Dreaming of Amelia (11 page)

Dear Committee Members,

It is with great pleasure that we attach the first ever KL Mason Patterson Scholarship Teachers' Progress Reports!

With just one exception, the reports show remarkable progress by our scholarship recipients. You will recall that they had not demonstrated any academic proficiency in the past? That their focus was to be swimming? Well … some highlights:

•   ‘Amelia's approach to essay writing is unique — to say the least — but her imagination is quite astonishing. She can also be perceptive and razor-sharp. After a shaky beginning, she began handing in all her overdue essays in the last few weeks of term, and has now established herself as one of the top-ranked students in the year.' (
Chris Botherit — English
)

•   ‘At first I thought Riley was going to be a write-off — no participation, skipping classes, etc — but in the last couple of weeks he's attended every class and made some interesting comments. He finally handed in an assignment last week and, to be honest, it blew my mind.' (
Stephen Latimer — Ancient History and English
)

•   ‘Have been teaching Drama for several years. Have seen plenty of talented performers. Am not exaggerating when I say that I have never,
never
seen performances like those of Riley and Amelia. They will participate in the Ashbury-Brookfield Dramatic Production or I will cut my own throat. Both of them! Am so filled with wonder and awe that I don't know where to put it. No font big enough to express it. Have been weeping, dancing, getting drunk on Jacob's wine. Seriously.' (
Roberto Garcia — Drama and Modern History
)

•   ‘I realise I'm not
technically
supposed to provide a report, since Amelia does not take PDHPE, but think it's important to get this on the record. Amelia should be swimming for her country. Riley is talented, but Amelia is astounding.
Yet she has never been properly trained and refuses to have a coach.
If she had been, I have no doubt she'd have been representing Australia three years ago. It may be too late — and it
will
be too late soon. Is there anything the committee can do to persuade her? Sorry to be dramatic but this is a matter of life and death.' (
Sarah McCabe — Personal Development, Health and Physical Education
)

•   ‘In recent weeks, Riley and Amelia have both revealed that they are talented artists: technically competent and with a sound knowledge of art history and theory. Riley, in particular, has a refreshing, original and often startling approach — his work is a delight.' (
Damian Carlton — Art
)

•   ‘Neither Riley nor Amelia has impressed me in the slightest degree. They seem completely uninterested in music and have not handed in any work. So far are they from participating that I frequently
don't realise, until near the end of a lesson, that
they simply are not there.
Ranked bottom of the class. Clearly have no knowledge of, nor aptitude for, music. Not sure why they've taken the subject. Disappointing.' (
Lucy Wexford — Music
)

Of course, we will need to deal with the issue of their absences from class — particularly from Music. I do not mean to suggest that this is not a serious issue. However, I trust you are all proud and delighted!!! I think a celebration is in order — Roberto suggests cocktails at Jacob's place. Jacob?

Best wishes to all,

Chris Botherit

PS Just confirming that we'll be interviewing Riley and Amelia on Thursday 3 April (last day of term), Conference Room 2B, the KL Mason Patterson Centre. The interview will take the form of a casual chat during which we'll try to gauge their comfort levels/needs/etc (and deal with that serious issue of absenteeism).

PPS Also confirming that Constance has stated that she will
not
be at this interview and is resolved never to be in the same room as Amelia and Riley — unless perhaps the attached reports have changed your mind, Constance?

Emily Melissa-Anne Thompson
Student No: 8233521

You may recall that the first day of term was gothically stormy?

Now, come closer, let me chill you to the bone — for the last day of term?

It was ungothically bright.

I'm not kidding around here.

Golden sunshine and a blue, curvaceous sky — birds dancing — puddles asparkle — bits of glitter dazzling in the asphalt.

Such a reversal, such a strange twist in weather from the first day to the last.

What could it mean?

Perchance it was just, you know, the weather. It happens.

But I bethink me it was more than that. And, in honour of the strange, solemn mystery of it, I have not used a single exclamation mark.

But now I will begin exclaiming again! For that day, I naively saw the weather as a reward! I did not take it as imperative of doom!

You see, we had just completed our half-yearly exams and our fingers, our shoulders, our very
minds
, ached with confusion. Facts, figures and formulae, exam times and
places — all had been spilling from our sweat glands! (If I had any sweat glands. Which I doubt. Sweating is disgusting, plus I never do sport.)

And here it was, the morning of the final day and we were about to go home!

Who among us does not love the strange, cascading bliss of leaving the school grounds before noon on the last day of exams?! Who?! Show yourself!

Anyway.

Picture this: me and Cassie, standing near the front gate of the school. We were quiet for a moment, happily sleepy, allowing the clutter in our minds to drain away.

Probably, also, we were both thinking of the two-week holiday. Lydia's parents were about to go away, leaving Lydia alone in her fantastic house! (The parents would be gone not just for the holidays, by the way, but also for
all of Term 2.
)

SO MANY PARTIES WOULD BEFALL US!!

Tonight, there would be the first party at Lydia's place!

And looking up to the festive blue sky I saw a little white moon. It was pretending to be a cloud so it could stay in the sky through the day.

Oh
, I laughed, a quiet, tender laugh.
Moon
, I thought,
you cannot fool anybody! You look exactly like yourself!

Yet I also admired it, the moon, for its madcap bravery.

I include these details to give you a clear picture of the happy hilarity of my mood.

Beneath the moon was the oval — and here at last came Lydia. She was walking back from the Art Rooms — she'd just had German Listening over there. Cass and I brightened even further. Lydia waved from the distance. Her wave had the joyousness of one who has just finished her last exam.

And then, we saw them.

They had come from the direction of the school.

They were heading across the oval themselves, towards the Art Rooms.

Who do I mean?

