Holy Crushamoly

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  How are you meant to argue for something you’d rather argue against?

  At the end of the meeting, Mr Mendes hands out a permission slip for each of us to bring to school, and a registration form to bring on the day. ‘And you’ll have to organise a lift to the debate next Thursday. My car is already full with the senior team. Will that be okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ Zara grabs her forms and heads off for band practice.

  I read through the pages. Am I really going to sign up for this?

  When I look up, Mr Mendes is watching me. ‘So, Phoebe, how was your first meeting?’ When I hesitate, his forehead crinkles. ‘What’s wrong?’

  A deep breath. I glance at Jagath, who’s zipping up his backpack.

  ‘Well. It’s just …’ I make a scrunched-up, apologetic sort of face. ‘I’m not sure I really fit the team.’ I pause as they look at me. I decide to come right out and say it: ‘To be honest I’d rather argue for the opposite side. That we shouldn’t have to wear uniforms at school. I have heaps to say about that … and there doesn’t seem any point arguing for a side that I don’t agree with.’

  Jagath frowns. Is he disappointed? He’s so hard to read.

  ‘I see.’ Mr Mendes pauses, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes. It’s almost as if he’s pleased with what I just said. ‘A good debater can argue for either side,’ he says carefully. ‘That’s the whole point of a debate. You’d be surprised how differently you see an issue once you understand it from both perspectives.’

  ‘Sure, but …’ I lift my shoulders and let them drop. ‘I already know both sides of this topic. And I know which one I’m on.’

  ‘Think of it this way,’ Jagath says. ‘Did you see the news last night? That guy who’s charged with murder but keeps saying he’s innocent. He deserves to explain his side, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say quickly. ‘Innocent until proven guilty.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Mr Mendes. ‘And just as every criminal case deserves its day in court, every topic in a debate also deserves due consideration.’

  I rub my forehead, playing with the idea of actually trying to come up with a decent argument. They make it seem so worthwhile. ‘That uniforms should be compulsory in schools …’ I say quietly.

  Mr Mendes nods. ‘Anyway, what do you have to lose?’ he says after a while. ‘You might even change your mind about uniforms.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that.’

  Jagath’s eyebrows go up. ‘So?’

  ‘Okay, count me in,’ I nod. ‘I’m on the team.’

  ‘Great. I’m pleased to hear that.’ Mr Mendes says. Then Jagath breaks into a broad grin, and I’m suddenly even more glad I’ve said yes.

  Jagath’s so cute when he smiles.

  Once we’ve packed up at the end of the meeting, Jagath and I head to the front of the school. It feels sort of tempting being alone with him. Him and me. Me and him.

  We cut through the office without speaking. As we make our way out the main doors, Jagath glances at me then away. I smooth a hand over my hair.

  We’re passing the front noticeboard when he turns to me. ‘So we’re meeting again at my place on Saturday, okay? Try to think up some arguments by then.’

  ‘Okay.’ I’m searching for something more to say, but nothing comes.

  ‘Arguments for our side, I mean,’ Jagath teases.

  ‘Oh … really?’ I play dumb and then let out a laugh.

  We come to a stop beside the school gate. Jagath drops his bag while I check up the road. No sign of Dad. For the next few minutes we just stand there, checking the passing cars. Every now and then I glance sideways at Jagath, wondering what he’s thinking.

  The silence is beginning to feel weird, so I shift my backpack and glance at him for about the fourteenth time. ‘So, is your family Indian?’ I ask, by way of conversation.

  He looks at me strangely. ‘Sri Lankan. Why?’

  Oh no, now I’ve really stuffed up. ‘Just wondering,’ I say quickly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  Jagath breaks into an amused grin. ‘Don’t stress. I was two when we moved here, so I count myself more Australian than anything else.’

  I match his grin. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad’s Greek, but I’ve never been there. I’m Australian too.’

  A car turns the corner and we both pause to look.

  ‘Do you want to go to Greece?’ Jagath asks once the car passes. ‘One day?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, and lean against the fence. ‘I’d love to see the Acropolis and the village where Dad’s from. What about you?’

