Shauna's Great Expectations Page 7

  ‘Oh my God,’ puffs Lou-Anne.

  ‘I know. I’m really unfit, too.’

  ‘No, I mean, oh my God, there’s your boyfriend, next to Indu!’

  I look up to the shoreline, and oh my God, there he is. Standing next to Indu in his khaki shorts, a button-down shirt and boat shoes, looking white-legged and aggy and shy. Farmer’s day at the beach. It’s kind of cute.

  I texted Nathan on Bindi’s phone in the car on the way, suggesting we meet at the Bondi Pavilion, but if there was a reply I didn’t see it. Now here he is, in the flesh, and so am I.

  It’s not easy to emerge from Australian breakers with grace, and I am living proof of this. I rise from the shallows like some sea monster, my coral one-piece askew, my long, black hair twisted and bunched with sand and seaweed.

  ‘Hi, Nathan!’

  ‘Shauna.’

  It turns out that Nathan, having arrived early, decided to buy a waffle and met Indu in the queue at the waffle stand. They got talking – one of Indu’s many talents is striking up conversations with strangers – and they worked out they were both here to hang out with the same girl. Me.

  He tells me all this, oozing politeness and kindness, as we walk together to the pavilion steps where we sit side-by-side at a respectable distance.

  It’s weird. The last time I saw Nathan I wasn’t wearing any pants. Now I’m the picture of beachside modesty, with a towel pulled up to my armpits. Nathan looks into the surf and bites into his waffle.

  ‘I forgot what the beach smelled like,’ I tell him, sniffing the salt on my own shoulders. ‘I haven’t been here for ages.’

  ‘Why did you want to meet here?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘I haven’t been here for ages.’

  He laughs and offers me some of his waffle. I lean over and take a bite. My wet shoulder leaves a print on his t-shirt.

  ‘It’s good.’

  ‘So why did you bring your friends?’ he asks. ‘Safety in numbers?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have a car. My friend drove us.’

  ‘I could have picked you up from school.’

  I shrug, smiling stupidly.

  We both look out over the water. I don’t know what to say to him, and he probably doesn’t know what to say to me either. If only we’d gotten to know each other before sleeping together, things would be flowing a lot more smoothly, I’m sure of it. Where do you go from sex on the first night? Anything you say after that will probably just sound like phony small talk. I’m beginning to think that, in spite of all the hype, sex is the easy part. I think about the sex and its aftermath – the morning-after pill and twenty-four hours of gut-wrenching nausea. It wasn’t very romantic.

  ‘So Paris next year, Shauna? And studying journalism?’

  ‘Maybe. Hopefully.’ I wipe the chocolate sauce from the corners of my mouth self-consciously. ‘And agriculture for you?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound very glamorous in comparison, does it?’

  ‘I love animals,’ I blurt.

  ‘You should really come to the Easter Show and meet my cows.’

  This conversation could be among the World’s Most Boring. I realise that I’m at least half responsible for its shortcomings.

  ‘Do you want to go for a swim?’ I suggest limply.

  ‘I think I’ll let the waffle settle.’ He turns his head and looks at me. I glance at him, catch his eye briefly, and then look back out to sea. ‘Listen . . .’ he begins apprehensively.

  ‘Sorry about my friends, but I—’

  ‘Your friends are fine. I just wanted to apologise for that night.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about—’

  ‘No, listen. I had a great time with you, but you should know that it was my—’

  ‘Look, you don’t need to—’

  ‘First time, Shauna. It was my first time. So I hope I didn’t disappoint you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ I lie. Amazing! I was so afraid that I had disappointed him.

  ‘So maybe I’ll get another chance sometime,’ he says, blushing. ‘I wanted to talk to you but you did the dawn dash on me.’

  He smiles at me, his eyes light and creased at the edges with fun. I grin and cringe.

  ‘I had to go and find my cousin Andrew. I was under strict instructions to stay by his side the whole night.’

