Up Over Down Under (12 page)

“Yes, ma'am.” Eliza sat down, her face flaming with embarrassment. She turned to Nomes. “What did I say?”

“It's
Aborigines
.” Jess snickered again, not unkindly.

“Really? I thought they were Aborigin
aries
…you know, like canaries.” Eliza flushed.

“Ladies, there will be time enough for your idle prattle when you are not intruding on your fellow students' learning. Yes?” And with that, Mrs. Lambert gave them a curt nod of the head that indicated any more shenanigans would be met with some draconian disciplinary action.

“Yes, ma'am,” Nomes and Eliza replied in unison.

Slowly, Nomes's laugher died down to an occasional muffled choking sound, and Eliza's face returned to its original flesh-colored hue.

Still, Eliza was flustered. She had always been one to cross her
t
's and dot her
i'
s
.
But without the constant pressure of her parents hanging over her, she had admittedly slacked off. In fact, since she'd been in Melbourne, she'd developed quite the skill at using her foreign-ness to maximum advantage. It seemed that as much as people back home were suckers for a good Australian or Irish accent, the people down here got no end of amusement out of her flattened vowels. It was particularly funny to hear them imitate her accent using voices that sounded like John Wayne in one of her dad's old Western movies.

That all being said, it had become harder to play the lost foreign student with each passing day, and her teachers appeared to have tired of it. Though she really had thought it was pronounced
Aboriginaries.
Unfortunately.

 

Eliza hopped off the tram and headed up the hill toward the Echolses' house. After school, she, Jess, and Nomes had spent the afternoon listening to some incredible live music at a pub on Brunswick Street. It was a pair of guitar players who jammed every Thursday afternoon. She and the girls sat on the floor and listened as they strummed fantastic covers of classic songs from the 1970s and '80s.

Eliza was pretty happy with the way things were going in Melbourne, all in all. She had found a good group of friends who were into the same kinds of things that she was into. She still had to deal with the oppressive internship, which was less swimsuits, sun, and beach, and more waders, gloves, and mud. But she generally had Friday evening and a good bit of the weekend free—which she made the most of. The Echolses were cool enough about her free time, and they gave her the space to do what she wanted. It was a huge change from her life back in D.C., which was, of course, the whole reason she'd gone abroad to begin with. She even was coming to like Nick and Sam—at least when they weren't bumping about the house at the crack-of-holy-heck in the morning. They somehow never quite got over how funny her accent sounded, and their favorite pastime when she was watching them was coming up with words for her to say in an American accent.

Eliza's whole life had turned upside down in the last month. It boggled her mind: if she'd stayed at home, she'd still be floating around Fairlawn, playing the perfect student. She'd still be with Parker, too…which was fine, but not nearly as exciting as a fledgling flirtation with an adorable Australian. There would be no footy; no Victoria Bitter (VB, as it was known, was Jess's drink of choice); no words like snog (kiss), tune (pick up), and pash (also kiss; there were a lot of words for kissing here—hopefully that meant that there was lots of kissing, as well); and none of the horrors of the sludgelike Vegemite that people put on their morning toast. Even the icky parts of Australian life were a treat to be savored (though, in the case of Vegemite, not literally).

“I'm home,” she sang, making her way into the kitchen, where Estelle was getting dinner ready, as usual.

“Good evening, Eliza. How was your day?”

“Great, thanks.” Why worry Estelle with the story of her humiliation in history class?

“That's lovely. Why don't you drop your things in your room and come have a seat in the kitchen? Frank and I would like to have a chat with you about something.”

“Um, sure. . . . I'll be right out.”

Oh no.

Frank had come home early so that both he and Estelle could talk to her. This did not bode well. Eliza knew she had fibbed to them a few times, but what had they caught on to? Was it the trips to the pub? Blanking on her homework?

Eliza dropped her schoolbag on her bed and then came back into the kitchen, seating herself primly at the table. Frank and Estelle had positioned themselves directly across the table from her. They looked very serious.

Eliza wondered if she was about to find herself on a very long plane ride home. They wouldn't send her home for blowing off a few homework assignments, would they?

“Eliza,” Frank started, “something has come to our attention that has us concerned.”

Suddenly Eliza felt like a derelict. It was an unfamiliar sensation. She was not exactly known for being a wild and crazy rebel, after all.

“I was up last night getting myself a glass of water, and I overheard you on your mobile,” Frank began, solemn. “It appears that you've been using it to speak to some of your school friends well past eleven. As you remember, eleven is lights-out in this house.”

They were upset with her for speaking on the phone after eleven at night? Even on a local call? Eliza was so stunned that her mouth actually dropped open into a startled little O. She quickly closed it.

“Yes, dear,” continued Estelle. “You really have no business being on the phone at eleven in the evening…or even later, as it would appear.”

This was unreal. She had a phone curfew? Who had a phone curfew? She'd been the perfect dutiful daughter since the moment she was born, and now, here, in Australia, she'd engaged in the most minor form of rule breaking.... And yet the Echolses looked deadly serious about the situation. She absolutely could not believe this. Back home, her parents couldn't have cared less about Eliza's phone habits, provided she wasn't blabbing delicate information to the political bloggers she knew.

Frank nodded gravely. “Now, we will spare you the embarrassment of our speaking to some of your classmates' parents about this, but we must insist on curbing this behavior. Therefore, we have decided that we'll be collecting your mobile at eleven and returning it to you at breakfast every morning.”

They
were
serious. Serious as a busy signal. Jeez. Eliza couldn't believe she was getting called out for something as petty as this. Then again, handing the phone over to them at eleven was
far
preferable to the idea that they would call her friends' parents and inform them of their bizarre and overly protective rule.

