When something real and raw like Chloe’s photo comes along, they push it away. As if we don’t know what bad people can do.
‘Is that what happened?’
‘Chloe worked so hard on this for her major art project, and so did I, and it was only up for less than a day before one person—one person!—complained, and they’ve taken it out of the exhibition. And Chloe isn’t eligible for the art prize now, which is totally unfair and she deserved to win—’
‘I’ll call Gary after dinner—’ starts Dad.
‘NO.’
I march over to the wall and flip on the fan before the smoke alarm starts beeping.
‘I don’t want you to call Gary, Dad. I want you to tell me what I should do about it.’
‘Huh.’ Dad gives it actual thought. The kitchen is an utter mess around him and he forgot to put an apron on and has turmeric smeared down his front.
‘So this photo is an important personal statement, right?’ I nod.
‘And you’ve been silenced from making this statement.’ You can almost see his mind rewinding to his radical university days, as he likes to call them. Apparently even Gary was a socialist back then, which is impossible to believe.
‘I think a petition is a good place to start.’ He slides spring onions into a pan. ‘Get the support of your fellow students first. And try to get some teachers to sign.’
‘Dad, please. That’s not going to happen. The teachers don’t care about anything but keeping their jobs.’
‘Yeah, fair point.’ He bats the onions around the pan with an egg flipper. ‘Still. You can ask, to make your point. Make it obvious what you’re doing and if anyone questions you, say you’re exercising your democratic rights.’
‘But what about an actual protest? Hanging a banner over the school, or staging a walkout…or a sit-in. Or a hunger strike?’
‘Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.’ Dad’s eyes are shining and it’s not just chilli and steam and wine. ‘First, create awareness around the issue. It might be enough. Your posse will help you, right?’
I roll my eyes. Posse.
‘They might.’ I already know awareness won’t be enough to fix this, not at Balmoral. Something more extreme is in order.
‘Maybe ask Sarah? I haven’t seen her over here for a while. Are you two still tight?’
‘Dad, just because I asked you for your opinion doesn’t mean you get to mess with my social life.’
He holds his hands up in surrender.
‘Okay, point taken. My only condition is that you don’t get yourself suspended. Know your limits and try to exercise some judgement.’
‘Sure. Judgement.’
Dad takes the coriander off my hands. ‘Did I tell you I’m taking a few weeks off?’
He didn’t.
‘Your mother is stressed out of her mind with that Baker-Hill contract,’ he says. ‘I’m going to stay home to cook and be around for her. And you, of course. Give you lifts, help you with your homework.’
Mum is always stressed out over some project so it’s not an excuse. I look at Dad’s tired face, the pan smoking on the stove behind him, and I feel bad for ever doubting him, for wondering about the nights he comes home late, for thinking the police might be onto something.
I want to ask him about the case, what the police asked him and why, but I can’t.
One day he’ll have a stroke or a heart attack or an ulcer from too much work and I wish he could just say he’s taking time off work for himself, because he needs a break too.
DAY 60
We are alarmed by the censorship of Chloe Cardell’s artwork, Someone’s Watching, and are dismayed by the restriction of free speech in our school. Balmoral’s motto, Sapientia et Libertas, encourages its students to think independently, which we believe Chloe Cardell has done.
We demand that Someone’s Watching be put back on display and that it be rightfully considered for the Balmoral Art Prize.
Sarah thinks that I should put the petition online, but I disagree. Anyone can click ‘like’ or join a group, it doesn’t mean they believe in it, they just want to do what everyone else is doing and be seen looking like they care. What I need is to look people in the face and know for sure that they think that Nouri and Christie and Petra are wrong and we are right. I need them to agree with me.
So, I’m going old school with this: a paper-and-pen petition, something that Christie and the School Board might understand. Dad helped me with the wording and it made him tragically happy.
I use the photocopier in the library and get a surprising amount of encouragement from the librarians who are all secret anarchists except when it comes to the Dewey decimal system. But they laugh when I ask them to sign and say it’s not their place to get involved. I stick petitions up on every corridor, and then I go around with a clipboard and I talk people into signing and I am a proper campaigner.
I hit up our year level first, at morning recess, starting with 10Q, Chloe’s class. It’s not easy. I have to convince everyone you can’t get in trouble for having an opinion.
‘You were in the photo right?’ says Teaghan. Because Teaghan signs, Brooke and Ella do too. ‘Looking scary and dead.’
‘Thank you for your support,’ I say because I am a born diplomat and I’m genuinely surprised that Teaghan still talks to me after we replaced her with Ally in eighth grade. ‘But I’d do this anyway even if someone else was in the picture because I don’t think the school should infringe our civil liberties.’
I can tell they don’t believe me and I wouldn’t either and I don’t actually know anything about civil liberties, but I don’t waste time worrying. I’ve gone into what Dad calls the zone,