  ‘I guess you broke that rule.’

  ‘On the whole I break a lot of rules,’ I say sassily. I realise that there’s still chemistry between us, that I want to flirt with him.

  ‘Is that right?’ he says with a grin, leaning against my arm. I lean into him. ‘You go to a pretty fancy school for someone who breaks a lot of rules.’

  ‘Like you didn’t go to a private school, Nathan.’

  ‘Whoa, I never said that. But what makes you think so?’

  ‘You’re polite. You look kind of . . . I don’t know . . .’ I want to say sure of yourself, but he speaks for himself.

  ‘I went to an Anglican boys’ school in Tamworth. Not some posh harbourside hotel like Oakholme College. I’m middle class.’

  ‘And you think I’m not?’

  ‘I think you’re pretty posh. Going to Paris next year and all.’

  ‘Guess what my dad does for a living?’ I challenge him. ‘I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you guess right.’ I don’t have a hundred bucks, but that’s okay. He’ll never guess.

  ‘I dunno,’ he says. ‘Doctor? Lawyer? Banker?’

  ‘Truckie.’

  ‘So he owns a trucking company.’

  ‘No, he drives a truck that someone else owns.’

  ‘So how does he—’

  ‘Pay for Oakholme College? He doesn’t. I’m on a scholarship.’

  ‘So who’s paying for you to go to Paris?’

  ‘That’s a good question. Haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe I’ll get a job at the Barraba servo for a month. They’re always looking for staff.’

  We’re both starting to relax now. I tell him about the challenges of getting to Paris on a shoestring. Then Nathan suggests we take a stroll on the boardwalk.

  ‘Your friends have been staring at us this whole time,’ he remarks with a chuckle. ‘I can’t take it anymore.’

  Nathan clasps my hand as we walk.

  ‘So your friend, the one I met at the waffle stand,’ he says, ‘she’s Indian or Sri Lankan or something?’

  ‘Her parents are Indian. They live in India but they want her to go to an Australian school.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  I wondered when we’d get to this. Nathan’s from Kootingal, not far from Tamworth, where a lot of the blacks look more or less like me. Tall and lanky, but plump and luscious in the face. Now that he knows I’m not rich, he suspects that I’m Aboriginal, which was probably his initial impression, but now he’s too afraid to ask. Maybe he’s hoping that I’m half Sri Lankan. Boong girls and aggy boys don’t go around together in Tamworth. Too late in our case, though.

  I feel sudden terror at answering the question, truthfully or not.

  ‘My parents met at a bar in Cairns. Mum was working behind the bar. Dad was a drummer in a band that was touring Queensland. Dad’s people are from Barraba so when Mum got pregnant with my brother, they moved there so my grandmother could help with the baby. Dad gave up the drums and started driving trucks so they’d have a steady income. They were both really young.’

  ‘Is the guy you were with at the music festival your brother?’

  ‘No, that was my cousin, like I said.’

  I still haven’t answered his question, and now I kind of have an aversion to doing so. Why is it always a confession and never a claim to glory?

  ‘You didn’t have to get in touch if you didn’t want to,’ I tell him indignantly. ‘I never expected you to.’

  Nathan seems taken aback, but his tone remains polite. He’s like my father in that way.

  ‘Is that the kind of guy you think I am?’

  ‘I don’t know you very well.’

&nbs
p; ‘That could change.’ He squeezes my hand.

  I don’t say anything and he lets go of my hand. We keep walking. I feel hot in the face. Embarrassed when I know I shouldn’t be.

  ‘Did I say the wrong thing, Shauna?’

  ‘Well, why don’t you just come out and ask?’

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘Whether I’m a coon. I suppose you already know the answer?’ I’m suddenly fired up. ‘Most racists do.’ I regret the words even as they’re coming out of my mouth.

  Nathan stops in his tracks and turns to face me. He’s angry. I can see his chest rising under his t-shirt. His cheeks go pink, but he doesn’t raise his voice.

