How to Spell Catastrophe, page 11
I’m a human yo-yo.
Could it be hormones?
Am I finally about to get my period?
I open our gate. Creaky iron in a wrought-iron fence. It needs a gentle lift so it doesn’t scrape.
We walk along the path, up the two bluestone steps onto the verandah, and as I get my key out, my mother opens the door.
‘Hey there, I heard the gate.’
She drops a kiss on my cheek and gives Cecily a hello hug.
‘How did the talk go?’
‘A huge success,’ says Cecily coldly.
My mother smiles. ‘Just as I suspected – I picked up a plum cake on my way home.’
‘Mean girl cake,’ Cecily mutters so only I hear it.
We drop our bags in the hallway, wash our hands on the way to the kitchen and I get the milk out so we can make Milo to have with our cake.
‘Were you two anywhere near Ted’s café on Wednesday after school?’ Mum asks.
‘Well –’ I start.
‘That’s Oliver and the Bean, right?’ asks Cecily innocently. ‘We stopped near there to get an icy pole on the way to Gus’s.’
‘Who told you we were there?’ I ask.
‘Well, Ted. We had lunch today. He said you were standing in the roundabout garden staring at the café.’
I blush.
‘I wouldn’t say we were staring,’ says Cecily.
‘Really, you can’t help seeing it from there,’ I say, flashing a grateful look to Cecily. ‘But why we were there, our reason for being there, was icy poles.’
I’m standing in my own kitchen lying to my mum.
Or giving a very twisted truth.
Feeling squirmy.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But I don’t want – and I know Heather doesn’t either – any of this hanging around in the street. You’re either at someone’s house, or you’re in transit. Okay?’
‘Or we are having a Friday browse.’
‘Occasionally,’ says Mum.
‘Yeah, because nothing fun could be a regular thing.’
Mum looks at me as though I’ve said something unreasonable. ‘What time do you need to be at Plum’s tomorrow?’
‘Um, after lunch.’
‘You’re going to Plum’s again?’ Cecily says it like an accusation.
‘Yeah. I thought I mentioned it.’ My voice comes out squeaking with the effort of sounding casual.
I know I haven’t mentioned it.
I should definitely have mentioned it.
‘Maybe I could come too?’ says Cecily.
‘I think she’s only asked her mum if I can come,’ I say.
‘Do you want to ask her if I can come?’
I hesitate.
Cecily is being bossy.
But she is also asking something that a best friend might ask.
‘Maybe when I know Plum a bit better –?’ I say.
‘Sure,’ Cecily says, looking annoyed.
My mother is shooting me a laser-strength butt-in look. ‘I think that’s a very good idea. Why don’t Plum and Cecily both come here next weekend?’
‘Okay,’ I say, cutting a piece of cake.
It’s weird that at the exact same time you can feel annoyed and pressured to do something you don’t want to do, you can also feel you’re mean for not wanting to do it.
Underneath that is the feeling that I don’t even know if Plum and I are really friends yet.
Gus was right; I’m in line for being dumped when something better comes along. But instead of making me feel loyal to Cecily, it makes me keener for Plum to like me.
Plum energy is what I have always imagined high school would be like.
Plum is the next thing, the unknown, the unpredictable.
Plum energy is fierce and free, like Lyra.
Plum can be mean, it’s true. Maybe it’s her sense of humour, or maybe she has needed to build herself some spiky protection.
Cecily does not stay for pizza.
Mum and I watch School of Rock. It’s funny, but neither of us is in much of a mood to laugh.
My life used to be a comfortable place.
Now it’s an overheated, toast crumb bed.
friday note from under the doona
word
confuffled – muddled, running in many directions, not sure about stuff
I actually made up the word ‘confuffled’ (true!) but when I looked it up, someone else had already made it up. It is a blend of ‘confused’ and ‘baffled’, but I will keep my definition, because I thought of this word myself independently before I knew it was already a word
problem
• Ted and Amelia
• friendship confufflement
• need to save planet
plan
• show Mum pic of possible other woman, when?? how to, without getting into trouble for spying?
• find more sneezing opportunities
• fix things with Cecily + keep getting to know Plum as a friend (without Cecily, because I am allowed to be an individual, as well as a best friend) (But how would I feel if Cecily made a new friend and kept me out???) (not great, but we are all individuals?!?! idk)
• strike 4 climate petition must succeed, but will it?
fruit ranking
confusing! this week has been a mandarin, half of it perfectly delicious, and the other half foul and slimy between the slices
gratitude
nice pizza, I guess
Colour Me Excited
Proper hair colour takes forever.
First Viv asks us to choose the pieces of hair we want coloured. Then she leaves that hair out and ties the rest back in a ponytail. She mixes up some bleach in a small black plastic bowl.
Putting the hair that is going to be coloured onto a flat piece of foil, and holding that in one hand, she paints the bleach on with the other hand, and finally wraps the foil around the goopy hair so it’s hanging from our scalps like tin sausages.
We each have two streaks; Plum’s are thicker than mine.
