by Claire Zorn
‘Hiya sweetie! Just lookin’ at school shoes?’
‘Um, yeah.’
She looks down at my feet.
‘Size nine?’
‘Yes.’
She selects a shoe that looks no different from the others: flat, lace-up, black.
‘You look like you’ve got a skinny foot. These are a narrow fit. Good support, too.’ Maybe Mum gives a crap after all and has rung in advance. ‘Take a seat over at the fitting station, sweetie, and I’ll bring them out.’
She gently prods me in the direction of a red vinyl bench seat in the middle of the room. I squeeze between an old woman trying on tennis shoes and a three-year-old using the seat as a gymnastics mat. I sit staring at the opposite wall until Trish re-emerges from the stockroom. Another sales assistant says something to her and Trish laughs. She kneels in front of me and opens the shoebox.
‘You wouldn’t believe this woman we had in before,’ she says to me, lifting out a shoe wrapped in tissue paper, as if it’s made of glass. ‘All dressed up to the nines, wasn’t she, Sue?’
The other woman nods. ‘Gucci handbag and everything. Not a Thailand job either, the real deal.’
‘And she’s got this little girl with her, I swear she had a French manicure. Seven years old! And the woman looks me up and down and she goes, “Do you only sell cheap school shoes here?” And I’m like, “Yeah, no Dior here, love, you’ll have to go to Parramatta for that.”’
Sue cracks up. Trish smiles and shakes her head. She manoeuvres my foot into the shoe and yanks at the laces.
‘Talk about more money than sense. We’ve got bloody good school shoes in here. They look good on you, sweetie. Stand up for me. How’s the fit?’
She presses her thumb into the toe of the shoe. Her nails are lacquered hot pink and have tiny diamantés set in them. I can imagine my mother’s face.
‘Enough space there?’
‘Yep.’
‘How old are you, honey?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Shivers, fifteen. You’ve still got some growing to do, too. Look at the length of her legs, Sue!’
Sue looks at me, her hands on her hips. Tilts her head slightly as she makes her assessment. ‘Oh, what I’d have given to have your height! I bet you’d look gorgeous in a potato sack. And look at all that lovely wavy hair!’
I swallow. There is an ache in the back of my throat and I can’t look either of them in the eye.
‘Sit back down, sweetie and we’ll put the other one on.’
I sit. Trish kneels down again and laces my other foot into its shoe.
‘Righto, go for a walk in those.’
I walk to the end of the shop, trying to avoid my reflection in the big mirrors.
‘Yeah, they’re the go,’ Trish says. ‘Have a seat and I’ll box them up for you. What school you at?’
‘St Joseph’s in the mountains.’
‘Oh yeah, I know the one. My kids catch the train with some of you lot. They’re at the grammar school. Good school, bloody expensive though. My daughter’s just like you, you know. Gorgeous-looking girl.’
Trish looks up at me with a smile. She pauses. Frowns. ‘You okay, sweetie?’
Crap. There are tears trickling down my cheeks. I wipe at them with the backs of my hands and nod.
‘Oh dear.’ Sue is there with a box of tissues. She hands me one and I blow my nose. ‘You had a rough day?’
I nod.
‘And some people say the teenage years are the best of your life.’
‘What a load of crap,’ Trish says. ‘I’ll pop these on my account, give you thirty per cent off. Go buy yourself a treat.’
I leave the store under the watchful eyes of Trish and Sue, who tell me there is a sale on at Myer and it can’t be anything some shopping won’t fix. I grip the plastic bag with my shoes in and head up the escalator to the toilets. The door of the cubicle slams shut behind me and I crouch down low to the floor.
***
‘Shit, you’re ugly.’
Canteen line. Recess. Tara curled her glossed lips.
‘Maybe she’s actually a guy,’ Amy said. ‘Are you a guy, Hannah? Do you have a dick?’
***
I gulp a few deep breaths and slowly stand up again. I put my hand on my stomach and feel the breath moving in and out of my lungs until the static in my head starts to dissolve. All I have to do is get to the station. Get to the station, get on a train and go home. It isn’t far. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. I put my head down and leave the toilets, walking out into the noise of the shopping centre. I keep my eyes on the polished floor beneath my feet. There is a tap on my shoulder. It makes me jump with shock. I turn around and there is Josh Chamberlain. He’s wearing a hoodie and skinny jeans, even though it’s almost thirty degrees outside. His right hand grips a skateboard, its underside decorated with that beautiful Japanese painting of waves crashing, curls of water like ultramarine locks of hair. He grins at me like he’s in on a joke I don’t know about.
‘Whoa, what’s up with you, Jane Eyre? Look like you’re being chased.’ He looks around. ‘There a dude in here with a shottie or something?’
‘Um, no. I don’t think so.’
He laughs. ‘What you doing?’
It takes me a moment to realise he is asking a genuine question, not trying to trip me up. I motion to the bag in my hand. ‘Shoes. I had to buy school shoes.’
‘No shit?’
‘Ah, no.’