Riley and Amelia, of course. Who else?

Here I must tell you something extraordinary. In the last few weeks of term,
the entire school had become me.

I don't mean that literally. But
everyone was talking about Riley and Amelia.

Their talents knew no gothic moats; their explosion of ability was beyond all shadow of reality! Swimming, acting, essay writing — and the question went spinning through the school:
Who are these people?!

Of course, it was now common knowledge that they were from Brookfield.

(Thanks to that information being on my blog, I guess. Blame Mr B for that. Making us write blogs.)

But people wanted
more
. They wanted the
why
, the
how
, the other
how
, the
where
and the
what
!!

Why had they chosen Ashbury? How had they hidden at Brookfield without news of their brilliance getting out? How was their existence humanly possible? Where would it end? And
what
would it take for Riley and Amelia to notice us?

That last question was key.

Truly, everyone was me, for
everyone
wanted to be noticed by them.

That, by the way, includes the teachers. I am not kidding when I say that teachers were dressing differently and trying to liven up their classes. Students, meanwhile, were trying to be cooler, tougher, funnier or more intriguing, just to make them blink.

You could see people changing as soon as Riley and Amelia walked into a room. Some would pretend they were
not
in the room. Everything became exaggerated. People moved in ways that were
slightly
slower than usual. Or slightly faster. Some people smiled more; others didn't smile at all. Girls would sit at their desks, eyes half closed, pushing hair behind their ears with whimsical expressions that said:
I'm lost in a sort of sighing thought here.
And then their faces would exclaim:
I just remembered a really cool thing that I have to tell my close friend about!
And they'd swing around to the girl sitting behind them, prance their hands on that girl's desk and say, ‘Guess what?'

Oft, the girl behind them would be a total stranger.

Oh! There were conversations! So many conversations! All to impress Riley and Amelia! I remember once walking into History and seeing a boy pick up a soccer ball and gently thunk another boy on the back of the head with it. At which the second boy turned around, breathed quickly out of his right nostril, and asked the first boy if he'd started his case study yet. At which the first boy gave a half-grin and changed the subject to the demographics of democracy or somesuch. To show he was profound, possessing insights beyond a thunking football.

All of this, I guarantee, took place because Amelia was near them.

You see, we all wanted Riley and Amelia to think we were interesting. We wanted them to see us as languid people who simmered with interesting thoughts. We wanted them to
want
us as their friends!

(A lot of boys just wanted to have sex with Amelia.)

Some people actually believed they were cool enough for Riley and Amelia's attention. They invited them around. They
said, ‘You guys want to come get coffee with us?' They tried to strike up conversations.

But every single time, they were thwarted.

Riley and Amelia listened. They concentrated even. A strange kind of head-tilted concentration. As if the person was speaking a language they had heard once before in a jungle long, long ago.

Then, smoothly, politely, Riley and Amelia would block them. It was never exactly,
no thank you
. It was more often a mild joke, a brief change of topic, even sometimes a gentle laugh. And then they would wander away.

I watched this happen over and over. Always I would see the people left behind, blinking, confused, not sure what had happened — troubled, without knowing why.

As far as I could tell, not a single person had had a genuine conversation with them. Nobody had successfully invited them to a social event.

They did no extracurricular activities at school (besides swimming).

I saw Mr Garcia fall to his knees, clasp his hands and beg them to sign up for the Ashbury-Brookfield Dramatic Production.

I hoped they would agree. Lyd, Cass and I had signed up. I joined because I knew Amelia and Riley were extreme actors so I thought they'd be in it, and I made Lyd and Cass join. (Lyd was in a strange phase of wanting to participate anyway, and Cass is an obligatory friend.)

But Riley and Amelia did not sign up at all.

They laughed mildly at Mr Garcia on his knees, and then they helped him to his feet.

Nothing, it seemed, could break into their self-contained world.

Now, please follow me, gently, back to the school gate, on the last day of term.

There we were, Cass and me. There they were, Riley and Amelia, walking side by side, away from us. And there was Lydia, alone, walking towards us.

In a moment, their paths would cross.

I glanced quickly at Cass. She was also watching, with mild interest, this impending crossing of paths.

Now, a few paragraphs ago, I said that everybody at our school was intrigued by Riley and Amelia.

There was one exception: Lydia.

To her, they were just regular people. She remained
completely unchanged
when they were in the room. She scarcely glanced in their direction.

I was both exasperated and impressed. How could anybody be as cool as that? All I could think was that she had spent time around celebrities, since her mother used to be famous, and so was accustomed to it.

Cass, at least, was a human being and had learned the happiness of analysing Riley and Amelia.

‘There's something ethereal about them,' I said. ‘Like gazelles. I wonder where they're going.'

‘I know where they're going,' said Cass. ‘It's a scholarship thing — they're interviewing them in the Art Rooms today. My mum's over there now.'

‘It's wrong how strict your mum is about confidentiality,' I said to Cass. ‘She should totally tell us everything.'

‘I know,' said Cass.

We were quiet again, watching.

The distance between Lydia and Riley-and-Amelia was closing. Lyd did not seem to have noticed them. She was thinking about something; she was checking her watch; she was looking up at the sky and then over at us and doing a
sudden crazy face, which Cass and I could not quite understand. We held out our hands meaning, huh? And she just laughed. She looked our way again and pulled another face. I thought to myself:
There is nobody else in this school who would be so free and easy — so much like themselves — with Riley and Amelia approaching.

Nobody.

The distance was closing.

Lydia finally noticed who was heading her way. I thought:
What will she do? Will she smile her Lydia smile?

I saw her manner calm slightly — I mean, the way you become more serious when you realise you're about to cross paths with somebody — you know, you don't want to bump into them or anything — she was watching them and walking.