Give Me Four Reasons
Read Give Me Four Reasons Online
Authors: Lizzie Wilcock
GIVE ME
FOUR
REASONS
For Isla—LW
Little Hare Books
an imprint of
Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
Text copyright © Lizzie Wilcock 2011
First published 2011
This edition published 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the
National Library of Australia
ISBN 978 1 742736 35 8 (epub)
Cover design by Vida & Luke Kelly
Front cover image © Tom Fullum / Photographer’s Choice / Getty Images
CONTENTS
Give Me Four Reasons
why this book is such a believable, touching and funny story that brings tears to my eyes on every reading and makes me so proud:
1. Margrete Lamond, publisher at Little Hare. She took me on board, encouraged me, and gently and expertly guided this story through the big changes and the small.
2. Libby Volke, editor at Little Hare. She is enthusiastic and has an insightful understanding of human nature. She helped make Paige the wonderful, authentic character she is.
3. Felicity McKenzie, freelance editor. She is wise and her invaluable criticism and attention to detail whipped this manuscript into shape.
4. My teenage friends—Samantha, Sarah, Allara and Maddison. They shared with me their experiences and struggles of starting high school and thus gave this book its heart and soul and tears.
‘Give me four reasons your brain might explode,’ Jed says. He strides across the playground and tosses an ice-block at each of us.
We are sitting under our favourite tree in the far corner of the playground. I look up at Jed and grin. Beads of sweat glisten on his tanned face.
Elfi is sitting next to me. She glances up at Jed and smiles, too. ‘Studying for all those stupid tests and cramming so much stuff into your brain that it bursts,’ she says. She tears the wrapper off her ice-block and licks it before folding the sticky paper into a neat square.
Rochelle reaches over and, without asking, swaps her lemonade ice-block for my raspberry one. ‘Standing in line at the school canteen on the hottest day of the year,’ she says.
‘That’s what I was going to say,’ Jed complains. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and flicks it at Rochelle. Then he sits down beside me.
‘I hope that’s sweat and not the insides of your brain,’ Rochelle says.
‘My brain’s still working,’ Jed says, ‘but here’s another reason it might explode.’ He pauses, waiting for the three of us to look at him. Jed is dramatic like that. ‘If a spider crawls into your ear and bites you. The venom doesn’t have far to travel, so it’s really potent. Your brain would swell up and burst out through your eye sockets.’
‘Ooh, gross!’ Rochelle, Elfi and I chorus. Then we all go back to our ice-blocks.
I hope no one has noticed I haven’t given a reason why my brain might explode. Sometimes I get forgotten, which is good. I prefer listening to talking. But Jed turns and looks at me.
‘Your turn, Paige,’ he says.
Now all eyes are on me. I glance around the playground at the kids from our class. Everyone is waiting eagerly for the bell to signal the final half-hour of lunch. It’s the last school day of the year, and our last-ever day of primary school. We all move on to different high schools next year.
‘No, it’s stupid,’ I say.
‘What’s stupid?’ Rochelle demands.
‘What I was going to say,’ I reply.
‘Well, you have to say it now,’ Elfi says. ‘Or you
will
look stupid.’
I sigh. ‘Maybe your brain will explode if it keeps whizzing all over the place, feeling happy, sad, scared, excited and then happy again,’ I say.
My friends look at me as though I
am
stupid. I should have just said, ‘Eating a bomb.’
But Jed nods thoughtfully. ‘I get it,’he says. ‘Your brain could short-circuit like a power board that’s got too many things plugged into it.’
‘Exactly,’ I say. Jed always gets me.
Rochelle has stopped listening. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here,’ she says. ‘No more Mr Muir and his stinky coffee breath. No more boring assemblies while Mr Tovety drones on about school pride.’
‘All right,’ Elfi says, pushing her glasses back up her nose. ‘Give me four reasons why you’re
not
going to miss this place.’
Give Me Four Reasons is a game we have been playing forever. It used to be three reasons, but then Jed came to our school last year.
‘I won’t miss the stupid school rules,’ Rochelle says. ‘Like having to wait until second-half lunch today before we can write on our uniforms and start the water fight.’
‘I’m not letting anyone write on my uniform,’ I say. ‘We’ve got our Passports for that.’
A Passport is a traditional farewell gift for each graduating student. It’s a yearbook with a blue cardboard cover. It has the name of our school and the crest printed on it in gold writing, just like a real passport. Inside are stapled pages containing photos, sports results, student honour lists and a small portrait of each departing student. It’s called a Passport because it’s something that will take us through life from one part of our journey to our next, even though it is so large it would never fit in a back pocket.
‘Everyone’s been writing in our Passports all day, so I’ll have everyone’s signatures anyway,’ I add.
But I’m speaking too quietly. Elfi doesn’t hear and starts talking over me. ‘I won’t miss this uniform,’ she says. ‘It’s hideous. We look like we’re wearing my
Oma
’s kitchen curtains.’
‘Your
Grossmutter
has no style,’ Rochelle says with a laugh.
Elfi crosses her arms and scowls, but Rochelle doesn’t notice.
