Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey (14 page)

I feel like I’ve stepped into a
parallel universe. There’s a huge bouquet of cellophane-wrapped red roses in
the kitchen and Emma is dressed up in a pretty dress and silver spike-heel
shoes.

Emma, kind, friendly Emma, who put an
arm round my shoulder last night and told me no boy was worth getting upset over.
Emma, who had an affair with my dad and broke up his marriage.

‘Aren’t they
gorgeous?’ she smiles, oblivious. ‘Greg loves to surprise me with
flowers, and he’s booked a table at this new super-posh restaurant in town to
make up for working late so much recently! We’re doing an early dinner and
then a show … isn’t that cute?’

‘Cute,’ I echo coldly.

‘Will you be OK?’ Emma asks.
‘On your own? I’ve left some cash in case you fancy takeaway pizza.
Greg’s swinging by in ten minutes to pick me up.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say.
‘How long have you and Dad been seeing each other, Emma?’

Her smile falters. ‘A good while
now … not too long after he split up with your mum, I think. Why do you
ask?’

‘Just wondered,’ I say with
a shrug. ‘How did you meet?’

‘Oh … well … I
was your dad’s Personal Assistant back at the London office, for years,
really. So we were already good friends, and after they separated things just sort
of took off …’

I bet they did.

‘After the split?’ I
challenge. ‘Definitely?’

Emma’s cheeks darken, and she
can’t meet my eye. ‘Look, Honey – this is ancient history. Why rake up
the past?’

I am certain it wasn’t after they
broke up. I look at Emma, her glossy hair pinned up prettily to show off the
signature gold-hoop earrings, and I wonder if she knows that a lost earring found in
a car can change people’s lives. I wonder if she knows that it happened back
then, and that maybe it’s happening again right now. I wonder if she
cares.

They say that what goes around comes
around, but in spite of everything, I can’t find it in me to hate Emma.
There’s the sound of tyres crunching on gravel. Dad toots the car horn and
Emma hugs me and runs out of the house, and I’m left alone.

I fetch my mobile and laptop from the
bedroom and stretch out on the sofa; there’s an avalanche of notifications.
Before I can click on to SpiderWeb, my iPhone buzzes with a new message.

Coco Tanberry

to me

 

What are you PLAYING at, Honey? You
are SO embarrassing! Get rid of the pic – it’s tacky, even for you.

My heart starts to race. I type back,
asking Coco what she’s talking about. Seconds later, a one-word answer appears
on the screen.

SpiderWeb.

I click on to my home page and suddenly
the whole day of funny, sideways looks begins to make sense. There on my home page
is a photo of me, taken back in the spring at someone’s party. It’s a
jokey, flirty picture of me leaning in to the camera, blowing a kiss and showing a
little too much cleavage; but that’s not the worst of it. The status printed
above it makes me feel sick.

Feeling lonely … going to
an all-girls’ school sucks. Any cute boys out there want to help cheer me
up?

I scan down. There are dozens of replies,
some from girls at school telling me I should be ashamed, calling me disgusting
names. It’s the comments from boys – and men – that get me, though. Comment
after comment, sleazy, saddo remarks from blokes offering to help cure my
loneliness. And they leave me in no doubt about how they are planning to do
that.

Amongst the sleaze, one comment stands
out, from Surfie16.

Wish I’d made the effort to
come along to see you last night now. Looks like there was a lot more on offer
than the movie!

Tears sting my eyes. How can you be so
wrong about someone?

I don’t even know half of these
people … most of the names aren’t on my friends list. As for the
picture, it’s an old one from my iPhone; when I got the laptop, I uploaded all
of my mobile pictures and stored them in my SpiderWeb photo albums, but I locked the
privacy settings so that only I could access them. And I
know
I
didn’t post that picture on to my home page … so how did it get
there?

I click Delete, and the post
disappears.

No wonder the girls at school were
acting strangely. No wonder Liane made her ‘sleaze’ comment. Even my
little sister has seen the post, and the thought of that makes me sick with shame. I
close my eyes, trying to make sense of it all and failing miserably. When I open my
eyes again, a new private message from Surfie16 blinks at me from my inbox.

