Dreaming of Amelia (39 page)

And here he was lurking in parks with Amelia.

More than that, I was disappointed in LOVE. You know how I had been looking for the crack between Riley and Amelia? Well, between us, I'd kind of hoped not to find one. Even as they annoyed me for being too talented, still I had admired their great love. In my heart, I had hoped Lyd had been wrong about them. But no. *Sigh* Of course not.

And now, a dilemma. Should I let Riley know that Amelia was cheating? Force open the crack now I had found it? So that Riley and Lyd could get together?

It had seemed a good idea when I planned it, but in reality? It terrified me! I did not want to hurt Riley! Maybe Lydia's heart was healing on its own? We hadn't seen Seb for a while, and she'd never found out about Seb and Astrid, so that was something. Maybe they were over now anyway? Astrid hadn't said anything for a while. Maybe —

And so my thoughts whirred onwards . . .

In the auditorium, there was mild chaos, mainly caused by Mr Garcia having a new idea about coloured lighting. Students were telling him to be reasonable. Artists were painting final details on the set, and actors were bumping
into each other. Cassie went to help with the sound.

And then — here were the Brookfielders arriving, and here was Seb.

Lydia tensed beside me. Seb headed towards us, and Lydia picked up a cardboard box, dumped it in my arms, grabbed another for herself, and headed out the door. I followed.

It seemed that Lydia was not healed yet at all.

We went into a classroom and began folding the programs in the box.

My turmoil continued.
And I'm
tired
of secrets
! I thought.
Seb and Astrid. That's one secret I've had enough of! Now I've got a new one! It's not fair
!

I slammed the programs down noisily.

After half an hour or so, Lydia asked what was wrong.

Here's a funny thing — I did not want to tell her. Partly because saying it aloud would make it gossip: it was too grown-up, too sad for gossiping schoolgirls. Also because Lyd was already upset by Amelia's hints that she was cheating. She did not need me to give her the facts that confirmed it.

So I made up an answer on the spot. ‘It's the last day,' I said, ‘and I still haven't found out the truth about the ghost. I'm just annoyed with myself because I'm too scared of the archives room to go and find out more. I . . .'

I talked on recklessly — and what I was saying was
true
, but it was not, of course, what was agitating me — but then I realised that Lydia had fallen into a reverie.

Or, anyway, that she wasn't concentrating on what I was saying.

She looked at her watch. ‘We've got time,' she said, and she stood up.

She had a spark in her eye. She looked almost like the old Lydia — excited, wild.

‘Come on,' she said.

And then we were running up flights of stairs towards the archive room. My heart was drumming with fear, but it was an elated sort of fear.

Suddenly, wonderfully — I was a child again! Who cared really that Amelia and Toby were embracing in dark parks?! We would leave all that behind and go out in the world — but here, now, we were young, racing up the stairs, faster, faster, faster —

And the door of the archives room opened.

Two people came out.

They paused on the landing.

We were close, just a step down from them.

It was Seb and Astrid.

And Astrid was buttoning her shirt.

I looked swiftly at Lydia. She was staring, confused.

Then her childish joy fled as understanding hit — and, for a fleeting moment, there was anguish in her eyes.

At once, she gathered her courage, raised her eyebrows, turned and walked back down the stairs.

In that moment, I knew what I must do.

I would do it at once.

Enough of Lydia's anguish. Enough of my fear.

 

Lydia Jaackson-Oberman
Student No: 8233410

Last day of school, funniest thing happens.

You'll get a laugh out of this.

I'm heading up a flight of stairs, a door opens and there's Seb — my Seb.

With Astrid.

You remember Astrid? Sure you do. Skinny girl. Says the word ‘like' like she doesn't know there's other words available.

She's half-undressed.

And even though she's half-undressed, I still think nothing
.

Almost make a joke about how this looks.

But then I see Em's face — and it hits me. This
is
how it looks.

I remember Em telling me to give up on Seb. This is why? Seb and Astrid?!

