For once I want to make it to school early on a Monday. Not only did I do something this weekend, but I did what everyone else did, so I might actually be able to join in the locker room conversation.
As usual, everyone is gathered around Belinda, listening with rapt attention.
“… so he offers to pay for it, and Mum goes, ‘You can’t put a price on family history’, and walks off, like, totally dignified. He tried to laugh it off, but he was shattered on the inside, you could tell.”
“Wasted more like it,” says Bethanee. “Jamie reckons he’d had half a sixpack before he’d even arrived.”
Kate turns to me. “You were with Michael most of the night, weren’t you, Fray? Was he that drunk?”
I think back to when Michael and I were chatting. He didn’t seem drunk then, not till the very end when he got all weird about me leaving early. “He was … cheerful, I guess,” I answer carefully, “but I wouldn’t have said he was that bad when we were talking.” I emphasise the word “talking”.
“I think he downed a few more after Freia left. He was pretty mad at Dan–, I mean, Skeletor for turning up,” says Brianna.
“And what was with that?” asks Belinda, and immediately everyone looks at me. “Did you know he was coming?”
“No way.” I look her straight in the eye and remind myself that it is pretty much the truth, since I honestly didn’t believe he would turn up, even after he kind of told me that he was planning to.
“He must’ve got the message that he wasn’t welcome pretty fast,” says Brianna, “’cos he left after about five minutes.”
“Well, if I hadn’t been busy with Luke, I would’ve told him where he could go,” says Belinda. “What a nerve.”
I feel like I should say something in Daniel’s defence. That I should point out that Belinda did invite the entire cast and crew, of which he is a part. That he simply came and went, without making any trouble or upsetting anyone except Michael Harrigan, whose bad behaviour Daniel’s now being blamed for. But I say nothing when the others murmur their agreement. I just look at the ground until the bell goes.
Bethanee corners me in the locker room at lunchtime.
“I hear you and Kate’s skirt made quite an impression on Michael Harrigan on Saturday night,” she says.
“Michael and I were talking, if that’s what you mean. But that’s all.”
“Whatever. I just don’t think it’s very cool of you to move in on him when you knew that Kate liked him, especially when you were wearing her skirt.”
“I didn’t move in on Michael. I went over to talk to Kate and she happened to be talking to him. Anyway, Kate said she didn’t mind and that she had a better time with Alex.”
“Yeah, well, Kate would say that, because she’s a really nice person, but next time you want to make your skinny Dark Lord boyfriend jealous, you should do it with someone your best friend hasn’t got her eye on.”
She exits the locker room with a toss of her blond head before I can protest that a) Daniel is not my boyfriend, and b) I was not trying to make him jealous. I throw my sandwich back into my locker; my stomach is churning and the last thing I feel like is food.
I wonder whether Kate really is upset with me and she’s pretending everything’s okay, or if Bethanee’s just trying to make trouble. Surely Kate would tell me if there was something wrong between us? And what’s with all this stuff about me and Daniel – can’t they tell that I’ve been going out of my way not to be seen with him?
I force myself to join the Bs under Our Tree, mainly because I’m paranoid that if I don’t, they’ll spend the lunch hour bitching about me. At least if I’m there, they have to say it to my face.
But no one says anything. Kate seems fine and chats on and on about how cute Alex would be if he got his hair cut like Zac Efron. I encourage her to talk more about him, looking pointedly at Bethanee as Kate recounts their conversation word for word. Bethanee gives me the death stare and fiddles with her bee pin, angling it towards the sun so that it flickers with light.
Thankfully, we have double English after lunch, so I can distract myself by gazing at Mr Naidoo, who’s looking scrummy in a crisp white shirt and green tie.
“Today we’re going to continue looking at Shakespeare’s sonnets. Open your books to page fifty please.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day …” He reads in a voice like honey that makes the back of my neck tingle.
