I’M IN THE withdrawing room with Olivia Pike. Reverend Ferguson had to deliver her here personally again. She’s putting a fierce effort into staring me down, but I only glance up at her intermittently. I haven’t said a single word to her since Self-Raising Flour left the room.
Let’s face it, I’ve got problems bigger than Olivia.
For one thing, I’m lying to my best friend. When I got back from my appointment with Dr Baker yesterday, I told Lou-Anne that my pregnancy test results were ‘inconclusive’, and that I have to go back for a blood test in a few days. In fact my appointment at The Choice Foundation is in a few days. After that, I’m planning to tell her that I’m not pregnant, which by then will probably be the truth.
I didn’t make a clear-cut decision to lie to Lou-Anne. It just happened. She confronted me as soon as I walked into the dorm.
‘So?’
Her dark eyes were on me, burning with compassion. I couldn’t tell her that I was booked in for an abortion. I just couldn’t, not when her own sister delivered twins at fifteen. So I lied my arse off. I didn’t feel very good about it and I still don’t.
Now I’m opposite Olivia, not really caring about what happened in her past or whether she says anything. I examine my fingernails, and then the knots in the smooth surface of the mahogany boardroom table. We’ve been here for about ten minutes.
At the other end of the table, Olivia has begun to fidget. Her legs are swinging under the table. She’s tapping her fingernails, one hand after another, like she’s playing a scale on a piano. Eventually, her mouth opens.
‘Is this some kind of reverse psychology?’
‘What?’
‘This silence. Are you trying to trick me into talking?’
‘No,’ I say simply. ‘I don’t care whether you talk or not. Actually, I don’t care what you do.’
‘I know it’s a trick.’
‘It’s not a trick.’
‘It’s a trick.’
‘Okay, it’s a trick. How’s your ponytail? Has it lost weight? It seems thinner than the last time I saw it.’
Olivia looks bowled over. The sneer leaves her face for a good two seconds while she considers her next move.
‘You’re supposed to be my mentor,’ she observes. ‘You’re not doing a very good job. You’re a bully.’
‘You’re the bully and you got what you deserved.’
‘Maybe I’ll tell Self-Raising Flour that you’re not doing a good job. Maybe I’ll tell her a few other things, too.’
I don’t respond and it drives Olivia crazy.
I shrug. I look at my watch. There’s another long pause.
‘How’s your boyfriend?’ she asks.
The question makes me physically lurch. I’ve hardly thought about Nathan since I found out I was pregnant. Now I don’t know how to think about him. I’m not even sure I want to see him again.
For Olivia’s benefit, I sit up straight and fix my face.
‘Fine.’
‘When’s your next date?’
I lurch again. I straighten up again.
‘Um . . . Easter show.’
‘Which day?’
‘That’s really none of your business.’
I look at my watch. Only twelve minutes to go. Another minute or so passes in silence.
‘Are you going home for Easter?’ she asks me.
I nod. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m going to a Sport & Rec. camp and the rest of the time I’ll stay at school.’ Olivia looks vulnerable for a moment before asking, ‘Do you live with your parents or foster parents?’
‘My parents.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Yeah. You?’ This is the most pleasant she’s ever been towards me, and even though I don’t feel like talking to her, I should take advantage.
‘I’ve been in foster care my whole life,’ she says in a quavering voice.
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Depends on who your parents are, I suppose.’
I press her. ‘What happened to your parents?’
Her eyes glisten with tears. I can see them watering from the other end of the table. Her face twists suddenly and savagely.
‘I knew this was a trick.’
‘Fine. Have it your way. I don’t want to talk to you, either. You’re a poisonous little serpent.’
We both cross our arms and turn side-on.
When the thirty minutes is up, I let her leave first and wait a few minutes before walking out.
Reverend Ferguson intercepts me in the hallway.
‘Shauna! Can I keep you for a moment?’
