Faking Sweet (2 page)

Between 7.40 am and 8.00 am Calypso texted me four times:

Remember bypass step 2 – don't say my name.

But do step 1 – you came from MLG.

Don't forget that line
.

Go to the ledge at lunchtime and text me. I'll be waiting in the loos.

As we reversed out of the garage, number five appeared:
Jess Flynn is evil.

 

‘I hope you're going to turn that phone off,' Dad said. ‘You don't want to start off on the wrong foot.'

My father calls himself a Mr Fix-it. He gets sent all over the country to help companies who are going, as he says, ‘down the gurgler'. Well, if he's such a Mr Fix-it why doesn't he fix his own family? Can't he see his wife is starting to go mad, and that his daughter's just a tad sick of the whole moving caper?

It gets Mum down, moving around all the time. I know because she told me last year on their sixteenth anniversary, after she'd drunk a bottle of white wine on her own.

‘I sshhhought about leaving him,' she slurred. ‘But I've never shhhtayed in one place long enough to make any friendsshh. Shhho where would I go?'

That was about the sum of our lives. Now it didn't matter what city we were in. Most days Mum stayed indoors watching replays of
The Price is Right.

As we arrived at St Clementine's I reminded Dad that we were only in Sydney for a short time. ‘It doesn't really matter what foot I start on here, Dad. I'm only here for a term. You promised.'

‘Hmmm?' He was gazing at the black and gold double gates. ‘It's a mighty school, isn't it? Full of opportunity.'

‘Dad? Hello? Remember you promised we'd be back in Melbourne for term three.'

‘I know, I know,' he answered. ‘But Sydney really is a …'

But I didn't want to have this conversation.

‘Tell someone who cares,' I muttered, opening the car door before he'd even pulled up at the kerb. ‘Bye.'

Jess Flynn was walking through the gates and, more importantly, she was on her own.

I fast paced it behind her, watching her golden ponytail swing with each step.

Do it, Holly! Just go up and give her your lines. Go on, girl, do it for Calypso.

‘Hello?' She turned around. ‘I thought I could hear someone sneaking up behind me.'

‘Hmm?'

Her next sentence was addressed to my forehead. ‘So how did your first day go, Harley?'

‘Holly.'

‘Sorry. Holly, that's right,' she told my forehead. ‘Did you say you're from Melbourne?'

‘I'm um, I'm …' Say it, my forehead growled at her. ‘Well, I used to go to Melbourne Ladies' Gr–.'

It had the right effect. I didn't even have to finish the last word. Her foundation was already cracking around her mouth, and now her perfectly formed face was starting to cave in.

‘Did you say …?' She was holding her head in a funny way like her neck had got sucked into her collar. ‘Melbourne … Ladies' … Grammar?'

‘Yes,' I glared. Got a problem with it? I wanted to yell.

‘Oh. Well. See you around.' And off she went, just like that.

The smile on my face was stuck like glue. One for me; nil for Jess Flynn.

I had freaked the foundation right off that girl's face and I'd only just begun. ‘Jess Flynn is evil. Jess Flynn deserves to fall.' I felt tall as I strode through the quadrangle. Yes, Calypso had chosen me, Holly Hankinson, to carry out her vendetta. ‘Jess Flynn is a liar. Jess Flynn deserves to fall.'

I reached into my pocket for my phone and typed the words:

Step 1 completed. Effect excellent

I clicked ‘send'. Bye bye, Jess!

‘Miss? Miss!' I heard. ‘You! You, the one with the phone.'

I looked up to see a tall lady with a clipboard in her hand. She looked suspiciously like a teacher.

‘Hand it over.' She wiggled her fingers at me.

‘Sorry?'

‘Your mobile. Hand it over. Surely you've been at this school long enough to know it's instant confiscation if a phone is used on school grounds.'

I opened my mouth but she went on.

‘I mean you should know. How long have you been at this school now?'

‘This is my second day, Miss,' I uttered.

‘No excuse,' she tisked. ‘Hand it over Miss …?'

‘Hankinson.'

‘You'll get it back at the end of the week.'

‘The week!' I almost shouted.

‘Oh, I think we'll make it two weeks then.' She stuffed my mobile, my precious lifeline, into her pocket. ‘And if, Miss Honkinson, you raise your voice at me like that again, it'll be till the end of term. Got it?'

She walked away, the distant beeps of my phone resounding from the side pocket of her culottes.

