Belinda isn’t at school the next day. The Bs act concerned but, given Belinda’s record with sick days, no one is really worried. Bethanee pretends to panic at the prospect of filling in as Eliza at the next rehearsal.
“I hardly know any of the lines,” she whines to Brianna at recess, even though we’ve all seen her mouthing along with Belinda in every scene. “What if Wilson makes me do the kissing scene with Luke?”
“I’d be more worried about how you’re going to sing if he makes you wear Belinda’s costumes,” says Brianna. “It’d be pretty embarrassing to bust your corset trying to reach the high notes.”
And although the thought of Bethanee’s public humiliation brings a hint of a smile to my face, I feel a tiny bit sorry for her because now that Brianna’s planted the idea in her head, her terror is real.
Siouxsie asks if I want to go to the darkroom at lunchtime to see Stephanie’s photos from rehearsals. I hesitate for a moment, mainly because there’s no way to get to the art block without going past Our Tree. Then I remember that Bethanee’s roped Kate and Brianna into testing her on Belinda’s lines, so I figure it’s worth the risk.
The red light is on above the darkroom door. Siouxsie knocks twice and we stand back to wait. After a few minutes Stephanie opens the door. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me there. “Come on in. I’ve just hung the latest batch to dry.”
The darkroom is tiny and the air is clouded with acrid chemicals. Black-and-white photos are strung from a washing line hung across the back of the room.
“These are great,” says Siouxsie, inspecting a close-up of Luke Parkes picking at a spot on his chin.
I look closer and see that all the photos have an element like this. There’s one of Bethanee hoicking her undies out of her bum; Kate looking moonily at Steve as he shows off his biceps; Brianna inspecting her split ends and, finally, Belinda collapsed on the stage.
“What do you think?” Stephanie asks me.
“I think they’re fantastic,” I say. “But I’m not sure they’re what Ms Burns has in mind for the program.”
Steph laughs. “Don’t worry – this is the private collection. There are plenty of tame, cheesy shots for official use.”
“I think you should show them,” says Siouxsie. “You could have an exhibition the week the play’s on. A sort of Westside fringe festival.”
“I dunno. I don’t want to embarrass anyone. I just like to catch these moments when everyone’s just being human, instead of trying to impress each other.”
“Isn’t that your mate?” asks Siouxsie, pointing towards one of the photos.
It’s of Daniel at the last rehearsal. He’s slumped so far down in his chair he’s almost in the foetal position. I nod.
“What was up with him?” asks Steph. “Even without seeing his face, you can tell he feels like crap.”
“He had a bad day,” I say. Seeing him like that, almost doubled up in pain, makes my stomach knot. I feel bad that I didn’t make more of an effort to find out what was bugging him. But it’s not like he wanted to tell me, is it?
Hours later I’m still thinking about the photo of Daniel and wondering what could have made him feel so bad.
“Is everything okay?” asks Mum after watching me push my dinner around my plate for fifteen minutes. “I know quinoa’s not your favourite grain, but I thought the fricasseed mushrooms might perk it up.”
“It’s fine, Mum. I’m just not very hungry.”
“I hope this isn’t the start of some stupid diet, Freia. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look and you certainly don’t need to lose any weight.”
She sits back, ready for me to take the bait and for the fighting to begin. I just shake my head.
“Why don’t you have an early night,” suggests Dad, shooting Mum a look across the table. “I’ll clear up for you.”
Ziggy is outraged. “That is so unfair. There’s no way you’d let me off my chores just because I was sooking it up!”
“Zig, drop it,” says Dad in a warning tone. “Go on, Freia, you’re excused.”
I scrape my full plate into the bin. Maybe Dad’s right and I do just need a decent night’s sleep.
I get into bed without even brushing my teeth. The clock says 8.17 pm. I promise myself I’ll force Daniel to tell me what’s wrong at rehearsal tomorrow, even if it means making a complete arse of myself in the process.