Take My Word for It (10 page)

K, S and T have been severely gated—I thought they'd have been suspended at least. All that money Kate's father heaped on the school for tennis courts and the library and everything must have paid off. I reckon I would have gone with them if I'd known I'd just get gated.

I rang Chloe tonight—she's got an exam tomorrow so I thought I'd better tell her to go for gold. She sounded OK—I think she's done a bit more work this year. She needed to—Mum and Dad went sick about her results last year.

Sisters have been living in my brain a lot lately. I'm so curious about Miranda. Is she or isn't she? I wonder if Chloe thinks about her, or worse, if she's ever gone looking for her. It'd be funny if we met in the Dobson Road Milk Bar, opposite Mrs Aston's.

But with all this thinking, I've come to a decision. I'm not going to go there any more, to Dobson Road. That's it now. I want to know the truth about Miranda, but I want it straight. In fact I want it from Dad. I want him to tell me, and I'll wait until he does, and if necessary, one day I'll ask him myself. It may not be for a year or two, but I'll wait. I'd rather do that and have it open. Everyone's been too sneaky about it, operating in the shade, in the shadows. Me included.

It's strange to think I could have a little half-sister. I don't know if I'd ever want to meet her. I'm not very good with those really young kids. I think Miranda's going to have to be shoved into the back of my mind for a while.

It was good tonight though. Chloe and I had a good goss. No-one else wanted the phone for once. But Chloe did say that Lynette's practically moved in to Dad's. She's there all the time. She's got a lot of her clothes there, and she's bought some new furniture for the flat. Sounds like now she's spending Dad's money for him, as if enough people weren't doing that already.

J
UNE
29

Mum called in this afternoon. I was at basketball but she found me, and gave me some tuck, and some clothes I needed for the snow. She was on her way to the McCowans—she's staying there for a few days. She said Chloe cruised through her exam this morning.

It's funny, there she was standing at the end of the gym, with all these bags and parcels, looking a bit self-conscious in such a foreign place, but trying to be cool while she told me all the news and explained what was going down, and there was I in my PE gear, sweaty and red-faced and panting a little, hands on my hips, and feet apart, and in the background was the noise of the ball and the pattering feet and the refs' whistles and the players' calls and I had this huge sudden urge to throw my arms around her and give her a hug and tell her I loved her. I didn't of course, because I wouldn't have wanted her to die of shock, but I did have the urge. Anyway I just thanked her for coming and for bringing the things, and I wished her goodbye and I put the stuff on the side benches. I ran back into the game without looking back, and I guess she went off to the McCowans' place at Longwood.

I'm going to wear jeans to this Year 9 Dance. It'll be a big anti-climax, I think. I can't imagine anything Mrs Graham organising being a really wild night. But I might be wrong. I've got a stunning Koori top that I bought with my Christmas money, so I'll wear that. It's got this wonderful design in gold and black. K, S and T have to do a det on Tuesday night while we party on. Soph's such a joke—she's complaining that the det's illegal, because gating was their only punishment and now Mrs Graham's adding more. Tough, Soph—get yourself a good lawyer.

J
UNE
30

I'm so bored and hyper this week—I don't know why. We haven't had much Prep since the Crusades assignment finished. There're Science and Maths tests on Monday but I'm not in the mood to study. I know I can pass OK anyway.

I think I'll write a description of Kate, for something to do. I remember writing one of Sophie a long time ago in this Journal.

To start with, Kate's bad points are that she's big and lazy and she can be as rough as a downtown dunny. She doesn't give a damn about manners, or things like cheating in tests or lying to a teacher. But she's honest in other ways: for a start, she's honest about herself. Her good points are that she's got a heart of gold. She's loyal to her mates, she'd never dob, she's generous with everything she owns. Or maybe it's that she doesn't care about possessions. If she's going out to play tennis she'll take the nearest racquet, whether it's hers or someone else's. If your Walkman's missing, the first person you ask is Kate—she just picks up the nearest one. Her parents own a string of hotels somewhere in country towns. They've got heaps of money, so maybe that's why she doesn't care about possessions.