Viv checks the bleach after half an hour, and again after forty-five minutes. Mine is ready then. Because we’re not in a salon, she just gets me to hold my head over the basin as she shampoos the bleach off, and hands me a towel and a hair dryer.
The colour is a pale blonde when I dry it.
While Plum is rinsing her bleach off, Viv prepares my red tint.
‘This is going to be very bright – just double-checking that’s what you want.’
‘Yes, please,’ I squeak. I’m so excited and, at the same time, becoming more and more alarmed at how my mother will respond.
My emotional spin cycle is set on dizzy.
My heart is pounding.
Viv paints on the red dye and wraps the streaks in fresh pieces of foil.
Plum’s blue and my red are eventually ready, washed, dried and FABULOUS.
I can’t stop checking my hair in the mirror.
‘Remember it will bleed colour for a couple of weeks, so avoid white towels and pillowcases, okay?’
I nod. ‘Thanks, Viv.’
‘It’s a pleasure, now do something nice and quiet for an hour, little chickies, I need some zeds.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Plum says, admiring her reflection. ‘I love it.’
We spend ages in front of the mirror quietly constructing hair-dos that show our streaks to maximum effect.
‘We’re going to look great at the School Strike 4 Climate,’ says Plum. ‘What are you going to wear?’
‘If we get to go, we’ll be in school uniform.’
‘Boring! Of course we’ll get to go. Your talk was so good.’
‘Thanks. Cecily was the real inspiration for it.’
‘Whatever. You’ll be the most popular person in grade six if we get to go.’
I blush.
Doubtful.
We check out images from School Strike 4 Climate, followed by baby rabbits in cups, and I start to feel extremely nervous, because it’s pick-up time.
I put my hair into a ponytail and then take it out of the ponytail, put it in and take it out once more, and tell myself not to worry.
Technically I did tell Mum and she didn’t say no.
My mum has found a parking spot this time and texts to say she’s on her way up.
Viv opens the door. ‘Hi, I’m Viv,’ she says, smiling.
‘I’m Anne, nice to meet you. Though we have met on the phone.’
Viv shakes her head. ‘No – are you thinking of one of the other parents?’
Plum pipes up. ‘She means Suzanne. She babysits sometimes. She rang to see if Nell could come over.’
‘I assumed I was speaking to you,’ my mother says to Viv.
I can see that she’s divided between angry and embarrassed and not sure which way to jump.
Viv simply looks puzzled. ‘Why did you do that?’ she asks Plum.
‘I don’t know. You were at work,’ Plum says.
‘You should have just waited till I got home, you silly monkey.’
‘It was Thursday, it would have been too late.’
Before there’s any more tangling in that particular spider web, my mother notices my delicious new red streaks.
‘What – is – this?!’ She is picking up a piece of coloured hair between a finger and thumb as though it’s a vile serpent.
‘My – hair.’
‘You’ve dyed your hair?’
She turns to Viv. ‘You dyed her hair?’
Viv turns to me. ‘You didn’t have permission?’ She assures my mum, ‘I would never have done it without your okay.’
The two mothers are looking at Plum and me, and it’s hard to choose which one looks more annoyed.
‘Nell, you lied to Viv?’
‘No, I told you. You said it sounded like fun.’
I can see she’s thinking back. ‘I thought you meant spray-on colour.’
‘It’s not my fault that’s what you thought.’ My face betrays me, blushing bright to match my streaks.
I took advantage of what she assumed so I could go ahead and do something I knew she wouldn’t let me do, and we both know it.
‘Okay, you and I are having a talk about how we communicate with each other,’ says Mum.
‘Ditto,’ says Viv, looking at Plum.
Plum looks annoyed with me as we say goodbye.
‘I’m so sorry Nell put you in an awkward position, Viv,’ my mum is saying.
As the mothers focus on their phones, making sure they have each other’s contact details, Plum whispers, ‘Thanks a bunch. Now I’m in trouble.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘Wow, nothing’s your fault, is it?’ says Plum.
Old friend: cross with me.
New friend: cross with me.
Mother: cross with me.
Me: cross with me.
Colour Me in Big Trouble
My mum gives me the silent treatment as we drive home, flicking me an occasional Very Serious Look in the rear-view mirror.
We sit at the kitchen bench for the talk.
‘I’m not even sure what to say to you, Nelly, because you know everything I could possibly say. You know how to behave. You know I have to trust you. And if I can’t –’
The quiet disappointment in her voice gives me an uncomfortable feeling that goes from my scalp to my stomach to my knees. It’s like a spine tingle merging with nausea, while the blood beats loud in my ears.
She takes a breath and continues in a firmer voice. ‘If we’ve lost that somehow, we need to get it back.’
‘I’m sorry. But I knew you’d say no.’
‘Some things are a “no”.’
‘But why? It’s just hair. My hair.’
‘I like the idea that you can save some stuff for when you’re older.’
‘Why is this a big deal? You’re acting like it’s a tattoo, or something.’
She lifts up an offending piece of hair. ‘It is pretty permanent. But that’s not even the point. The point is, please don’t stop being the honest, trustworthy person I know. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘What would an appropriate punishment be?’ my mum asks.
