake sale. Ms Brand asked for volunteers to work on the stall, and I thought it might be good for my conduct report if I helped out.”
Mum started to shake her head, so I thought I’d better lay it on a bit thicker. “Obviously I’ll be grounded for an extra day to make up for it.”
“Okay, if it means that much to you. But I expect you home straight after the game. And you can help me make dinner tonight.”
Mum and I were still in the kitchen when Larrie got home from Beth’s. Mum was making a curry paste while I chopped veggies.
“Yuck, what smells like chocolate?” asked Larrie.
“Allison was doing some baking for school,” said Mum.
“I hope you washed up properly. If there are any traces of chocolate in my food–”
Ordinarily, that would’ve been enough to set the two of us off on one of our fights, but Larrie was too busy riffling through the newspapers and mail on the kitchen table to take the bait. “Has anyone seen my phone? This is the last place I remember having it.”
Oh shiz. When I grabbed Larrie’s phone that morning I hadn’t thought about how I was going to get it back to her without starting World War III. I got it from the pocket of my bag.
“Sorry. I must’ve accidentally picked it up this morning when I was rushing for the bus,” I said.