We were stuck with email as Calypso's mum had banned her from MSN for two weeks. She was chatting online to some guy across the road, and told him to get a life. He got upset and his mother came over and went psycho at Calypso's mum. How was Calypso meant to know he had a problem and had just come out of some hospital for nutcases? She said he was sending yuck emotions to her. That's why she told him he belonged in a loony bin. Poor Calypso, it's like people are out to get her.

Straight away I got another email. It kind of made me feel bad because I didn't want her to think I didn't have my mind on the job. But it wasn't my fault the Science lab was locked. Tomorrow I would get it perfect. Tomorrow would be a stuff-up-free day. Wouldn't it, Holly?

Lucky I was used to spending lunchtimes by myself. Anyway there wasn't enough room for two on the concrete ledge. It was squashy enough with just me and my lunch box.

Luckily the Science lab was open. All I had to do was climb out one of the windows. That other way didn't sound too safe.

Back in Melbourne when we were making our plans, Calypso explained that because sound rises this was the place I had to sit. I didn't tell her I hated heights 'cause it would've sounded so lame in comparison to what she'd been through in Sydney.

Calypso said it was unlikely a teacher would ever look up and catch me, as they were busy watching all the girls down below. They were down below too. Way, way down below.

It wasn't too bad if I closed my eyes and listened. When I had to look I could hold onto the window ledge. It was a bit awkward, but I felt safer that way.

Apparently Jess and her group sat at the same place every lunch so I was going to have to get used to it. Calypso told me it was meant to be for the whole of Year 9, but Jess and the ‘it' girls took over the spot.

I had just witnessed Isabelle-with-the-perfectly-straight-fringe tell three girls from my Biology class to piss off. Whereas, yesterday a couple of the popular girls from Year 8 dropped in for a chat, and they weren't asked to leave. It seemed to me it was specifically an ‘it' girl area only. Perhaps someone should put up a sign: D
ANGER
! N
O TRESPASSING IF YOU'RE UGLY
!

There were six ‘its' lounging around with Jess, and not one sandwich between them. Sushi, the odd cracker and plenty of lettuce leaves were being thrown around, but nothing that resembled a piece of bread.

‘Going to the mall this arvo, babe?' one of the girls asked.

‘No, I've got volleyball practice.'

‘You, Jess?'

I waited; Mum's phone ready and waiting in my hands.

‘Nah,' Jess yawned, and stretched out long smooth limbs the colour of honey. ‘I said I'd meet Scott at his place.' Then she began to giggle. ‘Pressie, pressie, pressie!'

‘Aaaghhh!' they all screamed.

‘You're too lucky to have him.'

‘Jess, he is so good to you. It's, it's abnormal.'

As I listened to their words my heart sank for Calypso. This was the stuff I didn't want to report, because I knew how much it would hurt and how much she didn't need to hear that sort of thing.

 

Joe was my first and only boyfriend. I almost fainted when he spoke to me one arvo on the tram. I'd only been in Melbourne for three months, and already he'd noticed me going to and from school. Me? Me!

‘Hey,' he'd smiled. He had the cutest dimples that were all squashed up in his cheeks. ‘I saw you on the tram this morning.'

‘Yeah?' I felt the heat burn on my neck.

‘What year are you in?'

‘Nine.'

‘Yeah.'

‘You?'

‘Same.'

My stop was the next one. I wanted to stay on the tram forever but I didn't know South Melbourne well enough to take that sort of risk.

‘Um, this is my stop.'

‘Will you be on this tram tomorrow?'

‘Yeah.' Now the redness had to be climbing up my cheeks. My forehead would be next.

‘See you tomorrow then …?'

‘Holly.' I shrugged. ‘I'm Holly.'

‘I'm Joe.'

‘Hi.'

‘Hi.'

That was the beginning of the happiest few weeks of my entire life. I still remember the date. It was the 20th of February, a Tuesday, and the afternoons were so hot. I especially felt it, as the last place we'd lived in was Hobart.

For the rest of February and half of March, Joe got off at my stop. He'd take my hand and help me off the tram like I was a lady from the olden days. When we'd get to the corner where we had to say goodbye he'd kiss me and say, ‘Don't talk to any strangers.'

 

I sighed. I wanted to cling onto that memory forever but an ‘it' girl pulled me out of my aching heart and back into the cold, hard present of lunchtime at St Clemmie's.