Because she's so casual and carefree, not many teachers like her, although she gets on well with some—Miss Curzon, and Mr Ross, which is a bit surprising, but I think he likes the way she's always stirring him.

Kate's got a loud voice: she's biologically unable to whisper. She's also got a huge laugh. When she laughs you either join in or leave the room. The only problem with all this volume is that she snores like a dinosaur. They say there's a snorer in every dorm, and Kate sure rattles the windows and brings down the plaster. I'm used to it now, but it took a while.

I don't think Kate could ever live in a city.

Kate knows more jokes than anyone I've ever met but the trouble is none of them are funny. You do get sick of them after a while—in fact they can get on your nerves if you're a bit down.

Well, Kate Mandeville, this has been your life—from my point of view, anyway.

J
ULY
3

Had nothing to do this afternoon so I tried to ring Mum, got no answer; tried to ring Chloe and got Lynette instead. She said Chloe had gone to the movies with a guy called Brendon—I've never heard of him before. I made the big effort and talked to Lynette a bit. She was pleased, I suppose. She's got a promotion in her job—she's running a new department, looking after Japanese customers or something. I didn't know she spoke Japanese.

I wonder what growing up was like for her. She seems so confident and polished. I wonder if she ever got so depressed she felt like pulling the plug. It's hard to imagine, but you never know with people.

J
ULY
4

Dear Lisa,

Oh, so much to say, but I don't know where to start! Lisa, there's a lot about you that I didn't understand before. If only you let people like Sarah and Rikki read this Journal! So many people think you're tough—no, not tough, sorry, that sounds terrible—but strong, and a bit hard to approach. They say you never show your feelings or tell anyone your problems and I think they assume that maybe you don't like them much.

This is coming out badly. What I mean is, everyone likes you, obviously—if they took a vote for School Captain in our year you'd win easily—but maybe they're a bit scared of you. The trouble is, they have long memories, and I think they remember how hard you were with Natasha when her parents separated last year. I don't think anyone realised your parents had just broken up—and of course you, being you, didn't tell anyone.

Things have changed since then, obviously—people like you because you're generous and you're always doing things to help people and you never whinge or backstab. But they still find you hard to get to know.

Reading your Journal has been the first time that I've felt I've really started to get to know you. The things about you and your family—I felt privileged to be allowed to read them. The stuff about Kate and Sophie was really funny. I'd forgotten a lot of the things you've put down here—as you noticed I don't write so much about school, but I loved some of your stories. I'm glad you liked reading my Journal, too—and I'm glad I showed it to you.

Lisa, I hope we'll be much better friends after this. Have a good rage tomorrow night—there's some real dolls at St Luke's. I can't wait. Have a good mid-term too. I'm so nervous about having Marina to stay, but I'm glad she is.

Heaps and stax of love, Cathy.

J
ULY
5

Dear Lisa,

I hope you won't be angry with me for writing in your Journal. I don't think I'd like anybody to write in mine. But I saw the way you were all swapping Journals last night, so I thought maybe you wouldn't mind.

I wish someone had asked me to write in theirs but I can understand why they didn't.

So, I am a gatecrasher in your book. It's a strange feeling, like I'm talking to you, but with a muffled voice. I wonder if I will have the courage to watch your face as you read this.

Lisa, the thing I find hard right now is that everyone is putting so much pressure on me to talk. I feel they watch me like cats in a garden, waiting for me to speak, to perform.

I can't understand how people can use words so casually. They talk without thinking: they open their mouths and the words run out like water from a tap. I used to be like that once. Now I've learnt that words are precious, dangerous things.

Lisa, please talk to me, make me talk, ask me questions, force me to speak.

I can't stand my own silence.

M.

