I’m still curious about your brother. How come he’s creepy? What does he do, try to crack onto you or something?
Bad luck about your French, though I’d say 56% was pretty good. Better than I’d ever get.
Well, Mum’s just called out to say dinner’s ready, so I’d better go. It’s really nice tonight — she’s cooked Hawaiian Chicken, my favourite. And she doesn’t like us to be late.
Bye!
Tracey
PS: Say ‘hi’ to Cheryl for me, and thanks for the note.
March 17
Dear Trace,
Geez, your life sounds perfect. Great family, great boyfriend, stacks of money. I’m jealous! You want to swap?
What school do you go to anyway? In one letter you said something that sounded like a boarding school. But I guess not, or you would have mentioned it. And what are you doing for Easter? Slipping over to New York for a few days?! It’d be funny if you were coming up this way and we could meet! Wonder if we will, eventually.
I’m writing this at eleven o’clock at night — well it’s nearly midnight now — in front of TV, while I pig out on biscuits and chips and grapes. ‘Rage’ has just come on.
Speaking of rage, that’s what I was meant to be doing tonight but thanks to the lovely Paul Bazzani, it didn’t work out. Actually, it’s been a fart of an evening. You see, I was meant to be going with Paul to this party, at Marco Tanimides’ place. That was OK, we got there all right (Paul paid for a taxi), but it was a bit of a set-up if you ask me. There were only eight people there and I didn’t know any of them. I mean they were from school but they’re not the people I hang round with. Some of them I didn’t even know their names. They were off their faces by the time we got there, and they were into everything, there were condoms flashing around and people disappearing into the bushes in the backyard. And I don’t even know Paul that well: like, this was the first time I’d gone anywhere with him. It was a set-up for sure.
Anyway, without going into the gory details, it ended with Paul calling me frigid and all that, and me walking home, about a hundred ks on my own. And I tell you, I was scared. It gets pretty rough around Acacia Park on a Saturday night. And to make matters worse, I knew no-one was home here.
Oh well, I survived. But I’m so burned off. I thought Paul was OK actually. Wait till I see Marco on Monday, I’ll kill him. In fact I think I’ll ring him tomorrow.
Wonder what you’re doing right now. Probably at the ballet or opera or something. Sorry, I’m heaping it on you. It’s the mood I’m in. Blame Paul. Anyway, I can’t be bothered writing any more — think I’ll go to bed and continue this later.
Power Without Glory’s next Saturday. Hope it’s an improvement on this weekend. At least it’s something to look forward to. Write me back a great letter, make my week, OK?
Sweet dreams
Mandy
Mar 20
Dear Mandy,
I don’t know what I said that sounded like a boarding school. I must have been dreaming. Don’t you ever do that? Write things that are totally wrong, when you’re half-asleep or thinking about something else? I do it all the time. Or maybe you just misunderstood me. Trouble is, I don’t remember what I said.
Anyhow, I go to Prescott High, though not many people know me there because I’m so quiet.
Your weekend must have been a real winner. What’s happened since? Paul sounds like a con-artist. What’s he look like? You better watch out for him!
Casey and I went to a party too, at Ruyton Heads. One of his mates has a beach house there and his parents let him have it for the weekend. It was some party! Spin out! But I can trust Casey.
I did get a bit wasted though. We had cans of UDL, gin and tonic, and I guess I had more than I thought. So I ended up in a mess and felt sick and disgusting all day Sunday. It was worth it though.
But my life’s not as perfect as you think.
How’s your dog? Have you got a name for him yet? You could call him Roy, after Roy Lugarno from Dust and Ashes. Or call him something so dumb and obvious that it’s funny, like Rover or Spot or Lassie. I used to like Harry the Dirty Dog. You ever read that book? Don’t know why I didn’t call my dog Harry.
