Authors: J.C. Burke
Ocean Pearl
J.C. Burke was born in Sydney in 1965, the fourth of
five daughters. With writers for parents, she grew up in
a world full of noise, drama and books, and the many
colourful characters who came to visit provided her
with an endless supply of stories and impersonations.
Burke decided to become a nurse after her mother
lost a long battle with cancer. She specialised in the field
of Oncology, working in Haematology and Bone
Marrow Transplant Units in Australia and the UK.
A creative writing course at Sydney University led
to an ASA mentorship with Gary Crew and the publication
of Children's Book Council Notable book
White
Lies
(Lothian) in 2002. Burke has since written
The Red
Cardigan
, also a CBC Notable Book, and its sequel
Nine
Letters Long
.
The Story of Tom Brennan
won the 2006
Children's Book Council of Australia Book of the Year:
Older Readers award and also the 2006 Family Therapists'
Award for Children's Literature. J.C. Burke's
latest books are
Faking Sweet
and
Starfish Sisters.
J.C. Burke lives on Sydney's Northern Beaches. Her
teenage children now provide her with an endless
supply of stories and impersonations! J.C. Burke loves
writing for young adults, as they still have an optimistic
eye on the world.
Visit
www.jcburke.com.au
for more information
about J.C. Burke and her books.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the
Australian Copyright Act 1968
), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Ocean Pearl
ePub ISBN 9781864714944
Kindle ISBN 9781864717570
Original Print Edition
The author would like to thank Cloudy Rhodes, Tara Wynne,
Victoria and Nick Shehadie, Zoe Walton and Vanessa Mickan-Gramazio.
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published by Random House Australia in 2008
Copyright © J.C. Burke 2008
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers,
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the
Australian
Copyright Act 1968
), recording, scanning or by any information
storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of
Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at
www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Burke, J. C.
Title: Ocean pearl
Series: Burke, J. C. Starfish sisters; 2
Target audience: For secondary school age.
Subjects: Surfing – Juvenile fiction.
Dewey number: A823.4
ISBN: 978 1 74166 161 3 (pbk.)
Cover design by saso content & design pty ltd
Cover images courtesy Photolibrary.com and saso content & design
Typeset in Zapf Calligraphic BT 11/14.5 pt by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia
J.C. BURKE
PEARL
For Lily and Kel
The train carriage rocked and bumped along the tracks,
making my swollen eyes heavy. They were begging for
the sleep they couldn't find last night. But I wasn't going
to let them close. They were going to stay alert and
focused, even if it meant me holding them open myself.
No way was I going to risk being asleep as my
carriage whizzed past Kia standing on the platform
waiting for me.
I had lived and breathed one hundred and thirty-two
days, counting every second till I was on this train.
I'd breathed. I'm not sure if I'd
lived
. It was more just
existing. Existing and waiting.
But I'd got through it, just.
If it wasn't for my diary I don't know how I
would've survived. How could've a scabby old book
full of my messy writing become the thing that stopped
me from going crazy? All I know is that it did. Every
night, after I finished my homework and cleaned up
the kitchen and made sure Dad was okay, I'd crawl into
bed with my diary. Within minutes I'd be sucked into
the pages, forgetting who I was and where I was.
Suddenly it was January and I was surfing and
laughing with Georgie, Kia and Ace and everything
was okay.
Some nights I felt so bad I'd read the whole three
weeks of camp in one go. Even two or three times, if
that's what it took to make the feeling that I was suffocating
in a box go away.
Reliving those days with my Starfish Sisters made me
feel like I had air. And that there was hope. 'Don't live in
the past,' that's what people say, but what do you do if
that's the only way to survive? If my life was more like
Kia's and Georgie's and Ace's then I wouldn't have to do
these lame things. But it's not. That's just the way it is.
I slid my fingers across the train carriage window,
forming the letters 'SS' for Starfish Sisters. Now I could
breathe. Now, because I was getting away from him,
I could feel some hope tingling in my toes.
It was okay, wasn't it, to think like that?
My hand dropped into my lap and twisted itself
around the other. 'Your father is not your responsibility.
You are thirteen, Micki. You're still a child.' Reg's words
whispered gently in my head. 'Now you have to do
what's best for you. Your dad wants that as well. More
than anyone.'
But there was a difference between my dad wanting
it and my dad actually being able to cope with it. If
anyone should know that it was Dad's best friend, Reg.
Reg was the one who was trying to change everything
and I was grateful, but how did he really think it
was going to work – long term?