‘Sweet. I’m just hanging out. Actually I was supposed to meet this chick, but she hasn’t shown. Stood up again, I tell you.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘I know. I wore her favourite outfit and everything. Shit. Why did I tell you that?’ he shakes his head. ‘Na, she’s a bitch anyway. She’s got no class.’
‘Okay.’
We stand there. He looks right at me. His eyes are pale green with little reddish flecks in them.
‘I just got off work,’ he says eventually. ‘Bowling club. I’m a dish pig.’
I’m not entirely sure what a dish pig is. I don’t ask.
‘You ever been there?’
Katie used to go there with her fake ID. ‘No,’ I answer.
‘Yeah, don’t think it’s your kind of joint. I tell you, if you ever do, don’t eat the burgers. Just trust me on that one.’
‘Okay.’
He grins at me, furrows his eyebrows. ‘You don’t smile a whole lot do you, Jane Eyre?’
I don’t have an answer. I can’t figure out why he’s still here, talking to me.
‘Toughest crowd I’ve ever had, that’s for sure. Where you heading now?’
‘Home.’
‘Ha. Run for the hills.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Train?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll come with you, make sure you don’t get mugged for your school shoes.’
‘Okay.’
I walk next to him through the shopping centre. The wrist of his left hand is wound with thin strands of leather and plaited pieces of string. I wonder if someone made them for him, I can’t picture him sitting there patiently plaiting away. I can’t think of anything to say to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t fish around for awkward conversation. We weave through the shoppers and out the automatic doors into the twilight. The heat pushes back at us.
‘Friggin’ hell,’ mutters Josh. ‘There should be a law.’ He stops walking. ‘Hold that?’ He hands me the skateboard and pulls his hoodie off over his head. There is the musky, fruity scent of his deodorant. I can feel myself starting to blush, so I turn the board over and study the painting.
‘Beautiful, hey?’ He hangs his hoodie over his shoulder, starts walking again. ‘Katsushika Hokusai. The Great Wave. Imagine being in the water w
ith that mother comin’ at you.’
I run my finger over the surface and feel the texture of the brushstrokes. I find my voice. ‘Did you paint this?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s really good.’
‘Hokusai was really good. I’m just good at ripping off other people’s shit.’ He takes the board from me, turns it in his hands. ‘I’m gonna apply to do an exchange thingy in Japan after year twelve. Freaking love Japan. Don’t you think the Japanese are the coolest people in the world?’
‘Um. I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘If I was Japanese I would grow my hair really long and get dreadlocks and get this picture tattooed on my arm. Then I’d become a professional samurai warrior.’
‘Is that an actual occupation?’
‘Oh, it would be, Jane. Japan is the coolest place in the world. Did you know that in Japan they have vending machines for like, everything? Like clothing and deodorant and everything. So if you’re walking down the street and you’re like, “Shit, I forgot to put on deodorant”, you can just go up to a vending machine and buy some.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why couldn’t you just go into a shop?’
‘You don’t have time. You’re in a hurry, you’ve got to get to your next samurai gig. See Japan is all about efficiency. I like that idea. And I just like the idea of buying anything you need from a vending machine.’
‘Have you been there?’
‘Yeah. When I was a kid. Dad had to go there for work so he took my mum and me and my brother. Pretty much the best two weeks of my life.’
We reach the intersection opposite the station. I push the button on the pedestrian crossing and wait. He is already halfway across the road, ducking in front of a taxi. It blasts its horn and he gives it a little salute. At the other side he realises I’m not there and looks back at me, starts to laugh. I expect him to walk off then. But he doesn’t. He waits for the man to turn from red to green. Waits for me to catch up.
‘Safety first, hey?’ he says. ‘No, that’s the best way, Jane. The Japanese would approve.’
We walk to the train platform and he stands next to me until the train arrives. The doors slide open and he gives me a nod.
‘God speed, Jane.’
I can’t help but smile. He watches me get on and waits for the doors to close. I take a seat by the window and see him step on his board and skate off towards the exit, gently gliding between commuters.
Ten
Katie’s career aspirations (youngest to oldest):
*Unicorn
*Princess
*Movie star
*Catwalk model
*Vet
*Catwalk model
*Olympic swimmer
*Fashion designer
*Stylist
Katie’s ultimate dream job:
*Creative director of US Vogue (from what I learned reading her careers advisor questionnaire)
Somewhere over in A Building, Mrs Rourke is continuing the noble tradition of torturing students with trigonometry. I, on the other hand, am in Anne’s office. She is wearing some sort of muu-muu, says it helps her pretend she is on holidays. She has opened all the windows and stands in front of one, fanning her face.
‘You’d think with all the money the bloody pope has, he could at least buy me an air conditioner.’
Mr Black would probably tell her to pray for one. She sips her mug of tea, plonks herself down opposite me and takes out her fake cigarette. Katie is there, of course. If I try to picture her at any other time I can’t do it, but here with Anne she is as clear to me as a photograph.
You gonna talk to her, Spanner? Katie asks. She isn’t smiling. You gotta talk to someone.