‘Look, I’m trying, Reverend Ferguson, but she’s craz—’
‘She’s making progress,’ Reverend Ferguson says firmly. ‘She’s teamed up with Keli Street-Hughes and some of the other girls in that room to raise money for charity during the holidays. You’ve heard of Wish Upon A Star? It’s a foundation that grants the wishes of kids with cancer.’
‘Okay. Good.’
‘Did she tell you about it?’
‘She mentioned she was hanging around over Easter.’
‘I think it’s so wonderful that she’s participating in the community life of the school. Don’t you?’
‘It’s great.’
Reverend Ferguson grabs my upper arm enthusiastically.
‘You’re doing fantastic work with this young lady, Shauna.’
I have to force my face into a serious expression.
‘Well, thanks, Reverend Ferguson.’
Somehow I know that Olivia’s fundraising efforts will be doomed to failure, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I’m supposed to be her mentor after all, albeit not a very good one.
It’s lunchtime and I’ve promised to meet Jenny in the common room. She’s already sitting at a table looking at her laptop when I arrive, deeply absorbed by whatever she’s reading. I sit next to her. There are flight details on the screen.
‘We’ve got to move quickly on these plane tickets to Paris,’ she says in panicky excitement. ‘If we leave it much longer it might cost a thousand more per ticket return.’
‘Can we wait for a few more weeks?’ I ask, wondering how I’m going to ask my cousin for even more dough. He’s already sent me five crisp hundred dollars. He was more than happy to front it, but how can I ask for more money for the same thing?
Jenny figures out that the root of all evil is on my mind.
‘If you haven’t got the cash, I can buy your ticket now and you can pay me back later.’
In my woozy, lethargic, guilt-ridden state, I find it hard to summon any eagerness, even in support of Jenny’s.
‘Just give me a few more weeks’ is all I can think to say.
‘I’m going to buy my tickets tomorrow night, after we get back from the revision course at St Augustine’s.’ She turns to me and grins, so single-minded that my lack of enthusiasm doesn’t seem to make an impact on her. ‘Let’s hope Stephen hasn’t got rowing practice tomorrow!’
The HSC University Pathways and St Augustine’s and Stephen Agliozzo’s back muscles seem a million miles away now. I realise that I can’t even go to the course tomorrow afternoon because I have an abortion to attend. I hadn’t even thought about the extra schoolwork when Dr Baker and I were organising the appointment.
‘I won’t be there tomorrow,’ I tell Jenny. ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.’
‘What for?’
The lie should come out easily. It came out easily enough with Lou-Anne. But there is something in the frankness and intelligence of Jenny’s eyes that makes my lying tongue seize up. I start stammering.
‘Well . . . I’ve been sick lately and . . .’
‘I know.’
‘And I think . . . I’m pretty sure . . . it’s morning sickness.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ whispers Jenny, her eyes calculating but never leaving mine.
‘Yeah.’
‘That night with Nathan O’Brien?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh, Shauna.’ She sounds so disappointed for me. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Where do you think I’m going tomorrow afternoon?’
‘I’ll go with you.’
‘No, you should go to the class at St Augustine’s. Take notes for me.’
‘You’re not planning to go by yourself, are you?’
I nod.
‘I think I should come with you. How can you afford an abortion anyway? Don’t they cost a bomb?’
‘I’ve borrowed some money from my cousin.’
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘I wasn’t planning to tell you. I just wanted to get it over and done with without anyone knowing.’
Jenny looks cheated, almost outraged, that I’ve kept this from her.
‘You have to let me come with you, Shauna.’
‘I’d rather just do it on my own. Please don’t tell anyone.’
Jenny sighs deeply. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ She turns back to the computer. ‘Should we check out accommodation?’
‘Accommodation?’
‘In Paris, Shauna.’
‘Oh, sure.’
Jenny gives me a sidelong look. I shrug. I can’t wait to feel normal again.
