Posse (10 page)

‘No. I got put through to his message bank.'

‘He's probably in theatre. All right, I'll come and get you. Are you at school?'

‘We're on school camp. We're at the Riveroak Recreation Ranch. I think it's in Wilberforce.'

She says nothing for a second or two and then she says, ‘I know where it is, near the showground. Okay, I'll leave right now. See you in an hour and a half.'

‘See you. Thanks.'

I don't want to seem too happy in front of Mrs Sproule, but if I could reach through the telephone and hug Lizzie, I would. She didn't give me a hard time. She didn't even hesitate. I hang up and return the phone to Mrs Sproule.

‘So you've made your decision, Amy?'

‘I guess I just did.'

A strange expression flickers over the headmistress's face. For a moment there is some sort of doubt or uneasiness in her eyes. For just a moment she's far away.

‘You look like you need a drink,' I say.

She smiles broadly and her eyes are stone again.

I'
M EXHILARATED BY MY
decision, but I know I'm not going to feel this way for long. The awful reality of being kicked out of one of the most prestigious private girls' schools in Sydney will come rolling in and drag me out to sea. I know it will.

Mrs Sproule has left me alone in the office. I'm sure solitary confinement's all part of the treatment. It's meant to make me fold. I won't. Don't get me wrong – I'm scared, all right. I'm anxious about Mum's reaction. I'm worried that Mrs Sproule will
call the police. And I'm terrified that I'm going to lose Marina. But all those pressures added together aren't enough to change my mind. I come from a very stubborn line of women. If I've learned anything from Mum, it's how to dig my heels in.

What's bothering me most right now is Clare. I want to know what Bevan did to her. I want to know what she's been threatened with. I want to know what her decision was.

I'm wondering whether she's been left alone too. It dawns on me that, given that I'm about to be axed, there's no harm in doing exactly as I please. I get up and walk out.

Amazingly, the door of the next office is slightly ajar. Clare is sitting behind a desk, staring at a piece of paper. There are no tears or any other signs of distress. When she sees me her gorgeous elfin face lights up.

‘Amy!'

She scrambles around the table and leaps into my arms. We hug long and hard.

‘Bloody old cow's going to expel me!' I say.

‘
Expel
you?'

Clare lets go of me and retreats a little as though I just revealed that I have leprosy. Her smooth forehead furrows in confusion.

‘Didn't you just get the big lecture?' I ask. ‘You know, about retracting everything.'

‘Yeah, but …'

Clare glances at the piece of paper on the desk. We both reach for it, but I snatch it first. She tries to grab it from me but I hold it above my head and jump up on the chair and then onto the desk. I recognise her writing.

‘Amy!'

‘I want to know what happened!'

Clare climbs onto the table and drags on my arm, digging her ragged nails into my flesh.

‘Tell me what happened!' I hiss. I feel my own spit splatter on the side of my face. ‘Tell me!'

‘I'll tell you what happened if you let go of the paper. Let go of the paper! Come on, Amy.'

I let her pull my arm down and take the paper. She jumps nimbly from the desk and smoothes the paper, examining the short paragraph of writing on it.

I look down at her from my position on the desk. My mind's spinning. My face has grown hot.

‘You're doing what Sproule wants, aren't you?' I accuse her.

Clare looks up at me. ‘I haven't exactly decided,' she says. But she looks like she has.

‘Why would you do that?' I ask, stepping off the desk. I stand over her.

‘You know why,' she says.

‘Tell me.'

She clicks her tongue impatiently, as though she's already explained it to me a thousand times.

‘We were going to be in really big trouble. Mrs Sproule was going to tell my parents. I don't know about you, but I'd rather my parents didn't know about all this muck.'

‘But your parents …' I stammer, ‘wouldn't
they … I mean, won't they understand? You were raped, weren't you?'

There's a protracted silence as Clare looks at her feet, her fingernails, the clock on the wall – everywhere but my face.

‘Clare,' I say severely, placing my hands on her shoulders, ‘you
were
raped, weren't you?'

Finally she looks into my eyes.

‘He didn't rape me.'

Stunned, I let my hands fall to my sides.

She goes on, ‘Oh God, this is embarrassing. He didn't do anything to me but shove me across the room.'

