The highlight of the week is PE being rained out. Despite Ms Chan’s ongoing argument with Pruney that running around in the mud is character building, ever since Belinda’s dad threatened to sue the school after Belinda came down with a cold because Ms Chan made her do laps of the oval when it was drizzling, we’ve been allowed to do “free study” in the library if it rains.
“Get out some homework or get a book off the shelves and bring it back to the study area,” orders Ms Chan. “I don’t want to see any dillydallying in the aisles or hear a sound that is not directly related to your study. Is that clear?”
Belinda and Bethanee race to secure the table furthest from where Chan has stationed herself. I go to the stagecraft aisle and grab the lighting book. It seems a much more attractive prospect than either homework or P&P. When I sit down Bethanee is reading out horoscopes from the magazine hidden inside her folder.
“Bella – Gemini – ‘This month is a standout for you socially and romantically’” – cue squealing from Brianna and Kate – “‘Be ready to receive more than your share of attention from the opposite sex, especially after the full moon on the fourteenth, when sexy Leo enters your love zone.’ Ohmygod! The fourteenth! That’s Saturday!”
“Right in time for the party,” says Kate. Belinda looks smug.
“What does mine say?” asks Brianna.
“You’re Aquarius, right? ‘Luck shines in your house of relationships, with many pleasurable outings on the cards. Make sure you get out and about this month: you may meet Mr Right at a party.’”
“It’s a sign!” says Kate.
Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I don’t believe in horoscopes, but I find it very hard to believe that the movement of rocks in the sky can control what happens in our lives, and even harder to believe that I am somehow the same as roughly every twelfth person walking the earth. But I keep my scepticism to myself, because people like Brianna take their horoscope very seriously.
“What about Freia’s?” asks Kate after Bethanee’s read out everyone else’s.
“Freia?” says Bethanee, as if she’s forgotten I exist. “Oh yeah. What are you again?”
“Virgo,” I mutter.
“Of course, the virgin! How could I forget? ‘This is a month to consolidate your debts and start a savings plan. Canny Virgos will find thrifty ways to feather their nests.’ Would you say you’re a canny virgin, Fray?”
I feel myself blush. Luckily, I’m saved from having to think of a witty comeback when Ms Chan thumps her book (Saddle Up: Equine training and maintenance) on the desk.
“Unless you want to spend the afternoon cleaning grass stains off the hockey bibs, I suggest you put that away and get on with some work.”
I hold my book in front of my face to hide my smile.
“It looks like you’re really getting into this lighting gig,” says Belinda on the way to rehearsal. “I mean, studying up and everything.”
Since Belinda never speaks to me unless she has something specific in mind, her friendly banter makes me suspicious. “I figure I may as well make the best of it,” I say cautiously.
“From what I hear, if you want to impress Skeletor, you’d do much better bringing a bong to rehearsal than playing with the lights.”
“Thanks for the tip, but I’m not trying to impress him. Anyway, I don’t think he’s a stoner – at least not at school.”
“Then how come he got expelled from Greyland for having dope in his locker?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I never reveal my sources. But you want to be careful, Freia. A girl could get a bad reputation hanging around a guy like him.”
Daniel is on the balcony when I get there, studying the diagram I started on Monday.
“Hey, Freia,” he says, as if we’re old mates. “Did you do this? It’s pretty good.”
“Nice of you to show up,” I say, still agitated by the conversation with Belinda.
“Yeah, sorry about Monday. I heard you coped without me though.”
“Once I figured out how to turn the bloody thing on. I think you’d better teach me how to use the desk properly if you’re planning to tell any more teachers where to go. I can only fudge it for so long with Dazzle.”
“Dazzle.” He laughs. “I like it. But how did you hear about Mr Watts?”
“I never reveal my sources,” I say. Then, realising I’ve just quoted Belinda, I hastily add, “My little brother told me. He hears everything.”
“Ah, Ziggy Lockhart, a junior cog in the Parkville rumour mill. Honestly, I don’t know why girls have such a bad rep for gossiping, the guys here are twice as bad.”
“But it’s true, right?”
“About Mr Watts? Yeah, that one’s true.”
I think about what Belinda said about Daniel’s reputation rubbing off on me. At the time it seemed ridiculous. I mean, who’s going to believe that I, Freia Lockhart, earnest if not brilliant student, social recluse, eternal virgin and offspring of two elderly academics, am a psycho drug fiend? But after what Daniel said it doesn’t seem so impossible after all.
I’m tempted to ask him about the other rumours, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. “What’s a fader?” I ask instead.
