I’d never really thought about it before, how important friends are. Obviously, without exactly analysing the details, I knew they were important, in the same way that eating is important, and sleep is important. But now I realised how much of me was determined by who my friends were. And if my friends suddenly weren’t there any more, who was I? I’d lost my context; I was losing myself. I didn’t mind being invisible, but not ceasing to exist.
Of course I wanted to talk to them. Maybe Georgia was right, maybe it was too soon. But I hated the idea of not being friends; I couldn’t stand it. Not on top of the whole Mackenzie thing. Okay, so I’d stuffed things up with Mackenzie, but these guys were my true friends. We weren’t going to break up over a paltry misunderstanding like this.
At lunchtime there was no sign of Georgia. So I marched up to Bec and Iris, who were sitting in the corner of the quad – our corner, the dank, sunless corner under the weird wall-statue of the girl and the dog – and I took a deep breath, and I said, ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
Bec and Iris didn’t look at each other, but a telepathic buzz seemed to run between them. Bec said, in a completely alien, polite voice, ‘That’s okay, Jem.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure.’
I said to Iris, ‘I don’t know what Georgia told you exactly, but you know I didn’t mean anything bad.’
‘Of course not,’ said Iris, also very politely.
‘So everything’s okay? We’re still friends?’
‘Of course we are,’ said Bec.
I hesitated for a second, then I sat down. No one said anything. I took out my lunch and unwrapped my sandwich. Iris muttered something to Bec, and she laughed.
‘What?’
Bec waved her hand. ‘Nothing, nothing.’
I bit into my sandwich. Bec and Iris ate their lunches in silence.
I said, ‘Anyone want one of my nana’s biscuits?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Iris politely.
‘No, thanks,’ said Bec. ‘Unless – they’re not shortbreads, are they?’
Iris exploded into laughter, and stifled it behind her hand. Bec smiled, as if she was trying not to, but couldn’t help it.
I smiled too. ‘What’s the joke?’
Bec and Iris exchanged glances. Bec said, ‘Nothing, never mind.’ So this was a private joke. Just for the two of them.
‘Okay,’ I said, still smiling. ‘Okay.’
It was like being surrounded by invisible walls. And it hurt, every day. It didn’t get any better, though it wasn’t quite so bad when Georgia was there. It was weird. Anyone who saw us would say we were still friends: we hung out together, we caught the bus together, we ate lunch together, we sat together in class. On the surface, nothing had changed. But under the surface, everything was different.
It was confusing. Part of me just felt sad. I would have done anything to put things back the way they were. I would have got down on my knees and apologised, even though I didn’t think I had anything to apologise for. But I had apologised, and it hadn’t made a scrap of difference. What more could I do?
And part of me was pissed off, more than anything. Bec was driving me nuts. I was annoyed with Iris for taking offence and not admitting it, and for being on Bec’s side all the time. And Georgia – I love Georgia, I’ve always loved Georgia, but . . . we’re not on the same wavelength. Georgia and I don’t quite get each other the way Iris did, the way Bec did. The way Mackenzie did.
And Georgia wasn’t always there. She was hanging round more and more with Rosie Lee, especially since Georgia took the great leap forward into the party scene. Nothing bad had happened, yet – though I got the impression Georgia didn’t always give us a full report. She and Rosie Lee huddled together in corners, whispering, with Georgia nodding earnestly. She wasn’t in the gang, as such, Mackenzie’s gang, but sometimes I suspected that was what Rosie was grooming her for. I let myself wonder, just briefly, how I’d feel if Georgia became friends with Mackenzie. I decided I’d have to kill her.
Joking. Of course. But actually, deep down, it didn’t feel like a joke, and I had to push that feeling away.
For the first morning in weeks, Iris caught the early bus with me, instead of the later one with Bec and Georgia.
‘Hi.’ She gave me an awkward smile. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
‘Sure . . .’ I shifted to make room.
‘How did you go with that French translation? Wasn’t it a killer?’
‘Killer,’ I echoed.
‘You couldn’t give me a hand with it, could you?’
‘Um, okay.’
It wasn’t like Iris to ask for help. This was the friendliest overture she’d made since the Rift had opened between us. But for some reason her chumminess was making me anxious; it felt as if she was preparing an ambush.
‘So,’ she said, as we strolled up the school drive. ‘You coming to the meeting today?’
I blinked. ‘What meeting?’
‘The meeting about the International Baccalaureate.’
‘Oh – yeah,’ I said slowly.
‘We should find out about it, don’t you think? Much better chance of getting into Oxford with an IB score.’
There was a pause. ‘So, are you coming?’
I shifted my bag to the other shoulder. ‘Um . . . I don’t think I am.’
‘Not coming to the meeting, or not coming to Oxford?’
‘Not coming to Oxford.’