Next Saturday while you’re raging at the Power Without Glory concert I’ve got our big basketball game. If we win this we end up second in the minor premiership and go into the major semi. If we lose we’d probably only come fourth or fifth — it depends on the other results. So this week is solid training. Basketball’s a good game though — I like it. Today we were doing bounce passes and rebounds, plus working out some new signals. Trouble is, Mrs Strauss, she’s our coach, I don’t think she knows as much as some of the players. And she tries to be popular by giving us slack work-outs but most of us would rather go for it. . .
Anyway, I’m just raving on. Hope life’s cool, and that you’ve sorted out Paul and Marco.
Bye,
Trace
March 27
Dear Trace,
God, that’s a boring way to start a letter. I’ll come up with something better next time, I promise. But my life’s boring at the moment. Can’t wait till the holidays, not that we’re doing anything or going anywhere. Oh well. At least the Power Without Glory concert was good. Actually it was better than good; it was over the mountain and far away. It was a great great concert. I didn’t go with anyone, any guys I mean, just Cheryl and Rebecca, but that was fine by me. Sisters of Rock were the support band and I like them, too.
That Phil Nuffield, he’s amazing. He was jumping off the stage into the audience and jumping back up again and ripping off these amazing vocals through it all. There were four encores so it went late. Those encores are a pain in the butt — the bands know they’re going to play them, they’ve rehearsed them and everything, the crowd know they’re going to play them — but you’ve still got to go though the routine of clapping till your hands are burning. It’s so fake.
Anyway, I’m being selfish, ’cos Saturday was your big basketball game. How did you go? Did you win? Hope so. I actually remembered it a few times during the night and crossed my fingers for you — maybe it was when you were shooting the winning goal.
You know, that’s — don’t take this the wrong way — but that’s one of the first times since we’ve been writing that you’ve let yourself go a bit, like it was the ‘real you’ or whatever you want to call it.
You seem reserved. Is that what you’re like in real life? I keep thinking of questions I want to ask you but it’s hard when you’re a week away. For instance, who are your friends? (apart from Casey). What do you look like? Send me a photo. Do you believe in God? Do you do drugs? Do you smoke? Do you get on with everyone in your family? Do you follow a footy team? Are you a brain at school? What kind of jokes make you laugh? What kind of clothes do you wear? Gee, now that I’ve started, I could go on all night. Lucky I don’t have to answer these questions myself. Have you ever been anywhere, like travelling?
Sorry if I’m overdoing it! You don’t have to answer them anyway.
Oh yes, I was going to tell you about Paul and Marco. Well believe me, I’m offering this as a script to ‘Days of Our Lives’. But I handled it good! I handled it great! I’ve never been this tough before! I rang Marco Sunday night and just blew him off the phone. Poor guy, he didn’t know what hit him. You see, I’d had all day (and a lot of Saturday night) to think about what I wanted to say. I was right though — he virtually admitted Paul had asked him to get a few people together and have a ‘party’ because he wanted to screw me. Bastards.
Well, Monday morning I walked right past Paul like I was the principal of the school. I treated him like scum all day, even though he tried to talk a few times. But after school I let him have it, face to face. And not the kind of face to face he’d been hoping for Saturday night. I told him how I’d trusted him and thought he was a pretty straight guy and how much I’d changed my mind about him. He just stood there dripping with guilt. And he grovelled for a long ti
me. Actually we parted on OK terms. You know, I don’t mind him — he’s a decent guy, but he hangs around with some of life’s legendary losers.
So, that all happened yesterday, though it seems a long time ago. Today was good. Paul was ultra-nice all day and Marco avoided me. But best of all, I’m proud of myself for putting it to them like that!
Good luck in the finals, if you’re in them!
Love,
Mandy
Mar 29
Dear Mandy,
Thanks for your letter. I don’t know how to answer your letters sometimes. What to say to you. You say I seem quiet and reserved. Well maybe I am. But you seem confident. Is that what you’re like in real life? The way you dealt with those guys, that was good.
I get the feeling that if we met we probably wouldn’t even be friends. If we went to the same school for instance.