I float off on a cloud of I-Do lightness, crashing back to earth when he says, “Now it’s your turn. Think about the feeling that you’re trying to capture in those fourteen lines. Make every word count.”
I pick up my pen, trying to come up with a snappy opening. Kate’s already written three lines, no doubt using Alex as her inspiration.
I’m still sitting with my pen poised when I-Do comes round ten minutes later.
“How’s it going, Freia?” he asks, squatting next to my desk so that we’re on eye level.
“I’m having a bit of trouble getting started,” I say. I drape my arms across my folder to hide the fact that I haven’t written anything at all.
“Just try to relax and go with it. Pretend you’re writing to someone you love.”
I’m aware of Belinda and Beth giggling behind me. I try to shut them out and think about how it would feel to be in love. I’ve got no idea. Kate’s sister Emily says it’s like being on a roller-coaster, although I’m not sure that she means that in a good way. And Mum says she loves me and Ziggy so much she’d kill anyone who tried to hurt us, but that doesn’t sound very romantic. I recall how I felt in my dream when Daniel was going to kiss me. Definitely not appropriate to share with my English teacher. Finally, I settle on something vague about a flower, mainly because it rhymes with a lot of words (hour, power, shower, sour …).
A note whizzes over my shoulder. Kate’s name is written on it in Belinda’s handwriting. Kate reads it, laughs and scribbles a response. While she’s busy writing I sneak a look at what’s so funny.
Ode to Mr Naidoo by Freia
Shall I compare thee to Orlando Bloom?
Thou art more sexy and more hairy
When our eyes meet ’cross the English room
You make me feel like I’m a fairy
Oh, Mr N, you make my heart race
When you squat beside my table
And when I see your spunky face
To write my sonnet I’m unable
Kate folds up the note and passes it to Bethanee. Whatever she wrote, it’s not likely to have been in my defence. I look at her out of the corner of my eye, but she’s leaning so far over her folder that I can’t see her face at all. I keep my eyes down and bite hard on my inside lip in the hope that the pain will distract me from the tears that are threatening to fall.
On any other day I might have been able to laugh along with the joke sonnet. It’s no secret that I fancy Mr Naidoo – so does Kate and so does Brianna – but there’s something about the fact that the note was for Kate’s eyes only that makes me feel like she’s in on the bitchiness this time – and that stings. The sick feeling reappears in my stomach. When I feel saliva start to pool in my mouth I know it’s not just a feeling.
I run from the room with my hand over my mouth, praying I can make it to the toilet in time. I get as far as the basins before throwing up. I’m trying to wash it all down the plughole when Stephanie comes in.
“Are you okay? Mr Naidoo asked me to come and check on you.”
“I’m fine.” I wonder whether Mr Naidoo specifically asked Stephanie to come or whether he asked someone to check on me and Stephanie took it upon herself because no one else volunteered. “I think maybe I’ve got a stomach virus or something.”
“You don’t look too good,” she says, passing me some paper towels and indicating that I should wipe my mouth.
“I’ll be all right. I think I’d better stay here for a while though, in case that’s not the end of it.”
“Do you want me to stay with you? I-Do wouldn’t mind.”
“Thanks, but if I’m going to puke again, I’d prefer to be on my own.”
When Stephanie leaves I go into the furthest cubicle, put the toilet seat down and sit with my chin on my knees. Is it possible for one conversation with Michael Harrigan to have ruined my life?
I hear the bathroom door open just as the bell goes.
“Freia?” calls Kate.
“In here.”
“I’ve brought your bag. You okay?”
I open the cubicle door and go to the sink to wash my hands and face.
“We’d better get going if we want to walk with the others to rehearsal. Belinda wants to get there early so she can make Luke practise their waltz again.”
“I’m still not feeling that well,” I tell her. “I think I’d better go home.”
“Okay. In that case I’d better run. I’ll let Ms Burns know.” And she races out the door as if someone had told her that Zac Efron himself is waiting to walk to Parkville Boys High with her. Still, at least she seems to be talking to me.