Hey … why’d you
take the photo down? I liked it! You still lonely? Bet I can put a smile on your
face!

I wipe away furious tears as I type.

For God’s sake – I
didn’t post that photo. I’ve no idea how it got there!

A reply appears a few moments later.

Well, it didn’t get there all
by itself, did it? Were you drunk last night or something? Missing me? ;o)

I grit my teeth.

No, I wasn’t drunk and I
didn’t post it! Don’t be such a slimeball, Riley!

Another message appears.

Don’t be mad at me. OK, I
stood you up – my bad. But why get so upset about a photo?

I literally growl at this. Is Riley
stupid? I try to explain.

That picture was in a private
folder. I don’t see how anyone could have even known it was there, let
alone post it online. All those awful comments … the girls at school
think I’m sleazy and attention-seeking, and I seriously don’t know
who the guys who commented even are. I think I’ve been hacked!

A minute later, Riley’s reply
appears.

Check your security settings. If
you haven’t set them properly, everyone on your friends’ SpiderWeb
pages can see what you’ve posted and comment.

I am certain I put tight security
settings in place when I created the page, but when I go to check the security is
set so that ‘everyone’ can see what I post. I change it back to
‘friends only’ and check the settings on my photo albums – they too are
set so that ‘everyone’ can see. Horrified, I ramp up the security again
and click Save.

I type another message.

My security settings have changed.
How can that happen?

A reply appears a few minutes later.

Guess you didn’t set them
right to start with. This was the kind of picture that attracts a lot of
attention, but you should have thought about that before you put it online.

Exasperated, I send off my response.

I didn’t put the picture
online! Why won’t you believe me?

There’s no reply.

It takes forever to explain it all to
Tara and Bennie. Luckily neither of them actually saw the photograph – I must have
deleted it just in time – but Liane told them in great detail just how cringey it
was. Great.

‘Be careful next time,’
Bennie says when we meet in town. ‘I know you didn’t mean anything bad,
but some things are better kept private.’

‘I didn’t post it,’ I
say for what feels like the millionth time. ‘I don’t know how it got
there, but it had nothing to do with me!’

Tara frowns. ‘Are you saying it
wasn’t your picture?’

‘It was an old one,’ I
explain. ‘Taken at a party in April or May. I was messing around, having fun,
and someone picked up my iPhone and took the picture. It was in a private SpiderWeb
album – I’d never have posted it so people could see. Especially not with a
comment like that.’

‘Sounds like every lowlife on the
Internet chipped in with something to say,’ Bennie adds.
‘Yuk.’

‘Liane and some girls from school
commented too,’ I say. ‘Think I’ve lost a few friends over
this.’

‘If they judge you over a stupid
mistake –’

‘Not a mistake,’ I argue.
‘I was hacked!’

‘Well, whatever,’ Tara says.
‘If they were really your friends, they’d understand, that’s all.
Hold your head up, pretend nothing happened – scandals come and go at Willowbank. By
next term, nobody will even remember.’

I’m not sure that’s true;
overnight five or six girls from school have vanished from my SpiderWeb. I
don’t think they see me as cool and exotic any more – more cheap and
sleazy.

‘We’re on your side,’
Tara says. ‘Bennie stuck up for you when Liane was being spiteful. We’ve
decided to drop out of the quiz team, for now at least. Friends are more
important.’

I smile, touched at their loyalty.

‘Do you really think you were
hacked?’ Bennie asks. ‘Because if you did post the picture, because you
were feeling down about Riley not turning up or something … well,
we’d understand. Everyone gets stuff wrong sometimes.’

‘Me more than most,’ I
admit. ‘But I didn’t do this, Bennie. And I can’t figure out who
would.’

She considers. ‘Who else has had
access to your laptop? Or your iPhone even?’

I bite my lip. ‘Just you two,
really,’ I say. ‘At the sleepover. And I know you didn’t even go
near it, except when I was showing you those photos of Kes and Shay. Dad and Emma,
of course … but they’d never do something like this. I’ve had
my iPhone at school, though, and at the beach cafe.’

‘Ash wouldn’t,’ Tara
says firmly. ‘He’s OK.’

