Larrie was at her computer when I flung open the door to her room after school, ready to give her a few million pieces of my mind.
“You can’t come in here without knocking,” she said, closing a chat window on her screen.
I rapped three times on the open door and walked in before she could stop me. “What’s going on, Larrie?”
“I was trying to study for my English exam tomorrow, but right now what’s going on is that my pain-in-the-bum little sister is interrupting me. Again.”
“You know what I mean. The photo. Facebook.”
Larrie kept her expression blank, but I wasn’t falling for it.
“It’s all over school, Larrie. You’ve got to do something.”
Her face cracked. “What do you want me to do, Al?”
“You can start by telling people it’s not true, obviously.”
“But it is true,” said Larrie calmly. “Why would I deny it?”
I paused, aware in the back of my mind that this was the point at which I should say something supportive to Larrie about being a woman-identifying woman, but there was way too much at stake for me to worry about doing the “right” thing at that moment.
“Don’t you care what this is doing to your reputation at Whitlam?” I asked. “Or mine? When you’re at uni you can hook up with whoever you want – make a TV series about how gay you are, for all I care – but while you’re at Whitlam everything you do reflects on me. And right now, you being outed on the world’s most popular social networking site is making me the school leper.”
“What can I do to change that if everyone’s already seen the photo?”
“I’ve already figured that bit out. All you have to do is post a comment on the photo saying that you and Beth pranked everyone into believing you were together and that they were totally sucked in by it. I can do it for you if you give me your Facebook login.”
I didn’t see how I could be more reasonable than that, but Larrie shook her head. “I’m really sorry if you’re being given a hard time because of that photo, but I’ve spent the last eighteen years trying to live up to everyone’s expectations of what Larissa Miller should do and say and be like, and I can’t be bothered any more. Beth and I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“If that’s true, why don’t you tell Mum and Dad?”
Larrie’s expression hardened. “I will tell them – when I’m ready. First, I have to get through my exams. I’m not wrecking my future because some people have nothing better to do than gossip about stuff that’s none of their business. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got an exam to study for.”
She turned back to the computer. When she reached for the mouse, I saw that her hand was trembling.
My first instinct was to call Maz for some therapeutic revenge planning, but I wasn’t entirely sure she’d be on my side this time, so I went online in search of distraction.
I’d been too freaked out to log on to Facebook since seeing the photo on Saturday. I entered my password, wondering what the chances were that everyone had forgotten about it by now. When I checked the Whitlam group page the photo of Larrie and Beth had been pushed into “older items” by a string of SkoolDaze announcements posted by Simon, which bolstered me enough to check my email.
On top of the messages that had been sent on Saturday, there was a new batch, including one from Camille herself, with the subject line “Let’s join forces”. I opened it.
Hi Al,
You don’t know me, but I think it’s fair to say we both have an interest in bringing down your big-headed, big-mouthed big sister.
I’ve done my bit, now why don’t you do yours? If you’ve got any incriminating evidence you’d like to share with the world, I’d be happy to post it for you – no one needs to know you’re involved.
Think about it.
Kisses,
Camille
Subject: Re: Let’s join forces
Hi Camille,
Get stuffed, you evil witch.
Al
I blocked her from emailing me again, using the step-by-step instructions Simon had sent me and Maz a few months ago. Thank God (actually, thanks to Simon) my privacy settings were so high that only my friends could post on my wall; I shuddered to think what people would make of it if they thought Camille and I were in on this together.
I told Mum I wasn’t hungry (which was true, I had a bowling-ball size lump of dread in the pit of my stomach about facing school the next day), but there was no getting out of family dinner.
“This is the first night your sister’s been able to join us for a meal in almost a week and we’re going to sit down and spend some time together,” she said, giving me a pile of napkins and a don’t-push-me look.
“Something smells delicious,” said Larrie when Dad called us to the table half an hour later.
Mum picked extra prawns out of the marinara sauce and piled them on top of Larrie’s pasta. “I thought you deserved a special treat on the eve of your first exam.”
Larrie flashed one of her crawly, I’m-so-lucky smiles. “Thanks, Mum. I can’t quite believe the exams are finally here, to be honest.”
“Less than two weeks till it’s all over and you can finally have some free time,” said Dad.
One week and three days, I thought. I took the plate that Mum handed me. She’d only given me two prawns.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so caught up since school finished. But this is what the last thirteen years of school have been for, right? Doing well in these exams so I can become a vet.”
Dad patted Larrie’s arm reassuringly. “We understand, love.”
“Are you all set for tomorrow?” asked Mum.
“I think so. Beth and I revised all of the set texts today and I think I’ve got my quotes memorised. I just hope I’ve done enough.”
I pushed my food around my plate. I’d been toying with the idea of saying something about the photo, but something in Larrie’s voice – the hint of self-doubt – made me hold my tongue.
“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” said Mum. “You always do.”
“After all the hard work you and Beth have put in, you certainly deserve to,” added Dad.
I studied Larrie’s face when Beth’s name was mentioned, but her expression gave nothing away. If she didn’t have her heart set on becoming a vet, she’d have made an excellent secret agent.
She sighed. “I just wish there was more time between each of my exams. I’ve got the tightest timetable of anyone I know.”
Mum and Dad made sympathetic faces and spouted the obligatory words of encouragement.
One week and three days, I repeated to myself, clenching my fists under the table. One week and three days and then either Larrie told them the truth or I told them for her.
Al Miller is over playing happy families.