part0016

MY HEART ALMOST EXPLODED through my ribcage when Felix arrived for class. He’d had a total of three days off, and never replied to my text. I exuded an air of nonchalance as he plonked his satchel on the desk and rummaged inside, though my heart rate had gone through the roof.

There were remnants of a graze on the top of his forehead and a plaster on his thumb. And his glasses were still taped up, but with black duct tape.

He ceremoniously placed a Mooki’s cupcake box on the desk. “It’s a new flavor,” is all he said, pushing it across to me. “Pecan and maple made with rice flour.”

“And hello to you, too,” I said, my eyes casting a sideways glance at the exquisitely decorated cake. A solid chocolate maple leaf was in the center, surrounded by finely chopped pecans and drizzled with maple syrup. The smell alone was intoxicating.

Felix blushed. “Yeah, hi.” He avoided eye contact. “Just to say thanks for helping the other day.”

“So, you did get home safely?” I’d resurrected my prep school accent.

“Yeah, I did,” he said apologetically. He finally looked at me. “I’ve been really busy.”

“Did you get your bike fixed?”

“I had to get a new one. ”

I lowered my voice, aware he was sensitive to anyone knowing he had a job, “Are you back at work?” He nodded. “Is your knee okay?” I looked down at his leg. He had bright orange hi-tops on today, another new pair. You’d think he’d spend money on fixing his glasses and not new footwear.

He nodded again. “I’m fine.”

“I was worried you had a concussion.”

He laughed. “Well, I had a massive headache for a couple of-”

“Did you go to the doctor?” I interrupted. He shook his head. “You really should’ve gotten checked by a doctor.”

“Are you going to eat the cupcake or not?” Felix brought my attention back to the Mooki’s box. Maybe his family didn’t have health insurance, maybe they couldn’t afford a doctor’s visit. Maybe he was working double shifts to pay for his new bike.

I felt indulgent as I hid behind the screen and stuffed cake into my mouth, the sticky syrup dripping on to my chin. It wasn’t my finest moment in dining etiquette but my tastebuds demanded more, they demanded all of it.

“That might be the best cupcake ever,” I said, with a full mouth. Another indiscretion.

“What did ya say?” Felix grinned. It was the first sign of a smile, and it was nice to see him relax.

“I said that Mooki’s has outdone itself.” I pulled out a tissue from my bag, mindful that Mr Hanley had stood and was about to prowl around the classroom. I wiped my mouth, while clicking on my screen to open the file I should have been working on .

“How are you Felix?” Mr Hanley hovered over us. “We’re working on grid patterns today. Ask Trieste where to find the file. Trieste, can you assist Mr Northcott?”

“Yes Mr Hanley,” I mumbled, tissue held over my lips, sure there were telltale crumbs on my face. Though I don’t know why I was hiding — the empty Mooki’s box was on full display.

“Couldn’t wait for lunch break, Miss Norton?” Mr Hanley asked with a smirk. He turned to the class, “No crumbs on the keyboards, please,” making me shrink down in my seat.

“It’s all your fault,” I hissed. Felix chuckled, his eyes brightening, his dimples deepening. I don’t know why he made my heart flutter and flip, a boy with taped up glasses and expensive shoes. It was ridiculous.

After spending some time experimenting with different grids, Mr Hanley announced we would be cracking on with the Charity Project Design. Unbeknown to me, Briar had already requested that her, Aida, Felix and me would be one group. Felix and I moved our seats to the girls’ desk to go through the brief. It was to be a fundraiser and we were to choose the charity, design the posters and media promotion and hopefully raise money or awareness for that cause. It could make a big impact on our college applications, Mr Hanley said. He encouraged us to think outside the square.

“We could do a bake sale,” Aida said. “We could get everyone in the class to bake something.”

“That’s boring,” Felix said, though I suspected his lack of enthusiasm was because he dealt with cupcakes everyday in his job.

“I’m a terrible baker,” Briar said, and I agreed that I was, too.

