This could basically end my school career, I realise. With one impulsive act I’ve potentially waved goodbye to the Tawney Shield, to the school formal, to finishing year twelve.
All the oxygen leaves my throat. In for six, out for eight, I silently recite. I press my back to the wall and slide slowly down it.
‘You okay, Harriet?’ asks Millie, looking over, the freckles on her forehead crowding.
Thank God for Millie. I don’t know how I would survive without her and Beth. Happily, I rarely have to think about it because they have been there for me since I began at Rosemead in grade four.
Well, except for the first few months. I was ‘No Friends Harriet’ to begin with. That’s what happens when you start at a new school after the cliques have already formed.
Young girls can be quite horrible, especially with wet crepe paper and safety scissors at their disposal.
Not that I like to think about that time very much.
All I will say is if Beth hadn’t been going through a spa bath phase and discovered we have two at my house, who knows how my life would have turned out?
Beth glances up from the Messenger. ‘God, Harriet. Not another one of your migraines. Hey, do you know this girl? Amelia Eastlake?’
‘Westlake,’ I correct her impulsively, and silently curse myself.
‘The name does sound familiar,’ says one of the girls who has just come in. ‘I think she might be in Ms Pile’s hockey squad.’
‘Hang on. Isn’t she the one who sings thirds in the middle-school choir?’ Beth asks. ‘A boat person of some sort?’
‘That’s Amelia al-Assad,’ Millie answers promptly.
‘Oh. What about the girl who sits next to her? Who never says anything? Muppet eyes.’
One of the others shakes her head. ‘Nobody knows her name.’
‘Whoever Amelia Westlake is, she deserves a medal,’ says Liz Newcomb, grabbing her stockings from a pile of clothes on a bench and putting them on. ‘I think the cartoon’s fantastic.’
‘It’s pretty mean about Coach Hadley, though, don’t you think?’ says Millie, frowning. ‘He’s not that bad. He just likes to muck around sometimes.’
Liz Newcomb snorts.
There is a loud crackle from the wall speaker, signalling the start of pre-lunch announcements.
‘A reminder that the computer labs will be closed on Friday so the new computers can be installed,’ booms Deputy Davids’ nasal voice. ‘All of Friday’s classes will be held in the Lower Hall instead. And a reminder to Kimberley Kitchener. Kimberley, if you don’t collect your trombone from lost property by four o’clock this afternoon it will be sequestered by the Music Department. Thank you.’
After a final crackle, the speaker goes silent.
‘What’s taking you girls so long?’ says a voice from the door of the change room.
My chest grows tight.
Around me there is a flurry of hoisted towels and half-dressed girls shuffling into cubicles. Liz holds up her netball skirt to cover her lower half. In a swift one-two Beth drops the school paper and slides it under the bench, so that by the time Coach Hadley pops his head around the doorway it is out of sight.
I feel my jaw tense. He must know I came up with the cartoon. That is why he is here. I press my fingers into my palms so hard my knuckles go white.
Coach Hadley peers inside, his expression as smooth as the surface of an empty pool. His eyes twinkle. He smiles. ‘Chop, chop. The senior squad will be in here soon.’
A sort of squeak escapes Millie’s mouth.
Scratching his cheek stubble leisurely, Coach Hadley looks at her. ‘Something the matter, the divine Ms Levine?’
Girls giggle nervously. Millie shakes her head, her freckles disappearing in a sea of red.
He gazes at each of us: Beth, Millie, Liz and finally, me. He looks at me the longest. Does he know about the cartoon? Oh dear God in heaven, is he reading my mind?
‘Move along, girls,’ he says cheerily, and disappears from the doorway.
In for six, out for eight, I breathe.
I run a finger along the metal badges pinned to my lapel. There are five of them: my house badge, my prefect badge, my Sports Committee badge, my Tawney team badge and of course, my Rosemead badge. Feeling them there, freshly polished and pinned in perfect symmetry, is a comfort.
With the immediate danger passed, I look around for Liz Newcomb. She has put on her tunic and is doing up her shoelaces nearby. Privately I have always considered Liz to be overrated. She runs the annual spelling bee for the Junior School kids, which is obviously very commendable, but there is certainly nothing outstanding enough about her to merit, for example, her being elected as prefect or, to take another random example, her being chosen as Rosemead’s Tawney Shield Tennis Captain over other highly qualified candidates. It is not Liz Newcomb who is tipped to bring home the Shield in the Doubles competition this year.
However, I am willing to put all this aside for a moment to hear more about what she thinks of the cartoon.
‘Do you think Beth is right?’ I murmur. ‘Will Coach Hadley sue?’
Liz glances at the door before meeting my eye. ‘How can he? Did you see what he did just now? He shouldn’t be loitering around the change room at all. He gets away with it because of how friendly he pretends to be, but really he’s just a perv. Heaps of us know it but nobody’s brave enough to say anything about it. Maybe now, thanks to what’s been published, they’ll have to do something about him.’
‘Really?’ A flight of butterflies fills my stomach.
‘I don’t see how they can’t.’
‘But what will happen to the girl who drew the cartoon? It’s a pretty serious accusation,’ I venture.
Liz Newcomb shrugs. ‘They can hardly get her in trouble for pointing out what’s in plain view.’
I hope that, for all her
