‘Secondly, you didn’t do anything. I, on the other hand, did go in quite hard because there was a principle at stake, right? And I’m trying to defend you, because, let’s face it, you’re not doing anything to defend yourself.’
Chloe looks outraged at this, but I’m almost there.
‘Thirdly, this has been going on for a long time. You forget that I’ve known Petra since Junior School. She has always gone overboard about every little thing.’
Chloe crosses her arms in front of her chest. ‘Why does everyone always bring up the fact that I didn’t go to Junior School?’
I’m very confused for a second. ‘What? We don’t.’
Chloe draws up to her full height which, truth be told, is slightly intimidating.
‘You don’t get anything,’ her voice is strangled, ‘because you’re rich and beautiful and you’ve got all the confidence in the world. You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider or a target, you don’t know how easy it is to bring someone like me down. I tried, and I failed, and I just want to go away and be quiet now.’
I stare at her. This conversation is starting to resemble a runaway train, a train full of sentences that make no sense at all. What does she mean about confidence? She’s confident.
‘No petition. No protest. No attacking Petra. I mean it.’
‘Attack? Come on, Chloe.’
We fall silent for a moment, staring at each other, and there’s a sense that we’re strangers and don’t know each other at all. It’s embarrassing to be carrying on like this in the corridor where everyone can see us.
‘Is this our first fight?’ I ask. If she only knew what I’d planned for tonight, she’d see what a stroke of brilliance it’s going to be.
Chloe bites her lip, looking very uncertain. ‘You’re not listening to me, Natalia. Maybe it’s because this whole thing is tangled up with how you’re feeling about Yin.’
My vision blanks for one second, blanks with a red curtain. When it comes back Chloe is tenser than ever.
‘I feel terrible that I asked you to pose like that, now that I know you used to be fr—’
I hold up my hand to halt her. Yeah, I can do that because I’m rich and beautiful and that’s one of my superpowers.
‘Not you as well,’ I say, and walk away.
‘I think it’s a little strong.’
Dad fails to do a head-check before changing lanes, which is hypocritical of him because he’s always at me about it when he takes me on a driving lesson and this is why I don’t listen to him about many things.
‘You said I had to decide the best approach on my own. Using judgement.’
‘That’s right and, respectfully, I’m telling you, I think the language you’ve chosen is too strong. There’s a difference between making your point and being inflammatory. You could have just said bring Chloe’s photo back.’
‘That’s got no flair, Dad. Boring.’
I turn to look at my placard resting on the back seat.
STEALING STUDENT VOICES SINCE 1910
Take that, Balmoral knobs.
The school is so proud of its august history that I think it strikes exactly the right note. I am very satisfied with my sign. It took me at least an hour to paint those thick black letters when I could have been doing a million other things like watching music videos or stalking Samuel Pulpitt’s adult children online.
I’m wearing all black and I’ve got a roll of gaffer tape ready to slap over my mouth. I was going to use my school scarf to gag myself, until Dad pointed out that might be in bad taste. And I took his fatherly feedback on board, because I’m not a monster. My small rectangle of tape will be very tasteful.
‘Any word from the principal?’
Mrs Christie had plenty of time after lunch today to respond to my impressive wad of paper and she did not get off her arse to do anything, so if anyone is to blame for tonight’s public spectacle, it is her.
I sit up and pretend I possess Mrs Christie’s giant mono-boob and prissy mouth. ‘I imagine she would say: We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
Dad tries not to smile at that, but his cheeks twitch suspiciously.
When we get to school I make Dad park as close as he can, so he can see the main doors clearly. The entrance lobby is lit up but it’s abandoned and there aren’t many cars in the front car park.
‘Okay, what’s the plan, kiddo?’
‘Enter the building, find a place to situate myself for the duration of my peaceful protest. Engage in passive resistance.’
‘And leave if you’re asked to by the security guard or teachers,’ finishes Dad.
He makes me pose quickly by the side of the car with my mouth tape on, holding up the placard, taking pics with my phone. I have the good sense not to send any to Chloe. Maybe later, when she’s calmed down, I can show her, and she’ll say, you were right, Natalia, I was afraid to grab the attention and acclaim that I so clearly deserve.
It is maybe a tiny bit possible that perhaps I overreacted a small amount when Chloe brought up Yin, because of course someone told her how close we used to be. It’s not ideal, but I am admittedly a notorious and interesting person that others talk about.
‘Remember, if they try to expel you, I’ve got your back.’
‘Comforting, Dad.’
I trudge towards the main doors, thinking about how Dad is almost certainly having his second mid-life crisis and I’m only enabling him and Mum would definitely not approve—if we had told her about our plan, that is.
I manage to wiggle my sign through the school doors. My breath comes in little snorts and it’s hard to tell if it’s because I am beginning the very slow process of freaking out completely or if I’m still adjusting to breathing only through my nose.
A sandwich board announcing the Arts Sparks cocktail evening
