‘Someone took that photograph from my fridge, Katy. And the other night my daughter said she heard noises ... I thought she was imagining things but now I’m not so sure ... What if someone’s been in my house?’
Recess is a mere twenty minutes. Barely enough time to go to the bathroom, make a cup of tea, take stock before her next class. Katy regrets answering her phone. She should’ve waited until lunchtime. Now, despite the potential gravity of what Grace is saying, Katy has no choice but to cut her short.
‘Look, Grace, that all sounds extremely serious and disturbing. The problem is that I’m due in class in five minutes. I’ll call you back later, okay?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll talk later.’
Grace’s practicality throws Katy a little bit. Being reasonable is not one of the things she remembers about her. Maybe because she was always in the vicinity of Annabel who could be so unreasonable (and caustic, her speciality). The truth is she doesn’t know Grace any more than Grace knows her, either today or back then.
Katy gathers her notes for her next class and powers down the hallway, the walls of which are covered in colourful graffiti art.
‘Hey, Miss Buckley.’
‘Hello, Georgia.’
Katy is relatively popular among the students, despite the fact that the subject she teaches – science – isn’t popular at all. Music, drama and visual arts are the favoured subjects at the school, followed by history and English. Bottom of the pile are science and maths. This doesn’t bother Katy too much. There are always enough enthusiastic students to make up for the ones who are bored out of their minds.
‘Hi, Miss Buckley.’
‘Having a good day, Leo?’
‘Absolutely, Miss.’ She’s treated to a flirtatious smile.
Katy is particularly popular with the boys. If only they knew that she’d been one of the most nondescript girls at school. This is precisely what she wants to get across to the current Year 12s. As soon as they walk out the door into the world, everything can – and should – change. They can reinvent themselves, if they want to. They can leave behind the fact that they were the quiet one, or the socially awkward one, or the silly one.
Katy reaches her class just as the bell sounds. This class is a particularly eclectic group, with plentiful body piercings and hair colour ranging from hot pink to electric blue. The school’s policy is to foster the students’ individuality and sense of self, helping them to experiment and have fun in a safe environment.
‘Good morning, everyone. Today we are going to start a new unit – the chemical earth. The earth’s biosphere, lithosphere, hydrosphere and atmosphere are mixtures of thousands and thousands of substances ...’ Katy pretends not to hear their groans.
She is on supervising duty at lunchtime – something that had completely slipped her mind – and there is no opportunity to call Grace. The grounds of the school are quite extensive, as are opportunities to get into mischief. Katy changes her shoes so she can walk the perimeter comfortably.
‘Hey, Miss Buckley.’
‘Good afternoon, Dylan.’
Dylan is easy to imagine twenty years from now. He’ll work in sales or real estate, where his easy charm will make him lots of money. He’ll wear trendy suits, drive a flashy car, and will be one of those men who walk around with their hands in their pockets.
Katy comes across a group of Year 9s clustered together at the edge of the perimeter.
‘What are you doing there, girls?’
‘Charlotte lost her jumper,’ one of them replies, slightly out of breath.
‘Yeah, we thought she left it here before school,’ another adds, cheeks pink.
Charlotte herself looks bemused. The lost jumper is obviously news to her.
‘Better try lost property, then,’ Katy says chirpily. ‘Move along.’
She waits until they’ve headed in the right direction, although she very much doubts that lost property is where they’ll end up. Charlotte looks over her shoulder a few times. There’s something arrogant about those backward glances. Charlotte has always reminded her of Annabel Moore. Katy loves all her students. She loves Charlotte a little bit less than the others because of this similarity.
Katy’s thoughts turn to Grace. Has there really been an intruder in her house? No, there must be some other, less sinister explanation for the missing photograph. But someone is certainly up to mischief, sending those joke yearbook entries to both Grace and Annabel. Who would do such a thing? Someone who knows them well enough to guess at what might be bothering them? Should Katy expect a similar email? Good thing she has no major secrets or fears. The untold advantages of being a school teacher: a squeaky-clean private life and nerves of steel from day-to-day dealings with the most brutal of species: teenagers.
The music pounds in Katy’s ears, propelling her up the final hill, towards home. Shorter stride on the incline, careful not to lean forward too much. This is what she’ll be citing as her greatest achievement in the updated yearbook. The fact that she has transformed herself from an inactive, self-conscious girl to an athletic, confident woman.
I am a runner. I run ten kilometres a couple of times a week, and on weekends I run twenty: just because I can. I am fitter than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
Katy is looking forward to hearing about everyone’s achievements, but the replies have been disappointingly slow coming in. She has managed to track down seventy-two of the eighty-odd students and has more than fifty RSVPs for the sit-down dinner at a city-centre hotel. Overall, pretty good and hopefully more to come. It’s the information for the updated yearbook that seems to be the sticking point: only a dozen responses so far.
At home – a two-bedroom apartment that Katy is planning to renovate as soon as she gets enough money together – she peels off her sweaty clothes and steps into the shower. The water cascades over her face and she remembers Grace. Damn it. She must call her back before she forgets again.
‘Hi, Grace. It’s Katy. I’m so sorry, the school day is always busier than I think it will be.’
Grace laughs, as though she knows about days that simply slip away from you. ‘No problem. Look, I feel quite sheepish now ... Tom, my husband, found the missing photograph down the side of the fridge.’