 

Help! I've just found this, and she's already left. She's gone with Cathy for mid-term. I wish I could run after their taxi now. Oh, I can't wait to see her next week. But God knows what I'll say when I do, or if I'll be able to say anything.

J
ULY
13

How am I ever going to bring this up-to-date? So much has happened I feel like I'll explode before I can get it down. I knew I should have taken it to the snow but I figured I wouldn't have time to write in it. I wouldn't have, either. It was all action up there—the weather was so great for once, and the snow was the best for years.

Anyway, I'd better start with the hot goss from here. First, Marina saw her father over mid-term, while she was staying with the Preshills. And she talked to him, according to Cathy. Words came out of her mouth! She's sly, the old Marina—she must have planned it all in advance. I still don't know a lot about it, because Cathy hasn't had a chance to tell me much, but she said Marina's father's in a prison camp at Tarpaggi, which isn't far from the Preshills' place at Tregonning. So I guess Marina must have gone to the prison at visitors' hours or something. Wonder if it was like in the movies, with glass screens and telephones? Anyway, Cathy said Marina actually told her she'd seen him, when she got back to Tregonning, and she said, ‘Thank you for having me' to the Preshills when they were leaving.

That's all Cathy had time to tell me.

Of course, everyone knows, and they're all watching Marina like foxes but pretending not to. Everyone's hoping she'll suddenly rip off a few thousand words at them. As far as I can see, she doesn't look any different.

It's quite exciting, after what she wrote in my Journal. Cathy must have just about swallowed her teeth when Marina hit her with her first sentence. I hope she'll say something to me soon. I don't feel like trying to force her.

Second bit of goss is not so good. Kate got picked up by the cops last Saturday night. It's the first time I've seen her really worried, and believe me, she is packing her daks. She wasn't going to tell anyone about it, but needless to say the whole Year 9 knew by lights out. She was caught in a stolen car with a guy who was expelled from Brentwood last year. Kate says she didn't know it was stolen but she still might be charged.

Originally she was going to the snow, but when she took that illegal before mid-term her parents cracked a bit of an aggro and cancelled the skiing. Probably would have been better if she'd gone; she wouldn't have got into so much trouble.

The other thing is, she reckons she might get expelled from here, but I can't see how she can, for something that happens during the holidays. You'd think that what she does in her spare time is her own business. Still, I suppose that's not always true. I mean if you got arrested for murder or drug-running or something the school'd have to expel you.

My mid-term wasn't as dramatic as these others. It was OK though. The Year 9 dance was a disaster for me—I spent the whole night trying to avoid these complete drop-kicks from St Patrick's, two guys called Duncan and Wayne. God, they were losers. Plus they would have registered about 0.8 on the breathalyser scale. Then, when I tried to crack onto a guy from St Luke's I crashed and burned badly. Turned out he was with Laura Johns, so that was a popular move with Laura, who would have nuked me if she'd had a button handy.

Anyway, I'd forgotten the whole thing by the end of the first day skiing. I love it so much. Even the arriving is fun—getting to the car park with all these happy people piling out of their cars. Then loading the four-wheel drives and cramming into them, clouds of breath coming out, everyone talking excitedly about what it'll be like and what they've forgotten to bring and how hard it'll be to get into the lodges, with all the snow. I like our flat, too. It's old but it's nice. It feels so good to pour into it, turn on the lights, rush to the heater, check that your skis and boots are still there, fill the flat with noise and warmth and life. It's strange to think of it up there now, lonely and dark and cold again. It's as though it has to have people there for it to be alive—without them, it's dead. Funny, that.

I skied with different people at different times: with Chloe quite a bit, and Dad of course, and Sophie and Trace (Trace was staying with the Smiths), and the Detwarsiti twins and Rhys Leighton. A strange thing happened with Rhys. I mean, I've known him all my life, and I always thought he was a nice guy and so understanding. Chloe was going out with his brother for a long time—well, a long time by her standards—and both of them often had to babysit us, so they used to take us with them when they went places.