The Echolses proved difficult to figure out sometimes. On the one hand, they were very casual and open, but on the other, they had strict rules that seemed more appropriate for a family thirty years ago. Or maybe even thirty centuries. It wasn't exactly modern, that was for sure.

“I'm sorry it had to come to this, but we must insist that while you're in our home you obey our rules.” To his credit, Frank did look truly sorry. Not that it made a difference.

Estelle chimed back in. “Your parents have entrusted us with your well-being, and that includes making sure you are focused on your studies. I hope you understand.”

Eliza was dumbstruck.
Poor Billie,
she thought.

Although, when you think about it—Billie's the one living it up at my house, chatting without any consequence well into the witching hour. Poor Billie, my foot. Poor Eliza,
she decided.

“Oh, I understand. I'm really sorry; I guess I just got carried away. You know, being new here, and so excited about making friends.” Eliza hung her head. The sad truth was that although she definitely thought that the Echolses were overreacting, she hated ever to be chastised or to feel like she was letting anyone down. And so the guilt that radiated off of her was actually 120 percent genuine.

“Well, that's all right, love. Let's not mention another word about it.” Estelle patted Eliza's hand reassuringly.

“She'll be 'right, mate. Don't worry about this anymore, and let's eat.” Frank rose from the table to help round up the twins.

Eliza watched as he headed off into the house. She hadn't meant to disappoint them, but losing late-night phone privileges wasn't the worst thing in the world, by a long shot.

Still, she most definitely wanted to avoid having another of these awkward conversations. So if she was going to bend the rules from time to time, she was just going to have to be careful to keep it from them. Very careful.

 

The first Echols-approved phone call Eliza made on her phone was to Macca the next morning. Apparently he'd gotten her number from Jess (and Eliza couldn't
believe
her friend had managed to keep that fact a secret), and had called her the night before, but alas, not before 11:07.

“Are you serious?” Macca asked in disbelief when Eliza told him about the Echolses' new rule.

“Yep, no cell phone after eleven.” She sighed, but her glee to be talking on the phone with Macca overrode any lingering annoyance about the curfew situation.

“All right. Is this a home stay or some sort of detention camp?”

“Shut up, you.” She grinned despite herself.

“So when can you meet me for a coffee? How's tomorrow?” She imagined she could hear Macca's own grin over the phone.

“I'd love to, but I have my internship down at Port Phillip Bay. How about Friday or over the weekend?” Eliza asked, hoping for a yes.

“No good, some mates and I are going up to their family's house at Mount Buller for some snowboarding before the end of the season. You can't get out of the internship, just this once?”

“I'm really not supposed to.” Skipping school—any form of it—was several notches above late-night phone calls, as far as infractions went. Eliza wasn't so sure she was ready to take the next step with her Aussie rebellion.

“How are they going to find out? Just call in sick, tell him you'll be there at the next one.”

Eliza thought it over. She knew she shouldn't, but she really didn't want to have to wait forever before she got to see Macca again.

“Come on, you know you don't want to be mucking about in the bay. Didn't you come to Australia to have fun?”

Appealing to her sense of adventure was exactly the right angle for Macca to work in order to get Eliza to see things his way.

He was right. Eliza knew it. Macca obviously knew it. She hated the thought of sneaking around, but she was going to have to find a way to get out of the internship for Saturday.

 

 

Mr. Winstone had fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker. Everyone being a little more trusting down here made some things almost too easy. As if Eliza weren't feeling guilty enough about her little ruse as it was.

For Mr. Winstone, all Eliza had to do was put on her best “sick voice”—accomplished by pinching one nostril with her finger, coughing generously, and sounding particularly pathetic—and he bought every word. She had told him that she had caught another cold after the last afternoon session and thus, it was felt, she should not spend this afternoon traipsing about the shallows of Port Phillip Bay.

It was cold and drizzly as Eliza tucked herself in at a cozy café the next day. She had heard so much about the good weather that would come as spring drew closer, but she was now suitably suspicious after weeks of people smiling knowingly at her as they reminded her for the umpteenth time about Melbourne's four seasons in a day. She was still confused by the “spring” of October, when back home leaves would just be falling from the trees.

A tap on the glass pulled Eliza out of her reverie. She tried to contain her smile as Macca looked in at her. She waved and gestured for him to come inside. He grinned, and a few moments later shook the water off his jacket as he plopped down on the couch beside Eliza.

“How you goin', Zazza?”

By now she knew how to answer that question.

“I'm okay. How about you?” She blushed at his adorable use of her new nickname.

“Not so bad. We have a day off for some teacher conferences down at Geelong, and I figured I'd come up to the city to catch up with my new mate.” He prodded her flirtatiously.

Eliza hoped she could be more of a “crush” than a “mate” to Macca, but either way, she loved hearing him speak. When he talked, he grinned from ear to ear like he was in on some great joke.

I wouldn't mind being in on that punch line, too,
she thought to herself.

“So tell me. What's the deal with your real name? Hamish MacGreggor? Who gets named Hamish?”

“Don't laugh, there's three of us Hamishes in my class, and we're mighty proud. There's me—Macca, there's Misha, and there's Floyd.”

“Floyd? From
Hamish
to
Floyd
? Admit it—now you're just messing with me.” Eliza burst out laughing.

“No, really. I mean, his real name is Hamish Follender, but everyone just calls him Floyd.”

Eliza shook her head, still smiling. Macca and his easy charm were wonderfully relaxing. For the bajillionth time since she'd gotten to Melbourne, she was extra glad that she and Parker had decided to put things on hold.

“So, are you getting the full Aussie experience?”

“I think so. I've been to Brunswick Street, and, you know, the Espy.”

“Right, where we met.” Macca winked. “What about the MCG? Have you caught a footy match yet? You really haven't experienced Melbourne until you've eaten a steaming meat pie while barracking for your team.”