“Really?” Felix asked me, “you can’t bake? ”

I don’t know why he was targeting me and not Briar. “Well, I can technically bake,” I clarified, “but I don’t. There’s only me and mom and we’d both get fat.”

Felix turned away as if that was a discussion he wanted no part of.

Mr Hanley interrupted the class. “I hear a lot of talking, but no action. Brainstorm, people. You need to find your charity. Who do you want to help? Then find your idea, like what are you going to do, and how are you going to do it? Write it all down.”

Aida grabbed a marker. “Let’s write down a list of possible charities,” she said, “how about Animal Shelters?”

We all nodded in agreement.

“Coastal Clean Up?” Briar suggested.

“Kids Cancer,” Felix added.

My mind had drawn a blank and the others kept calling out — LGBTQ Support, Mental Health Awareness, Save Our Oceans, Guide Dog Puppies. I randomly thought of Dominique, and then Malachi and said, “Burns survivors.”

Aida scribbled it down. Malachi faced a life time of recovery, all burns survivors did. Even after being released from hospital, they faced extensive rehab and ongoing surgery. And Malachi faced that without a family to support him. His father was in prison, his mother was dead, his grandfather lived in a run-down trailer. It hadn’t been easy for Dominique to reveal those things about him. I doubt that I would have had the courage to.

The list continued onto a second page. There was no shortage of charities that came to mind, all of them worthy, but it felt like we were just gathering names .

“Hey, how about we think of something relevant to us all?” I said. “I know it’s ambitious of us to want to save the Pacific Ocean, but let’s choose something that affects us here. At school. Something real.”

Aida chewed on the tip of the pen. “Something to benefit our community?”

“Yes,” I said, “that maybe can help people we know.”

“Do you know a burns survivor?” Briar asked me.

“Well, yes,” I said, “I do.” But I doubted that Malachi would want to be the benefactor of a charity event. Malachi was a burns survivor, but more than that, Dominique had told us how he’d come from an impoverished background. And he was one of many.

Even though our neighborhood was affluent, not everyone in our area shared that good fortune. There were kids who didn’t have lunch money and couldn’t afford school trips and new clothes. Poverty was all around us, in our very school.

Why, one boy was sitting right next to me, in his hand-me-down pants and taped up glasses.

I knew I had to be very careful with my wording.

“It would be great to help a burns survivor, but that would be only one person,” I said. “Maybe if we thought of a way to help a lot of people.”

“That sounds good,” Felix said, unaware that he was my target group. But how did I say it?

“What about a Mental Health charity?” Briar said, “There are a lot of kids in school who have issues. ”

“We also have to think of a way to tie a fundraiser in, too,” Aida reminded us. “We’d want to involve as many kids as we can.”

“The more kids involved, the more money we’d make,” Briar said.

“You don’t need to be a genius to figure that out,” Felix said, sounding bored as he pulled his phone out of one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

Inspiration came in that instant, like a ray of light beaming down on me from the heavens. “That’s it! That’s brilliant!”

“What is?” Felix asked deadpan, while Briar and Aida stared wide-eyed.

My brain was processing at a million miles an hour, or a million brain cells a second. “Genius!” I exclaimed, “Genius. But not genius smart. Genius with a J, for jeans.” The others looked at me in a state of confusion. I hadn’t made any sense, but I’d recalled a time a little while ago when Dominique had asked me how many pairs of jeans I had. At the time it was about thirty, but I’d bought another couple of pairs since then. I thought she’d wanted to borrow a pair, but she had randomly texted back that between us five girls we owned 78 pairs of jeans. That was it. That was the text. She never mentioned it again, but for some reason I had never forgotten it.

I didn’t need thirty pairs of jeans. I would never wear them all. In fact, I had bought a pair online the week before because they looked cool, but when they arrived I didn’t like them at all. I wouldn’t return them because I couldn’t be bothered. They’d sit in my closet, with the tags still on.

“What if...” I hesitated, hoping I wouldn’t sound pathetic. “What if we did something where we brought in our jeans that we no longer wear and we donated them to a charity for kids who don’t have enough clothes, or can’t afford clothes? I know me and my friends own way too many pairs.”