‘Don’t say “
Grossmutter
”,’ I say. ‘You know Elfi hates that word.’
For once Rochelle seems to hear me. Probably because I am talking about Elfi. Those two hate upsetting each other.
‘Sorry, Elfi,’ Rochelle says.
‘I should never have told you the German word for grandmother,’ Elfi says. ‘Anyway, my
Oma
’s house is beautiful. How was she to know that a school on the other side of the world would steal her curtain design for their uniform?’
‘I’m not going to miss you girls fighting all the time,’ Jed says.
No one asks me for my reason why I won’t miss primary school. I’m relieved.
‘Do you think the fighting’s going to stop at high school next year?’ I ask Jed. ‘It’s been like this since the three of us were in kindergarten.’
I turn and smile at my two best friends. Rochelle, Elfi and I are inseparable. Or at least Rochelle and Elfi are inseparable, and I have always hung around with them, too.
‘Here,’ Elfi says, pulling a thick black marker pen from her pocket and wagging her hip at me. ‘Sign my uniform.’
‘But the bell hasn’t gone yet,’ I remind her.
‘There’s about two minutes to go,’ Elfi says. ‘Do you think we’ll be suspended for breaking the rules on the last day of school?’
‘Yeah, come on, Paige,’ Rochelle says. ‘Live a little.’
Everyone is looking at me again, waiting to see if I’ll finally break a school rule.
‘Come on,’ Elfi insists. ‘Your mother won’t know.’
‘Ooh,’ Rochelle says, waving her hands spookily. ‘She’s looking through her crystal ball right now. Hi, Nicole!’
Elfi and Jed also wave at the imaginary glass orb that Rochelle is holding. Here it is pretend, but at home my mother does have a real crystal ball. She’s a psychic and she reads people’s fortunes. She’s got the spare room at home set up with big tasselled floor cushions, crystals, tarot cards and burning incense. As you walk through the beaded glass curtain, it’s like stepping into a gypsy caravan.
‘That’s not why I don’t break rules,’ I say.
‘Come on.’ Elfi wriggles her hips impatiently.
‘But don’t you want to keep your uniform as a reminder?’ I say.
‘Or at least in case one of your
Oma
’s kitchen curtains needs replacing?’ Jed laughs.
Elfi ignores him. ‘This dress
will
be a reminder,’ she declares. ‘Especially with all the graffiti. I want to look at it when I’m older and remember everything just like it was today.’ She brushes the hem across my nose. ‘Come on, Paige. Once you guys have all signed my uniform, we can start the water fight.’
Rochelle glances at her watch. ‘One minute to go. Go on, Paige. Break a rule. I dare you to.’
‘No.’ I cross my arms, hoping that Mr Muir’s watch is running fast and he’ll ring the bell right now. I don’t know how long I can hold out.
‘You’ll never change,’ Rochelle says, smiling at me affectionately.
I take a deep breath and grab the pen. Mr Muir is still on the other side of the playground, nowhere near the bell.
I tear the cap off the pen and write ‘
track three
’ across the back of Elfi’s skirt. She cranes her head and pulls out her dress to see what I’ve written. She grins and nods. ‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, cool,’ Rochelle agrees.
‘What’s cool?’ Jed says, tearing his eyes away from the cricket match in progress on the handball court.
‘Not you, Jed,’ Rochelle teases. ‘You’re too polite. You
always
put up your hand in class. For
fun
you tidy up the bookshelves and the Science table. That is
not
cool.’
‘No, that’s being helpful,’ I say, defending Jed. He and I are alike in so many ways.
‘So what
is
cool?’ Jed insists.
Elfi shows the back of her uniform to Jed. He reads my comment. ‘That
is
cool.’
‘It should become our motto,’ I say.
‘Good one!’ Rochelle says. She grabs the pen from me. Before I can protest she writes ‘
track three
’ across my back. At least that’s what I guess she’s written, as I don’t have a rubber neck. She writes it again on Jed’s shirt and then writes it one last time on herself.
When Rochelle has finished, we place our right hands in the middle of our circle of four, flicker them up into the air slowly, and then slam them down into a hand sandwich.
‘
Track three!
’ we shout.
Mr Muir finally swings the heavy brass bell on the wooden post near the assembly area.
The rules for the water fight are simple: get everyone else as wet as possible. I guess it’s not really a fight, because in this heat no one will be complaining. We’re allowed to fill balloons and plastic bottles, so long as we clean up the mess afterwards. We have to stay in the senior playground. The younger kids are sent to the other playgrounds for their own protection.
The fight begins at the boys’ bubblers. Tom Wetherill and his friends claim all the taps and start spurting water at anyone who dares to walk by.
‘Come on,’ Elfi says, grabbing my hand and yanking me across the playground. She circles around behind Tom Wetherill and taps him on the shoulder. I stand awkwardly behind her.
‘Is there a drought on, Tom?’ she says. The next thing I know, Elfi is squealing and squirming as Tom sprays water all over her.
I think about saying something silly to Tom, too. But I don’t. Instead I run behind a tree, sure that I’ll be hit in the back as I flee. I’m not. I make it, still dry, and poke my head out to watch.
