‘Usually all I get is excursion reports or rants about how there should be more gluten-free food options at the canteen.’ She sets her mouth into a line; when most people do that, it means they’re furious, but when Nat does it, it means she’s impressed. ‘I’ve been wanting to do something on Hadley for ages, but there’s no way I’d get away with it in an editorial. A student’s contribution is a different story. I’m at arm’s length. It’s perfect. It’s about time Hadley faced the music.’ She laughs and looks at me. ‘Of course, when Croon finds out about the cartoon, and if Amelia Westlake doesn’t exist, I’ll be in deep shit. Luckily Croon’s not back from her trip until later this month.’
Principal Croon is currently on her annual junket to Rosemead’s Japanese sister school in Osaka. Why she needs a whole month there each year is anybody’s guess.
‘It’s the only reason I took the risk of publishing the cartoon,’ Nat says. ‘It’s unlikely Deputy Davids will even see it. She never reads the Messenger. But if Croon were here …’ She shakes her head. ‘And if someone shows Croon the cartoon when she gets back, before I can confirm that Amelia Westlake is legit …’ Nat draws a finger across her throat. ‘Anyway, I thought you might be able to help me.’
My stomach flips. ‘Why me?’
‘I thought of you as soon as I saw the cartoon,’ Nat says. ‘There’s something about it that’s similar to your drawing style, don’t you think?’
‘I wish I could have drawn this,’ I bluff, chest thudding. ‘I can think of plenty of other people who could have, though.’
Nat flips a paperclip in the air and catches it. ‘That’s exactly why I thought you could help. This Amelia person is obviously artistic. Maybe you could have a word to Mrs Degarno about whether she has anyone called Amelia in one of her Art classes.’
I nod, swallowing hard.
Nat looks thoughtful for a moment, then grins. ‘You know who’d know, of course.’
‘Who?’
‘Harriet Price.’
I stare at her. ‘Why the hell would she know?’
‘Calm down. I’m just saying she knows everything about Rosemead. I’m sure she could tell us the names and terms of each of the principals back to 1835 if we were interested.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I laugh loudly.
Nat looks at me like I’m a weirdo.
It occurs to me that I could simply tell her the truth. So, Harriet and I got stuck in detention together last week …
But once she knew she’d been tricked I’d never hear the end of it, not when her position at the Messenger is at stake. Also, Nat hates Harriet Price almost as much as she hates her rich princess friends, Beth Tupman and Millie Levine. She likes to call her ‘Harriet the Why?’.
‘Look Nat, I’ve got some equipment to return to Degarno’s supply cupboard before the end of lunch –’
‘Fine.’ She’s riffling through a folder on her desk. ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’
‘Let me know if you find anything out.’
‘You too.’ She waves me away.
Out on the covered walkway, a blustery wind is throwing around sticks the size of bullets. I jog back towards the main block, shielding my face with a hand. There are footsteps coming towards me, and I look up just in time to avoid a head-on collision with Harriet Price.
‘What are you doing here?’ I whisper, glancing back towards the newsroom.
‘Looking for you,’ she says, urgency in her voice. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’
If Nat sees us together there’ll be no end to the questions. There’s a study space ten metres down the walkway so I herd Harriet towards it. When we’re inside, I pull a chair out from one of the desks and sit down. Harriet perches on the sideboard beside it. I watch her pat her windswept hair like she’s soothing a pet cat.
She looks around. ‘What’s that table doing in here? It belongs in the debating room.’
Does Harriet have interior design ambitions? Is that why she’s so obsessed with furniture placement? I wouldn’t be surprised. Interior design is just the kind of superficial career wealthy kids aspire to.
Without waiting for a reply, she asks keenly, ‘Did you see the cartoon?’
‘Of course I saw it,’ I bark at her.
She looks wounded. ‘Everyone’s talking about it, you know. Beth. Millie. Liz Newcomb …’
Is that all she’s got? Two rich brats and a sporto? ‘Is that who constitutes “everyone”, is it?’
‘Not just them.’ Defensiveness has made her voice high-pitched. ‘Everyone in my Phys Ed class. And everyone in the canteen queue.’
This is interesting news. ‘That was what we wanted, wasn’t it? To make a splash?’ I laugh at my pool-related joke.
Harriet doesn’t join in. ‘I guess so,’ she says. She looks worried.
I decide to cut her some slack. ‘The people who were talking about it. What were they saying?’
Harriet leans back on her sideboard. ‘Some didn’t get it. But others thought it was a great comment on Coach Hadley’s, you know, perverted ways.’ She looks a little shocked by her own statement. ‘There was also a view that when he finds out, he will sue.’ Drawing her hands behind her head, she divides her hair into three strands and begins to plait it.
I watch her work at her hair. The tip of her tongue sticks out of her mouth as she concentrates. I wonder if she knows she does that. ‘Nat thinks it’s a brilliant cartoon,’ I tell her, feeling suddenly generous. ‘She said it’s really important.’
‘She did?’ Harriet smiles briefly before her worried look returns.
‘We nailed it, Harriet. You should be proud. It was a great concept.’
‘It was a great drawing,’ she says, flustered. ‘The concept had nothing to do with it.’
I laugh. ‘Okay, fine. Look, I’ve got some paintbrushes to return to the Art Department before my next class.’ I stand up.
‘Will, wait.’ Harriet’s hand shoots out and grabs me above the elbow. ‘We should talk about what happens next.’
I look
