The Scent of Apples (10 page)

I take the nearest empty seat and disturb several people as I clamber into my chair. I keep my head down and concentrate on spooning the plums into my mouth. When I raise my eyes, the girls opposite are glaring at me.

Someone clears their throat behind me. I turn to see the girl that had pronounced me weird yesterday standing behind my chair.

‘I'm sorry,' I mumble. I wipe away the juice from the plums that has dribbled down my chin. ‘Is this your seat?'

‘Duh, yeah.'

I quickly stand up.

‘Why would anyone wear a wet blouse?' one of them sniggers as I move away. I carry my bowl around the room like a church collection plate before deciding to flag breakfast. I leave it half-eaten on a table on my way out.

Back in the empty dormitory, I throw myself on my bed. This time I don't try to disguise my crying. I sob into my pillow. I don't want to be here. I want to be in heaven or wherever the hell it is you go to when you die.

The thudding of bags being dumped on the floor announces the arrival of my room mate.

I'm curled up on my bed facing the wall. I look over my shoulder and see a Māori girl with crazy black curly hair. The emerald green of her eyes doesn't look real.

‘Bloody hell. This place looks like a dump.' She holds onto the dividing wall and uses it to swing back out the door.

‘Yep, number five. This is me.'

I sway my legs to the side of the bed and smooth out some of the creases in my clothes.

‘Hi, I'm Charlie.'

‘Hi, I'm Libby.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Libby. Actually, technically I'm Charlotte. Mum got a spot of brain freeze when she had me. All my brothers and sisters are named after some heroic ancestor and I got lumped with a name from a romance novel. I get shit about it all the time.'

I don't know what to say. I find myself staring at her like an imbecile, and have to check that my bottom jaw isn't hanging loose.

She doesn't seem to notice as she paces around the room. She bounces on the bed, to check the springs. She pulls open and then shuts the drawers on the side cabinet.

‘There's no way this dormitory matches the pictures on the brochure. We've been ripped off, Libby.'

An attempt at a smile is all I manage.

For the first time since she got here she stops moving and looks at me.

‘Cheer up. This place looks dead easy to run away from. There's no barbed wire on the fences. It's not like jail. They can't make us stay here if we don't want to.'

This time I manage a nod.

Charlie takes some clothes from a well-worn rucksack. They look like they have been stuffed in rather than packed.

‘So, where is home if you need to run there?' she says, as she crams handfuls of clothes into the small drawers.

‘Not far away.'

‘Me either. I live in Whāingaroa.'

‘I've never heard of Whāingaroa; where is it?'

‘Raglan. Where the sun's always shining and the fish are always biting. I get to fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean.'

‘That sounds nice.'

‘Yeah, it is. I'd still be there if some dumb-arse teacher hadn't told Mum how smart she thought I was. If I was smart, I would have failed the bloody scholarship exam that got me sent here.'

Charlie pulls some things out from the bottom of her rucksack. She tips photographs from a brown envelope onto her mattress and sticks a blob of Blu-Tack on the back of each picture. She stands on her bed and begins sticking photos along the wall, making a snake chain.

One old sepia photograph, the edges well worn, shows a Māori man with a full moko. Groups of spiralling lines wrap around his cheeks and onto his chin. Separate lines follow the arch of his brow. Charlie takes a step back when she's finished and admires her handiwork.

I don't know how long Matron has been standing at the edge of our cubicle before she lets us know she's there.

‘You must be the new girl? The one who missed our assembly last night?'

‘Oh yeah. Sorry about that.' Charlie is still standing on her bed, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. ‘It was such a good day for fishing yesterday that Koro and I got carried away. We did go out early, but we got on to a spot just as we were coming in. We figured it wouldn't matter too much if I came today.'

‘We wouldn't have made everyone turn up yesterday, if it didn't matter. Charlotte, isn't it?'

‘Yep, but I prefer Charlie.'