‘Can you tell me a bit about what school was like before Katie died?’
‘I thought you said you talked to my dad.’
‘Yes,’ she answers slowly.
‘Didn’t he talk to you about that?’ I look at her and she looks back. I want to remind her that she promised not to bullshit me.
‘Hannah, I want to hear it from you. They said it was a difficult time for you, that you had trouble fitting in.’
I imagine Katie laughing. That’s the understatement of the century.
‘Can you tell me what was happening for you?’
***
For the first term of high school, Charlotte and I ate lunch under a big tree with some girls from our old primary school. We weren’t particularly close to the other girls, it was that weird period when everything was so new that you instinctively clung to what and who you knew. I felt that way about the other girls, thought it was different between Charlotte and me. Things stayed that way for pretty much the whole term, when everything was still exciting and different and I actually believed I might enjoy high school.
It was in second term that things began to shift. Charlotte and I both had Science at the same time. Our classrooms were right next to each other and we would meet after and walk down to the big tree for lunch. One day my Science class finished earlier than Charlotte’s so I waited for her outside. She took ages, all the other students came out but still there was no Charlotte. I looked through the window and saw that she was talking to Tara Metcalf. I waited and then finally they both came out. Tara gave me the same look as she did on the first day, kind of pitying and disgusted. She flicked her hair and said, ‘See ya soon’ to Charlotte. Charlotte grinned and gave a nod, then she turned to me. I must have looked pretty disturbed.
‘What?’ she asked. ‘Tara’s really cool, she’s nice when you get to know her.’
‘I bet.’ I started walking towards the oval.
Charlotte hesitated, ‘Wait …’
‘What?’
‘Tara … um …’
‘What?’
‘Tara said I should go have lunch with them.’
I tried to laugh a bit. ‘You’re not going to, are you?’
Charlotte shrugged and looked away.
‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘I dunno … maybe you could come too, I’ll ask Tara.’
‘Gee thanks. Let me know if you get her permission.’ I turned and started walking.
‘Hannah, wait.’ Charlotte jogged after me, gave me a friendly push on the arm when she caught up.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said.
I pretended nothing had changed for so long.
Eventually the ‘merger’ happened. Charlotte and I moved from our spot under the tree to where the Clones sat at lunch, behind the Science block. It’s worth mentioning that Charlotte didn’t call Tara and her friends ‘the Clones’. It was the word used by everyone who wasn’t one of them. The Clones loved Charlotte. They tolerated me. Charlotte was like the bit of real estate they wanted, I was the crappy old building that they would have to purchase as well. And then knock down.
The Clones made it clear that I wasn’t wanted by acting the completely opposite way. Whenever Charlotte arrived at the ordained lunch spot they would smile and say ‘hi’ to her, then look at me with an adapted Tara-dead-animal stare and say, super perky, ‘Hi HANNAH! You’re back! We are so glad. Aren’t we?’ Cue laughter, at which point Charlotte would pretend not to notice their sarcasm and I would smile and hope that maybe they would miraculously change their opinion of me. I tried multiple tactics; I made cookies at home and brought them to school to share around at lunch. None of the Clones would eat one and Tara just looked at me and said, ‘Um, shouldn’t you be cutting back on sugar, Hannah?’ Which the rest of the Clones thought was hilarious. And then, after Amy made a comment about my legs being ‘neon white’ I attempted a bit of DIY fake tanning, which resulted in orange blotches all over my legs, not to mention the palms of my hands. I don’t think I need to explain how that one was received.
When I finally confessed to my mum what was going on at school she asked me what happened. As if there was one single incident that was to be blamed, as if I’d accidentally stolen Tara’s phone or maybe inadvertently told the Clones I thought they were shallow, superficial bitches. Whenever I tried to explain – such as telling her that quite regularly the lunch spot would be changed and everyone would ‘forget’ to mention it to me, or that Tara and Amy would instantly fall silent whenever I happened to show up – she told me that I shouldn’t let people treat me that way. As if I could turn up and present Tara with the Declaration of Human Rights and point to number seventeen that says ‘Everyone in the group must be informed of any party, shopping trip or lunch spot location change’. Simple.
And Charlotte. She tried, she really did, she tried to carry on the illusion that we were still the best of bestest friends. She really tried to maintain the facade of loyalty. I was a piece of sentimental childhood memorabilia she couldn’t bring herself to throw away.
I clung on to our sinking friendship for the rest of year seven, until the following February when there was a party at Tara’s one Saturday night. Her parents weren’t the sort of people to worry about having a hundred kids turn up, apparently. And Tara’s older brother (one of Katie’s mates) reportedly had ten cases of beer in the garage. The whole school seemed to be talking about it, it was all over Facebook. I felt like it was a test and if I performed well, maybe the Clones would accept me. How pathetic.
Katie was getting a ride with a friend to the party and I was absolutely not welcome to join her. So it was Dad who drove me. When we were leaving he asked if I had the invitation so he could punch the address into the GPS. I had to explain that it wasn’t the sort of party you got an invitation in the post for.
