The Yearbook Committee (7 page)

Fed up with the conversation, I sign out, then crawl into bed and turn out the light. But I can't sleep. My mind won't stop wandering, so I get up and fish the letter about the parent–teacher night out of the bin and stare at it for a moment.

My bedroom door is ajar, and I see blue light from the TV flashing in the darkened living room down the corridor. I tiptoe over and turn it off, being careful not to wake up Mum in the process.

Back in my room, I sit on my bed and look at the letter once again. I smooth out the wrinkles and then fiddle around for the little box I keep under my bed, and place the letter inside.

Everything I've ever wanted to tell him and show him sits in there, waiting for the day when he'll no longer be a mystery and my life will be closer to ‘complete'.

Or will it?

         
Tammi Kap
is listening to ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun'. When Cyndi Lauper talks about boys hiding beautiful girls away, I want to pump up the volume. Because I totes want to be a girl who walks in the sun.

         
Lauren Pappas
Old school, I like it.

         
Manda Panda
Love that song! We should watch the movie one night!

I hurry through the park, trying to make it back to the bus stop before the rain starts. Gosh, I can't believe I let that woman wrangle an extra half-hour out of me without paying me any extra cash.

I stop for a moment to catch my breath, then look at the time. Shit. I'm going to miss the bus. That means I'm going to have to wait an extra eighteen minutes for the next bus, in the rain, and I'll be home half an hour late, which means Mum and Dad will beat me home and I won't be able to sneak my gear upstairs without someone noticing.

I try to think of ways I can tell Dad about this job. I'd need to be tough about it, and for all the cons that would inevitably come from being honest, the one big pro would be that I would no longer need to lie. Maybe he'd even contribute something to my savings fund.

As if
, I think, given that my father is the least supportive of my career aspirations.

I sit on the bus-stop bench and put my large canvas bag on my lap. Sixteen minutes until the bus arrives. Plenty of time to think up a plausible excuse for my tardiness, but a man arrives and decides to start a conversation, and suddenly my brainstorming has to wait.

‘You got some change on ya, love?' he asks.

‘Um, I'll have a look,' I reply, feeling sorry for him.

I turn myself slightly to the side and burrow through my bag for my wallet, but I don't have much change, not even a five-dollar note. I fish out what coins I have — a one-dollar coin and a few pieces of small silver — and hand them to him.

‘That's all I can spare, sorry,' I explain apologetically.

‘What about that tenner?' he asks, unashamed. I look at him blankly. Since when did people stop being thankful for any charity they got? Judging by his attitude, this man didn't need the money, he just wanted it. The woman from work's face comes back to me and I realise she had also taken advantage of me, even if her strategy was a bit more subtle.

I wish I could just disappear, if only to save myself from the stench of cigarettes and beer.

‘You know what?' I say, standing up. ‘I think I'll just ring a friend to come get me.'

I rifle through my bag for my phone and dial David's number.

‘Hey, baby,' he answers drowsily. ‘Whatcha doing?'

‘Are you asleep?' I ask. ‘It's 1 p.m.'

‘Yeah, Ryan and I had a late night,' he explains.

‘Are you busy?'

‘Why, are you OK?'

‘I'm fine,' I assure him. ‘Just in Burwood. Hoping you could come pick me up, save me from waiting for the bus, which will take forever. I need to get back home before Mum and Dad, so I can hide the stuff in my room.'

‘Ahh, I don't know, babe,' he says. ‘It's no big deal, just tell them the truth. I'm sure they'll be fine with it eventually.'

‘OK,' I say quietly.

‘You're upset,' he says, sighing.

‘Well, you know what I'm up against,' I explain. ‘It wouldn't hurt for you be there for me when I need you.'

‘I'm always there for you,' he says defensively. ‘But this plan just keeps getting more and more complicated. I'm telling you, they'll come around.'

‘So easy for you to say; your future's not riding on this.'

I hear him yawn and I look up at the sky, desperate. ‘So you're not coming?' I ask again, hopefully.

‘I can't now, I told you,' he says. ‘Seriously, it'll be OK.'

‘Sure, I guess,' I say, deflated.

‘Hey — no harm done right?'

‘Don't be silly,' I tell him. ‘I'm a big girl. I'll be fine.'

I hang up and glance at the time again, wishing I had my driver's licence. And a car for that matter. I figure I might as well run or walk home — sure, it will be more hassle, but at least I won't have to sit next to the deadbeat at the bus stop who will probably rob me.

I cut through the park and quicken my pace, scratching at the remnants of face paint around my ears and hairline, and dodging parents with prams, pensioners taking walks and dogs on leashes.

I'm nearly on the other side when something smashes into the side of my head, knocking me over.

As I struggle to untangle myself from the two bags I'm carrying, the contents of which have scattered all over the path, the offending object — a football — is picked up and thrown to a horde of boys standing metres away by a devastatingly good-looking guy in a raglan tee and shorts.

‘I'm so sorry,' he says. ‘We boys lose our coordination when a girl walks past.'

I blush a little and he laughs.

‘I meant the blonde chick over there,' he says, nodding his head in the direction of a tall woman running around the park in a crop top. ‘Fred's got a thing for boobs.'