“How would that work?” Briar asked, “how would we make money?”

My enthusiasm was killed off — she was right, that wasn’t going to bring in any funds.

“Actually, the project doesn’t have to make funds,” Aida said, “it can be for a charity. We could bring in clothes and donate them to the appropriate charity.”

“Okay,” Briar said, “so we get everyone to bring in their old clothes, then we gather them up and take them to a charity? Is that it?” Her sarcasm bit. Saying it like that, made it sound totally lame. “People would donate their mothball-infested clothing, which nobody would want anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I murmured, conceding my erroneous suggestion.

“Wait,” Felix piped up. “What if we went with the original idea of jeans? Not all clothes. Just jeans.” It seemed weird that he would go for it — I’d never seen him wear a pair of jeans.

“And not donate them to a charity, but do a swap for the kids in school,” Aida said. “Like we collect the jeans and have a-”she looked at me and smiled, “a Jeanius Sale, where kids can donate money to buy a pair? Would that work?”

“Yes!” I cried, my enthusiasm returning. “Sort of like a clothes swap. They’d have to be in good condition, and any that didn’t sell we could pass on to kids in need.”

“I guess it’s a good way to promote recycling and reusing,” Briar conceded. “Way too much clothing ends up being dumped in landfills. Perhaps we can promote it as being an environmental issue. ”

“That’s a great idea,” Felix said, his energy levels suddenly rising at Briar’s proposal. “That way we’d take the focus away from actually helping those who may be underprivileged and we shift it to helping the planet. That way everyone contributes and everyone benefits.”

Whaaaattttt? What had I missed? Now Felix was spearheading the project so that people like himself, who were the target group, wouldn’t realize they were?

Was that a paradox, or was it genius?

We were all given tasks to research so that at the next lesson we’d be able to move forward. I was excited, especially because I’d been given the job of sketching out an initial design. My head was jammed pack with ideas, and the thought of clearing out my closet, instead of being a chore, was now invigorating. I couldn’t wait to get the girls on board.

The bell for lunch break rang and I packed up my bag. I took my time, hoping that Felix and Briar would stop their talking and I could thank him again for the cupcake. As the classroom emptied, and I was waiting for my computer to log out, Dominique came bustling in, smiling widely, as she always seemed to do these days. The joys of being in love, I guessed.

“Hey, Tree, I’m glad I caught you, I have a favor to ask,” she said.

“Anything for you,” I said.

She stepped around Briar and Felix who were in an intense discussion about who-knows-what, and said in a low voice, “I need you to design one of your amazing flyers.”

She told me how Damon was coming back next weekend for Thanksgiving break, and he and Ella planned to do some busking down at the promenade. She wanted to hand out flyers to the senior class and drum up some interest.

“But we can’t tell her yet. Or she’ll have a panic attack.” Domi laughed and unfolded a piece of paper. “These are the dates and times they’re playing. Do you think you can design something?”

“Yeah, of course I can,” I said, forgetting I had a charity project that needed work.

“That’ll be great,” she said.

I opened my notepad and made notes. “What are they calling themselves?”

“McCaughley and Strauss.”

I frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m not sold on it either, “ Domi said, “but until they think of something else, that’s it. At least people will know who they are.”

“Why don’t we put a photo of them on it? Damon’s picture is bound to get plenty of interest.” Damon was cute, very cute, even I had to admit that.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d like that.” Domi giggled. “And I know Ella would hate it!”

I nodded in agreement, Ella would be perpetually embarrassed with her photo plastered on a bunch of flyers.

“How about a silhouette?” Felix chimed in from behind us. Domi and I turned, Briar had disappeared and he was leaning against her desk, clearly listening in on our conversation. He cleared his throat. “A silhouette or a blur filter, so you know it’s them, but it’s not too in-your-face.”

Domi looked at him dubiously. “Uh yeah, thanks for that,” she said, gathering up my notepad and pen and guiding me to the door.

“What’s the rush?’ I asked Domi, as she pushed me along the hallways.

