Mr Mendes steps to the front of the class and clears his throat. ‘Thank you, Phoebe, for sharing that with us. I’m glad your mother’s out of hospital now.’ Then he calls the next person up for their speech.
When the lunch bell goes, I’m hanging out for the break. I want to debrief with Briana and Erin and find out what they really thought about my speech. Good? Bad? Way too personal?
‘Phoebe, could you come up here for a minute?’ asks Mr Mendes. Inside, I groan. Being asked to see the teacher can mean only one thing in my world: bad news. He’d better not suggest I see the school counsellor or anything.
I mouth save me at Briana, but she smiles and squeezes my arm. ‘Meet you at the bench,’ she says.
I slowly make my way between the desks to the front of the room.
Mr Mendes takes his time, straightening a bunch of papers. He looks up and smiles. ‘Well done today, Phoebe. I was impressed with your speech.’
Mr M pauses for my reaction, but I just check out the stuff on his desk, waiting to see where he’s going with this.
‘You were the only one in our class who paused regularly and made eye contact,’ he continues. ‘Did you feel the impact you were making?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ For a second I glance up, remembering how it felt to hold everyone’s focus.
Mr M nods encouragingly. ‘I want you to know that your mark is the highest in our class.’
I’m filled with a strange flush of pride. Usually I’m called up for being late with an assignment, or making mistakes because I rushed.
‘Maybe now you’ll put in a bit more effort with the rest of your work. You never know what you could achieve, Phoebe, until you try.’
‘Yeah, ah … thanks,’ I say, sure I’ve started to blush. Somehow, I don’t even mind.
Mr Mendes nods to show I’m free to go. As I make my way out of class, each of my steps end with this happy little bounce. Top mark! I’ve never got top mark for anything. I can’t wait to tell Dad!
I bounce out into the corridor, and almost crash straight into someone standing just outside the English classroom.
It’s Jagath. This strange, surprised gasp comes out of me and I only just manage to pull up in time. My face is only millimetres from his chest.
I look up, gulp and step back. ‘Hi,’ is all I manage.
He clears his throat. ‘Hey, glad I caught you.’
‘Me?’ I say, and my second blush of the day warms my face. Get a grip, Phoebe.
For some reason, being that close to his chest makes me imagine how he’d look with no shirt on. His muscles standing out …
‘Good speech,’ he says.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I say. I don’t use his name, because I’ll say it wrong for sure. Instead, I just smile while my heart pounds away a million miles an hour.
‘I was wondering if maybe you’d join the junior debating team?’
‘Oh … um … I’ve never really thought about debating,’ I mumble at his hair. It’s all windswept and wavy.
‘Well, we’re looking for someone new because our third speaker just moved away. Without three speakers, we don’t have a team.’
I’m still checking out his hair when I get the sense that I’ve been quiet too long. I drop my eyes slightly to find him staring back at me.
Awkward.
‘So, how about it?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised.
I shake my head, floating slowly back to earth. As if a smart guy like Jagath would ever be interested in me. ‘Thanks, but debating’s not really my thing.’
‘Really?’ Jagath tilts his head to one side. ‘Well, you don’t have to decide right now. We’ve got a meeting on Wednesday. Maybe just come and check it out.’ He’s staring right at me. Like, really staring.
‘I guess I could,’ I say slowly.
‘Great!’ Jagath scribbles something on a piece of paper, folds it and hands it to me. ‘Here’s where we’re meeting. See you then.’
As he walks away, I remember how good it felt to hold everyone’s attention during my speech. Maybe I would be an okay debater? It’s sort of nerdy, but Jagath would be there too …
And I can’t stop myself from smiling.
It’s only when I dump my stuff in my locker that I check what the note says:
After school? That changes everything. Without Mum at home, I’m the only one around who can pick Steph up from school.
Could I sort out something with Dad? I carefully fold the paper and slip it into the side pocket of my backpack.
Grab my tomato sandwich. Slam the door.
The guy whose locker is right next to mine slams his at the same time. Our eyes meet, and we do this awkward kind of smile. When I first started here he used to stare right through me, but these days I think he’s actually noticed that I exist.