‘Right,’ said Iris. ‘I see.’
‘I didn’t realise you were serious.’
‘Of course I’m serious. I thought you were serious, too.
You always sounded serious.’
‘I guess I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I think I want to be an editor.’
Iris pulled a face. ‘Well, you can study that anywhere.’
‘Not quite anywhere. But I don’t have to go to Oxford.’
‘Okay,’ said Iris after a minute. ‘I guess I’ll go by myself then.’
‘It wasn’t ever, you know, a cast-iron agreement or anything. I didn’t promise. I thought we were just joking around.’
Iris didn’t say anything.
‘I’m sorry, Iris.’
‘That’s okay. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
She flipped her hand, as if to say, no worries, and then she sped up and vanished into the library without looking back. I watched her go. Part of me was surprised that she really did intend to try for Oxford after all, and part of me was slightly regretful; going to England with Iris would have been fun.
But Oxford – it was absurd, it was a dream. Our image of Oxford was stuck in the 1930s; it wasn’t real, and I didn’t think Iris would find what she was looking for if she went there. It was a fantasy, like our crush on Lord Peter Wimsey was a fantasy. We both knew that was a game, and planning Oxford had been a game, too.
Only not for Iris. I wondered why we’d never really had this conversation before. And I wondered, now the illusion had been shattered, if that spelled the end for Iris and me. Things were so shaky anyway; take away Oxford, and Peter Wimsey, and cricket, and rolling our eyes at Bec, and there wasn’t a whole lot left to hold our friendship together.
And now she had one more reason to feel like I’d let her down . . .
As if we could have gone to Oxford. We would have driven each other crazy.
‘Could all Year 10s stay back for a few moments after assembly, please?’
We coughed and shuffled as everyone else filed out under cover of the organ blasting from the gallery overhead, and then abruptly the music stopped and Ms Wells stepped up to the lectern.
‘Now, girls, I have an exciting opportunity to share with you.’
Beside me Iris groaned softly to Bec.
‘Unfortunately those of you who are taking part in the concert at the end of next term will not be able to participate in this event. I’m very sorry, but it was impossible to change the schedule. But for the rest of Year 10, I am happy to announce that I have organised for us all to share a unique opportunity to hear Charles Le Tan speak. I’m sure you’re all as excited as I am—’ She held up a hand for quiet.
Iris muttered, ‘Who the devil?’
Bec whispered in her ear and Iris leaned toward her and whispered back.
Behind me I heard Mackenzie Woodrow’s clear, low voice. ‘He’s an inspirational speaker. Like the Dalai Lama.’
‘The Dalai Lama?’ Georgia squeaked.
‘I said like the Dalai Lama,’ corrected Mackenzie. ‘At least, he thinks he is.’ I didn’t turn around, but I could just imagine her cool, amused smile.
‘Quiet, girls, please!’ called Ms Wells. ‘As you’re probably aware, Charles Le Tan is making one appearance only in Australia, so we will be travelling to Sydney to hear him speak.’
Major buzz of excitement.
‘This trip is being organised in conjunction with St Andrew’s College, which means—’ She was practically shouting now; girls bounced in their seats. ‘We will be flying up together and sharing accommodation.’
Several people squealed. Not Mackenzie. But I’m sure she was squealing on the inside.
‘Girls, please. We will be on separate floors of the hotel and any inappropriate behaviour will be severely punished. Does everybody understand?’ She frowned at us sternly. ‘Permission forms will go home today. I need them back by next Wednesday, so we can finalise numbers. If there are any questions, come and see me at lunchtime, not now.’
There was a cacophony of banging seats as everyone stood up at once. I saw Mackenzie turn away; she was staring at the floor. I would have expected her to be rapt at the prospect of a trip to Sydney with her St Andrew’s sweetheart, but she didn’t seem happy. Then I remembered. Of course Mackenzie wasn’t squealing on the inside. She’d be reading poetry at the concert; she couldn’t go. Hooray.
It rained at lunchtime so we were stuck inside.
Georgia said, ‘The Sydney trip costs a thousand dollars.’
‘What?’ I said.
Bec reached for another sandwich. ‘The tickets for LeTan must cost at least that much. With accommodation and flights and trips to the galleries and whatever else they’re planning on the side, it’s extremely cheap, in fact.’
I’d never noticed that Bec said ‘in fact’, like her damned and blasted brother. But now I did notice and it was driving me insane.
I said, ‘For Pete’s sake, how ridiculous. There are plenty of things I’d rather spend a thousand bucks on than hearing some paltry so-called inspirational speaker.’
‘I have to save up for Oxford,’ said Iris gloomily. She shot a quick glance at me, but I refused to feel guilty. ‘But I guess I’ll go if you guys go.’
‘Charles Le Tan,’ I snorted. ‘I’ve heard he’s a complete idiot.’