“I thought you couldn’t stand Felix,” she said in a hushed tone, ”I was trying to save you.”

“He’s not so bad,” I said.

Domi looked up in a kind of horror. “Really? I thought you said he was a jerk.”

Yeah, he was. Sort of. But he was a jerk who did something to me, though I was hardly going to say that. “Well, we did get an A+ on our assignment, so I guess he’s not that bad,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing.

Domi frowned. “Do you like him?”

“No!” I shouted. ”No! Definitely not! Are you crazy?” Domi ground me to a halt. “I was forced to sit next to him. Forced to be his project partner. “ Domi smiled in an irritatingly smug way. “And now I have to be in another group assignment with him.” I pulled her along, so I didn’t have to see the silly smirk on her face. “We’re doing a charity project together. I didn’t have a choice. We just get put into groups. We’re doing something with jeans. You need to help me clean out my closet.” I rambled all the way to the lunch room, not allowing her a chance to say another word.

THE WEEK LEADING UP to Thanksgiving was frantic. Mom was in superwoman mode, organizing dozens of Thanksgiving houses. Lately, the decorating side of her business had skyrocketed. People were wanting their houses dressed for one-off events and parties. These clients were prepared to pay very well for her services. Ever since the Halloween Party in Cedar Drive interest had tripled. She attributed it to my black plants. The Cedar Drive house were having a Thanksgiving party on the Thursday night, and as I had the day off of school, Mom was keen for me to help again. Mom hoped that if it was a success, they might offer her a contract. It seemed a celebrity chef lived there and was holding weekly parties.

Mom had concocted an orange and gold color theme and we had sprayed a bunch of artificial plants, pumpkins and leaves. The center piece was an orange tree, and it had been my idea to spray the plant gold, but keep the oranges orange. It looked amazing and Mom had been thrilled.

We had a limited time to set up — the clients wanted us in and out within two hours. Mom didn’t like having such a tight schedule, but she had us organized with military precision. The housekeeper, Marta, was there to greet us, and she, too was in a fluster.

“So much to do today,” she bemoaned, a feather duster in one hand, a broom in the other. “So untidy today, so much to do,” she muttered, ushering us through, sweeping a pair of orange shoes out of the way, “Shoes, shoes, everywhere.’ They looked exactly like the type Felix Northcott wore. It again made me wonder how he could afford the type of shoes that a celebrity chef wore, yet not get his glasses repaired.

I’d slipped an envelope into Felix’s bag the last day of school. He saw me and looked puzzled .

“It’s just a Thanksgiving Day card,” I said, not wanting to make a big deal about it. “To say thanks for all the cupcakes you give me.”

He’d shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s nothing really,” I said, laughing it off. “My Mom is always saying, Pay it forward. So I am. Happy Thanksgiving!” And I’d dashed off before he could protest. Besides the card, I’d put in a voucher at a local optician’s. I was sick of seeing him in his taped up, crooked glasses.

I used Mom’s camera to take a bunch of photos so she could upload them to her website. Marta came bustling through, praising our display, but telling us our time was up. She herded us out as the garage doors closed on the silver Maserati.

“Ooh, a second earlier and we might have seen someone famous,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Mom said. “If the client wants privacy, you respect it. As long as they pay the bills, that’s what matters.”

“You’ve never met them?” I asked. It seemed a weird way to do business.

“I’ve spoken to a woman, but she just emails me.”

“How did you get her as a client? Word of mouth?”

“No. She just rang one day. Completely random. But it’s good. Since the black cactus, business has boomed.”

“Where’s my cut?” I joked. “That was my idea, remember.”

Mom laughed. “I pay you well enough.”

“You pay me minimum wage,’ I cried.

“Welcome to the real world, darling.” Mom grinned. I wasn’t concerned over the money. I didn’t need any. Everything I needed, everything I wanted, was provided for. What I did earn, I would save. How different life must be for Felix, working all those hours to help with his family’s finances and pay for his new bike. And still he didn’t have enough to get his glasses fixed.