Chapter Eight
So I had not only made an acquaintance, but somehow had inherited a tour guide.
And it was absolutely welcome. Mars Bar boy (or Ben I think he said his name was) walked me to the locker room, to my locker, waited patiently, and then showed me to my first class. He was a good foot taller than me and when we walked down the corridor people moved; I wouldn’t have to worry about nasty Year Sevens. Sure, people looked, but we kind of were the odd couple.
‘This is 11F,’ he said, stopping before an open sliding door.
‘Thanks,’ I said, suddenly feeling the same pull of anxiety twist in my stomach at the thought of being left on my own again.
‘No worries. See you around.’
Mars Bar boy continued on not so much walking as loping down the corridor. My eyes shifted down to my piece of paper: 11F Biology+. Great! My first class would be an accelerated one – thrown in the deep end with the Year Twelves. Using the same tactic as in assembly, I made my way through the classroom, eyes down, only lifting them enough to locate a seat right down the back so no-one could stare at the back of my head, and there was less chance of a missile being launched at me as a few boys were playing cricket across the room with a ruler and ball of paper.
The room was lined with long tables that could each sit half-a-dozen in a row. In my head, I had thought we would be seated two by two at desks where we lifted a lid and retrieved our books, but then I realised this was not TV. This was not Degrassi High and, much to my disappointment, there was no Joey Jeremiah sitting next to me down the back.
Even my locker, which I had fantasised about hanging pictures and posters in, that I thought I would open while chatting to my new BFFs either side of me, was just a tiny box you could barely wedge your bag into. There was someone above me and two below making it an awkward balance of either getting hit in the head by a door or hitting someone in the head with mine. It was a hot mess come the rush of the bell and bitterly disappointing. In fact, everything about my experience to date had been an absolute disaster, one that didn’t seem to be getting any better anytime soon as I sensed someone stand by my side.
‘You’re in my seat.’
I blinked twice. Looking up to see the very tall, and very frowny Ballantine. Long gone was the amused glimmer in his eyes and the boyish dimple that appeared when he smiled. Instead he looked down at me as if I was something that he had stepped in; did he not remember me from the other night? That I was the girl who made him laugh, the one he enjoyed watching squirm under the scrutiny of the entire school? But his gaze held no recollection, not an ounce; just like the rest of the school I was merely another face in the crowd that he had to dodge in the hall. I probably would have jumped and scurried out of his way, apologising profusely, but it was nearly ten and I was a little over the self-righteous smarminess that this city had to offer. I may have been from Red Hole but at least we had the common decency to treat each other with a bit of respect. Even my drunken Uncle Eddie was more friendly to a dog tied up outside the pub than anyone I had stumbled across in the last few days, including my own cousin. Maybe it was something in the water? Maybe the salty sea air robbed people of their sense of humour?
I heard the scraping of a chair against the wood floor nearby. ‘Look out, mate, she’ll tell you where to go.’
My eyes shifted to the familiar face of the boy who had helped Amanda out the window, who had taken a seat one away from me; he winked at me, all the while taking in the scene with a wide smile.
Ballantine didn’t move. He stood next to my chair looking tall and intimidating, especially from my vantage point. I honestly didn’t see what the big problem was, there was actually a spare seat next to me. By now we were attracting some attention. People were elbowing each other and spinning around to witness the showdown. They might as well have taken out buckets of popcorn and put on 3D glasses, they were enjoying the show so much.
I had two choices: move and live to fight another day, or hold my ground, stamp my authority and run the risk of my head being flushed at recess. For some inexplicable reason, which I will never, ever truly understand, I chose the latter.
I simply broke from his heated gaze, and shifted my body to sit forward, clasping my hands innocently together over my books, like a choir girl with a halo above her head.
I heard the titters and a catcall instantly, Ballantine’s friend wailing, ‘Oh no, she d’int!’, as if he was some kind of guest on the
Ricki Lake Show
or something. The mocking reactions and the lunacy filled the classroom as everyone caught on to my act of defiance, or more alarmingly, Ballantine’s humiliation.
It wasn’t too dissimilar to the way I had stood up to Amanda the other night. The major difference was that then Ballantine had been laughing at my reaction, and he was most certainly not laughing now.
I tried not to be alarmed by the stony, angry statue standing next to me, imagining him sliding all my books off the table and getting in my grill – was that the saying in the city? I doubted it. Instead, I was saved by the glorious intervention of the teacher.
‘All right, everyone settle down.’ A small, moustached man entered the room carrying a stack of books, managing to juggle them and not spill his coffee as he shut the door in a rather fluid motion. ‘Come on, everyone, pipe down. Boon, legs off the table, Ballantine, bum on seat.’