Later that afternoon, just when my energy levels and general outlook on life have hit an all-time low, who should come knocking on my dorm room door but Olivia Pike? This is the first time she has ever solicited my company, and her timing couldn’t be worse.
‘Come in!’ shrieks Lou-Anne. I do a huge double take when Olivia shuffles into the room with her arms folded across her chest.
‘What is it?’ grunts Lou-Anne.
‘I’m sorry about the other night,’ says Olivia at a volume barely audible to the human ear.
‘So you should be. And if I ever catch you in this room again, I’ll finish the haircut that Shauna started.’ I have never heard Lou-Anne sound so mean. She was obviously very attached to that moustache.
Olivia turns on her heel.
‘Olivia. Wait.’ I prop myself up on my pillows.
‘I won’t bother you if you’re busy,’ she says, turning side-on.
I give Lou-Anne a ‘beat it’ look and she rolls her eyes.
‘Fine, I’ll go to prep. hall.’
She stalks off, muttering under her breath, leaving Olivia and me alone in the room.
‘What is it?’ I really don’t have an ounce of patience left in my body. I’m not feeling well and I’m dreading what’s in store for me in the coming days. What do I have to give to anyone else, and of all people, Olivia?
‘You said that if I ever wanted to talk . . .’
‘You’ve been refusing to talk to me for weeks.’
She’s still turned sidelong, not looking at me, slouched over her folded arms.
‘But we talked today.’
‘Yep.’
‘About my foster family.’
She turns to face me. Without an invitation she walks to my bed and sits on the end. I’m so shocked by this voluntary closeness that I scoot away up my bed and pull my knees to my chest.
‘Don’t you ever miss your family?’ she asks.
‘Sort of. Sometimes they drive me crazy. Sometimes I’m so happy to see them that I just want to stay in Barraba and never come back to Sydney. You?’
‘I miss my foster parents, Auntie Marilyn and Uncle Frank. They’re the nicest foster parents I’ve ever had. Their kids are grown up, so I’m like their only child.’
Her voice is trembling and it’s obvious that her guard is down. I’m not expecting any barbs, but you never know with Olivia. She’s a storm cloud on a summer’s day.
‘Have you had foster parents who weren’t nice?’
She nods. Then she turns her head away and I see the tears shining in her eyes.
‘Sure have.’
‘Maybe we could talk about it sometime, Olivia, but I’m really sick at the moment. And I’ve got a huge day tomorrow. Could we take a raincheck on this conversation?’
Olivia blinks away her tears. She’s a tough little thing.
‘Sure.’
I feel like a moll for sending her packing, but what use am I to her at the moment? Soon enough I’ll feel normal and able to talk. Soon enough the problem will be solved.
It takes hours to get to sleep that night. Though my mind’s more or less made up about the abortion, it keeps ticking over and over. This is the natural outcome for pregnant teenagers, I tell myself. This is the responsible thing to do. It’s what’s expected. I’m not the first girl to terminate a pregnancy and I won’t be the last. (Didn’t I hear a statistic once that one in three Australian women has had an abortion?) No one ever has to know about it, if that’s the way I want it. I might forget about it in six months, and then it will be as if it never happened. Only Jenny will know.
To take the other option would be so hard. I’d have to leave school. I’d have to scrap all my plans and expectations. I wouldn’t be able to finish Introduction to Legal Systems and Methods.
Most importantly, I wouldn’t go to Paris with Jenny. I’d be stuck in Barraba with my disappointed parents. Nathan would dump me, or maybe I’d dump him. In short, I’d lose everything I’ve got. I’d be destroyed.
Destroy or be destroyed. Those are the options, it seems. And I feel like I’ve come too far to let myself be destroyed. This time tomorrow, the inconvenient tissue will be gone and I’ll have my life back.
Why, then, do I wish there was someone – someone other than silly Lou-Anne – who loved me enough to bloody well talk me out of it?