‘We like to use people's proper names here. If you had bothered to turn up, one of the things you would have learnt is that we value structure. Knowing when and how to do things keeps people focused. And respect for school property. You can start right now, Charlotte, by getting off that bed.'

Charlotte jumps from the bed and lands a foot away from Matron.

‘We want you to feel at home, but we have to have rules,' Matron continues. ‘Cluttering your rooms with paraphernalia is not something we will tolerate.' She nods her head towards the wall. ‘I expect to see
one
photograph on your wall tomorrow.' She practically clicks her heels and marches from our room.

‘Jesus. That woman could do with a nice cup of poison.'

I grin.

‘I bet you she's got a copy of
Mein Kampf
under her pillow.'

I giggle. Charlie's arrival is like a warm breeze on a cold day.

‘Come on, Libby. Let's go check on those boundary fences.' She pulls me up before I have a chance to protest.

I look at her unmade bed with clothes and toiletries strewn over the top of it, and hope Matron doesn't come back before we do.

Charlie zigzags her way across the various pathways. We end up at the southern part of the school. An old villa on the edge of the school grounds houses the library. The rooms, filled with light and the warm smell of rubbed kauri floorboards, seem at odds with the rest of the school.

I inhale the comforting smell of the books. I've always found shelter in between the pages of books. Just lately, though, I've noticed that every time I read, I end up pulling my hair out. I lose myself in the story, and my fingers, like traitors, head off by themselves, searching for a victim.

I sink down into one of the well-worn armchairs, placed by a bay window. The sun streams in and rests on my face. Charlie darts from room to room, picking out books from the shelves and introducing them to me as you would a best friend. I don't know if there's a limit on how many times you get to say, ‘This is my favourite book,' but she definitely goes over it if there is.

We both leave the library with books tucked under each arm. On the way back to the dormitory, Charlie stops outside the art room.

‘I just have to run in here for a minute. Won't be a sec.'

Through the window, I watch as Charlie introduces herself. She makes a few wild hand gestures and makes the teacher laugh. She comes out carrying a large piece of white cardboard.

‘She's the first friendly adult I've met in the whole place. I seemed to piss off the ladies in the office just by arriving late.'

I've never met anyone like Charlie, who didn't seem to weigh up her words before she spoke them.

Most of the cubicles were empty when we left the dormitory, but now noise and girls spill from most of them.

‘Hiya,' Charlie calls out to several girls as she strolls down the centre of the room.

Back in our cubicle, I stack the books up on the bedside table. Charlie takes down her photographs from the wall. She lays the poster-sized bit of cardboard on the bare floorboards and sits cross-legged before it. She tilts her head from side to side as she arranges her photographs on it.

‘This is my Uncle Tai,' she says, holding up a photograph of a slender Māori guy. His hair, swept back and tied in a pony tail, and suntanned face make him look like he doesn't have a care in the world. ‘He can't fish to save himself but we let him on board the boat so we have someone to pull the anchor in.'

She places the photo on the poster and shows me another one. ‘This is my Aunt Amelia. You can tumble down the hill from our house to hers. She makes the best fried bread, and she always has something boiling on her stove.'

The largest photo, a grainy black and white one, shows ten children lined up outside the front of a church. Brown skinny legs and grazed knees poke out from under the lace petticoats of two of the girls. The boys look uncomfortable in their collared shirts with the top button done up. Several of the children have the same crazy curls as Charlie.

‘That's my Koro with his brothers and sisters.'

She points to the smallest one in the group. He has his thumbs in his ears and his tongue poking out.

‘He reckons he got in heaps of trouble when they got the photo developed, but I doubt it.' She picks up another one and strokes the photo as she pins it to the centre of her board. ‘This is my Dad. He drowned on the Whāingaroa Bar, six years ago. A month before my twin brothers were born.'

‘Oh Charlie, I'm sorry.'

‘Yeah, me too.'

I see the tears pool in her eyes. I take the photograph from under my pillow and hand it to her. ‘This is my poppa. He died last year.'