I’ve almost finished my sandwich when I make it to our bench. Erin shoves along so I can sit in the middle.
‘So, what did Mr M say?’ asks Briana as I settle in.
‘Um … just that my speech was … you know,’ I shrug, ‘all right.’ Don’t want them thinking I have a big head. Briana’s not too good at English. Actually, she’s not too good at any subject except PE.
‘Just all right?’ Briana cries. ‘It was better than all right! I already knew most of the stuff you said and I still had this golf ball in my throat.’
‘Even Bruce got all teary, did you see?’ asks Erin. Bruce is a football meathead.
‘And then the end …’ Briana squeezes my knee. ‘It’s really great that your mum’s going to be okay.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
Briana settles back, sipping her juice pack. Erin’s eyes stay on me.
‘Your speeches were really good too,’ I say, turning to Briana and then back to Erin. ‘That stuff about the main female character in Hero Quest being so strong …’
‘You thought it was okay?’ Erin leans forward. ‘I mean … it made sense?’
‘Of course,’ Briana says, except her nod turns into a kind of vague circular movement. ‘Most of it.’
Still, Erin’s watching me. ‘Definitely,’ I say. ‘The way you compared it to other games with a guy as the hero … it was cool.’
Erin smiles then, as if she’s pleased about what I said.
We move on to Briana’s speech after that, about her holiday up to Cairns, but I find myself checking back to Erin as we talk.
I feel as if I understand her better. Maybe we won’t have to worry so much about awkward silences anymore. After our speeches today, we seem to have more in common.
I like this idea, so maybe that’s why I say in the next pause: ‘Guess what? Jagath asked me to join the debating team.’
‘Hey, that’s great!’ Erin says straight away. ‘You’ll be really good.’
‘Yeah, it’s great, Phoebs,’ Briana says.
‘Really?’ I turn from one to the other.
‘Yeah. Your speech was really good,’ Briana adds. ‘No wonder they want you to join, represent the school and all that … No offence, but I didn’t realise you were so smart.’
That’s exactly what worries me. My voice drops. ‘You don’t think it’s all a bit …’ I cringe. ‘Nerdy?’
Briana goes to speak, but Erin beats her to it. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘The debating team …’ What’s to explain?
Erin’s not the sort of person who would get this. I mean, she chose Hero Quest as her speech topic. She’d hardly even blink if anyone called her a nerd. She’s kind of immune to it being an insult.
It’s Briana who makes me feel better. ‘Who cares if you’re good at debating?’ she says. ‘I’d join the team if I could. That Jagath guy? He’s really cute. And he’s soooo smart, he’ll probably be a doctor or something one day.’
‘So?’ says Erin.
‘So, maybe this will be the start of something serious and Phoebs will end up marrying him.’
I’m laughing now, but Erin is all f
ired up. ‘Briana!’ she says. ‘Maybe Phoebe’s the one who’ll be a doctor!’
‘Hang on.’ I laugh. ‘I haven’t even joined the team yet.’
‘Well, you should,’ says Erin. ‘You’ll be great.’
‘And you’ll get to drool over Jagath!’ grins Briana.
‘Yeah.’ I shrug my shoulders as if it’s no big deal, but I’m sure I’m blushing. It’s not just that Jagath’s gorgeous, he’s really nice too.
Now I just have to talk Dad into letting me go to the meeting.
That night, like every night since Mum’s been away, Dad switches on the TV and we all watch with our dinner plates resting on our laps. Steph stabs a huge leaf of lettuce and bites at the wobbly end.
‘Use a knife, Stephanie,’ Dad says, as Steph does a drawn-out, dramatic sigh. Then he tells her sternly in Greek to sit at the table if she can’t manage in here.
Steph rolls her eyes, folds the leaf into three and crams it on her fork. The ABC News starts, but Steph doesn’t seem to notice. She shoves the whole leaf into her mouth and asks, chewing, ‘When Mum comes back, will we have to eat at the table again?’
‘Yes,’ Dad says to the statue of the Virgin Mary on a shelf above our TV.