  Jagath drops his head to one side. ‘Do I want to see the village where your dad’s from?’

  ‘No, I meant do you want to go to Sri Lanka?’ I say, but then he breaks into another grin and I realise he was teasing me.

  ‘I’ve been a couple of times. We have relatives over there. But I want to see all over Asia. Borneo especially.’

  The next few minutes disappear with talk about rainforests being cut down and species dying out. Turns out Jagath’s really easy to talk to. Each time I speak, he looks as if he really wants to hear what I have to say. I’ve never met a guy who listens the way he does.

  We’re leaning over his phone, our heads almost touching as we add up how much it would cost for a trip to Borneo, when I hear my name.

  ‘Phoebe!’ Something in the tone of Dad’s voice makes me step back and I turn to see him striding towards us. When I glance at Jagath it suddenly feels weird, as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. I’d totally forgotten to check for the car.

  ‘Sorry. Have to go,’ I say.

  Jagath nods. ‘Catch you tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I’ve already started towards Dad, so I turn back and shoot him a smile. ‘See you then.’

  Dad reaches me in a few seconds, and peers at Jagath. Then he starts straight into a stream of Greek about how he had to leave Steph in the car.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you drive up,’ I say when I finally get a chance to speak. We cross the road, stopping halfway on the median strip for a couple of cars.

  Once we reach the other side, I turn to Dad and grin. ‘So guess what? I’m on the team! The schedule’s really tight. I’m meant to plan my speech before we meet this weekend.’

  Dad and I walk around a parked car, and then meet up on the other side. ‘And I’ll need a lift on the actual day,’ I say carefully.

  He nods, and I expect him to say something about taking time off work, but then Dad asks, ‘What was going on with that Indian kid?’

  ‘Oh, that’s Jagath,’ I say, testing the way his name comes out. Think I nailed it this time. ‘He’s on the team and is really smart. Funny too …’ I bite my lip. ‘He’s actually Sri Lankan.’

  ‘Ti mou les,’ Dad says under his breath.

  I’m not even sure what that means. Something like ‘unbelievable’, I think.

  Dad starts muttering to himself about the souvlaki joint that used to be on the corner, and how they’re turning that into an Indian restaurant now too. I’m not really sure what this has to do with anything. But I don’t say that. Dad’s attitude to Greek food is sort of the way I feel about make-up. It’s how we show the world who we are.

  We reach the car and Dad bips the lock. Steph’s sitting in the front, head poking up, pretending to drive with her hands on the steering wheel. While Dad tells her off, I slip into my seat.

  ‘Hi, Steph,’ I call over my shoulder.

  ‘Why can’t I sit in the front?’ She’s panting from having climbed into the back.

  I shift around so I can see her properly. ‘Because it’s my turn.’

  Steph crosses her arms and pouts.

  The engine whirrs to life as Dad twists the key. I settle in and click my belt. Just three days until the next debate meeting. I have to come up with a decent argument before then.

  Straight after dinner, I get stuck into research for the debate.

  There’s loads of s
tuff online and the main argument seems to be that uniforms stop people standing out as advantaged or disadvantaged. A couple of the articles say wearing a uniform stops people getting distracted by provocative clothing. That’s totally not true. It’s possible to lose an entire period because you’re in the same class as a guy you’re crushing on, uniform or no uniform. Speaking from experience.

  And then there’s the argument that uniforms ‘instil discipline’. If you turn up at school in a uniform, then you turn up expecting to work. Which, again, is totally not true. Still speaking from experience.

  I’ve been working for ten minutes when my mind wanders, just for a moment. I realise I haven’t checked Glamour Girl online for nearly twenty-four hours. Or Briana might be up for a chat. Or maybe I could try that new nail polish I bought …

  Normally I would have found something better to do about nine minutes ago. But tonight, I don’t. I’m part of the debating team now. I can actually feel Jagath hovering on one shoulder like some sort of gorgeous ghost, expecting me to come up with something half decent. Counting on me, really.

  So, this time, I keep searching.