She studies the photo and then hands it back to me. ‘He looks like a nice man.'

‘Yeah, he was.' I tuck it under my pillow. This is the first time I've told anybody that my poppa died, and I'm surprised that I haven't disintegrated because of it.

I receive a running commentary on each photograph as they get pinned to the board. Like the books in the library, each person is Charlie's favourite. Her poster completed, Charlie stands on her bed and hangs it on the wall.

‘I hope Matron likes my one photo.' She winks at me.

In that blink of an eyelid, I catch a glimpse of what friendship might feel like. I smile back, and the warmth that spreads through me is something I haven't felt since the day Poppa died.

Charlie and I both have geography first period. We are dwarfed by the classrooms as we scuttle along the narrow alleyways that link them.

Whoever did the brochure for the school should receive some sort of award for deception. The room shown in the brochure was filled with light, and had modern work-stations instead of desks. I've glimpsed that room through a window. It's the year thirteen common room, and off limits for every other year. Most of the classrooms still have metal radiators attached to the walls.

I follow Charlie to seats at the back of the geography classroom. Ms Henrik is our teacher. Her ample bosom wobbles as she scrawls her name on the whiteboard. Her chest also conceals a massive set of lungs. She bellows out to us, ‘The correct pronunciation is
Henreek
, not
Henrick
. Listen carefully, as I'll be explaining what I expect from you all in the term ahead. Today is the day to ask questions if you have any.'

Charlie slides a note across to me. I stare straight ahead as I unravel the folds. I glance down and read:
Same training school as Matron. We're over the wall at lunchtime if they're all like this
.

I grin back as I slip my first note into my blazer pocket. Ms Henrik has a small bell, which she tinkles all through our lesson. We soon learn the system of demerit points. Over twenty in one lesson and the whole class has to come back at the end of the day.

The rest of my day races by as I run from one classroom to the next. I'm grateful when the three o'clock bell rings, signalling the end of classes. I traipse up the stairs to the boarding house.

Geography is the only class that Charlie and I had together today. She is already in our cubicle by the time I get back. She lies on the bed with her shoes on and stares at the ceiling.

‘That cow took my picture down,' she says as soon as she sees me.

I look at the blank wall above her bed.

‘She's such a bitch. I mean, what sort of person has a problem with a kid having a few photos around? I just want to go and punch her in the face. What do you reckon, Libby?'

I can see that she's close to crying. I sit down on my bed and take my shoes and socks off while I try and think of something reassuring to say. I'm so used to people not asking my opinion these days that it comes as a shock to me that I might still have one.

‘Well,' I force myself to look at Charlie, and take in a big breath of courage to carry on. ‘I think we can rule out the punch.'

Charlie lifts up one side of her mouth into a smile.

‘She may have removed your family pictures, but the way that you talked about them last night makes me believe that you don't need a picture to remind you of them. I think you carry them inside you all the time.'

‘Yeah, you're right. I close my eyes and there they are.'

‘Exactly. Matron wants to upset you because you upset her. Don't let her have that satisfaction.'

‘Yeah. It'll piss her off more if I don't react.'

‘That's right.'

‘Thanks. I'm glad they gave me a smart room mate.'

I think about telling her that I'm not really that smart, but I don't, because I like that she thinks I am.

Suddenly Charlie leaps off her bed, and clothes get flung out of her drawers as she rummages through them.

‘Come on, Libby. Let's go for a swim.' She jiggles a lime green bathing suit in front of me. ‘We have an hour and a half before dinner. I'm going to dive into that cold water and leave this day at the bottom of the pool.'

I shake my head.

‘Come on, it's a great way to wash away your troubles!'

As much as I want to wash away my troubles, I don't think there's a pool or even an ocean big enough to contain them. I know I could disguise my bald spot with a bathing cap, but I can't risk it coming off.

‘No. But thanks. I might just listen to some music.' I pull my iPod from my top drawer.

