Watson’s rant went on for so long that I missed half of Biology. After that, there didn’t seem much point in showing up for the rest. So I headed to the year-twelve common room for twenty minutes of peace.
I’m sitting there now, eating someone else’s Tim Tams from the fridge, and thinking about the final scene from that movie. It’s exactly what I’m waiting for, I realise. I’m hanging out for the day I get to launch a boat off the wrecked shore of my own existence to discover my true unblemished destiny beyond the ‘Exit’ sign.
What will I find there? A world in which people like Hadley get what they deserve. A world where my classmates care about sticking up for each other more than they care about whose parents have the most expensive car. A world where there are no teachers, no swimming coaches, no prefects.
And no Rosemead bloody Grammar.
Chapter 2
HARRIET
I adore my Modern History class. It is one of the absolute highlights of my week. Today’s class is especially wonderful because we are discussing Defining Moments.
‘History is about turning points,’ Ms Bracken explains. ‘I want each of you to share with us one big event that has influenced your life.’
We go around the room.
‘When I learnt to read,’ says Eileen Sarmiento.
‘When I got my platinum credit card,’ says Millie.
‘My first ski trip to Aspen,’ says Beth.
Then it is my turn. ‘In all honesty? My Defining Moment was when I first set foot on the grounds of Rosemead Grammar.’
A few loud groans and sick noises come from predictable corners. Apparently it is ‘in vogue’ to be critical of this school and the opportunities we have as students here. I think this is basically a very ungrateful attitude given the fees our parents pay, especially since not everyone’s parents are lucky enough to be mouth surgeons like both of mine are.
The truth is, I owe a heck of a lot to Rosemead. If you said: ‘Harriet Price, please name three reasons why your life is great,’ I would answer firstly that it is difficult to isolate just three reasons, because there are so many reasons why my life is great! Then I would tell you the top three excellent aspects of my life, all of which are Rosemead-related:
1. My marks (distinction average).
2. Being on the brink of winning the Tawney Shield Senior Girls Tennis Doubles, something I have been working towards for almost six years (i.e. one-third of my life).
3. Having Edie Marshall, future prime minister of Australia, as my girlfriend.
People think I’m exaggerating when I say Edie will be prime minister one day, but I am definitely not. Not only is she the captain of Blessingwood Girls, our sister school, she is also a talented sportsperson and the best school-age public speaker in New South Wales. This has been formally recognised by three statewide competitions in which she won first place last year: SpeakOut (topic: ‘democracy is the best form of government’), SpeakEasy (topic: ‘fashion victims I have known’) and SaySomething (topic: ‘discipline is not a dirty word’). After she blitzes the exams this year she is going to go to university and get a Rhodes Scholarship. And when she comes back from Oxford she will enter politics and everyone will vote her in because she is incredible.
I would have never met Edie if it weren’t for the Tawney Shield. We have both been playing in the competition since year nine. This year, Edie and I are competing as a team in the Doubles competition against different school groups. This is perfect for us since we are a) ranked in the top players at Blessingwood and Rosemead respectively, which are in the same school group, and b) happen to be going out.
Interesting fact: my mother won the shield when she was at Rosemead, as did my grandmother. They like to tease that if I don’t win this year I’ll be ex-communicated from the family!
After Modern History, I find myself at a bit of a loose end. While Edie and I usually train on Tuesday afternoons, today Edie is hosting a Blessingwood fundraising afternoon tea for refugees. I would ordinarily make my way home, but Arthur, my little brother, jams with his band at home on Tuesdays, and although they are nice guys the music gives me a headache. So when the final bell rings I collect my things from my locker and head across to the staff building to find Ms Bracken.
Ms Bracken relies on me a lot because she knows how diligent and responsible I am. She suffers from arthritis and a few other degenerative diseases, so I like to assist her with odd jobs when I can. When I reach her office, I find her struggling with a PowerPoint presentation (Ms Bracken is far from technologically savvy). I offer to lend a hand.
‘It’s perfectly fine, Harriet,’ she says, bent over a paper-strewn desk that I am tempted to help her tidy: that level of mess can bring on one of my migraines. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need your assistance.’
This is exactly the response I anticipated. Ms Bracken always feels so guilty about taking up my time. ‘Don’t give it a second thought, Ms B. I happen to have a free window this afternoon.’
‘But I don’t. I’m on detention duty.’ She gathers her books.
‘Oh. Well, I’m sure we can do the presentation and monitor the detention students at the same time.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ She hurries down the hallway. ‘There’s only one student in detention and she’s in your year. I think that would be awkward.’
‘That’s kind of you, Ms Bracken,’ I pant. For someone with arthritis she is walking at a startling pace. ‘But I’m used to this kind of thing.’ It’s true. As a prefect I constantly have to monitor the behaviour of other students, including those in year twelve. I can’t exactly tell off a year-seven girl for failing to wear a regulation Rosemead