Steph’s eyes track over to me, and we share a grin. Less than two weeks … But we know better than to keep talking during the news.
The first segment is about a tomato-canning factory closing down and shows people leaving on their last day. Dad shakes his head. A slow sigh.
Watching the news with Dad is like barracking for your favourite team. Police and firefighters get good comments. Politicians usually get sighs and abuse. Unless they have a Greek surname – all things Greek get bonus points.
They move through more stories: a famous murder trial, then a hurricane warning in Indonesia. Next up is a story about wild berries that are meant to lower your blood pressure. The medical expert they’re interviewing is Indian, I think. He has a really strong accent.
The doctor’s only said a few words when Dad shakes his head. ‘And they expect us to take his word for it?’
‘Why not?’ asks Steph.
‘Eh.’ Dad grunts at the screen with his mouth turned down, but he doesn’t answer.
Steph’s eyes move back to the news and I see her taking in the doctor’s dark skin, frowning slightly.
The doctor has the same complexion as Jagath. I start daydreaming about Jagath’s broad chest until the sports presenter takes over. At our place that’s as good as turning the TV off.
‘How was the speech today?’ Dad asks, before taking a bite of pastitsio.
‘All right.’ I place my cutlery on my plate. ‘Once I got started it was fine.’ I check Dad hasn’t been distracted by the TV. He nods, so I keep going. ‘At the end, Mr Mendes called me up and said I did really well. Like …’ I take a breath. ‘Top of the class.’
There’s a pause as Dad takes it in, surprised but clearly pleased. ‘Well … what do you know? Syncharitiria!’
Pride glows at the centre of my chest. At home I can talk about it without sounding like I’m bragging.
‘Yeah, so this guy on the debating team,’ I continue, ‘he even asked me to check out the next meeting because, you know, I was okay at speaking. But it’s after school, so …’
Dad frowns. ‘What day?’
‘Um …’ I make an act of thinking, even though I know exactly. ‘Wednesday.’
‘So …’ He stares at the rug for a few seconds before his eyes lift. ‘I’ll finish early and pick up Steph.’
Really? I’m suddenly so excited I feel like jumping around and doing cartwheels. But how uncool is that? So I just say, ‘Thanks, Dad.’
When the final bell goes on Wednesday, I grab my backpack and join the flow of traffic along the breezeway. It feels unnatural to peel off towards the library instead of heading out the school gates.
I wonder if Jagath singled me out just because he liked my speech. Or did he notice a bit more about me?
The library is totally abandoned, which is fine with me. Hanging out in the library after school is not a great look.
A door at the far side of the library stands open. I double-check the ‘Study Room 3A’ sign stuck on the front and stick my head through the doorway.
Jagath’s head lifts and he cocks an eyebrow. ‘Hey, Phoebe.’
Butterflies flit in my chest. His smile is even cuter than I remember.
Beside him, Zara nods distractedly while I find a seat opposite them. Maybe I’ve read this wrong. For all I know, something’s already going on between Zara and Jagath. Zara’s on my radar already because she’s one of those allrounders who blitzes everything. She’s always being called up at assembly for awards, like Jagath. She’s sporty too, and in the school band. I feel exhausted just looking at her.
‘So, Phoebe, you’re up for the interschool debate?’ Zara asks, straight out. ‘We don’t have time to waste. It’s a week from tomorrow.’
I wasn’t expecting that. I shift in my seat. ‘Well, I don’t really know.’ My voice is quieter than I’d like.
Mr Mendes pokes his head through the doorway. ‘Great. You’re all here.’ He nods my way. ‘Nice to see you, Phoebe. I’ll be in the next room if you need me, but I thought I’d leave you to discuss the topic yourselves, okay? I want you to take control of your own preparation.’
Jagath flips a page on his notepad. ‘Fine by me.’
‘Phoebe, I know you haven’t done this before, but just see how you go today,’ says Mr Mendes. ‘I’m sure you’ll be a real asset to the team.’
I nod. An interschool debate sounds terrifying. But Jagath is smiling at me, and Mr Mendes has already disappeared.
