By the end of my first week as the only Miller at Whitlam, it really felt like my life really was beginning to change, at school if not at home. Since Wednesday I’d gotten an A- on my New Media Studies essay, Brandy had hardly changed a word of my blog post before approving it, and I’d had three heys and a how’s it going from Josh when we’d passed in the halls between classes. Perhaps there was something to this “change yourself” idea after all.
I hoped my run of good fortune would continue at the SkoolDaze tryouts (i.e. Josh would be there). I had no choice but to go, since after the soccer game/churros debacle Maz appointed me president of the Vertigo Pony fan club. She gave me a long list of presidential duties, but the upshot of it was that I was expected to offer the guys words of encouragement and clap extra hard after every song. I drew the line at writing the band’s name on my forehead with face paint.
I accepted Simon’s offer of a lift back to school for the tryouts before Maz told me she was heading in early with Nicko. Ordinarily, I would’ve made up an excuse to get out of being anywhere with Simon without Maz for backup, but I wanted to wear my new boots and there was no way I could walk that distance in high heels. I crossed every crossable body part that no one would spot us driving down Kingston Street together.
Simon rang the doorbell at the stroke of 7.00. Right on time – and right in time to witness Larrie going berko when she saw I’d borrowed her silver hoop earrings.
“I told you to stay out of my bedroom,” she sniped.
“They weren’t in your room, you left them in the bathroom.”
“And you think that makes it okay to take them without asking?”
“What’s the point? You would’ve said no.”
“Well, that’s what I’m saying now.”
“Fine!” I ripped the hoops out of my ears and slapped them in Larrie’s hand, pushing Simon out the door and shutting it hard behind me.
It wasn’t until I saw Mrs Lutz sitting in the passenger seat of the car and then noticed the fluorescent yellow L-plates attached to the bumpers that I realised Simon would be doing the driving. Mrs Lutz greeted me with a shaky hello that suggested either she was a very nervous driving instructor or Simon was a very poor driver. After a couple of blocks I decided it must be the former, since Simon seemed pretty calm and in control behind the wheel. The only worrying thing was that Mrs Lutz made him drive well under the speed limit, which got every SUV-driving dad in Kingston leaning on his horn.
The upside of Mrs Lutz’s nerves was that she was too busy concentrating on telling Simon what to do to bother making chitchat with me. I tuned out her tutting, channelling Maz’s revenge skills as I plotted how to get back at Larrie.
“Sorry if that was a bit nerve-racking,” said Simon, as his mum pulled away from the kerb. “I tried to tell her I’m allowed to drive at the speed limit, but she won’t believe me. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Or at least I will be. Right now I’m thinking of how to get back at my sister. Something along the lines of posting photos of her sitting naked on the potty on Whit’s Wit.”
“Larrie uses a potty?” Simon may have topped the class when it came to exams, but he had no head for real life.
“She was two at the time. But still. Naked. On the potty.” I chuckled at the thought of Larrie’s humiliation as she walked into Whitlam for her first exam knowing that the entire school would have seen her little face scrunched up with the effort of pooing. “Even better, I’ll put it on Facebook.”
Simon’s expression grew serious. “I don’t think you should do that. I read that over eighty per cent of recruiters google job applicants to find out more about them. A photo like that could come back to haunt Larrie in the future.”
Ugh. Trust Simon to kill a sweet moment with boring facts. I ditched him as soon as we walked through the gates. Not hard since he had to get his whole drum kit inside.
The hall was already pretty packed. I stood on tiptoe and tried to spot Maz so I could tell her what a snark Larrie’d been about the earrings. I was about to text her when a voice behind me said, “Hello, Larrie’s little sister.”
I whirled on my heels, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my mind (and possibly what was left in my water bottle) and saw Josh. My anger must’ve shown on my face because he took one look and raised his hands in surrender.
“Whoa! I was joking, Al. No offence intended.”
I felt my face flush twelve shades of red. “Sorry, it’s just that I came here to get away from being Larrie’s little sister for a few hours.”
Josh nodded. “Believe me, I know how much it sucks to be the youngest. I had to share a room with my older brother till he moved interstate for uni. It was like living in a war zone sometimes.”
We sat on a couple of the plastic chairs that had been stacked around the edges of the hall and watched Vertigo Pony finish setting up. They were the first of twelve bands trying out for the four spots in the final. Prad was making a big show of “one-two”-ing to test every mike, so I had to lean in to hear what Josh was saying. We were so close that our knees were touching. I’d never been so grateful for Prad’s big mouth.
It was all going perfectly until something behind me caught Josh’s eye and he stopped mid-sentence. “Um … I don’t think you’re going to escape being Larrie’s little sister tonight after all.”
I turned to see what he meant. “Oh, shiz. Can’t I even hang out with my friends without her barging in?”
“I think she’s here with her mate.” Behind Larrie, Beth was struggling under the weight of her bass and amplifier. Larrie was too busy scanning the room to help her, no doubt trying to decide who there was worthy of her presence.
I kept my eyes locked on Josh’s and tried to remember where we’d left off our conversation. “So, your next match is against Parkville High, right?”
“Yeah, it should be a walkover. Last time we played them we–”
“There you are,” said Larrie, as if I was a naughty child she’d caught hiding under the bed to escape punishment for shaving the cat. (I was seven. It was a very hot summer. Let’s drop it.)
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be at home studying?”
“The bass player in Beth’s friend’s band has gastro. Beth’s filling in for her.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I said. “Technically, you’re not even a Whitlam student any more.”
Larrie put her hands on her hips. “Technically, I’m a Whitlam student until prize-giving assembly, and I can go where I want. And don’t forget you’re grounded if you miss curfew again.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, determined to keep my cool. It was one thing for Simon to see me and my sister at each other’s throats, but Josh didn’t need to know the details of our family dramas. “Now can you please get lost?”
Larrie’s eyes flashed from me to Josh and back again before she walked away.
“I see what you mean,” said Josh when she was out of earshot. “She really likes to boss you around, doesn’t she?”
I told him Larrie was even worse at home. “When I’m in Year Twelve, it is so going to be payback time.”
“What are you waiting for? Surely you could do more damage now?”
“Well, I did have an idea about posting her embarrassing baby photos on Whit’s Wit …”
“That’s a good start, but I bet you could do way better than that. How about changing her uni preferences? Or burning all her revision notes? I bet she’d go mental.”
I couldn’t tell whether Josh’s mischievous smile was serious, so I laughed. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t take a joke but, even in my current mood, his ideas sounded a bit full-on. I mean, Larrie was a giant pain in the bum, but I didn’t want to stuff up her chances of becoming a vet. It was what she’d dreamed of doing since we were little kids.
Luckily, Mr Masch introduced Vertigo Pony then, which put an end to our conversation. From the audience’s immediate reaction I knew I’d chosen the playlist well. During the love song I noticed that Prad was directing his singing at Lily and wondered whether there was something going on between them that I didn’t know about. I didn’t have long to ponder the question though, because the moment Josh’s arm slipped smoothly round my shoulder, transmission from my brain went fuzzy. Good fuzzy.
Al Miller may have just died and gone to heaven.