‘Well, I'm going to the mall,' Saskia whined. ‘I don't care what you boring old tarts are doing; it's a mall arvo for me.'

‘I bet I know what you're buying,' giggled Isabelle. ‘That bra you tried on at Knickers and Knots. Hmmmm?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Hey!' Jess jumped up. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, I just remembered something.' She started dancing around in a little circle. ‘I'm so clever, I'm so clever.'

‘What? What?' the girls pleaded.

‘Myer are having their twenty percent off all underwear sale, starting tomorrow!'

‘Aghhhh,' they screamed.

I could feel a text message coming on.

‘You are too clever, Jess!' Saskia hugged her. ‘Maybe we can skip last period and get there earlier?'

I reached for my phone and typed.

Mall day scheduled tomorrow.

The other things I wanted to say all started with ‘How …?'. How am I going to follow Jess? How am I going to get close enough to slip a pair of knickers into her bag? How am I going to open her bag if it's zipped closed? How?

‘Oh no.' Jess almost threw herself on the grass. ‘We can't get away early, Isabelle. Sport's last period. I think Ms Kalina would miss us.'

‘She'd miss you,' Isabelle replied.

‘But you can't go without me!'

As they squabbled down below, my message to Calypso spiralled off into space.

Almost immediately she answered:

REMEMBER HOL, STEP 3 FIRST!!!

These steps! Was I ever going to remember their order? Step 3 was observation, not planting.

I should have known the steps like my own name. Calypso made me say them a thousand times. She said they had to be tattooed on my brain.

Over a couple of weeks, Calypso and I devised the perfect plan. Well, she did and I listened. Her cheeks flushed red and her eyes flashed danger with each new idea. She was so into it. It was exciting being around her, and even better having her stay over so often.

The last time I'd had someone to sleep the night was in Year 6. Her name was Totty Cambell. She was a real pain in the bum, but she was the seventh girl I'd called that day, and the only one not to have replied ‘No thanks', or worse, ‘Who is this?' I gave up asking these virtual strangers to stay. But Calypso wasn't a stranger; she was my best friend.

The first day we made a basic five-step plan. Calypso had bought an exercise book to record everything I had to do. On the cover she'd written in large black letters: R
EVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD
. I really didn't know what that meant, but every time I glanced at those words a hot thrill rushed up my spine.

‘Okay, Hol.' Calypso was the only one who called me ‘Hol'. I'd always been the full ‘Holly' 'cause I never knew anyone long enough to get to the name-shortening stage. ‘This manual will be your guide.' Calypso's pink fingernails flicked through the spiral of blank pages.

‘Gee, your nails look nice,' I said. ‘Is that St Tropez Sunset?'

‘No! That colour is so yesterday. Anyway.' Her hand smoothed the blank white paper. ‘We're not talking about nail polish and stuff like that. Okay, Hol? This is serious business. You do understand, don't you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You can carry this out, can't you? I mean it's cool if you can't, but you better say so right now.'

‘No. No it's fine,' I replied. ‘I want to. I really do.'

S
TEP
1, she wrote. T
HE EASY STEP
. T
ELL HER YOU'RE FROM
M
ELBOURNE
L
ADIES
' G
RAMMAR
(MLG).

She read me my first instructions, and I nodded.

S
TEP
2. U
SE MY NAME
. Calypso paused for a second, the pen raised in the air. ‘I'm not sure how we should do this one,' she said.

‘Like, should I say your whole name or just your first name?' I asked.

‘Nooo.' She shook her head. ‘I mean, should you do Step 1 and 2 on the same day at the same time, or is it better to let MLG sit with Jess for a day?'

I shrugged. I couldn't see what difference it would make.

‘Hmmm. Let's go back to Step 2. I need to give that more thought. I want my name to have maximum impact.'

‘Step 3?'

‘Step 3. I think Step 3 should be … observation. Yes.' She nodded then began to write: O
BSERVATION IN PREPARATION FOR ADVANCEMENT TO
S
TEP
4 –
THE TRAINING STAGE
. ‘Start with the big department stores; there are heaps at the mall. You'll be invisible. She'll never ever notice you. No offence.'

I opened my mouth. No sound emerged.

Calypso wrote: S
TEP
3
ENTAILS OBSERVING THE SHOPPING HABITS OF
J
ESS AT THE MAJOR DEPARTMENT STORES
.