In my peripheral vision I saw Ballantine’s mate take his feet off the table; Boon, I made a mental note. It took another less-than-patient request from the teacher for Ballantine to rather violently yank out the spare seat and sit down next to me. He was so close our knees were nearly touching. I could feel the anger rolling off him, and the heat of his body burn next to me. I dared not look; it was going to be a long, long fifty minutes. I doodled a circle around and around on a corner of my exercise book.
A hand raised in the row in front. ‘Mr Branson, can I go to the toilet?’
My pen stilled. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as a bone-jarring dread swept through me.
Mr Branson?
I slowly shifted the crinkled paper I had slipped inside my Biology book and smoothed it out: Biology – Mr Cranford.
My eyes widened, the sound of Mr Branson’s voice became muffled, the whole world seemed to slow right down. I could feel a light sheen of sweat form against my skin, my hands clammy as the beat of my heart thrummed dangerously fast. I had no choice but to slowly and subtly shift my eyes sideways, peering at Ballantine’s textbook.
His History book.
Oh. My. God.
I was in the wrong class.
Chapter Nine
How to lose friends and irritate people in less than an hour, by Lexie Atkinson.
I had gone from badass new girl facing off against Ballantine and asserting my authority, to quickly and rather mortifyingly grabbing my Biology book and scurrying towards the teacher, apologising in my lowest voice that I was in the wrong room before walking briskly out the door with not so much as a backwards glance.
Mars Bar boy, bless his soul, had actually walked me to the wrong room; an honest mistake, no doubt, but it didn’t make me feel less like throwing myself down the stairs. Maybe breaking my leg and being taken to the sick bay with a doctor’s certificate that insisted on weeks of rest, in my own room that is – no distractions, no disrupted sleep, no filthy looks by bullying cousins. Just me, room service and watching reruns of John Stamos in
Full House
; it sounded so tempting. Instead, what little confidence I had left was knocked out of me as I once again found myself slinking into a doorway, late, disrupting the class and earning myself the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.
After Biology, I glanced at my timetable. My next class would be easier; it was a non-accelerated class, so it would be less intimidating, right?
Wrong!
Miss Smith, our Health teacher, actually wanted me to stand up and introduce myself, like I was in some kind of therapy group.
Hi, I’m Lexie and I am an alcoholic.
‘I’m Lexie from Red Hill.’ I managed, sitting down quickly.
‘
Hello
, sexy Lexie!’ a boy in the back called out.
‘That’s quite enough, Tommy; one more outcry from you and you will be going on a little holiday.’
Tommy straightened with interest. ‘Oh really, Miss? That sounds nice, where am I off to?’
‘Sit down,’ she warned. ‘Right. Welcome, Lexie.’ She smiled before turning to the whiteboard and beginning the class.
Miss Smith used the better half of the session writing directly from her textbook onto the whiteboard, which in turn we had to copy into our exercise books. It was her attempt at keeping us quiet for a bit and it was pretty effective; well, except for the girl next to me.
‘I’m Laura,’ she said out of the blue.
My eyes shifted from the board in surprise. ‘Oh, hey. Lexie.’
‘I know.’ She nodded.
Well, this was going well.
‘Have you been in Paradise long?’
It was the first authentic question I’d been asked, and judging by her earnest expression she actually seemed to genuinely want to know the answer. It took me a moment to think, to voice the words.
‘We arrived on Friday.’
‘We?’ Another question. Wow. An actual conversation was unfolding right in between copying off the whiteboard; I was pretty certain Miss Smith was conducting some kind of plagiarism. Still, it made the time go faster, or maybe it was due to the real-life human connection I was finally having. I tried to play down my excitement, tried not to answer her questions so eagerly and talk for too long, but I couldn’t help it, it had opened the floodgates and before we knew it we were chatting away like long-lost friends.
Laura had to catch the bus from the western suburbs, which was a half-hour ride to school and back each day. She wished she lived nearer to the beach because when it came to parties and such, that’s where all the action was.
At recess, Laura and I lined up in the longest canteen line I had ever seen. Seriously, it was like we were queueing for a Coldplay concert or something.
I wasn’t tall by anyone’s standards, but Laura was actually smaller than me. She had tanned skin, which was not an uncommon thing in Paradise, but it was very unlike my own. I made a note to purchase some fake tan ASAP. She had dark hair and dark eyes: Greek or Italian heritage, maybe?
‘The Gilmore house is where all the smart people get sent; it’s a common fact that that’s the case.’ Laura continued her tuition.
‘Oh, and that wouldn’t be because you and I happen to be Gilmore, by any chance?’ I mused.
‘No, for real. As a rule, they put the majority of the academics in Gilmore; the houses are more than just colour-coded division, it’s a class system.’