‘Yeah?’ said Bec. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Mackenzie—’ I stopped myself, too late.
‘Oh, well, if Mackenzie says it, it must be true.’
Bec had always been sarcastic. She hadn’t got any more sarcastic lately. But now it was always directed at me. Iris laughed. Bec was so hilarious.
‘It’s a lot of money,’ said Georgia quietly.
Rosie Lee was sitting on the other side of the room with Phillipa and Jessica Samuels and Frances. I don’t know where Mackenzie was; concert rehearsal, probably. But suddenly Rosie oozed over to us and draped her arm around Georgia’s shoulders.
‘What’s up, Georgia? Can’t your mum afford to send you to Sydney?’
Rosie’s voice was super-sympathetic, but there was the faintest twist to her mouth, and she raised an eyebrow at the rest of her gang, who were perched on the bench top. Predictably, Frances and Phillipa tittered.
Georgia sat very still. ‘We’ll manage,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Course you will,’ cooed Rosie. ‘You’re so brave, Georgia. I love this girl,’ she announced to the crowded room. ‘She never complains. Just check out her shoes.’
Involuntarily we all looked at Georgia’s cracked and scuffed shoes. She tucked her feet under her chair and her face went pink. She said in a small voice, ‘I’m getting new shoes next term.’
Rosie kissed the side of her head. ‘Listen to her, will you? Never whinges, never asks for help . . . I know!’ She swung around to include the whole of Lab 5. ‘Let’s take up a collection to help Georgia get to Sydney!’
‘Get lost, Rosie,’ I said. ‘Georgia doesn’t need your help.’
‘Mind your own business, Martinic,’ said Rosie. ‘You want Georgia to be left behind? Come on guys, get your wallets out – give generously! Georgia Harris deserves a trip to Sydney. Let’s help her out!’
‘I’ll put in ten dollars!’ called Phillipa, waving her money aloft.
‘I’ll put in twenty!’ yelled Frances.
The room erupted in laughter and catcalls as people pulled out their money like it was the best joke ever. Someone threw Rosie an ice-cream container and she danced around the lab shaking it as people tossed money in. Georgia’s face was scarlet.
‘Give generously to the Georgia Harris Appeal!’ shouted Rosie, and when she’d been all around the room she headed for the door.
‘She’s going to go right round the school!’ I said in horror. ‘We’ve got to stop her!’
Bec and Iris just stared at me as if I’d suggested standing in front of a cyclone.
Georgia grabbed my sleeve. ‘Leave it, Jem, you’ll only make it worse.’ Her eyes were full of tears. ‘Please.’
‘Anyway, she’s gone,’ said Iris flatly.
We could hear Rosie’s voice echoing down the corridor.
‘Georgia Harris Appeal – give that she may go!’
‘It’s just a joke,’ said Georgia faintly. ‘She’s only trying to help.’
I stared at her. Georgia never talked about it, but we all knew it was a struggle for her mum to afford the fees. And yes, she did buy her textbooks at the second-hand book sale, and yes, her uniform was shabbier than everyone else’s. But our families, Bec’s and Iris’s and mine, we thought twice before we spent money. We weren’t poor – certainly not compared to most people in the world, who had to get by without clean water or fresh food or even a roof over their heads. If Iris and I weren’t on scholarships, we’d probably have bought our uniforms at the swap shop too.
Compared to Rosie and Frances and Mackenzie and that crowd, with their holiday houses and their yachts and their skiing trips and their shopping sprees in Bangkok, yeah, we were not silver-spoon-in-our-mouths rich, and Rosie prancing around the corridors shaking her collection box was an attempt to humiliate us all.
I pushed back my chair and slipped off to the library alone, which seemed to be my natural state these days. So I wasn’t in the lab when Rosie returned – trailing a parade of giggling followers behind her – and presented Georgia with the money, to wild applause and whooping. Georgia took it; what else could she do?
She was supposed to have Biology that afternoon, but she wagged it to track me down in the library; I had a double spare.
‘Look,’ she hissed, and showed me her bulging pencil case. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘How much is there?’
‘I don’t know.’
I propped up my folder and we counted it. Georgia whispered, ‘It’s about three hundred and forty dollars.’
‘You can’t keep it.’
‘I’m not going to keep it! But I can’t give it back, can I?’
Georgia glanced anxiously around the library. ‘Everybody’s laughing at me.’
‘Bloody Rosie. Viper-cow.’
‘She meant well – no, she did, Jem. She was just joking and it got out of hand, that’s all. It’s not her fault – you should hear how her father upsets her. She’s just acting out, she can’t help it.’
‘Oh, please. I can’t believe you’re defending her,’ I hissed. I zipped up the pencil case. ‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to give it to Mrs Dyson.’ Mrs Dyson was in charge of the social service collection. ‘She’ll be rapt.’
