Chapter 9
On the bus to school the next day, Samantha was shocked and then firm.
“You definitely can’t tell,” she said, shaking her head. “Not even one word. If Saffron and Tiger found out about any of it, you’d be dropped straight away. And if you’re coming back in a year, like your mum said you can, it’s best just to keep it quiet.”
“I know,” I said, half groaning, “but how can I explain a whole year away? I can’t say we’re going overseas. For a start, I’m a hopeless liar and when I come back they’ll know I haven’t been in France or wherever for a year because all I can say is ‘bonjour’ in a really bad accent.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Sam, sitting up in her seat and turning towards me. “You said that Charlie got a horse-riding helmet for her birthday. On a farm you’re probably going to learn to ride, right? And you will be changing schools, kind of, yeah?”
“Yes...” I said, curious.
“Well, why don’t we say that you’re going to some sort of exclusive equestrian boarding school in the country—I don’t know—in another state even, with Charlie for a year?” she said. “You can tell everyone, which is kind of true, that your parents really want you to learn to ride well. And you can make it up that the school is so exclusive and strict and stuff that boarders aren’t allowed to have phones or use Skype or email or anything. So that way you won’t get anyone visiting you or finding out what’s actually going on.”
My eyes widened and the anxious pain in my neck I’d been carrying around since slamming my door the night before seemed to slide down my back and into the bus upholstery.
“That might work you know,” I said slowly. “It’s not too much of a lie that it’s completely wrong. It’s just kind of bending the truth. But it might work out so that I finish up not being too much of a loser.”
I smiled at Samantha and put on the silly voice that we use when we say serious things. It’s kind of a cross between an American and a Scottish accent.
“You’re a lifesaver and a true friend. Don’t ever change!”
She grinned and shook her hand up near her face, like she was trying to cool down.
“I’m good, huh?” she said in her matching silly accent. “Oh yes, sometimes I can’t believe how good I am. I’m sneaky and crafty! Just call me ‘the manager’.”
I pretended to punch her in the arm and she shrank back in mock horror. “Watch out, you’ll get my uniform grubby, you muddy little farm animal!”
I rolled my eyes and looked at my fingers, examining my manicure.
“Ha! You say that like it’s funny. Can you imagine? Last night Dad was saying things like we’ll live in a pig shed.” I shuddered. So did Sam. “And we’ll be building a house! My nails are going to be shot after the first week!”
“Ssh,” warned Sam, looking around as if she was expecting to see Tiger Lily in the next seat. “If you want to keep it a secret, you really can’t talk about it. From now until you go, you’re sticking to the story. You’re going off to learn dressage and show jumping and horsey stuff. And you’re coming back to school at the end of the year. No mud, no building and especially no pig sheds.”
The bus was pulling up to school and as we got off, I made a face and pretended to zip my mouth shut and throw away the key. Sam made a movement like she was catching it and putting it in her pocket.
“Your secret is safe with me,” she said dramatically and pushed me along. “Now go. Be popular and beautiful. And quiet!”
It was tricky. I actually have always been a person who likes to talk a lot. If my head is full of thoughts, I tend to blurt them out regardless of where I am or who’s listening. It was something I wanted to change about myself because it’s kind of uncool. Silent, aloof girls who have a single witty comment to throw in at exactly the right place seem way more attractive.
So far I’d worked really hard to hold my tongue around Saffron, Tiger and the others. I wanted them to see me as cool, intelligent and unconcerned. But now I really did have to keep my mouth shut. This was a secret that I had to keep. My reputation and my entire social future depended on it!
“So, everyone’s coming to Westfield this afternoon?” Saffron said at recess, a piece of delicately wrapped sushi heading from her ultra-chic lunch box towards her lightly glossed mouth. She opened her mouth slightly and just kind of absorbed the sushi, hardly moving her jaw to chew. I was mesmerised by the way she ate. No, actually, that’s not entirely true. I was mesmerised by the way she did everything. I couldn’t get over how one person could be so perfect.
“Monday afternoon is shopping time,” Tiger Lily said, with a sideways glance to me, as if to explain. I nodded furiously so I could show that yes, I knew and that yes, I was free and wanted to go, and then I realised that I was looking a bit too keen so I pulled back on the nodding and said in what I thought was a cool, unconcerned sort of voice, “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Um, yep, I can come.”
“Nail polish!” said Lise, suddenly, holding up her hand to the light. She had a worried expression on her face and Isabella came to her rescue.
“I see what you mean. Wow, Lise. What is with your nails? Didn’t you get another bottle last time we went?” she asked.
Lise shook her head furiously. “Forgot!” she said mournfully. Her big blue puppy dog eyes seemed so upset that I wanted to help her feel better.
“Oh I need to get some too,” I said looking around at the group, “so that’s good. We can get it at the same place. It’s so annoying that we can’t wear anything at school but pink.”
There was a short silence. Lise looked at Isabella and Saffron glanced sideways at Tiger who began an eye roll before Saffron put her hand on her arm like a warning.
“No, it’s ok,” she said calmly tossing her ponytail. “She’s still learning.”
My heart sank. Obviously I had made a huge error but I had no idea what it was. If that wasn’t bad enough, I started to feel my face beginning to turn pink. A ray of shame crawled up my spine. Go away, go away, go away, I thought to myself, trying to get control of my face.
Saffron leant in to me.
“Coco, we don’t wear pink nail polish,” she said, very seriously. She was saying it kindly, as though she really wanted to help me.
“Everyone else does that. But we’re not like everyone else. As you know.” She said it meaningfully.
I nodded, grateful for her time.
“Oh, I know, I mean...” I stumbled. “I just.. I didn’t...”
“It’s okay,” she said. Her face was reassuring, and then suddenly flinty. “Just don’t say it again.”
I hardly trusted what might come out of my mouth, so I kept it closed and nodded quickly again. Lise was still holding her hand up, examining her nails and without even thinking I shot a quick glance towards her fingertips. If her nail polish wasn’t pink, then what was it? Tiger Lily, impatient as always, saw my look and decided to inform me.
“It’s greige,” she said, looking up into the sky and away from me. “And before you have to ask what greige is, it’s grey and beige. You have to read magazines to keep up with things you know.”
“Oh, right, I know,” I said. My head was still going on a furious nod. I felt like a little Happy Meal toy. Boing boing boing.
Saffron leaned over to me again.
“I think your nails would look great in greige,” she said. “Show me.”
I held out my hand and she had a look at my fingers.
“Wow, great shape and great length,” she said. “For nails that you’ve obviously done yourself, they’re pretty good. Imagine what they’ll look like when you get a proper manicure!” She looked up at me. “I presume you’ll be getting one soon, right?”
My mouth felt like it was about to blabber and stumble again but I managed to get control. “Yeah, of course. This is just my emergency polish.”
I could see Tiger Lily take a breath to speak again and was just about to
duck my head when, like a sudden cool breeze on a boiling hot day, the bell went and I was saved.
I walked to maths telling myself to pull it together.
“Don’t be such a loser, Coco. Get hold of yourself. You can do this.”
I took some breaths and calmed down, opened my books and then spent the next 50 minutes pretending to listen to fractions and decimals while actually I was thinking about something way more important—the lies I was going to tell and the stories I was going to spin about why I was going away.