‘Right.’ Zara pulls a blank page from her folder. ‘So. I’m thinking that I’ll be first speaker, we can put Phoebe as second, and you can handle the rebuttal, Jagath, as third.’ Zara turns from him to me. ‘Okay?’
‘Sure.’ No way I’m disagreeing with Zara. Way to make life harder.
‘So,’ Zara says again. ‘We’re arguing for the affirmative. The topic is: That uniforms should be compulsory in schools.’ With neat, rounded handwriting, she prints this at the top of her page.
‘We’re lucky,’ says Jagath. ‘We’ll have consensus on our side. I say we start with the obvious: uniforms keep us all on the same level, they disguise the rich–poor divide.’
Busily, they both begin to write. I just sit, thinking about the topic. Being forced to wear a uniform? I know all about that.
They’re both writing down notes about the rich–poor divide when I say, ‘Though that’s really just spin they want you to believe.’ Both pens hover and two faces tilt up at me. ‘I mean, we all know who the rich kids are, uniform or no uniform. Have you seen the cars some of the parents drive?’
Jagath starts scribbling madly at the bottom of his page. ‘I’ll have to think up a rebuttal against that, just in case,’ he mumbles.
I glance at Zara, worried that she’ll think I’m being difficult, but she seems genuinely interested. She spreads her hands, palms open. ‘I guess it’s about brands,’ she says slowly. ‘No one’s walking around with Nike this or Country Road that …’
‘Yeah.’ My mind races. ‘But you can flip it the other way, and say that uniforms are about branding too. Like … the school’s branding. Uniforms help the school promote itself to the outside world. You could say they’re all about class, and the rich–poor divide. I mean, some schools are really posh. And what about Kilmore High? You have to be super smart to get in there. Or really rich.’
Zara’s shoulders actually slump as she turns to Jagath.
His cheeks bulge in a broad grin. ‘What did I tell you?’
Head to one side, I check him out all over again. What did he tell her?
‘Yeah …’ Zara mumbles. ‘Impressive.’ She turns back to me and I’m glad that she doesn’t seem annoyed, just intrigued. ‘So what’s our argument then?’
‘That a school marketing itself is
a good thing?’ Jagath suggests.
‘Or we could push it further and say that all schools should have exactly the same uniform, so that you can’t tell the rich schools from the poor …’ Zara says quietly.
‘But if every school had the same uniform, and you couldn’t tell which school anyone went to, what would bethe point of wearing a uniform at all?’ I say and grimace at the idea of a whole country of uniform-robot students.
No-one speaks for a few seconds. Zara and Jagath are both frozen with their pens in their hands.
‘Phoebe, you’re not actually helping!’ Jagath says at last.
My eyes move from one face to the other. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, no … it’s good to thrash out a topic,’ Zara says, smiling encouragingly. ‘We’ll be supremely prepared for the opposition’s arguments …’ She drifts off and glances at her watch. ‘But we’ll have to sort out soon what we’re going to say.’
‘All right. Well, a uniform helps to identify kids from each school. And whatever you do while wearing it reflects on the school.’ I nod decisively and pick up my pen.
Two seconds later I cross out everything I’ve written down. All I can think of is Mr Chiu whipping us into line, forcing everyone to pull up their socks and wipe off make-up. Uniforms may represent a school, but is that a good thing? Whatever happened to freedom of expression? Individuality?
Zara and Jagath are writing down all kinds of notes. It feels as if I’ve been transported to the planet of high achievers. I tap my pen on my messy notepad. ‘So, are you guys saying that you agree? You think it’s a good thing to represent a group, and not be individuals?’
‘I don’t know,’ Zara says without looking up. ‘It’s not as if we have a say, anyway.’
Jagath puts down his pen. ‘This isn’t about what we believe. It’s about making a convincing argument …’
‘… and winning the debate,’ Zara adds.
‘Okay?’ Jagath asks. His dark eyes stay on me as he waits for my response.
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, ‘I guess.’ But I don’t add much to the discussion after that. Maybe it was a mistake, coming this afternoon.
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