  I have twelve million results at my fingertips. Twelve million. So you’d think that someone would have come up with an argument I can agree with.

  Problem is, the more I search, the more I find, well … more of the same. Some of the articles even use the same phrasing as others I’ve already read, and it takes me only a few more minutes to work out what’s been going on.

  All around the world, kids have been getting this same question as a debate topic, or essay topic, or whatever. And what’s the first thing they do? Exactly what I’m doing now. They jump online, scroll down all the articles they can find on the topic, pick a few that seem fair enough, and then use those arguments to make notes. The same ideas. The same argument. Over and over. Twelve million times.

  I keep searching, honestly I do, but now it’s with a growing sense of dread. Because I really need to have something to contribute this weekend, or I’ll look like an idiot in front of Zara and Jagath.

  Thinking of Jagath reminds me of the stuff we talked about while we were waiting to be picked up. I find myself googling Sri Lanka, which is way more interesting than compulsory uniforms. All these images come up of gorgeous beaches, tropical rainforests and cinnamon crops, crumbling temples and ancient buildings. I start reading about the country’s cultures and religions. That takes me to a whole pile of new info about some civil war that went on for twenty-six years. It’s all pretty incredible.

  But by the time I have to go to bed, I’ve gone flat about the whole debate. I was actually trying my best and I still don’t have any decent arguments.

  I could just use the same arguments as the ones online, I guess. But it’s hard to feel inspired about that.

  Just because everyone says the same thing over and over doesn’t make it true.

  I’m cramming my backpack into my locker the next morning when Jagath appears beside me.

  ‘How’s your debate prep going?’

  I swing my locker door shut. ‘S’okay.’ There’s no way I’m admitting to Jagath that I’m having trouble. Better to keep my mouth shut until I come up with a dazzling argument and totally blow him away …

  Jagath stands there as if expecting me to say more, and there’s this full-on moment where we just look into each other’s eyes. You can totally tell how smart he is, I decide, from the way he looks at you so carefully. I get this feeling that he’s going to say something …

  ‘Sure you don’t want to do a run-through before we meet next?’ he says. ‘It’s good to practise.’

  That sure wasn’t the moment I was hoping for. ‘I’ll be okay.’ I’ve got nothing to run through anyway.

  ‘Is Saturday arvo still good for you?’ Jagath holds out a blue sticky note with an address and phone number. ‘Here’s my address.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I stick the note inside my folder and take a deep breath. ‘I’ll get Dad to drop me off after seeing Mum –’

  Jagath’s face goes serious. ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘Good, actually. She’s due home a week from Saturday.’ We head towards our next class. I hug my books to my chest.

  ‘Bet you miss her,’ he says quietly.

  I drop my chin. Yeah, I do. A group of people from the drama group pass us in a rush, gushing about auditions for the school play.

  There’s more I could say about Mum, but I don’t. She’s out of the worst, but it’s still awful for other reasons. We speak on the phone most nights, but it’s not the same. I don’t want to say anything remotely negative or worry her. She already feels so distant.

  We’re almost at the demountables now. It’s always quieter at this end of the school. First up is homeroom, but we’re in different groups. When we reach my classroom, I pause at the bottom of the steps and turn to face Jagath. I may not have any arguments for the debate yet, but I can start a different brainiac topic.

  ‘So, I read something about a civil war,’ I say casually. ‘In Sri Lanka.’

  Just slightly, Jagath frowns. ‘You hadn’t heard about that?’

  ‘Oh, yeah … of course,’ I say, though the honest answer is ‘not at all’. I guess I never really tune in to the war stories on the news.

  ‘Is that …’ I begin, and then want to take it back. Is it rude to ask someone about their country’s war? What if someone in his family was killed or something else terrible happened?

  ‘Is that … why we moved to Australia?’ Jagath finishes for me, and I’m glad he’s not upset. He sighs. ‘Well, yeah, it was a factor, but we moved to be close to family. My uncle’s the head chef at the Brighton Hotel. You know it?’ I nod, and Jagath keeps going. ‘He needed more staff, so he asked Dad. Sri Lankan curries are pretty awesome.’

