Chapter Four
Last day of school was little more than a giant social event.
There were no classes of any substance; instead, students wandered aimlessly around the school grounds. We weren't privy to a 'muck up' day as we weren't Year Twelves and any mucking up from the senior students had been monitored so severely that we had half expected to see watchtowers constructed for teachers with binoculars and dart guns. Such limitations were largely due to an incident from two years ago that had Andy Maynard fused to a goal post with electrical duct tape by a group of hooded Year Twelve boys. The school frowned upon that and banned Muck-up Day all together. That didn't mean there wasn't any anarchy in the schoolyard.
Our theme for the year was Toga. All Year Elevens arrived draped in sheets that would have had all our mums going ballistic because we took them without asking. We all walked around, our shoulders exposed like we were in Roman bathhouses.
"It would be all so authentic if it wasn't for the gum leaf crowns everyone is wearing," Adam mused.
I re-adjusted my leafy headgear. "What choice was there? I think it looks good."
"Oh God, Tess, this is humiliating." Ellie's eyes darted around, hoping not to be recognised.
"Relax, Ellie, it's our last day of school, no one will even remember what we wore."
We weaved and maneuvered our awkward costumes through a group of Year Eight boys playing hacky sack.
"Yeah, well, if this makes it into the Yearbook, I will never forgive either of you," Ellie threatened.
"Oh, come on, Pretty Parker, just think of it as the multicultural aspect of the Miss Onslow Show Girl."
I cringed. There it was, the one thing that turned the usually beaming, bright, confident Ellie into a stone-faced Ice Queen.
Ellie had entered the Miss Onslow Show Girl Pageant in Year Nine (so she was old enough to know better), and it was something Adam had relentlessly mocked her about ever since. I recalled the glee in his mischievous eyes as we sat in the showground stands watching Ellie radiantly wave to the crowd. I thought Adam was going to pop a blood vessel as he fought not to lose himself to hysteria when the Mayor of Onslow, Hank Whittaker, started singing Stevie Wonder's 'Isn't She Lovely?' After a full afternoon of sitting in the sun and being forced to witness every age bracket of the Miss Onslow Show Girl, I couldn't help but lose it, too. Maybe it was Adam's infectious laugh, or perhaps I suffered a touch of sunstroke? I don't know. More likely, it was witnessing Mayor Whittaker, a gangly, balding, fake-tanned man with unnaturally white protruding teeth and a torturous falsetto, mime as he captured a butterfly to his heart and then released it into the air, as if he was a Backstreet Boy. From that day on, any time Mayor Whittaker ran into Ellie, he would blind her with his bleached veneers and refer to her with his pet name for her. Hence, 'Pretty Parker' was born. It was no Tic Tac Tess, but still, Ellie came second and never entered again.
"There is no such thing as a multicultural section in the Miss Onslow Pageant, idiot."
Adam placed his hands up in mock surrender.
"Sorry, Ellie. I guess I need to brush up on my beauty pageant trivia."
I could see this getting ugly. "So, the break-up party tonight. What time do we rock up?"
Ellie's head snapped around. "What are you wearing? Do you want to come to my place first? We can pick something out."
"How come I never get invited to these pre-party fashion parades?" whined Adam.
We both ignored him.
"I haven't a clue, really," I said. "What time do you want to rendezvous?"
"Make it seven at my house. By the time we get ready, we will be fashionably late." Ellie flicked her hair over her exposed shoulder.
Adam rolled his eyes and mimicked Ellie behind her back. I threw him a discreet frown.
"Sounds like a plan," I said, as I lifted my awkward sheet to step over a wayward empty chip packet.
"So we're not wearing the Togas tonight, then?" Adam pressed.
"No," Ellie and I said in unison.
"Aww, come on."
"NO!"
Adam circled us, and chanted in his best imitation of a caveman voice while fist pumping the sky.
"Toga! Toga! Toga!"
We were about to pummel him in a joint beating when he tripped on the hem of his sheet and went flying in a very inelegant fashion that had him sprawled on the concrete, revealing his board shorts underneath.
I suppose we should have checked if he was okay, and not mortally wounded. We would have done so, too, if we weren't crippled by fits of laughter. Ellie even snorted. That made us laugh even harder, to the point that we all but forgot about Adam who lay there, possibly bleeding to death. But he wasn't. He leaned back, and squinted up at us with a wry smile spread across his face.
We bent down, offered him a hand to get up and helped him dust his once-white sheet off. His mum would not be happy.
"And that, my friend, is the perfect reason why we are not going in a Toga," I said.