Seb and Astrid
.

This is the guy my heart's been hurting for this whole year? This is the guy whose face I see when I close my eyes at night. And he's gettin' it on with
Astrid
all this time?

I stand on the stairs and I laugh so hard I knock myself unconscious. You know that laughter where you howl and accidentally slam your head against the wall and knock yourself out? So that's what happens. I'm unconscious on the floor, wake up and see them around me — Seb, Astrid and Em — looking concerned. I laugh even harder. Get up off the floor. ‘You won't be needing
that
any more!' I say, reaching out to take my heart back from underneath Seb's arm. ‘You've had it long enough. It was a stupid place to keep it anyway. Underneath your sweaty arm!'

Ah, no.

That doesn't happen.

The laughing bit.

What, are you as stupid as my mother?

But I've gotta say, I laughed on the inside. Headed back downstairs. Laughed my way through the rest of setting up for the play. Through the speech about what a success the play has been — Ashbury and Brookfield are the best of buddies now! Ha ha. My Brookfield boy and his new Ashbury girl — ha ha.

The play itself does distract me for a while. It's okay. The writing works, mostly. Astrid has the role of a fat and stupid snowman, so that's fun. Amelia and Riley are stunning — get standing ovations at the end. Seb's set design is beautiful. People talk about it as they leave, and I feel proud a moment — then remember, and laugh again.

It's later that night. The audience has gone. We're cleaning up, clearing out, there's talk of moving on to someone's house. Not mine. I haven't offered, and Em hasn't offered for me either. Em and Cass are careful, kind, so now I know Em's told Cass. I'm laughing at Em for not telling me sooner. I'm laughing that she's known all along.

I've run upstairs, to get a practice exam that I left behind in German today, and now I'm laughing my way along a corridor.

And there it is again.

Another open doorway. Riley at a window. A pattern repeating.

It's the room where I have my German classes. One of the upstairs conference rooms.

It's dark. He's looking out into the night.

He sees me.

Sits up on a table near the window. Like an invitation. I sit beside him. Our legs in a row. Shaft of light from the corridor, dim moonlight from outside. I notice that Riley has a piece of paper in his hand.

‘There she goes again,' he says, nods at the window.

I stand so I can see. You can see the carpark from up here, drama people spilling into it, little voices calling to each other. Curve of the brick wall, headlights on the road. The oval, an empty darkness.

But he's right. There she is. Amelia. Tiny moving figure crossing the oval fast.

Now I laugh aloud. And behind me, Riley laughs too, surprised. The paper in his hand rustles. He puts it down, still laughing. I sit back on the table beside him, and we ride on that laughter for a while.

Then we pause. We're side by side, facing the window. From this angle, you can only see the stars.

There's movement from his hand, the one closest to me. He gathers his fingers together, places them lightly on my knee, and spreads them out. For a moment they rest there. Then he gathers them together again and away. It's so quick and light it almost hasn't happened. His fingernails fanning out, snapping together again. It's like a game you might play with a child, something affectionate and quick. You could say ‘spider' as you did it.

But it feels like he's found something inside me. Like a chime — or a wail or a cry — all in that quick spread of his hand.

I don't know what to do. There's nothing to do but —

And then we're kissing, his hands on my body like fire, his arms like the comfort of shade.

 

Riley T Smith
Student No: 8233569

Here's something.

It's Thursday and my family's an illusion. Ghosts, a simulation. Not real.

Same goes for my private school, but you already knew that.

Thursday, my mum gives me a ride to school. I sit in the back so I can sing and do the finger puppet thing to my little sister, Chloe. The round the garden thing too, her little hand wanting it, not wanting it, her desperate giggles.

Look out the window once, and that hand touches my neck, the back of my neck, the trust in the touch, her little hand.

Mum in the front seat talking, trying to keep things bright — at traffic lights, behind a white van, she says, ‘I don't like vans.'

‘Why not?' I say, and Chloe leans forward in her car seat, in the same way as me, a slight lean forward, just as interested — why?