‘OK, your loss.' She grabs a towel from a hook by the wardrobe. ‘If any one feels like a swimming race,' she yells as she walks through the dorm, ‘I'm in the mood to beat you.'

I happen to look out the window as Matron and Charlie cross paths. I can't hear what's being said, but Matron is doing all the talking, and has a serious look on her face. She turns away from Charlie and marches up the stairs. Charlie flips her the bird behind her back and carries on to the pool.

Half an hour passes before she comes back. Her hair is twice as long when it's wet, and the black ringlets drip water down her tee shirt.

‘You have to come next time, Libby. This school may suck, but they do have a wicked pool.' She flings her towel back on the hook.

By the time we've had dinner and been shown the study hall, the light outside is already fading. We walk back to our dormitory like a gaggle of geese.

‘God, if I wanted to be yelled at and bossed around all day, I would have signed up for the army,' Charlie says.

‘You're too young, Charlie. They wouldn't take you.'

‘I know, but if I was thinking about it, this place would have put me off. I can't wait for this day to be over.'

‘Yeah, me too,' I lie. For me, night time arrives with a suitcase full of horrors.

Back in our cubicle I turn my back to Charlie as I undress. I've been to the bathroom three times tonight, and it's been full each time. I'm forced to get into my pyjamas in our room. I pull my knickers down under my skirt and quickly pull my pyjama pants on. My pubic hair has started to grow, but as soon as it gets long enough for me to grab with my thumb and forefinger, I pull it out.

I stay turned towards the wall as I ease my pyjama top over my head without disturbing my hair. I scramble into bed and pull my duvet up around me.

‘They can't expect to order us around all day and not get some shit thrown back at them.' Charlie continues ranting as she strides around in her bra and knickers.

I grab a book and hold it up in front of my face. I'm embarrassed by Charlie's half-nakedness. No one in our house walks around like her. She flicks off her bra, and I'm relieved when she puts a tee shirt on.

‘They're just making a point. I'm sure it'll get better.'

‘It bloody better.' Charlie climbs into bed and lets out a huge sigh. She props a pillow up behind her, reaches into her top drawer and pulls out a notebook with a monarch butterfly on the cover. She begins to write in it. ‘This won't take long,' she says, sounding pissed off.

‘Is that your diary?'

‘No, it's my book of thanks. My koro bought me my first one when I was seven. He told me that every night before I go to sleep, I should think of something about my day that I'm grateful for and then write it down.'

‘Do you always think of something?'

‘Yep. Sometimes I go on for pages. It changes even the shittiest day. I do it just before I go to sleep, so I hold onto that thought as I drift off. Today, I'm grateful to have met you. Full stop.' She claps the book shut, and with a smile and a flick of her bedside light turns over and faces the wall.

I sit stunned in my bed. The thought that someone would be grateful to have met me seems as bizarre as the sun forgetting to get up in the morning.

The hollowness inside me rears up. Charlie offering her friendship makes me see what a fraud I am. If she gets too close she'll find out who I really am. A crazy girl who pulls her hair out and hugs pohutukawa trees.

My scalp tingles. I pretend I can't feel it, and squeeze my hands together. Please God, no … The feeling races around my whole body.
Just one hair
, my brain chants:
one to release the pain
. I know this road so well, and yet every time I hope that it might lead somewhere different.

Calmness like a gentle wave washes over me as I pull out the first hair. I get swept out to sea on my imaginary life raft. The sun's rays beam down on me and warmth spreads over my entire being.

I'm not sure how much time passes before I notice an achy feeling in my fingers. I stretch them out from their claw-like position. The warmth from imagined sunshine disappears. In its place is a darkness. And a scalp that stings. I clench my teeth against the feelings that now threaten to take me under.
You're a fraud and a liar, Libby Morgan
.

I look across at Charlie. Her body moves up and down in time with her snoring. Her book with the butterfly on it has slid off her bed. I creep across and pick it up. I place it on the table beside her. A tear slides down my cheek and into my mouth, leaving a salty taste behind.