When I checked my school email account the next day there was a message in my inbox, cc’d to Ms Brand.
Subject: Let’s catch up!
Hi Allison!
It’d be great to touch base with you. Please join me for chai in the Chill Out Room after recess on Wednesday.
Cheers
Patricia Shields
I hadn’t planned to tell anyone except Maz about the email, but the decision was taken out of my hands when Simon sat down next to me at lunchtime.
“Is everything okay, Al? I saw your name on Patchouli’s appointment list for tomorrow.”
“How did you see that list?” I demanded. “Did you hack into the school’s server?”
Simon was so offended you’d have thought I’d accused him of robbing a bank. “I was in the office helping Mrs Turner adjust her calendar settings and she accidentally brought up Patchouli’s diary.”
I should’ve known that with the amount of time Simon spent helping the admin staff with their computers and Whit’s Wit he’d end up being privy to pretty much everything there was to know about every student at Whitlam.
“It’s just Brandy thinking up new ways to make me suffer,” I said, trying to sound as though I didn’t care.
“Don’t sweat it,” said Prad, who was no stranger to the counsellor’s office. “Patchouli’s a pushover. All you have to say is that it must be the stress of hormones and peer pressure and that you’re very sorry and it won’t happen again. It helps if you can squeeze out a few tears.”
“Do your parents know?” asked Nicko.
“No, and unless my blabbermouth big sister finds out and tells them for me, I intend to keep it that way. This is all I need when I’m days away from Larrie leaving Whitlam.”
Maz backed me up. “This is all Larrie’s fault after all. If she hadn’t given such a putrid speech in assembly, I wouldn’t have been forced to pretend to vomit in my lap, which means Al wouldn’t have laughed out loud, and Brandy wouldn’t have gone apoplectic.”
“Exactly, but how do I make Patchouli understand that?”
“You can’t,” said Maz. “Take my advice and don’t say anything about Larrie to Patchouli. It’s an argument you can’t win around here.”
Despite Prad’s assurances, I couldn’t help worrying about the counselling session. Knowing that she’d already have heard Brandy’s side of the story, I didn’t think much of my chances of making Patchouli see that I was just dandy thankyouverymuch.
I waited until most people had gone to class after recess before heading to the Learning and Leadership Centre, which housed the school library, Year Twelve’s common room and the Chill Out Room (aka Patchouli’s office, but she doesn’t like to call it that because of the “implicit power structure” of the word “office”).
To get there, I had to walk past the school office (where the admin staff are very happy to have an implicit power structure, as indicated by the “No students beyond this point” sign on the front counter), earning mildly interested glances from Mrs Turner and her evil henchman assistant, Ms Munce. I assumed that Josh’s handsome features came from his dad’s side of the family, since Mrs Turner wore a perpetual grimace, as if she’d been squirted in the eye with lemon juice. From what Simon told us, she and Munce spent most of their time moaning about the students and drinking instant cappuccinos.
Patchouli greeted me like a long-lost friend. “Allison! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. Shall I make us a nice cup of chai?”
She started fussing with mugs and tea bags before I could answer. I took a seat on a lumpy old couch with a batik sarong thrown over it and inspected the dreamcatchers, wind chimes and inspirational posters that hung around the room.
“Now, let me see – it’s soy milk for you, yes?”
Did I look like a soy-drinking sissy? Away from home I always drank full-cream milk, on principle as much as for its taste.
“Normal milk’s fine,” I said.
Patchouli paused in her tea making. “Really? I thought since Larissa – never mind.”
She handed me a mug that said “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in bubble writing. The chai smelt like flea markets and dust. It tasted as good as it smelled.
“Shall we get started? Ms Brand tells me she’s had to meet with you quite a few times recently. She thought it might help if you and I had a little chat about anything that you think might be … troubling you.”
Many things troubled me. Brandy and Larrie, for starters, but Maz’s words echoed in my head. Besides, in two days Larrie would be finished classes and the worst of my troubles would be over. Then all I had to do was get through her exams. I remembered Prad’s advice.
“I don’t know, Miss. School can be pretty stressful.”
Patchouli nodded.
“And then there’s the pressure to fit in.”
More nodding.
“And I don’t know if it’s my hormones, but I haven’t been feeling myself lately.”
Patchouli was nodding so vigorously that I thought she might give herself whiplash. “All those things are perfectly normal, Allison. But you don’t strike me as the sort of person who can’t handle them. Is there something else? Something at home, maybe?”
“No, Miss,” I said emphatically.
I don’t know if she was waiting for me to crack and start blubbing, or what, but I was determined that when I left the room Patchouli would know as little about me as she had when I’d walked in. We sat in silence for – according to the clock on the wall above her head – twelve-and-a-half minutes. Finally, she accepted defeat.
She sighed and scribbled some notes in a folder with my name on it. “I’m going to email you a meditation sound file to listen to after school or at bedtime each day, to help with the stress. And I’ll send you a link to a site about natural remedies that might help smooth out your hormone levels. Sadly, I don’t have a cure for peer pressure – it’s one of the hazards of growing up – but I think you’re a smart girl, Allison, and in your heart you know what’s best for yourself. Listen to your heart.”
It was all getting a bit crystals-and-chakras for my liking, so I was relieved when the bell for the end of the period rang. I stood and gathered my books.
“Thanks, Ms Shields, I’ll do all of that, I promise.”
“And Allison,” she said as I opened the door, “stay out of Ms Brand’s way – you know she’s got it in for you.” She waved me out.
Maz had saved me the computer next to hers in New Media Studies.
“How’d it go with Patchouli?”
“It was okay,” I said, and was surprised to find that I meant it.
“Did she ask you about Larrie?”
“No. In fact, the only time she mentioned her was when she was making her foul chai. Larrie’s lactose intolerance is so infamous even Patchouli knows about it.”
“So, what did you talk about? What did she say?”
“She said I’m smart and I should stay out of Brandy’s way.”
“Sounds like pretty good advice to me,” said Maz.
Al Miller is lying low.