‘They're always the bad guys in the movies.'

I swear to you, we break up with laughter at the exact same time: Chloe, like she knows why she is laughing.

Pull up at the school, and I see her through the window. Her little face lost in thought. I tap the window. She giggles with delight at the surprise of me through glass.

I can't hear the giggle, I just see it.

I role-play my way through an assembly, prizes, goodbyes, the play.

Then — how about this.

Someone's left a note on my backpack. Open it and read it.

Now here's Amelia, jeans but still in stage makeup. She says she has to go and see her crazy friend again.

‘She was really bad last night,' she says. ‘It gets worse at night.'

Amelia talks again about her friend's broken heart. She's waiting for someone. Someone isn't coming. It's all in the crazy friend's head.

‘Just for half an hour,' Amelia says. ‘Then I'll track you down.'

I smile at her. Sure. Why not.

She asks if I'm okay, and if I'm sure. And she's gone.

A few moments of working, dismantling the set, then I can't take it any more.

I just want to see her.

I run upstairs. Up another flight of stairs.

To see her from above. See her cross the oval. The truth of her walking away.

It's the conference room, the place they interviewed us for our scholarships. I don't switch on the light. Cross to the windows and look out.

There she is. So small. Walking fast. Away from me.

Press my forehead to the glass, say her name. It comes out right. It's a beautiful name. I want to hold it to my heart but there it goes.

The note is in my hand.

Dear Riley
,
I am very sorry to have to ask you this, but have you ever actually SEEN the mental institution that Amelia visits to see her ‘friend'? Are you sure it even exists? Are you sure that Amelia is being honest with you? Could there be another person (male) involved
?

Anyway, perhaps you should think about letting Amelia go? I know this might hurt right now but I promise that things will feel better
.

A Friend
.

I say her name again. It comes out as a whisper and a cry. Amelia — come here-ya — who cares if she's spoiled, rich, or a ghost. I want her here, but there she goes.

Then Lydia's beside me. I can feel her in the room, and she's real. Her laughter. Her lips, her skin, her body. She's warm and she's real and she's here.

 

Tobias George Mazzerati
Student No: 8233555

Well, folks, me again. Toby. Back to finish up the tale.

That's the last you'll hear from Tom, which kind of breaks my heart, but also, between us, is a relief. Couldn't keep that Irish accent up.

Sorry about it. Did my best.

So, let me wind it up for you. Without in any way intending on showing off, I have read myself some historical books. So. I'm your man.

Last you heard from Tom, things had just got going here in Castle Hill. He's all drunk and emotional, watching the darkness for the red light of the flame.

What happens next? Just like they planned. Running around the countryside with 200 buddies or so, like a high school muck-up day.

Breaking into farms, grabbing guns and pitchforks, telling other convicts: ‘Join in! You'll have a blast!' and the other convicts are all, ‘You totally rock! We will!' (But in olden day accents, of course.)

As we stand here now, they're out collecting friends and weapons too
!

That's what Phillip had shouted on the hill, and he'd believed it to be true, but it was not.

His message had not got through.

Fine bones of the plan on a single piece of paper, sent out with a trusted man — but the guy got arrested before he'd gone half a mile.

They have now invented SMS and Facebook, etc, to prevent mishaps of this kind. But too late to save Tom and his
buddies — running wild, collecting guns, eating, drinking, eyes on the darkness, looking for the signal in the hills.

The signal never came.

Meantime, all over the colony, news that the Castle Hill convicts had gone wild was spreading. Sound of drums found its way into everybody's dreams — beating on and on, calling the soldiers out to fight.

In Castle Hill, no signal fire and not enough men to take down Sydney. But Phillip's no quitter. ‘Here's the new plan,' he says. ‘We'll head to the Hawkesbury. Get more men and try again.'

So they're on their way. They're wasted now, too much fun last night. But they've got themselves a whole pile of muskets, pistols, pitchforks — and they're running west.