The first time I left Dad was at the January surf
camp. It was a lousy three weeks and he didn't exactly
cope. He busted and started using again, which landed
him in hospital then back in rehab. And they're only
the things I knew. It was the things I didn't know that
scared me more. Reg knew those things.
What should've made me suspicious was that the
Saturday morning I got home from camp, our neighbour
Annie was standing on the footpath outside her
house, fiddling around with the garbage. But garbage
night wasn't till Wednesday.
I remember the way Annie dropped the lid of the
bin and started walking towards me as I appeared at
the corner of our street. Yet, no alarm bells rang. I
s'pose I was still on a total high.
'Hey, Annie!' I'd waved like I hadn't seen her for
years. I was so pumped to tell her my news.
'Where's your board, Micki?' she asked, taking my
bag from me, which was good 'cause I was starting to
get a dead arm. 'Did you leave it at the station?'
'It snapped,' I told her. 'Yesterday in the final
contest, it snapped in two. Can you believe it?'
'So, how come you're laughing?'
'You haven't asked me yet!' My grin was stretched
so wide it felt like my cheeks would snap too.
'What?'
'I got selected. I made the Australian Junior Team
Training Camp!'
Annie threw out her arms and hugged me. But she
held on for just a second too long.
'What is it?' I said, breaking out of her grip. 'Annie?'
'Well – well, you know your dad hasn't been so good
while you've been away.' Annie's cautious voice now
had the alarm bells screeching in my ears. 'I just don't
want you to get a fright when you see him, love.'
'Why? Has – has something else happened?'
'Davo had a nasty fall just before he landed himself
in hospital. He's still a bit . . .'
But I was running through the gate, fumbling
through my pockets for the key.
I pushed open the front door to see Dad sitting on
the couch in the dark, snoring, as a morning cartoon
bounced around on the telly. Every now and then light
flickered over him but not enough for me to see the
damage.
'Dad?' I whispered, tiptoeing across the room, being
careful not to tip over the empty cans of beer and full
ashtrays spread across the floor. 'Dad? Davo?'
I switched on the lamp. Dad opened his eyes. Or
rather one eye. The other one was swollen shut.
'Micki, you're home,' he said, smiling like it'd been
waiting for me in the corners of his mouth. 'I missed
ya, love.' Brown, crusty scabs sat along one side of his
forehead. 'You made the team, eh? How about that.'
Across Dad's jaw was a grubby piece of sticking
plaster that was doing a poor job of hiding stitches.
'I knew you'd make it. I'm so, so proud of you.' Dad
wrapped his skinny arm around me and kissed my
cheek. 'Hey, you still my girl now you're a hotshot
surfer?'
'Yes, Dad.' I rolled my eyes at him like I always did
when he went gooey. 'Of course I'm still your girl.'
'I'm still your girl,' I whispered to the train carriage.
But now it didn't sound right. I swallowed down the
words and went back to staring out the window.
I was his girl. But I was his carer too. I was the one
who washed his filthy clothes; who made him eat at
least one meal a day; who walked him home from the
pub when he was being a nuisance; who made sure he
got to the clinic on time; who told the teachers and
anyone else who asked that everything was fine at
home and I was managing.
Who was going to do that now?
I stood up, taking off my hoodie and tying it around
my waist. I needed to move; I needed to break up my
thoughts, otherwise I'd find myself trapped and not
able to breathe.
My diary was in my bag. I could get it out and read
it here on the train. But if someone sat behind me or
next to me they might start reading it and then they'd
know I wasn't really the chilled-out girl I might have
seemed – the owner of the surfboard with hot pink
fins.
It'd always been staring me in the face but last
night it hit me over the head. Last night, two things
caught me off guard and one of them was reading
what I'd written one hundred and thirty-one days
ago, the last time I put a pen to my diary.
Saturday 27 January, 11.09 pm: Home from camp
Not good. Got a bad fright when I saw Dad coz his
face is pretty smashed up. He said he fell over the
night before he went to hospital. Maybe it's true coz
the bruising's gone yellow. But I don't know. I don't
wanna know.
Actually I don't wanna write anymore.
Good night
Micki
Reading that really, really hurt. It made me feel like a
hand was squeezing my throat, tighter and tighter.
At first I thought I was being a wimp, 'cause it's not
like what happened when I got home was any great
shock. I mean, Dad being like that was part of my life. I
was used to it.
But then I figured it out. The reason it hurt so much
was 'cause the girl who wrote those words all the way
back in January wasn't me. Not anymore. Not the girl
I am now.
