‘No more than a few years old. In perfect working condition,’ says Will. ‘I was using one of them in the lab just the other week! Rosemead decides to upgrade its equipment and can’t think of anything better to do with the old stuff than throw it out? It’s outrageous.’
By the time my free period (and the class Will is truanting from) has ended, we have a plan.
I obtain fifty sheets of neon-pink cardboard from my local newsagency that afternoon. We divide them up the next day. The day after that, we meet at the storeroom before dawn. By the time the sun has crept above the ancient slate tiles of the Concert Hall roof, a trail of neon pink arrows, BluTacked to the pathways, leads from the front staircase of the main block through campus and up the laneway to where the skip bin sits. Glued to the side of the skip, a neon pink notice glimmers in the early light.
Dear Rosemead,
You could TRASH the environment and TRASH the dreams of the less fortunate while you’re at it
OR
you could DONATE this ‘waste’ to kids in need.
Love, AW
At recess, the laneway is so choked with students who have followed our trail of arrows that the gardeners trying to get through to the rose garden have to back up their utility truck and take a roundabout route.
At Assembly on Wednesday, Mr Reynolds, the computer teacher, announces that the school has decided to donate ten desktop computers to a western Sydney community centre and forty to a municipal library. The news is greeted with considerable applause.
Volley Stage Two. Location: the Performing Arts Centre’s Lower Hall.
One thing I have noticed since Will and I started frequenting the storeroom is the under-utilisation of the PAC’s Lower Hall. It’s smaller than the Upper Hall, and on the shadier side of the building, so teachers tend not to book it for activities, meaning it is only occupied a few hours a week. This is despite it being an acoustically designed facility with an orchestra pit, sound-and-lighting box and a capacity audience of five hundred.
Will and I compose a template letter and print out five variations on Rosemead letterhead that Will has ‘obtained’ from the school office.
Dear Principal [insert surname]
I am writing to you and the other local school principals to let you know about our Lower Hall facility. The Lower Hall, located at the back of our recently renovated Performing Arts Centre, is a state-of-the-art facility with an impressive audience capacity.
I would be more than happy for you and your students to make use of the Lower Hall, at no cost, if and when you require it. Please let me know if you are interested and I will arrange a booking.
Sincerely,
Principal Croon
Rosemead Grammar
We send off five letters to nearby primary schools. Within a fortnight, a notable number of local school children are regularly filing back and forth from the Lower Hall to the main car park.
It does not take long for the other students to notice.
‘What’s with all the mini bogans?’ Beth asks in the common room one recess. ‘Have we seceded the Lower Hall to the state government or something? Is this a form of tax avoidance?’
‘There was a sign on the Lower Hall entrance –’ says Ruby Lasko.
‘Really, though,’ Beth interrupts. ‘What’s the point of going to this school if we still have to mix with the povos?’
‘What did the sign say, Ruby?’ asks Liz Newcomb. She opens the common room fridge, takes out an opened tin of condensed milk that has white fur growing on it, and throws it across the room into the bin. It is an impressive display of hand-eye co-ordination, but if Little Miss Tawney Shield Captain wants applause she is not going to get it from me.
Ruby squints into the middle distance. ‘I’m trying to remember the exact words. Dear local school student. Amelia Westlake welcomes you to Rosemead. Please enjoy the facilities. Something along those lines.’
‘Genius,’ say Liz.
With the hours I am spending adhering neon pink arrows to brickwork, posting envelopes and placing notices in the Lower Hall, it is no wonder my teachers begin querying my commitment to schoolwork.
Ms Bracken: ‘Harriet, is everything okay at home? I ask because I haven’t seen your Medici essay yet, and the only other time you’ve been late with an essay was when your brother required emergency surgery after slicing his finger on a guitar string.’
Mr Porter: ‘Look, I hate to bring this up with you, Harriet, because it’s never been a problem before, but I noticed you were distracted during the class quiz. The answer to question three is 846. Instead, your workings suggest you were trying to multiply fifty by “however much A4 sheets of cardboard cost”.’
Mr Van: ‘What have you got there, Harriet? We’re discussing reptiles. A Rosemead letterhead is not a reptile.’
Volley Stage Three. Location: Science laboratory, west corridor
One Thursday afternoon a camera crew is expected on campus. They’re shooting a live segment for the early news about Rosemead’s recent success at the National Schools Robotics Competition.
The robotics team consists of seven year-twelve Physics and Maths students, and Deputy Davids is the team’s co-ordinating teacher. She has invited a spokesperson from the team’s company sponsor, SNARC Electronics, which funded the robot build, to be part of the live broadcast.
What the student team doesn’t know until mid-afternoon is that, despite being the ones who won the competition, they won’t be on television.
Will hears Zara Long complaining about it at her locker during lunch. ‘We won the comp, not SNARC,’ Zara mutters. ‘We should be the ones in front of the camera. SNARC just wants to use the airtime to push their brand.’
‘It’s completely unfair,’ agrees Palmer Crichton. ‘We should at least get to demonstrate how to operate Mr Buddy. We’re the ones who invented him!’
After a quick reconnaissance trip by Will to the science lab between classes, we devise a plan for her to carry out. At five o’clock, when