This is child cruelty, making me think up my own punishment.
‘Shave my head, I suppose,’ I say.
‘Or, help out in the garden. The violets are taking over again. We need to weed a heap of them out. We can put clumps in pots for people to take home.’
‘I do not believe my life.’
‘Eleanor Fry McPherson, your life is just fine,’ says my mean mother. I bet this is the exact bossy voice she uses when she’s persuading people they can do some exercise that still hurts after an injury.
How can she say my life is just fine? Fine? When she’s planning to force me out of my own home? She doesn’t care about my feelings at all.
‘Have you noticed Ted’s smell yet?’
She takes a couple of calming breaths. I’m counting along with her silently. One, two, three, four, five –
‘Maybe he’s just a stinky crush. You might go off him in a couple of months, but by the time you figure that out, our whole life will be ruined.’
She sighs deeply.
‘Are you even exclusive? He’s probably dating other women and you don’t even know it.’
She smiles, as though I’ve said something funny. My blood is boiling. She tries to take my hand, but I snatch it away.
‘How are we going to make this better, Nell?’
‘Either you say we don’t have to move, or you talk to Map and let me go over and live with her now.’
‘It would only side-step what we need to work through.’
Oh no, she’s going to mention We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, her favourite picture book, which also happens to have a message about persevering that she loves.
‘We can’t go over it –’
‘Mum, don’t give me the bear hunt lesson, I’m begging you. I don’t want to work through this one, I just want things to stay the way they are.’
‘It doesn’t look that way to me. You seem to be changing lots of things.’ She’s looking at my hair.
‘I’m not the one changing things; it’s you!’ I shout. ‘I saw that removalist’s quote, so I know you were lying when you said there’s no rush!’
I run upstairs to my room and slam the door shut.
I open it and slam it again.
We did the gardening in complete silence. We gave each other plenty of space. I made a sign that said Violets – take me home and put it in front of the twelve little violet pots we made. Someone swapped a pot for some lemons. Someone else left a bunch of parsley and mint. And someone else told me my hair was cool.
Going to bed with red streaks, knowing that everyone at school is going to see them on Monday is pretty exciting.
Having a big fight with Mum is pretty horrible.
We hardly ever fight.
Both those things are making my heart beat too fast and I have to do some equal breathing to get to sleep.
Trying to be True
‘Map, every single person in grade six blue and green signed the petition.’
‘Good work, Nell! How did that feel?’
‘Amazing. I mean, our principal Sofia can still say no, but –’
‘She might say yes!’
‘Exactly. Thanks for all your help.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
‘I forgot to tell you last week, I quit spelling bee.’
She doesn’t say, But you love spelling bee!
‘You’ve a gift for language, like your dad. But I never did see the point of making spelling into a competition.’
‘And they’re making people go to Tasmania if they get into the finals!’
Her lovely face is full of understanding and sympathy. She knows how hard that would be for me.
‘And I’m in trouble for dyeing my hair.’ I untuck my hair from behind my ears and hold up a red strip right near the camera.
She is smiling. ‘Great colour.’
‘Thanks, I love it. But I didn’t tell Mum the truth about it. I let her think it was going to be spray-on colour, but Plum’s mother is an actual hairdresser and she gave us real hair dye streaks.’
‘Well. You know what you did wasn’t right.’
‘I know. Tell the truth. Don’t tell a half-truth, half-lie.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I have been so truthful about how much I hate the idea of moving in with Ted and Amelia.’
‘No change of heart?’
‘None.’
We open our copies of Northern Lights to Chapter 19.
Lyra is taken prisoner, but cleverly tricks her captor, an evil bear, into agreeing to a battle to the death with his enemy – her friend – the mighty and good bear, Iorek Byrnison.
If her friend wins, Lyra will be free.
Imagine having a friend like Iorek Byrnison! A huge, brave, fearless talking bear who would die for you.
But this lovely bear is also exhausted from a long journey.
Lyra is worried about whether he can win the fight.
I’m worried.
‘I can’t wait for the next chapter!’ says Map, closing her book. ‘The winner will be king of the bears.’
I hug the book to my chest. ‘It better be Iorek Byrnison! I will not forgive this book if he dies.’
‘Can you see what I’m using as a bookmark?’ Map holds it up to the camera. ‘It’s a ticket. Your dad left it in the book. I took him to see The Cure at Barrowlands.’ She reads from the ticket. ‘The twenty-fourth of April 1992. The Wish Tour.’
‘Did he like it?’
‘He did. And it strikes me that someone who is dyeing her hair red, quitting spelling bee, organising protests, and sometimes wishes to be leaping around rooftops might also enjoy listening to their music.’
‘I’ll look them up. I wonder if there’s any footage of the exact concert on YouTube.’
‘I don’t know. Bizarre as it seems, we didn’t carry around phones that are recording devices and cameras, as we do now.’
‘That is so weird.’
Hair and Hurt Feelings
Monday morning and I’m running a few minutes late. I get into the classroom just in time for Sofia’s morning announcements, including our word of the week, considerate.
