I NEED TO be Olivia Pike’s mentor like I need a hole in the head.
This afternoon we’re meeting in the withdrawing room again. Reverend Ferguson delivers her personally and we sit like dining aristocrats at opposite ends of the long table. Our last meeting was mercifully cancelled due to Olivia’s ill health, but that’s not going to get me anywhere in the longer term.
Olivia hates my guts now. She hates me because I nearly scuttled her little friendship with Keli Street-Hughes. She hates me because I dobbed on her to Reverend Ferguson for not showing up yesterday. She hates me because I’m pieces of her.
‘How was your day, Olivia?’
She sighs. ‘Fine.’
‘Fine?’
‘Yep.’
‘So how come you piked out yesterday? No pun intended.’
‘Forgot.’
‘Forgot?’
‘Yep.’
‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’
‘Nup.’
‘Come on, Olivia. Throw me a bone.’
‘Why? Cos you’re a dog?’ She scoffs at her own nasty joke. The mouth on this thing! She sounds rough, too. I was rough at her age, but not this rough.
I wonder what has happened to Olivia to make her so spiky? I don’t think I have a right to ask at this point, though. We’re so far from being friends.
‘Any plans for the weekend?’
‘No.’
‘Did you do anything last weekend?’
‘No.’
I slap both my palms on the table hard enough to make Olivia flinch. She’s embarrassed by her reaction and looks out the window.
‘I went out on a date last weekend with a cattle farmer from Kootingal.’
She looks kind of intrigued. She shifts forward. I think I might be getting somewhere when—
‘Do his parents know he’s dating a boong?’ she asks, grinning falsely.
‘I don’t want to hear you say that word again.’
‘Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong.’
‘Where’d you learn that word? Keli Street-Hughes? She coughs it onto my neck every second day.’
‘Keli’s nice to me.’
‘You wait till she finds out you’re acting.’
‘You won’t tell her. I know you won’t.’
‘You’re right. I’m not going to tell her. But she’ll find out anyway, believe me.’
I’ve hooked her now. Her eyes narrow. ‘How?’
‘It’s written all over your lily white face.’
‘What is?’
‘My name’s Olivia Pike and I hate myself.’
She shakes her head and folds her arms tightly across her chest.
‘I hate myself so much that I’m not going to give myself or anyone else a chance.’
She titters through her nose.
‘I’ve never seen anyone with self-esteem as low as yours,’ I say.
‘What about your friend with the man hands and the moustache?’
‘Don’t bring Lou-Anne into this. She’s happy. She’s going to be an opera singer. What are you going to be?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s what I thought. Good luck with that.’
She sets her jaw and looks around the room. Only her eyeballs move.
‘Is that it?’
‘No, that’s not it, unfortunately. Self-Raising Flour said we have to be here for not a moment less than half an hour.’ I look at my watch. ‘Only twenty-seven minutes to go.’
‘I can sit here for twenty-seven minutes.’
I’d really like nothing more than to let this kid have it and walk out. But I know I’ll have to see her again. And again. And another time after that. Reverend Ferguson will expect me to keep trying.
‘Look, Olivia, while we’re waiting, let’s work out a way of making you pass for white.’
‘I’m already doing a good job on my own.’
‘Oh yeah? How many of the girls in your dorm room answer “nothing” when they’re asked what they’re going to be? “Nothing” is a dead giveaway, if you ask me. You’ve got to come up with something. There must be something you want to do. Me, for example, I want to study journalism and languages. Maybe even become a journalist.’
‘Name one Aboriginal journalist.’
‘Stan Grant.’
‘Name two.’
I can’t.
‘So what are you saying, Olivia? That I shouldn’t try?’
‘I’m not saying anything. You do what you want and I’ll do what I want.’
‘So tell me what you want to do.’
‘I don’t know!’ she shouts. This is as big of a rise as I’ve ever gotten out of her. ‘I don’t know what I want to do, okay? I’m not good at anything. I’m not smart. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.’
‘It’s better than being in foster care, though, isn’t it?’
Her face falls so hard that I want to take her in my arms. But quite quickly she seems to recompose herself, to gather herself around that tough knot of anger and get quiet and still.
Something has happened to her, I know it now. Something very bad. Maybe even worse than losing a brother.
‘Guaranteed, Olivia, that every white girl in this school knows what they’re doing here and feels entitled to be here. If you want to keep passing for white, you’d better work it out. Or else the likes of Keli Street-Hughes are going to be on you like stink on poo.’
Olivia says nothing. She’s back to her stiff little self.
‘You’re entitled to be here too, Olivia. You’re entitled to get an education and get into uni and get a good job.’
‘Fine.’
‘I want to hear you say it.’
‘I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?’
‘What?’
She glares at me, challenging me.
‘In the common room, you said you didn’t want a boyfriend because you’re going to flippin’ France. Now you’re going on dates?’
‘I changed my mind,’ I say. ‘A girl’s allowed to change her mind, isn’t she?’
Olivia shrugs. Shakes her head. Looks away again.
I get up and her eyes follow me around the room. I go to the bookshelf and pull out a copy of the school yearbook. I sit back down and start reading. The yearbook’s three years old. I flip to my class photo and find myself. I’m standing up the back because I’m one of the tallest in the class. I look more or less the same as I do now. Thin body, chubby baby face, black hair pulled into a long, loose plait. I’m not half as pretty as Olivia, though.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks after about five minutes.
‘Reading. It’s more interesting than talking to you.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Anger’s very boring, you know. It’s also very black. You’re going to have to find another emotion if you want to pass for white.’
We stay there for the full half hour without another word. When Reverend Ferguson knocks on the door, I tell her to come in.
‘How are you girls going?’
‘We’re having a great time,’ I reply.
She lets Olivia leave and closes the door behind her.
‘How are you going really?’ Reverend Ferguson asks softly.
‘She’s angry.’
‘I know.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘I can’t tell you, Shauna. It’s confidential. Obviously the school psychologist knows, but even she can’t get a word out of Olivia.’
‘Give her some time,’ I say. ‘She’ll probably come good.’
I’m not sure I believe this, though. I think Olivia’s going to scarper sooner rather than later. I hate to say it, but I’m rather hoping it’s sooner. I’m literally sick at the sight of Olivia Pike. Literally. Ever since she arrived at Oakholme I’ve been feeling sick and exhausted. It must be an allergic reaction. Or maybe it’s from the coal dust from that damn fireplace in the withdrawing room.