‘He didn't even touch you?'

‘Not like that. I actually hit him first.'

‘What?'

‘We had a huge fight.'

‘And you hit him.'

She smiles sheepishly, tilting her head to the side. ‘I hit him with the back of my hand. A couple of times, actually. Then I sort of jumped him and
he ripped me off by my clothes and dropped me on the ground. I was really upset last night. But I'm getting over it.'

The blood drains from my face.

It's not that I'm disappointed that she hasn't been raped – I'm very relieved – but I feel like one-tenth the martyr I did a minute ago. In fact, I feel like an idiot. I stuck up for Clare because I thought she'd been seriously hurt. There were other reasons as well – I'm not a neat, sneaky little coward for starters – but the point of telling my story and stonewalling Sproule was to support Clare. Now it seems that what Bevan did to her, which was nothing like the terrible things I'd imagined, was probably in self-defence. This is not the first time I feel like kissing and killing Clare in the one instant. And when she opens her mouth again, I feel more like killing than kissing. My fingers tingle with the urge to grip her throat and squeeze.

‘Apparently he's happy to forget about it if I am.'

‘Why did you hit him? What were you fighting about?'

‘He told me about your kiss, and the rest …'

‘But I told you he tried to have his way with me, right before you stormed off last night.'

‘I know, but I had to hear it from him. I wanted to know exactly what happened and why …' Her voice cracks. ‘Why he chose you. He told me I looked like a boy, you know. Bloody idiot. He should wake up to himself.'

Clare sighs and wipes her nose with her wrist.

‘We all thought you'd been raped,' I say, my voice trembling.

She leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

‘You're a good friend,' she says. ‘I didn't mean to worry you. But you've got to understand, I was really upset. No one's
ever
spoken to me like that before. I didn't want him to get away with it. I didn't know it was going to be used against us like this.' She shrugs, then stretches her arms towards me. ‘You're a good friend,' she says again.

I'm actually repelled by this compliment – one of the few direct compliments she's ever paid me. I take a step back from her.

‘Clare …' I begin. I want to ask her why she was so frantic last night, why she was still upset enough this morning to report Bevan to the teachers, when all he did to her was set her on her arse. I want to know why this had to be brought to the teachers' attention at all. What Bevan and I did meant almost nothing to
me
– it was only important to the school – and I could just as easily have kept it to myself. I only raised it to bolster Clare's credibility. If I'd known this information last night, if I'd known it this morning, I would have told her to stop being a drama queen and get over it.

‘Clare, you don't look like a boy,' I say. I want to get stuck into her, but what's the point? What's the point of telling her she's put us all at risk, that she should have kept her mouth shut? If I'd been able to keep my mouth shut last night, she would never have gone to his hut to confront
him. We'd be in the mess hall eating breakfast right now.

And the truth is I already know why she kicked up such a stink. Because she's Clare McSpedden – conceited, selfish, spoilt Clare McSpedden. She was pissed off and hysterical because Bevan liked me and not her. Because I rubbed her nose in it. Maybe Bevan pointed out a few home truths last night. Perhaps he was cruel. He was probably panicking because I'd gone back to my friends and bragged. Clare doesn't take kindly to the mildest rebukes or rejections. I can imagine how violently she'd react if Bevan tried to take her down a notch or two, or even tried to get rid of her. That's why she was howling. It's the hit dog that howls.

And now
I
've been axed. Bloody Clare.

‘You'd better tell Deb and Patricia,' I say. ‘They were beside themselves. They'll be happy to know you're all right, that this is something you'll get over.'

‘I don't know if I'll ever
totally
get over what he said to me.'

I look away from her and roll my eyes. Precious little cow.

‘What about Jo?' she asks.

‘Jo,' I say through gritted teeth, ‘couldn't wait to sell us out. She's made a statement. I don't know exactly what she wrote but she sure wasn't game to stick around and face me afterwards. Reverend Harris came to pick her up. I thought they would have told you by now.'

‘So she's gone?'

‘Yep, she told Sproule that you never went missing, that we're making it all up.'

‘Doesn't surprise me. Lying little suck-up bitch. For all she knew, I
had
been raped. She was happy to call me a liar and let Bevan get away with it. All to save her pristine little hide. I hate her.'

