‘Will!’
She is perched on the couch with a stack of debate cards on her lap. She has a fountain pen poised over the top one. She is also staring at me in a way that makes the breath leave my body and for a moment I think I have everything wrong.
Then Harriet opens her mouth.
‘Where did you end up on Friday night? I noticed you left pretty early.’
I baulk at her brightness, and the way her upbeat tone makes her question mere inconsequential chatter. Suddenly I don’t want to be in a room with her. ‘Best not to talk to me in public, Harriet. Remember the rules.’ The words come out snarkier than intended.
She blushes. ‘Oh! I guess they still apply, don’t they? It’s just with everything that’s happened …’
I glance at her debate cards. ‘Are they for Edie?’
This is my attempt to change the subject – to make things less awkward – but obviously I’ve done a pretty bad job of changing the subject and a pretty good job of making things more awkward. Harriet looks helplessly down at her lap. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I promised to help her with her competition today. I have to get these to her by twelve-thirty.’
‘Or?’
Harriet’s look of discomfort intensifies. ‘Or she’ll dump me from the Tawney team again.’
That Edie: what a keeper.
I keep my sarcasm to myself.
The loudspeaker above Harriet’s head suddenly crackles, even though it’s too early for roll-call notices. Someone coughs into the microphone. ‘Attention everybody. An emergency announcement,’ says Deputy Davids. The speaker squeals loudly. ‘An emergency announcement,’ she repeats at a lower volume. ‘Year-twelve students are to report to the Assembly Hall immediately. I’ll say that again. Roll call will be conducted in the Assembly Hall this morning for all year-twelves. Attendance is compulsory.’
By the time Harriet and I have walked to the hall in awkward silence, pretty much everyone has arrived. Deputy Davids is fussing about at the foot of the stage marking names off a roll, and when she isn’t fussing she’s playing traffic controller, guiding girls towards the front rows. It’s clear this isn’t her event – she’s merely the warm-up act. No prizes for guessing who’s starring in the main part of the show.
We haven’t said anything to each other, but I’m sure Harriet knows as well as I do what this is about.
‘This could get heavy,’ I warn her as we pass through the doors.
‘I know.’
‘We need to think about what we’re going to do.’
‘I know.’
‘So. What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Harriet says, before adding, ‘let’s split up.’ She peels off from me and practically gallops down the front to where Liz Newcomb is already seated.
There is sense to her approach, but still.
I find Nat in the third row. I hesitate before sitting next to her. After our conversation on Friday night I’m probably the last person she wants to see, and I’m not sure I want to see her. But sitting somewhere else would be completely weird.
‘This is it, isn’t it?’ I say, sitting down.
I can tell she’s deciding whether to speak to me. ‘They don’t know a thing,’ she says finally.
‘What makes you so sure?’
Nat glances at me. ‘The fact we’re all here. It’s as close as they can get to narrowing in on the culprit. They’re hoping to force a confession.’
‘But surely they’ll start with me.’
‘They know it’s bigger than you.’
‘How?’
Nat shifts in her chair. ‘My guess? Because nobody’s snitched. Which means Croon suspects there are more people in on it. If it was just you, somebody would have dobbed you in by now.’
‘You reckon?’
‘You’re not exactly Miss Popularity around here.’
‘I see you’re still mad at me,’ I say. ‘Just for the record, I think you’re being bloody unfair.’
She turns to face me properly. ‘I know I was.’
‘You do?’
Nat nods, and relief sweeps through me.
‘It makes sense you didn’t tell me about Harriet,’ she says. ‘She’s with someone else. And things between you and me were … unclear.’
‘Exactly!’
Nat pauses. ‘The whole Amelia Westlake thing is a different story, though.’
I hear an edge to her voice and it scares me. ‘What do you mean? I thought we’d resolved all of that. When we let you …’ I lower my voice, ‘get in on the game.’
‘I’ve been doing some thinking since then,’ says Nat. ‘A lot of thinking. The fact is, you deliberately kept the whole thing from me so I’d publish your cartoons.’
‘Which was wrong,’ I admit.
‘You jeopardised my position at the Messenger.’
‘Yes.’
‘I could have lost my newspaper. Lost the chance to use that experience to get into journalism. Which is all I’ve ever wanted. As you know.’ Her voice is cold.
‘Yes,’ I say, quieter this time.
‘I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, now. Trying to find a way to forgive you, I guess. I know you haven’t had much experience at friendship.’
She’s not pulling her punches today. Nat can be cruel, but she’s never been this cruel to me. ‘I’ve had friends,’ I say, my voice weak.
She gives me a level stare. ‘You mean from your old school?’
‘… Sure.’
‘Who you just happen to never talk about?’
I’m silent.
‘It’s okay,’ Nat continues. ‘I worked it out a while ago. Your mum didn’t spend all that money to send you to Rosemead just for the sandstone buildings. It was because you were so miserable where you were. The kids there no doubt hated you because you were a self-righteous shit. You probably made them feel guilty for doing nothing about the causes you thought they should be fighting for. Basically the reasons they hate you here.’
I draw circles on my knee with a finger so that I don’t have to look at her.
‘Except for me,’ she goes on. ‘That’s why I like you. Because you care about the world. And