Well, we took the basketball game, 54-50. It wasn’t one of our best efforts, but we won. Day after tomorrow’s the first final — if we take that we go straight to the grand final. I’m nervous already, to tell you the truth. It’s against a team called Chieftains who’ve beaten us twice this season. Last time they thrashed us but that was the worst we’ve played. (Our best player had suddenly left so we were a bit of a mess.)
We had training this afternoon — I’ve just come in, had a shower and sat down to write this letter. It was a hard training for once — our captain, a girl called Kylie Patrick, ran it, and Mrs Strauss let her. Kylie knows more about basketball than Mrs Strauss anyhow. So it was good. I like it better when it’s hard, even though during it you’re thinking, ‘I hate it, I wish it was over.’
I keep coming back to your letter. I’m not sure what to think when you talk about ‘the real me’. I thought I was writing about the real me. But I’ll try to answer your questions.
What do I look like? Well, I’m tall (176 cm) and I think I’m overweight, although everyone else says I’m just being anorexic. Wish I did have anorexia sometimes (though I’ve seen a few girls with it, and it’s pretty off). I’m blonde, my hair’s long at the moment, I’ve got blue eyes, fair skin (burns easily), have a modelling contract already signed — as if.
I don’t believe in God, definitely not.
I don’t do drugs or smoke, don’t drink or talk to strange men. Actually I sink the odd can or two and I wouldn’t mind talking to some strange men if I could find any.
I get on with everyone in the family — we’re close, like I told you. I can talk to my parents about anything and they’re really proud of us. So many kids’ parents get divorced, but mine have been married twenty-five years, and they never argue or anything.
I don’t follow footy much but I go for Norths. (Mainly because of Sam Marcroftsis, he’s so cute. He reminds me of my brother.)
I’m not a brain at school but I do OK.
What kind of jokes make me laugh? Well, here’s the latest:
Q. What do you call a fly with no wings?
A. A walk.
Pretty funny, hey?! Oh well, I thought it was.
What kind of clothes do I wear? I don’t like to dress up, although my father likes me to. He always wants me to wear expensive skirts and stuff, but I’m happy with jeans and a top. Those American sweatshirts, for example: I’ve got a few of those. I like clothes by Daniel, Heresy, Double First. I wear quite a bit of jewellery. I guess I do like some expensive things.
And for your final question: We went overseas, to Disneyland and Hawaii and London, when I was little, but I don’t remember much about it.
Now I’ll ask you some questions. What kind of stuff do you do with your friends? What’s your room like? Is it your own or do you share? What do you look like? Send me a photo. (Sorry I haven’t got any of me that I like.) Why’s your brother creepy? (You never answer that one.) How strict are your parents? Do you believe in God?
You see, you’re getting a taste of your own medicine now.
I’m so jumpy tonight. I think it’s that basketball. I’m all over the place, been having fights and getting in trouble, can’t do any work. Wish Casey was here to hold me and press against me and run his fingers down my back. God I love that guy. But he’s training tonight — he’s so fit. Well, I might go and play some music — Nicotine Monsters, I think. That’s the mood I’m in.
Wish me luck! See you!
Tracey
Mar 31
Mandy!
WE WON! I can’t believe it! By seven points! I’m so excited I had to tell someone, and you’re it. I mean nobody, just nobody, beats Chieftains. And I played OK too — sixteen points, second highest, and some good rebounds. Got fouled off in the last two minutes, but who gives? It’s so great — hope we can keep our heads on till the Grand Final. Oh well, gotta go to bed. But it’s so exciting, I wanted to tell you.
Love, Trace
April 3
Dear Trace,
Wow, you star! That’s fantastic! I’m rapt. Congratulations. I’ve never done anything like that in my life. So when’s the big one? Bet you’re revved-up for it. That’s a hot team you’ve got there. Better tell Mrs Strauss to get herself in gear.