‘So do I.'

‘At least we know what she's like now. In a way it's good this has happened.'

‘No, Clare, it's not good. It's very, very bad.'

Clare's eyes narrow. ‘What about Bevan?'

‘Bevan's gone too. I'm the only one who's in trouble, Clare.'

‘You're the only one who's making a big deal out of it.'

‘That's because I thought it
was
a big deal.'

‘Well, now you know it's not.'

‘I'm not going to pretend that it's all a bloody prank.'

‘You don't have to. All I've said in my statement is … why don't you read it?' She hands me her statement. I open it slowly, full of dread.

I give the statement back to Clare. She can see that I'm not happy.

‘There was more to it than this, Clare. This makes me look like a liar. It looks like Jo's the one who's telling the truth.'

Clare stares at the ceiling, smiles wryly and shakes her head.

‘Amy, look, you've had your fun. The joke's on me. I know that, okay? You've won. Congratulations. I probably deserved what I got. But I don't want to be kicked out over this. Why do you?'

‘I was looking after you.'

The conversation is nauseating, exhausting. It's probably the most serious and honest talk we've ever had. It's as though everything – our decade of close friendship – has boiled down to this moment.

I need Clare's support. I need it not only so that
I'll be believed, but for the good of our friendship. It's hard to see how we can remain friends if she leaves me on my own this morning. Clare seems to sense it too.

‘Do you really care about what happened with Bevan?' she asks.

‘Not really. I mean, it shouldn't have happened, but I'm still in one piece.'

‘Why'd you do it, anyway?'

‘I don't know. Because he wanted me, I suppose. It surprised me – I was flattered. And I wanted him because you did. I was sick of you getting stuck into me every five minutes about Marina. I wanted to show you, all right?'

‘Well, you sure showed me. Now you're getting expelled, you stupid lezzo!'

I can't help it. I crack. We both laugh hard and end up hugging. With Clare's arms around me I could almost dash the whole thing and pretend nothing happened. It would be so easy. Clare and Jo have laid all the groundwork. All I'd have to do
is agree and it would go away. I want it to go away. Mrs Sproule wants it to go away. Does it really matter whether anyone believes that I got it on with Bevan? Why is it so important to me?

‘Amy,' Clare whispers in my ear, ‘I need you at school. Amy …' She steps back from our embrace and looks me in the eye. ‘What should I do?' She holds up her statement. ‘Should I rip it up?'

‘It's up to you.'

‘I know you want me to.'

‘It's completely up to you.'

With a sigh and a defiant grin Clare rips the paper in half, in quarters, in eighths and so on. She keeps tearing until her statement is a handful of confetti. Then with a whoop she casts it out of the open window.

‘I'll tell them everything. Every last detail,' she says. ‘Johanna Harris can stick her lies up her hairy proverbial. I hope she burns in hell, if there is a hell, which we all know there isn't. If we ever make it back to school I'm going to make her life
torture.' She takes my hands in hers. Suddenly her clear green eyes spout tears. ‘I'm sorry about this mess, by the way. I know it's my fault.'

That is the first time Clare has ever apologised to me. After years of insults, brush-offs, put-downs and minor betrayals, Clare finally apologises – and backs me up. My stomach churns with mixed emotions and I feel tears burning my eyes.

‘Not your fault,' is all I manage to get out.

Arm in arm, we leave our designated prisons and stride out to the reception area, where Deb and Patricia are waiting listlessly. Their eyes light up when they catch sight of us. Miss Lackie, still on guard, smiles meekly.

‘Um, Amy, I don't think you're supposed to …'

As usual, we all ignore her.

‘Are you all right?' Patricia asks Clare, bounding to her feet.

‘She's fine,' I say.

Patricia and Deb look at Clare in disbelief.

‘I'm fine, really. About Bevan … it's not what you think.'

‘So what's happening?' says Deborah. ‘God, this is unbearable!'

‘I'm being expelled,' I say.

‘What?' they shout in unison.

‘Oh, it'll all be okay if I admit I lied about what happened with Bevan, if I pretend it was all a big joke. Our good friend Johanna has already squealed. She said that we were all safely tucked in our sleeping bags last night. She told them that Clare and I were scratching each other's eyes out.'