All I’m focused on is the numbers; the more signatures the better. Chloe was so dejected yesterday, like a stray dog that had been kicked one too many times, and I wonder if I can be a good friend, a better friend, the best sort, and whether that will make up for anything.
The international students decline to sign the petition, except for Bochen, who listens carefully.
‘What do you do with it?’ she asks.
‘I’ll give it to Mrs Christie, and if that doesn’t work, the School Board.’
‘No government?’
‘No, never,’ I say and she signs.
I count and I’ve hit ten pages of names and addresses. Ten! I’d count actual numbers of signatures but I can’t afford to slow down for one second.
Chloe’s not at school and I can’t tell from her messages whether she’s really sick or just moping. I’m hoping to surprise her with an avalanche of signatures by the time she comes back to school tomorrow and she will weep tears of joy and tell me how amazing I am, both as a muse and a future prime minister or CEO or general all-round boss bitch and she will be right.
I race to every class as soon as the bell goes, so I can use the seven minutes in-between periods to get signatures.
At lunch I convince Marley and Sarah to cover the bottom corridors, while Ally and I roam the top levels. It is a testament to our collective boredom that they agree without a single argument.
Ally and I have amazing success with the Elevens and Twelves, who are grumpy about their assessment tasks and sign easily. I don’t think about how the entire school probably feels sorry for our year level and I don’t care if some are pity signatures.
We work our way down to our floor again and come across Petra sitting in an empty classroom with some minor fellow geeks, playing chess of all things and it’s like we’re out on the savannah and I’m a cheetah and she’s an antelope. Dinner time, little antelope.
‘Tal, no,’ murmurs Ally, and tries to reverse out the door, tugging on my sleeve. I pretend I haven’t heard her.
Petra is minus her twin Audrey and looks scared when she sees us. I can actually hear Ally whimpering behind me.
‘Hi everyone. We’re petitioning Mrs Christie about the unfair censorship of Chloe Cardell’s artwork.’
‘Chloe who?’ one of the chess players asks.
‘If you care about freedom of speech, then you should sign it.’
I place the clipboard down on the table and hold out a handful of pens. The geeks avoid eye contact.
‘Who’s organising it? Is it Amnesty International?’ one of the girls asks Petra.
‘It’s me!’ Is it that hard to believe?
Ally—I could kiss her—joins in. ‘It’s a student-led thing. We’re being involved citizens, or something?’
‘We just don’t think that one person’s opinion should override what the rest of us think.’ I stare right at Petra when I say this, and to my surprise she meets my gaze.
‘Why are you doing this, Natalia?’ asks Petra. She’s not being defiant, she seems genuinely puzzled. Realising her hand is hovering, she puts the chess piece down on the board.
‘Do you think it’s fair?’ I throw back. ‘That one person thinks they’re so important and so right, that they’re going to make everyone else suffer?’
‘I’m not suffering,’ whispers a girl to her neighbour, confused.
‘Is it that you think you’re above us, Petra?’ I can’t help raising my voice and banging my hand on the table. I’m on a roll again; pure lightning runs through my veins. ‘Are your precious little feelings more important than Chloe’s hard work and talent?’
Petra has gone super-red in the face, and I can see she’s surprised because I’m one hundred per cent right and she can’t deny it.
‘Individual rights should be balanced against what’s best for the group,’ she has the nerve to say. ‘And if I’m so coldhearted, then why am I the only one who thought about how upset the Mitchells would be if they saw a photo mocking the whole idea of kidnapping up on the school wall?’
This is enough to take my breath away, for real. I understand for the first time what seeing red means. Who was it that let Chunjuan snot on her shoulder?
‘Mocking? You don’t know anything about how the Mitchells feel. Why do you get to decide what’s right?’
Petra clears her throat.
‘I didn’t decide. Mrs Christie did. But do you want to know what I think?’ Her voice is low but there’s total hush in the classroom so it rings out. ‘I think you’re using Chloe for attention. And you’re using me as an excuse to be angry.’
She’s in tears which is just a cheap ploy to get her nerd friends to turn against us. I open my mouth to respond but she gets in first.
‘You think no one remembers Junior School, but I do. So I don’t get why you’re defending that photo! Or why you would do it in the first place. Where’s your heart?’
That is like a punch to the face and I’m actually reeling backwards but I try to control it, try to wipe any expression off my face and stay strong. I’m so mad and frustrated I can barely see.
‘My heart is broken…’ I start, but a torrent of tears threatens to overtake me and I won’t let anyone see me like that.
I pick up my clipboard and leave and Ally rushes to catch up to me, saying nothing, but sticking to my side.
DAY 61
It is completely unacceptable that Mrs Christie is not in her office when I have a million signatures to hand over, collected scrupulously over the last two days. Who can blame her, though, it must be hard to admit that everyone at this school thinks you’re wrong wrong wrong. She’s such an egomaniac it would never occur to her that someone might ever stand up to her.
‘Try the