  ‘I knew you were Aboriginal before I even asked you to dance on New Year’s Eve. And I would never use that word. I can’t believe you did.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He’s shamed me! I’ve let him shame me! Now I’m breathing hard, too.

  ‘I asked you to dance because I thought you were tall and pretty, and I like tall, pretty girls. When I kissed you, I could hardly believe someone as brainy and funny as you would kiss me back. And that’s why I took you to bed, even though I didn’t know what I was doing.’

  I’m staggered by his words. I’m shocked that he likes me. Or liked – past tense, maybe. He turns around suddenly and starts walking back to where we came from. I follow him, beach towel billowing behind.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nathan!’ There I go apologising again. ‘I thought you were asking about my parents because you wanted to know whether I was Aboriginal.’

  ‘I just wanted to know about you in general. I’m not a racist and I don’t like being called one. What are you going to do next? Get your big brother to bash me up?’

  I stop suddenly on the boardwalk. ‘My brother’s dead.’

  Nathan stops and swivels around. ‘I’m sorry, Shauna.’

  ‘Well, don’t be.’

  He stares at me for a few seconds, takes me in. Then his face softens. He gulps and then smiles.

  ‘Why don’t we start again?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Come and see me at the Easter Show. Come to the cattle pavilion and meet my cows.’

  That’s quite an invitation. ‘Can I bring my friends?’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll follow you even if you don’t plan to bring them.’

  He’s probably right.

  ‘I’ll try,’ I say.

  He kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘I have to go and meet my cousin on the other side of town now,’ he says, looking at his watch.

  I’m sure it’s an excuse, but I don’t blame him. Why did I let myself get so upset? He obviously likes me. Like, a lot. Why did I make it so hard for him?

  By the time I make it back to my friends near the flags, Bindi’s sunburnt and Lou-Anne’s bathers are full of sand. No one’s in a good mood.

  ‘We ate your waffle,’ says Indu sulkily.

  ‘How long was I gone? It felt like five minutes.’

  ‘It was an hour and a half!’ they shout in unison.

  8

  I NEED TO be Olivia Pike’s mentor like I need a hole in the head.

  This afternoon we’re meeting in the withdrawing room again. Reverend Ferguson delivers her personally and we sit like dining aristocrats at opposite ends of the long table. Our last meeting was mercifully cancelled due to Olivia’s ill health, but that’s not going to get me anywhere in the longer term.

  Olivia hates my guts now. She hates me because I nearly scuttled her little friendship with Keli Street-Hughes. She hates me because I dobbed on her to Reverend Ferguson for not showing up yesterday. She hates me because I’m pieces of her.

  ‘How was your day, Olivia?’

  She sighs. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So how come you piked out yesterday? No pun intended.’

  ‘Forgot.’

  ‘Forgot?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’

  ‘Nup.’

  ‘Come on, Olivia. Throw me a bone.’

  ‘Why? Cos you’re a dog?’ She scoffs at her own nasty joke. The mouth on this thing! She sounds rough, too. I was rough at her age, but not this rough.

  I wonder what has happened to Olivia to make her so spiky? I don’t think I have a right to ask at this point, though. We’re so far from being friends.

  ‘Any plans for the weekend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you do anything last weekend?’

  ‘No.’

  I slap both my palms on the table hard enough to make Olivia flinch. She’s embarrassed by her reaction and looks out the window.

  ‘I went out on a date last weekend with a cattle farmer from Kootingal.’

  She looks kind of intrigued. She shifts forward. I think I might be getting somewhere when—

  ‘Do his parents know he’s dating a boong?’ she asks, grinning falsely.

  ‘I don’t want to hear you say that word again.’

  ‘Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong. Boong.’

  ‘Where’d you learn that word? Keli Street-Hughes? She coughs it onto my neck every second day.’

  ‘Keli’s nice to me.’