I thought about that, catching sight of Mars Bar boy loping across the asphalt yard in the distance, feasting on a meat pie.
Could he be some kind of secret genius?
‘Well, what about Chisholm then?’
Amanda’s house: maybe it was a division for people diagnosed with chronic evil?
‘Band geeks.’
Okay, that didn’t make sense.
‘Really?’ I questioned, shuffling a millimetre forward in the never-ending line of starvation.
‘And artsy kind of eccentrics.’ Laura shrugged.
Amanda eccentric? Maybe.
‘And what about Kirkland?’ I inclined my head over to a group of boys, across the way, as if they alone represented the house. To me they kind of did. They were Ballantine’s posse. Four of them sitting on a bench, shirts untucked from their jeans, loosened ties, deep tans and wild hair. They looked like trouble. The sort of students you would want to keep an eye on. They just didn’t seem like anyone else in the school, they seemed free. Ballantine sat in the middle of them, his eyes alight with amusement as he listened to a tall boy with blond shaggy hair telling him a yarn with wild hand movements and flailing arms that caused them to break out in laughter. I watched on with guarded interest; the last thing I needed was to catch his attention. I was kind of working on avoiding him for the rest of my life. Every time I thought back to my rather inelegant exit from Mr Branson’s History class, I wanted the ground to open up.
‘Oh, they’re the beach bums.’
‘Beach bums?’
‘Yeah, you know? The sporty types. The surfing delinquents of society.’ She leant in. ‘Not much between the ears but pretty good between the sheets is the saying.’
Ew.
My face twisted.
Laura giggled. ‘Tell me about it. My brother is one of them and believe me, that is not something you want to hear.’
Brother?
And before I could question her, a figure jumped towards us, wedging himself between Laura and me in the line.
Boon.
Incredulous angry calls sounded from the back of the line, something Boon chose to ignore.
‘Get out, you bloody idiot,’ yelled Laura.
My eyes darted between them, trying as I might to see the family resemblance. Boon had lighter hair and a golden-coloured complexion. Looking at them side by side, they were chalk and cheese.
‘He’s your brother?’ I asked in dismay.
Boon turned around as if spotting me for the first time. ‘Well, looky here,’ he said, flashing a blinding smile. ‘You sure you’re in the right line?’
I offered him a deadpan stare that only seemed to amuse him more.
Boon turned to his sister. ‘I thought Mum told you not to bring any more strays home, creep.’ Boon playfully tugged on Laura’s ponytail, eliciting a fiery glare.
‘Piss off, Boon!’
‘Actually, you two are going to get along just fine, I think.’
Laura turned her back, ignoring his taunts.
‘Hang on a sec,’ he delved into his jeans pocket, ‘if I give you the money, can you just get me a small iced coffee Big M and a packet of Samboys?’ Coins spilled out and rolled everywhere as he upended his pockets.
Laura glanced around, looking mortified. ‘Boon,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Poor Laura. I knew all too well what it was like to be embarrassed by family. I sighed, shaking my head as Boon scrambled to stop the rolling coins.
‘Here,’ I said, holding out my hand, ‘I’ll bloody get it.’
Boon’s eyes snapped up, his whole face lighting up in surprise. ‘Really?’ he said, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Really,’ I repeated, with absolutely no enthusiasm.
‘Bloody legend!’ he shrieked, plunging the coins into my palm.
I rolled my eyes as another coin twanged to the ground. ‘What did you want again?’ I asked.
Boon picked up the wayward coin, placing it in my hand with a confused line pinching between his brows. ‘Oh, it’s not for me,’ he said in all seriousness, before nodding his head towards the Kirkland boys. ‘It’s for Ballantine.’
•
‘You know what you’ve done?’ said Laura. ‘You’ve opened up the floodgates. Now the boys know they can boss you around you’ll be their lackey.’
I watched on as Boon swaggered his way back towards the boys. I could see the mystified look on Ballantine’s face as he looked at his mate’s empty hands. I couldn’t help but smile, watching his expression change into something darker as Boon explained exactly where his goods were coming from. Ballantine’s eyes lifted, searching along the line before settling on me. I offered a small wave and a smug little smile.
So much for avoiding him.
‘Do you know Ballantine?’ Laura’s troubled look shifted between us.
‘Yes and no,’ I said, breaking off the stare.
‘Well, remember what I said, as they’ll probably think they can bully their way into getting you to do this all the time,’ she warned.
‘I don’t think so, I think they know not to mess with me,’ I said, lifting my chin.
‘Oh yeah? And why do you think that?’
I glanced behind me, catching the briefest glimpse of a less-than-amused Ballantine.
‘Oh, I just know.’