‘But – what are we going to tell her?’
‘Tell her you raised it for refugees. She’ll think you’re a saint.’
‘But – it’s not true. Rosie raised it, she should get the credit.’
‘Rosie Lee—’ I took a deep breath. ‘When will you get it through your thick skull that Rosie was making fun of you? She can help it, and she wasn’t being nice!’
Georgia held out her hand for the pencil case and her voice wobbled. ‘I’ll take it myself. You think what you like. But I know . . . I know I’m special to Rosie. She doesn’t want me to miss out on going to Sydney.’
I gave up. ‘All right, whatever. Tell Mrs Dyson that Rosie’s a refugee advocate now. See if she believes you.’ It worked out pretty well in the end, better than I could have hoped. Georgia did tell Mrs Dyson that Rosie had raised the money for refugees, but was too shy to take the credit, and Mrs Dyson was so impressed she announced to the whole school that Rosie would have to put her talents to good use and join the social work committee. Just the thought of Rosie Lee on the social work committee was so gobsmackingly wrong it cheered me up for a week.
One day at recess little Sonia Darcy came up to me in the corridor and whispered in my ear. ‘Mackenzie Woodrow wants to see you.’
I stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘She’s outside the Music School. She said you’d know where.’
The universe throws us gifts. I shut my laptop into my locker. No one was waiting for me; Bec and Iris had disappeared and Georgia had gone off on some errand for Rosie. I tried to summon up the proper outrage: who did Mackenzie Woodrow think she was, commanding me to her presence? And why not just come up and talk to me? What was with all this skulduggery? (No one knows where that word comes from. It must be something to do with digging up corpses, though, surely.)
Anyway I tried to be furious, but I couldn’t. What I mostly felt was curiosity and, well, excitement at the thought of seeing her. Pathetic, I know.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
She was sitting on the bench. I stood in front of her, but then it felt like an interview, so I sat down. And that way I couldn’t see her face; it was easier.
‘We haven’t got much time,’ she said.
‘You recruiting for ASIO?’
I think she smiled. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’
I tried to keep my voice as cool as hers. ‘What about?’
‘Georgia Harris and Rosie.’
‘What about them?’
‘I’ve been watching them. I don’t think they’ve got a very healthy relationship.’
I couldn’t have agreed more; I’d been watching them too. But now for some reason all the fury I’d tried to conjure earlier built up inside me. My voice went cold. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’
‘Can’t you talk to Georgia?’
‘Why should I talk to Georgia? She’s the victim! Why don’t you talk to Rosie?’
‘Georgia hangs around with Rosie making goo-goo eyes; she’s like a puppy. It’s too pathetic.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I never believed you could be such a cow.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mackenzie at once. She swung around and seized my hand. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.’
I shook her hand off mine. ‘Don’t – act at me.’
There was silence. Mackenzie folded her hands in her lap. At last she said in a strangled voice, ‘I’m sorry, all right? What else can I say? But I’m worried. I don’t know what to do. Rosie’s getting into a bad scene and I can’t stop her. She won’t listen to me. She’s too busy showing Georgia how cool she is.’
‘I don’t know what Georgia and I can do. You can’t expect the victim to control the bully.’
‘You think Rosie’s bullying Georgia?’
‘Well – yeah. Don’t you?’
For a minute Mackenzie was quiet. Then she said, ‘If you really think Georgia’s being bullied, shouldn’t you tell someone?’
For the first time I looked her square in the face. Slowly I said, ‘Is that why you got me here? Because you’re too gutless to report Rosie, and you want me to do your dirty work?’
Mackenzie’s big blue eyes met mine for a second, then she dropped her gaze. ‘I think Rosie needs help. But if I did anything – she’d never forgive me.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘But Georgia’s your friend. I thought you believed in – I dunno, protecting the meek and standing up for the powerless?’
‘What am I, Robin Hood?’
‘That was your idea, the refugee donation, wasn’t it?
I knew that was you: Georgia Harris couldn’t think up a scheme like that. That was smart, brilliant.’
‘Don’t, Mackenzie! Don’t – smarm up to me.’
Silence again. ‘I’m not,’ said Mackenzie coldly. ‘I just thought you were the kind of person who stood by their friends. I must have been wrong. I’m disappointed, that’s all.’
I let out a breath. ‘How can you sit there and lecture me about the importance of friendship after the way you behaved? How dare you. Are you stupid? Or was our friendship so paltry to you that you’ve forgotten?’
Mackenzie turned her head away.
‘Unbelievable,’ I said. I stood up. My knees were shaking. ‘How’s your boyfriend?’
‘He’s good.’
‘Great. I’m so pleased.’
‘So are you going to report the bullying?’ she said, without looking at me.
‘No.’
But I knew I would do something. And I knew Mackenzie knew it too.