Somewhere on that page dated January twenty-seventh,
I changed. In the middle of writing those
words, Miss Micki left the building and the girl I am
now took her place.
The minute I'd seen Dad with his face all smashed,
it was like surf camp hadn't even existed. In three
seconds flat that happy, light feeling had drained
through the soles of my feet.
'Miss Micki', the chilled-out girl that I'd become at
surf camp, was suddenly a sick, pathetic joke. Who was
I trying to fool? Miss Micki couldn't exist in this house.
Not with a father like mine.
But what I realised now was that I missed Miss
Micki. I really did. She had hopes and a future. Now I
was on my way back to surf camp I wasn't sure if I'd be
able to find Miss Micki again. And if I did, would she
be the same?
That's why it hurt so much.
If anyone could help Miss Micki come back it was
my Starfish Sisters. After all, they were the ones who
found her in the first place.
But there were only going to be three of us 'cause
Ace hadn't made the training camp.
It was huge that Ace hadn't been selected. I could
still hear everyone's gasps 'cause the last name they
called out was mine and not hers. Everybody expected
Ace to get picked for the training team. She was the
only one out of all of us who was sponsored.
Ace only made the reserve position. It was better
than nothing but Kia, Georgie and I were gutted. When
I closed my eyes I could still see Ace down below in the
audience looking up at us three on the stage. It sounds
weird but it sort of felt like a giant crack had suddenly
opened up in the floor and wedged its way between us.
How could we be the Starfish Sisters without Ace?
That's all I could think about.
It really was. But on that first day back home, my
thoughts did a total three-sixty. I started to feel unbelievably
relieved, like sick-in-the-tummy relieved,
that it was Ace who'd missed out on making the team
and not me.
That didn't make me a bad friend. I had to look after
myself. Kia would understand. She was the only one of
the girls who knew about my dad. I couldn't tell the
others. Well, maybe Georgie. But not Ace. Never Ace.
If Ace found out about my real life, Miss Micki could
never show her face again. In some ways it was good
that she was just spending the weekend and not the
next two weeks with us. I needed to concentrate on my
surfing, not on every word that came out of my mouth.
It was so important, like live or die important, that
all my focus went into this fortnight. The four girls who
performed the best would be selected for the Australian
Junior Female Surfing Team. That meant competing
overseas and representing your country, which could
set you up for being fully sponsored and turning
professional.
That situation was seriously beyond awesome. It
was like everything I had dreamt of and now I could
almost touch it.
Miss Micki or no Miss Micki, I had to make this.
Without it I had nothing.
The muffled voice on the loudspeaker announced
that Kia's station was next. My tummy somersaulted at
the news. I had waited so long for this and now it was
here I wasn't sure if I wanted to burst into tears or
vomit.
I got out my hairbrush and fixed up my braids.
There was nothing I could do about my puffy no-sleep
eyes.
Last night I put so much energy into not crying that
I ended up staring into the darkness for most of the
night. At least until about four o'clock, when Dad
decided to have a shower and took down the shower
curtain and almost half the bathroom with him.
After that I got out of bed and started packing up my
room. Better now than after camp.
One carton of schoolbooks and folders, a garbage
bag of clothes, a shoebox full of photos: me when I was
little, Dad, school friends, surfing contests and the only
picture I had of my mum – she has me on her hip and
we're waving at the camera. That was the most
precious thing I owned. I could live without it for two
weeks but not for the rest of the year.
As I shoved my brush back into my bag I touched
the edge of my diary sticking through the clothes,
because last night, one of the first things I'd put in my
bag was my diary.
After January twenty-seventh, there were pages and
pages of nothing. But starting from tonight at Kia's, my
diary would be back in action. I was going to record
every fantastic day of the next two weeks. Me wanting
to do that must've meant that somewhere Miss Micki
was ready and waiting to come back. At least, that's
what I was going to believe.
The brakes squealed as the train began to slow. I
zipped up my bag then lifted my surfboard down from
the luggage rack. I needed a second to get myself
together. My heart was pounding so hard. Slowly I took
a deep breath in, feeling my chest rise and stretch full
of air. Then gradually I let it out, each knob in my spine
trembling with its release.
In a way it was like blowing out the black stuff.
Except today not all the stuff was black. A lot of it was
bad – like the way I felt about leaving Dad – but some
of it was good, 'cause if I could stay positive and
remember Reg's words, then today could be the first
day of my new life.