  ‘Yeah?’ My family doesn’t really eat curry. Probably because Dad loves Greek food so much.

  Jagath checks his watch. ‘Anyway, don’t want to be late. See you later?’

  ‘Yep, see you.’ I watch as he disappears down the path. Smart, cute, and right on time.

  During homeroom, Erin, Briana and I find our usual spots up the back. We sit in a row leaning our chairs against the wall so we can swing our legs.

  Other people are filtering in, finding places in front of us. ‘So … what else do you guys know about Jagath?’ I keep my voice low.

  ‘Other than the fact he’s cute?’ Briana says. ‘Well, sort of quiet.’ She looks over at me. Her legs stop mid-swing and she turns to me as it sinks in. ‘Jagath?’

  It’s one thing to agree that some guy’s a hottie, but something else to admit you really like him. Glad he’s not in the same homeroom as us. I check to see if anyone else is listening and make a shy sort of shrug.

  Ms Schilling calls out the first name on the roll and we all shrink a little lower, out of sight. She calls my name and I yell, ‘Here!’ before shrinking again.

  ‘Has he ever been out with anyone, do you know?’ I ask quietly.

  None of the other guys I’ve had crushes on have been like him. Smart but sort of humble at the same time. And strangely mysterious …

  ‘Nope,’ says Briana.

  ‘No idea,’ whispers Erin, and then loud for Mrs Schilling: ‘Here!’

  Briana breaks into a grin and nudges me. ‘This is so cute. I was just mucking around about you marrying him. I never would’ve picked you falling for him for real.’

  ‘Why not?’

  There’s a pause. Then Ms Schilling keeps calling names.

  ‘He just seems really serious about school,’ Erin whispers.

  ‘I can be serious about school.’ I wasn’t meaning it as a joke but they both crack up, smothering the sound behind hands. ‘What? I’m on the debating team, aren’t I?’ But I end up joining in.

  It’s okay. They’re right. Who am I kidding? Jagath’s not the sort of guy to fall for someone like me. He doesn’t seem to have picked up the same vibe between us. He’s probably madly in love
already with some girl who’s about to crack the secret to clean energy. Someone who’s really smart.

  I can’t even get my head around any good reason why we’re stuck with compulsory uniforms.

  ‘When Mum comes home,’ Steph calls over the hum of the car engine, ‘will you have to sit in the back seat with me?’

  ‘Of course.’ I twist around so I can see her.

  She crosses her arms. ‘Good.’

  The trip to Aunty Celia’s house always seems to take forever. Especially once Steph gets bored and starts kicking the back of my seat. Thud. Like just now.

  ‘Stop it!’ I yell for the millionth time.

  ‘Not doing anything,’ Steph calls, but there’s victory in her voice.

  Thud. Just ignore it. ‘So, we’ll have to leave at, maybe two-thirty so I can get to the meeting?’

  Dad makes this ‘eh’ sound that’s not much more than a grunt, the same answer he gave when I told him about it last night. Slowly he inhales. ‘Whose house?’

  ‘Jagath’s,’ I say. ‘You know, the guy who was waiting with me on Wednesday night?’

  No response. It takes me a while to find the sticky note in my backpack, rocking with the car as I rifle around. I pull it out. ‘It’s at fifty-three Salisbury Court, Hepburn,’ I read slowly.

  Another grunt.

  Another thud. This is getting on my nerves. I swivel fast, trying to catch her out. ‘Stop it already!’

  ‘Not doing anything.’ Steph pokes out her tongue and I shoot back a glare.

  Dad flicks the indicator. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says slowly in Greek, ‘maybe they have a debating team at the Hellenic school. And I think there’s a youth group at the Orthodox Church.’

  I make a face. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘You could practise your Greek,’ Dad says and shrugs. ‘Who knows? You might make a few friends.’ He glances over at me, smiling as if we’re sharing a dad–daughter moment.

  I face straight ahead. ‘I already have friends.’

  ‘It hasn’t been easy for you, though, has it, settling in at McEwan College? Maybe if you met other Greek kids, people more like us …’