‘And we wouldn’t,’
Bennie adds. ‘You know that, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ I agree.
‘Maybe someone at school, but I know I haven’t left my mobile out of
sight, so I’ve no idea how!’

The more I think about it, the clearer
it seems that someone close to me is the culprit. And that really is scary.

I am literally counting down the days
until school closes for the Christmas break, but despite the sweltering Aussie heat,
the atmosphere in class is frosty. Not too many people actually saw the photo;
we’re not supposed to use mobiles during the school day, but Liane has made
sure everyone knows about it, and they all have an opinion.

I do a pretty good job of ignoring the
nasty looks, but on Tuesday I end up stuck next to Liane in art. The mirrors
we’re using for our self-portrait paintings have been individually set up with
leafy plants and still-life objects and draped fabric; they sit on the side benches
from week to week, so we can go on with our paintings without delay or interruption.
Moving is not an option, so I look straight through Liane as if she’s not
there at all. It takes some willpower, trust me.

Halfway through class Miss Kelly stops
beside me, studying my picture. My brush freezes in mid-air, partway through
painting the highlights on a piece of velvet draped from the top of the mirror.

‘Have you used acrylic paint
before, Honey?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I admit. ‘Why?
Am I doing it wrong?’

Miss Kelly laughs. ‘No, far from
it! This self-portrait is expressive, powerful – quite extraordinary. The
eyes … so sad and vulnerable and lost!’

I flinch at her words. Is that what
people see when they look at this picture? At me? Shame floods my body like acid,
eating away at me from inside.

‘So you don’t have acrylic
paints at home?’ Miss Kelly is asking.

‘No, Miss.’

‘I’ll find you a set of them
to borrow over the holidays. I’d love to see more work like this, Honey.
Perhaps some portraits of your family? You could make it a holiday project, build up
your coursework folder.’

My family? I don’t think so.

‘Can I do something else,
Miss?’ I ask. ‘Something less … personal?’

Miss Kelly laughs. ‘Personal is
what I want from you,’ she says. ‘Sometimes the most challenging tasks
are the ones we learn most from!’

I try to argue, but when I open my
mouth, nothing comes out. Miss Kelly moves on to help someone else.

She is my favourite teacher at
Willowbank, gentle, kind, encouraging. Doesn’t she know about my past? Does
she want me to dig into all that, stir it up and turn it into art? My parents’
marriage, smashed carelessly to bits by the woman who has made me feel welcome in
Sydney; my boyfriend-stealing stepsister, Cherry; Paddy with his smug, sickly sweet
dreams of happy-ever-after; even Dad, with his late nights and date nights and
secrets. All of that would make great material for an art project. Not.

Miss Kelly hasn’t a clue about any
of this, though, because Dad has smoothed out the past, papered over the cracks,
supplied a new story to explain my sudden appearance in Australia. I have even
helped him do it.

Miss Kelly wants a project on family?
I’ll give her one, but it won’t be the neat series of portraits
she’s expecting. I look into the mirror, and the eyes that meet mine
aren’t sad; they flash with fury.

Good. I like them that way.

Then I look at the painting, and there
is the sadness Miss Kelly was talking about; wide blue eyes holding all the pain in
the world. I don’t want to see that, and I really, really don’t want
anyone else to. It feels like being stripped bare in the middle of the street.

‘What’s the matter,
Honey?’ Liane sneers, her face spiteful and sour. ‘Not keen on the idea
of family portraits? Guess the only person you like looking at is
you
,
right? Only usually with much sluttier clothes on –’

A wave of anger threatens to engulf me.
In one quick movement, I reach out and tip over the water jar, spilling muddy liquid
all over the picture and all over Liane, who jumps up screaming. I grab the drawing
board, dragging the waterlogged painting off it as if to rescue it; I’m not
rescuing it, though – just the opposite. Miss Kelly turns to see Liane howling and
yelling at me as the whole picture tears in half.

‘Liane!’ Miss Kelly cries.
‘What have you done?’

‘Me?’ she screeches,
outraged. ‘It was Honey! She tipped water all over me and then ripped the
picture in two! She’s crazy!’

‘I find it hard to believe
she’d destroy her own painting,’ the teacher says. She rushes to help,
promising repairs and rescue. It’s too late by then, though; I have dragged
the damaged picture from the board, scrunched it up and thrown it into the bin.