Katy smiles with relief. ‘Phew. I was beginning to think that maybe the police should be called.’
‘I’m so sorry to have alarmed you. I feel like such an idiot.’
‘Don’t be sorry. No harm done. Let’s not forget that there’s still someone who’s having a laugh at your expense. You said Annabel got one, too?’
‘Yes ... I found it creepy rather than something to laugh about ... But creeping someone out isn’t exactly a crime, is it?’
True. But Katy feels uneasy about the whole thing. ‘Is having a new yearbook a bad idea, Grace? Should I scrap it? I must say, the responses so far have been underwhelming.’
‘No, no, I love the idea. I can’t wait to see how people have changed, how their lives have turned out. I’m really enjoying reading back over the original yearbook.’
‘We were so, so young.’
‘Yes, we were.’
Katy hangs up shortly afterwards. That’s the longest conversation she’s had with Grace McCrae in her life.
Dinner is poached salmon and greens. Katy tries to be as good with her diet as her exercise regime. Afterwards, she sits in her study nook – a small alcove in the living area with just enough room for a desk and some shelving – and starts work on what she calls ‘Project Reunion’. She works on it most nights of the week: it’s startling how much time it sucks up.
Tonight, she has two new messages, the first on Facebook.
Thank you for your message to my wife’s Facebook account. Unfortunately, Brigette recently passed away after a long illness. She always had happy memories of school. I hope you enjoy your night. Mike
Oh, how terribly sad. Katy barely remembers Brigette, and this makes her feel guilty and even more sad. She hits reply.
Dear Mike, I am so sorry for your loss. With your consent, I would still like to include Brigette in the new yearbook, with some photos and details of her life. Please let me know what you think. Deepest condolences, Katy Buckley
The second message is an email from someone called Samantha Rankin. Katy has no recollection of any Samantha in the year.
From: samantharankin@pharmacorp.com.au
Subject: RSVP
Dear Katy, please be advised that Melissa Andrews will be attending the reunion. Melissa will be accompanied by her partner, Henry Kent. Both Melissa and Henry have special dietary requirements. Details will be sent at a later date. Information for the updated yearbook will also follow. Samantha Rankin on behalf of Melissa Andrews.
Ah, Samantha works for Melissa. Katy remembers Melissa for her perfectionism: perfect hair, perfect marks, perfect focus. Does she still maintain such impossibly high standards? Is she demanding of Samantha and other staff? Katy chides herself. It’s been twenty years: of course Melissa will have changed. She tries to imagine an older, less-perfect version of Melissa.
Next, she types an email to the Class of 2000, a mailing list compiled from the RSVPs received to date.
From: admin@yearbook.com.au
Subject: Fake yearbook entries
Someone naughty has been sending joke yearbook entries. Please stop. You’ve creeped out Annabel and Grace. If you have time on your hands, you can help me with the real thing. Thanks, Katy.
There. Short and to the point. Katy has learned, through her teaching career, to be direct.
She spends the next hour or so trying to find two students – David Hooper and Robbie McGrath – who nobody seems to have seen or heard of since graduation. She tries Facebook, Google and online phone directories, to no avail. Maybe they went overseas.
She types another email to the Class of 2000.
From: admin@yearbook.com.au
Subject: Missing classmates
Continuing to have trouble finding David Hooper and Robbie McGrath. Did either have brothers or sisters? Maybe we could track them down through their families. Anyone know their old addresses? Parents or family might still live there. Thanks, K
That’s enough for tonight. Katy stands up from the desk, stretches. Her eye catches the original yearbook sitting towards the back of the desk, looking rather yellowed and older than it actually is. She is incredibly tired, the run starting to take its toll. She should go to bed immediately and yet she can’t resist. She sits back down, pulls the book closer, 2000 emblazoned across the front. The millennium. The Harbour Bridge exploding with New Year fireworks. Surviving the Y2K bug and warnings that the world was about to end. The excitement of the Sydney Olympics.
The first page Katy looks at is Brigette’s. Her face – freckled, smiling – is vaguely familiar. Best remembered for being in the unbeatable girls’ netball team. Hoping to be a sports instructor when she left school. Did Brigette achieve her dreams? What was the illness she suffered from? Did she leave children behind?
Next Katy turns to her own page. There she is, so young, so vulnerable, so dreadfully plain. Who would have thought that a change in hair colour would make such a drastic difference? Plus all the exercise, of course, and not to underestimate the difference that self-confidence makes. Katy is as different as can be to that girl in the photo.
President of The Wilderness Society. She laughs out loud. Where on earth did that come from? Yes, she liked animals, but she was hardly a warrior for animal welfare. Was she afraid to say that what she really wanted was a science degree? That Annabel Moore and her gang would mock her for being such a try-hard? Katy can’t fathom why she used to care so much about Annabel Moore.
Last of all, Katy turns to his page. Her heart lurches the way it used to lurch when she was seventeen. It’s almost painful to look at him. To relive that intense feeling, that vulnerability, that heartbreak. A part of her will always love him. A big part of her, if she’s honest. This is one of the things she won’t tell her graduating students. The ones who’ve been in love or had their hearts broken. The ones whose feelings have been blithely dismissed as crushes or puppy love or something temporary and inconsequential.
The truth is they may never again love as intensely as they do now.
Katy hasn’t.