By the end of rehearsal I’m fading and cross-fading like a pro (it turns out that’s what the slidey things are for) and I know which buttons to hit to change from the street scene to the drawing room. I’ve even used the follow spot and only lost track of Belinda with it once.
“Jolly good show with the lighting!” says Mr Wilson as we’re leaving the hall. “I told Darryl we’ve got a crack team here!”
“Thanks, Mr W,” says Daniel, blushing a little and grinning.
“So Fray,” says Dad at dinner (nutloaf with a tahini sauce – I swear one morning I’ll wake up and find I’ve turned into a legume), “are you looking forward to the party on Saturday?”
“Yeah, Freia,” says Ziggy, “are you and Skeletor going to hook up?”
“What?” Dad looks worried.
“Who’s Skelter?” asks Mum.
“What’s hooking up?” asks Dad.
“His name is Daniel,” I say, aiming for Ziggy’s shin under the table and missing. “He’s the boy directing the lighting, that’s all.”
“And why do they call him Skelter?”
“Skel-e-tor,” corrects Ziggy. “It’s because he’s really tall and built like a toothpick – you know, like the bad guy in Masters of the Universe. The only part of his body that would stick out from behind a lamppost is his lips – they’re huge!” He puckers and makes kissing noises at me.
Dad turns to me. “Is he nice?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know the guy!” I give Ziggy the death stare and will him not to say any more.
“Word around school is that he’s a druggie,” he says with a smug smile.
“Freia, is this true?” Mum sounds panicked. “Has he offered you drugs? I hope you’d talk to us if anything like that happened.”
“What do you know about this boy?” asks Dad.
“Nothing! He’s tall, he’s skinny, he’s quiet and he seems to get a lot of detentions, that’s about it.”
“Well, those sound like drug-taking signs to me,” says Mum, getting up from the table, and I know she’s gone to consult one of her “Is Your Child on Drugs?” books.
Dad looks concerned. “Freia, we trust you to make good decisions about things like drugs and what kind of people you choose as friends … but maybe this Daniel’s not really–”
“For God’s sake, we’re not friends; we’re barely even acquaintances. Daniel Taylor-Fairchild has about as much interest in being my friend as Ziggy has in becoming a ballet dancer, so I really don’t think you need to worry about him wanting to share his precious drugs with me.”
I take my plate to the kitchen and scrape the barely touched food into the bin before running to my room and slamming the door behind me to indicate that the conversation is over.
When I get home from school the next day there’s a pamphlet on my bed. It’s titled “Going to Pot: How to tell if your teenager’s using cannabis”. There’s a Post-it note stuck on the bottom.
Your friend might need help.
Love Mum
“He’s not my friend,” I say out loud. I bet Daniel’d spew if he knew anyone thought that he’d be friends with someone like me. And he’d spew chunks if he knew that my mum was planning to rescue him from the perils of drug use. The thought of watching Daniel squirm while Mum gives him one of her you-don’t-need-drugs/new-clothes/a-boyfriend/an-iPod-to-be-happy speeches almost makes me smile.
I throw the pamphlet into the paper recycling box next to my desk, making sure it lands face up so that Mum will see it next time she comes in.
On Friday Nicky and I celebrate my finishing Part One of P&P with a visit to Switch. Her hair is fire engine red and so is her lipstick.
“Is it too much?” she asks as we attack a wedge of chocolate cheesecake.
“No way, it looks fantastic.”
“I hope my date agrees.”
“You’re going on a date?” Nicky’s been in a self-inflicted date-free zone since March when her then boyfriend became the third guy in a row to dump her for a blonde.
“Sort of. We’ve known each other for a while as friends, so it’s not a date-date. It’s just that tonight will be the first time we’ve been out alone.”
“You mean you still get nervous about being alone with guys?”
“Of course I do – when they’re guys I like and want them to like me back. Why, is someone making you nervous in that way?”
“As if … but there’s a party at Belinda’s tomorrow and I’m pretty nervy about the thought of even talking to a boy, let alone being alone with one.”
“Ah yes, your mum did mention you were going to a party. I think it’s a very big step for her to let you go.”
“Yeah, well I wish she hadn’t taken it. It’s going to be a crap night, I know it. No one will talk to me, I’ll look like a tragic dag and worst of all Mum and Dad are coming to pick me up at eleven, before anyone else leaves … in the Volvo … with their clogs on!”
Nicky laughs as if my looming humiliation is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Well, at least with that attitude, it can only turn out better than you expect,” she says. “Remember all the parties you’ve whinged about not being allowed to go to? Now’s your chance. Go. Have fun. I bet it won’t be nearly as gut-wrenching as you think.”
Easy for you to say, I think, as Nicky turns her attention to the Bennets and their quest to secure husbands.