‘Honey!’ she says.
‘Your beautiful painting!’

‘It was an accident!’ I
wail, wiping away an imaginary tear. ‘I spilt the water. Liane was furious,
but I don’t blame her and I’m sure she didn’t
mean
to do
it –’

‘I didn’t do it at
all!’ Liane protests, but even her friends look doubtful. She doesn’t
like me; she’s made that very clear. And now she looks like a jealous,
vindictive bully, while I seem more of a hapless victim with a very forgiving
nature.

Liane glances at me, simmering with
fury, but I just smile and say sweetly that I’m really, really sorry about her
dress.

It’s a pity they don’t do
drama lessons at Willowbank. I’d get top marks.

After school, I sit on a tall stool at
the beach-cafe counter and confess all to Ash. ‘She’d have been sent to
Birdie if I hadn’t pleaded for mercy on her behalf,’ I recount with
relish. ‘I thought she was going to explode with fury. I guess that’ll
teach her to mess with me. See, Ash? I told you I wasn’t very nice.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like
she kind of asked for it,’ he says. ‘Spreading rumours and bitching
behind your back. But you’re the loser, Honey. You destroyed your own
painting. Why would you do that?’

I bite my lip. The truth is I ruined my
picture because Miss Kelly said it made me look sad and vulnerable and lost. It gave
too much away.

‘I didn’t like it,’ I
say carelessly.

Ash shakes his head. He is putting
together a complicated ice-cream sundae involving layers of strawberries, peach
slices and lots of ice cream – he thinks I need cheering up. He finishes it off with
a handful of chopped nuts, sugar sprinkles and a drizzle of strawberry sauce, a
paper parasol perched on top.

‘This should make you
smile,’ he says. ‘On the house, of course.’

‘You can’t keep giving me
free ice creams,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll get into trouble.’

‘I’m paying for them with my
own money,’ he says with a shrug. ‘You’re worth it.’

‘You don’t know anything
about me,’ I say darkly. ‘Most people think I’m not worth it at
all.’

‘I’m not most people,’
he replies. ‘Besides, I’ve seen what can happen when someone gets on the
wrong side of you!’

I sigh. Ash is definitely not like most
people, but is that good or bad? I’ve only known him for a little while, yet I
feel closer to him than anyone else in Sydney, even my elusive dad. But do I really
know him? Can I trust him? Is he the kind of person who could hack into a phone and
post flirty pictures and stupid comments? I don’t think so, but it’s
hard to be sure.

He pushes the sundae dish over to me.
‘What’s up?’ he asks. ‘Is it just this Liane girl, or is
something else going on?’

‘It’s everything,’ I
say. ‘Home, school, you name it. It’s not just Liane who’s being a
pain – half the girls in my year are blanking me because of some stupid SpiderWeb
post that appeared on my page. I know I don’t have you on SpiderWeb,
but …’

‘I don’t have it,’ Ash
says.

‘No? I thought everybody did these
days!’

‘Not me,’ Ash says.
‘No laptop, no smartphone, just an ancient computer I share with everyone else
in the house. Even getting to use it for school stuff takes planning,
so … no SpiderWeb.’

‘You could get a smartphone,
surely?’ I say. ‘You work loads of shifts. You must have money
saved.’

‘I’m saving for a plane
ticket around the world,’ he reminds me. ‘Gap year, yeah? I’d
rather have a real life than an Internet one.’

I remember that not so long ago I was
too busy breaking rules and staying out all night to bother much with SpiderWeb
myself. It seems like a lifetime ago.

‘It’s just a way of staying
in touch with my sisters,’ I explain. ‘And with friends … old
ones and new ones.’ Not that I have many of either variety, sadly.

‘Cool,’ Ash says. ‘Do
you take friend applications from people not on SpiderWeb? If they have good
ice-cream sundae skills?’

I grin, scooping up a spoonful of cream
and strawberries. ‘Might do,’ I say.

‘Will I see you over the
holidays?’ he asks, a little too casually. ‘I’ll be working
different shifts, but I’ll be here most days …’

I have a feeling I will too.