I love basketball — well, watching it I mean. I’ve been to a couple of NBL games and they were great — the atmosphere was huge. And I watch it on TV sometimes. I love those American guys. I wish I was tall and black and cool. Instead I’m short and pinky-brown and not cool enough.
So have you stopped celebrating yet? Wonder if you’ll be playing Chieftains again in the Grand Final. If you do you should be confident.
This has been a good couple of days, a good start to the week. Katrina was home for the weekend, and stayed till last night (think she missed a few classes). It’s so good when she’s home — everything’s much better. Plus I scored a heavy 78% in a Maths test, which is good for me, especially as we were doing parabolas, which I hate. I can’t see the use of them.
You sure turned the tables on me with those questions. They’re good though — they made me think. Some are a bit hard to answer, like, what my friends and I do in our spare time. I mean, we just do all the obvious stuff, like goss, back-stab, shop, go to the movies, check out guys, talk on the phone, play music. We even do homework once in a while. Cheryl Tsang, who wrote you that note, lives round the corner from me, and Rebecca Slater’s three blocks away, and Maria Kagiasis is opposite her. They’re about my best mates.
We’re into sport a bit too. Maria and Rebecca and I are in the same softball team, called Mum’s Army (’cos Maria’s mum coaches us). But it’s pretty low-key, and we don’t do that well. Maria’s a mean hitter though.
Well, next question. My room’s a complete mess, now and forever. It has a bed, but not much else that anyone’d recognize. There are clothes everywhere, probably more of Cheryl’s and my sister’s than mine. But if it was ever neat (you have to use a lot of imagination here) you’d see something like this: a bed with a doona cover of sheep playing in a paddock in cute little ways; a desk under the window, covered with books; a set of shelves with more books and ornaments and toys; a dressing-table with more ornaments and family and school photos; and a built-in wardrobe with posters on the doors (mainly of Power Without Glory, needless to say).
The curtains are old white lace ones that used to be in my grandmother’s house. On the wall are a couple of pictures: one of my grandparents standing next to their first car; then a painting called Science and Charity, by Picasso; and then one of the ocean, by a guy called Christopher Pratt. I was allowed to choose them myself.
As for my brother, I’ll tell you about him another time, when I’m not in such a good mood. I don’t want to spoil this letter.
OK, last two questions. Well, for one, my parents aren’t bad. They’re strict on some things, like money, but Katrina softened them up on important issues like parties and curfews — and tidy rooms. They work hard, so they’re not home as much as some parents. They get in late quite often.
And yes, I believe in God, although not the way the churches
talk about Him/Her. I think that there’s something there, some force, some presence. We had this guy who took us for religion last year. He said he was an atheist until one day in Wales, when a friend took him to the top of a mountain, pointed to the view and said, ‘Now tell me there’s no God’. And the guy fell to his knees and was converted. I’m a bit like that I guess. I can’t look at a sunset or the sky at night or my dog or a Pizza Supreme and not believe in God.
Wow, I’m exhausted by this letter. But why is writing a long letter to you so easy, and a 300-word English essay so hard? God knows. I wonder if She/He does. Anyway, good luck for the big game, keep in training: don’t smoke, drink or the other thing — see you —
Love,
Mandy
April 6
Dear Mandy,
Thanks for your letter. If I fall asleep before I finish this paragraph, hope you forgive me. What with training and schoolwork and everything else I’m out of it. But I liked your letter. I knew you’d understand how I felt about the basketball.
There’s nothing much to write about, so this could be short. My brother Dean was here for the weekend, and he came to our game, and took the whole team to McDonalds afterwards. We had a great time. It was so nice of him. He went back to university yesterday.
Next Friday’s a black one, the 13th. Our game’s the next day. Hope it’s not an omen.
I’m going shopping tomorrow, mainly for new jeans. I had some really good ones — light blue Geminis — but when I was feeding the horse yesterday they caught on a nail and ripped open, down the leg. It’s so annoying. Guess I shouldn’t have been wearing them to feed the horses. Hurt my leg too, scratched it deep, but not enough to need stitches.