‘Yeah, well, tell Fred he should try to get his fix at a time when he's not kicking footballs around, for the safety of us women without big boobs.'

He laughs again as I dust myself off.

‘Here, let me help you,' he says, reaching down to grab my jumpsuit, shoes and red nose. ‘Dress-up party?' he asks.

‘Yeah, except I was the only one in a costume,' I tell him, taking my things and shoving them back into my canvas bag with ferocity. I'm ridiculously late now.

He looks at me blankly.

‘Hired help,' I say, waving my bright-blue afro wig at him. ‘I'm Tatty the Clown. I do kids' parties.'

‘Your name is Tatty?'

‘Tamara. But everyone calls me Tammi. Well, except the kids.'

‘What, were you scared a bunch of six-year-olds would track you down if they knew your real name?'

I grin. ‘You'd be surprised at what they're capable of.'

Something wet lands on my cheek and I look up. A raindrop. A second later, the clouds open up and it starts to pour, heavy and fast.

‘I knew I should have taken the bus,' I mutter. ‘I'm sorry, I have to go.'

‘Wait —' he starts.

I quickly snatch my other bag off him. ‘No, really, I have to run now.'

‘You're walking? You have so much stuff, I can take it for you.'

I give him a quizzical look.

‘What I mean is, I can take you. If we ride, it'll be much quicker.'

‘Not allowed on motorbikes, sorry,' I say, a little weirded out. ‘But thanks anyway.'

‘Who said anything about a motor?'

He smiles and I'm shocked once again by how good-looking he is.

He points to a bike rack and I laugh. The rain has slowed slightly, but I'm already drenched.

‘How are two people — and all this stuff — meant to travel on a push bike?' I ask.

He motions for me to follow him — and, against my better judgement, I do.

Without saying anything, he takes two of my bags and wraps one around each handlebar.

‘Pegs,' he says, pointing.

‘Huh?' I ask, wondering what the hell I'm doing.

‘You put your feet there,' he says, gesturing to two steel bars poking out from each side of the back wheel. ‘And then you hold on to my shoulders.'

I raise my eyebrows but do as he says.

‘Directions?'

‘Um, what about your friends?' I ask.

‘They'll be here when I get back,' he reassures me. ‘Hold on.'

I direct him to my street, asking him to drop me off at the nearest corner.

‘Strict parents?' he says.

‘Sort of. And you could be a creep.'

‘I'm no creep, I'm Mike.'

‘Well, Mike, you've certainly puzzled me enough for one day.'

‘Here's hoping you think about me for the rest of the weekend,' he says, as he turns his bike around.

What a sleaze
, I think, heading inside. But I can't help but smile.

The amusement vanishes as soon as I see my mother scowling.

‘What?' I ask.

‘Get in the kitchen,' she says, shaking her head.

I sigh and follow her inside. Dad's sitting at the breakfast bar, a NSW Police Academy brochure in front of him.

‘You went through my mail?' I ask, horrified.

‘Well, you are living under my roof,' he counters.

‘I sent that to Yia Yia's place!' I exclaim.

‘And I own your grandmother's place too.'

‘Dad, that's a terrible abuse of my privacy.'

‘And you have terribly abused my trust,' he says, frowning. ‘Moonlighting as a clown while pretending to hang out with your friends? Deliberately applying for something I told you to
forget about, and having the audacity to send it elsewhere so I stay in the dark? That's deceitful, Tammi.'

‘What, do you have contacts at kids' parties now? Just in case the six-year-olds decide to rob a bank?'

He doesn't appreciate my sarcasm. ‘It's up to me to know what's going on in my kid's life. What if some creep lured you over pretending he needed a clown. You couldn't go work in retail like other kids your age?'

‘Well, what did you expect? You say no to everything.'

‘I expect you to stick to what we discussed.'

‘What
you
discussed, you mean,' I remind him. ‘I never agreed to any of it.'

‘Tammi, your father's just trying to look out for you,' Mum says, sighing. ‘He's been in the force for twenty years. He knows what it's like. It's no place for a young woman.'

‘Please, Mum,' I say, rolling my eyes. ‘It's the twenty-first century. There's no such thing as “places for women” any more. We can go anywhere.'

‘Just because you can, it doesn't mean you should,' he says. ‘Being a cop is not safe, it's emotionally draining and sometimes your colleagues are as sleazy as the crooks. It's not an environment I want for you. You're going to find another career.'

‘This is so frustrating!' I shout. ‘This is all I want to do with my life. If I were a boy, you'd have no problem with it.'

‘But you're not a boy, you're my only daughter, and just like I vowed to protect and serve the citizens of this state, I vowed to protect you and your mother the day you each came into my life.'

I roll my eyes.

‘Seriously, Tammi,' he says slowly, ‘haven't you heard my stories? Seen what I've gone through? What I've struggled with? Some if it haunts me every day.'

‘And doing something that's not going to make me happy will haunt
me
,' I tell him. ‘I want to be like you; please just accept that.'

‘I don't have to accept anything,' he tells me, rising from his chair. ‘I'm your father, and there's no way that I will support you in this. And if you're going to fight and threaten me, I'm going to remind you what you're dealing with.'