  ‘You wait till she finds out you’re acting.’

  ‘You won’t tell her. I know you won’t.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not going to tell her. But she’ll find out anyway, believe me.’

  I’ve hooked her now. Her eyes narrow. ‘How?’

  ‘It’s written all over your lily white face.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘My name’s Olivia Pike and I hate myself.’

  She shakes her head and folds her arms tightly across her chest.

  ‘I hate myself so much that I’m not going to give myself or anyone else a chance.’

  She titters through her nose.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone with self-esteem as low as yours,’ I say.

  ‘What about your friend with the man hands and the moustache?’

  ‘Don’t bring Lou-Anne into this. She’s happy. She’s going to be an opera singer. What are you going to be?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Good luck with that.’

  She sets her jaw and looks around the room. Only her eyeballs move.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, that’s not it, unfortunately. Self-Raising Flour said we have to be here for not a moment less than half an hour.’ I look at my watch. ‘Only twenty-seven minutes to go.’

  ‘I can sit here for twenty-seven minutes.’

  I’d really like nothing more than to let this kid have it and walk out. But I know I’ll have to see her again. And again. And another time after that. Reverend Ferguson will expect me to keep trying.

  ‘Look, Olivia, while we’re waiting, let’s work out a way of making you pass for white.’

  ‘I’m already doing a good job on my own.’

  ‘Oh yeah? How many of the girls in your dorm room answer “nothing” when they’re asked what they’re going to be? “Nothing” is a dead giveaway, if you ask me. You’ve got to come up with something. There must be something you want to do. Me, for example, I want to study journalism and languages. Maybe even become a journalist.’

  ‘Name one Aboriginal journalist.’

  ‘Stan Grant.’

  ‘Name two.’

  I can’t.

  ‘So what are you saying, Olivia? That I shouldn’t try?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. You do what you want and I’ll do what I want.’

  ‘So tell me what you want to do.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she shouts. This is as big of a rise as I’ve ever gotten out of her. ‘I don’t know what I want to do, okay? I’m not good at anything. I’m not smart. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.’

  ‘It’s better than being in foster care, though, isn’t it?’

  Her face falls so hard that I want to take her in my arms. But quite
quickly she seems to recompose herself, to gather herself around that tough knot of anger and get quiet and still.

  Something has happened to her, I know it now. Something very bad. Maybe even worse than losing a brother.

  ‘Guaranteed, Olivia, that every white girl in this school knows what they’re doing here and feels entitled to be here. If you want to keep passing for white, you’d better work it out. Or else the likes of Keli Street-Hughes are going to be on you like stink on poo.’

  Olivia says nothing. She’s back to her stiff little self.

  ‘You’re entitled to be here too, Olivia. You’re entitled to get an education and get into uni and get a good job.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?’

  ‘What?’

  She glares at me, challenging me.

  ‘In the common room, you said you didn’t want a boyfriend because you’re going to flippin’ France. Now you’re going on dates?’

  ‘I changed my mind,’ I say. ‘A girl’s allowed to change her mind, isn’t she?’

  Olivia shrugs. Shakes her head. Looks away again.

  I get up and her eyes follow me around the room. I go to the bookshelf and pull out a copy of the school yearbook. I sit back down and start reading. The yearbook’s three years old. I flip to my class photo and find myself. I’m standing up the back because I’m one of the tallest in the class. I look more or less the same as I do now. Thin body, chubby baby face, black hair pulled into a long, loose plait. I’m not half as pretty as Olivia, though.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asks after about five minutes.

  ‘Reading. It’s more interesting than talking to you.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Anger’s very boring, you know. It’s also very black. You’re going to have to find another emotion if you want to pass for white.’

  We stay there for the full half hour without another word. When Reverend Ferguson knocks on the door, I tell her to come in.

  ‘How are you girls going?’

  ‘We’re having a great time,’ I reply.

  She lets Olivia leave and closes the door behind her.