‘You see,' she continued, ‘you need to observe Jess shopping a few times before you attempt a planting. Although security tags could be a problem with you. It's too difficult to teach you the way to get them off. Um …'

But I was a step behind. ‘A … planting?' I repeated a bit too slowly.

‘Yesssss, Holly.' Calypso glared at me. ‘A planting. You know, where you plant something in Jess's bag so it looks like she's stolen it. I'm not talking about the green variety. Duh!'

‘Oh,
that
planting. Yeah. Yeah.'

Calypso was shaking her head again.

‘So, back to Step 3,' I began enthusiastically.

‘What, what sort of things am I …' I cringed. ‘Um, observing?'

‘Excellent question, Holly.'

I heard my breath escape with a whistle.

‘Let's make a list of the things you should observe.' Calypso started a fresh page.

1. D
OES SHE ALWAYS TAKE THE SAME BAG
?

2. I
S THE BAG USUALLY OPEN OR CLOSED
?

3. I
S IT A ZIP
,
DRAWSTRING
,
PRESS STUD ETC
?

4. W
HAT SHOULDER OR HAND DOES SHE CARRY THE BAG ON
/
IN
? L
EFT OR RIGHT
?

5. D
OES SHE EVER LEAVE HER BAG UNATTENDED
?

 

‘That's important.' Calypso tapped the pen on Point 5. ‘I can't remember if she ever put her bag down. Us shoplifters usually don't but, you never know, you may catch her off guard.'

I nodded till my neck almost disconnected from my shoulders. I wanted Calypso to know I was taking it all in.

‘Then there are the other things to observe,' she told me. ‘Like who she shops with. That has probably changed since my day. Remember, Jess is very fickle.' She went back to tapping the pen. The rhythm was building louder and faster. ‘Oh, of course!' Her head duck-dived back into the book; the pen scratching along the page as she wrote furiously.

‘Dressing room habits,' she announced. Her eyes flashed that danger again. ‘This is a big one, Holly.' Calypso placed her hands on her knees and took a long, deep breath. ‘The dressing room habits of the shoplifter are of paramount importance. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

‘Do they go into the dressing room on their own? Do they go in with a friend? Do they come out with the garment on the hanger? Or …' She leant towards me and whispered, ‘Or, are they still wearing the garment?'

My forehead began to crinkle as I tried to figure it out. ‘But …?'

‘Underneath the uniform, Hol.'

‘Hey?'

‘The stolen garments are worn underneath the uniform.'

‘Awwww!' I clapped my hand over my mouth. It sounded so daring. ‘Did you ever do that?' I blurted, forgetting Calypso didn't like to be asked about her shoplifting. It was okay if she told me something 'cause, as she said, that was ‘her choice'. She then explained how she was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic syndrome – that's how bad the Jess thing had been for her.

‘Sorry, Calypso.' I bit my bottom lip.

She raised her hands. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?'

‘Sorry.'

Little tears were beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. ‘Jess was fully into that style of shoplifting,' she said. ‘Once she walked out wearing three bras, five pairs of knickers, two t-shirts and three belts. All under her winter uniform.'

‘Wow.'

‘But the day we got caught,' Calypso was beginning to twist her neck in a weird way, ‘was the day she wouldn't do it.' A bit of spit torpedoed into my eye. ‘That afternoon she just changed her mind.'

‘Why?'

‘Because,' Calypso's face was turning a purpley-red, ‘the last time she'd worn stuff under her uniform a pack of boys from St Paul's called out “fatso” when she walked past.'

I wanted to laugh but thought the better of it.

‘Oh well, it was okay for ME to look fat, wasn't it?' Calypso was almost shouting. ‘It didn't matter if they puffed out their cheeks and shouted “FATSO” to me.'

‘Did they?'

‘No!' Calypso barked. ‘'Cause that's the day we, I, got caught.' Her jaw was trembling and now her face was bright purple.

‘But, but …' I had to ask this. ‘Didn't you get busted stealing four pairs of skinny-leg jeans?'

‘Yes.'

‘You were …?'

‘Wearing them,' she snarled through gritted teeth. ‘One over the other. A blue, two greens, then a red on top. It was pretty hard to walk, let alone run. But it was okay for Jess. She just had some top stuffed into her bag. So she could run. And run she did. She left me to cop it all. I'd love to know what she did with it. It was a Zubi black-and-white striped singlet with a belt on the back. I bet she threw it in the bin on the way home. Chicken.'