Does My Head Look Big in This? (13 page)

Simone pretends to choke. “Amal, get over yourself. You’re not Oprah.”

“Well then stop with the ‘I look like Roseanne’ routine.”

“And you’re not Dr Phil either. Why don’t you try for the debating? You’ve got the big mouth for it anyway!”

“Thanks, Simone. Really convincing argument.” We laugh and she jabs me in my side. Then she suddenly stops clowning and hisses to me: “
Josh’s
coming our way. . . Oh my God, is my hair OK? Do I look OK?”

“Course you do!” I say quickly. We pretend to be engrossed in conversation and act surprised to see him when he approaches us.

“Hey girls!” he says cheerfully.

“Hi, Josh,” we say in unison.

“TGI Friday, hey?”

“Tell me about it.” Simone shifts her bag on to her other shoulder. “This week has just dragged.”

“This weekend is going to drag for me,” he groans.

“Why?” I ask.

“My sister’s wedding.”

“Cool,” Simone says. “Should be fun.”

“You think? I’m going to be kissed by a bunch of ageing relatives with bad breath and opinions on what colour socks I should wear with my suit.”

“That
is
bad,” I say.

“And I’m going to get
so
harassed about school and exams. What TER score I’m hoping for, which unis I can get in to and all that crap.” He rolls his eyes. “And my grandma is going to push her nannies’ club on to me.”

I shudder. “I hate when the oldies gang up on you.”

“I know! I get people from my parents’ stupid
yacht club
ganging up on me!” Simone cries. “Asking me in their fake British accents whether I want to follow in my mum’s footsteps. Like I really want to be a rich housewife who drives a four-wheel drive to the supermarket and spends the day doing Pilates or maxing out a credit card on green organza napkins because Sarah Murdoch or some other high-profile supermodel thinks it’s
so hip darling
.”

Josh bursts out laughing and Simone blushes slightly.

“Why have they got fake accents?” I ask incredulously.

“Holiday in London. They come back thinking they’ve developed a sexy Beckham voice.
Losers!
”

I notice the way Josh’s eyes light up as he looks at Simone. She’s positively glowing.

“So what’s the nannies’ club going to do to you?” I ask.

“For sure they’ll interrogate me about what I think of all the female guests. Do I have a girlfriend? What’s my type? Do I like long or short hair? Orthodox or secular? Does she have to keep Sabbath?”

“So do they arrange a girlfriend for you?” Simone asks.

“No! No way!” he says quickly. “They’ve tried but there’s no way. They don’t know my type anyway.” I could swear he looks her in the eye when he says this and my heart skips a beat for her. I want to walk away and leave them to talk but before I can make up an excuse to do the bolt Simone breaks the silence. I can tell she’s embarrassed and unsure of herself.

“So who’s your sister marrying?” she asks him.

He appears distracted but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t even ask.”

“Why?” I ask. “You don’t like him?”

“He’s just
really
religious.” He stops and looks at me sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to have a go at you.”

I smile at him. “Don’t be silly. So is he an orthodox Jew?”

“Man, he’s
ultra
orthodox. And my family are secular Jews. Tamara’s always been really relaxed about religion but now she’s
really
strict.”

“How d’you mean?” Simone asks.

“Since they got engaged, she gets really aggro when we don’t follow Sabbath.”

“Observant Jews won’t do anything that’s considered work on the Sabbath,” I explain to Simone.

“That’s right – so her fiancé doesn’t use any electricity. He doesn’t turn on light switches or the TV and stuff. Doesn’t drive, write, shave, carry anything. Doesn’t tear toilet paper even!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” Simone says.

“He cuts a roll of toilet paper the day before and has it ready for the next day. Tamara’s been trying to follow it too. She sits in front of the TV on Thursday night and tears the toilet paper and piles it up and Dad cracks these jokes which just make her go crazy.”

“Yeah, I guess she would if she’s the only one in her family practising her religion,” I say. “Is she going to wear the wig?”

“The sheital, you mean,” Simone corrects me.

“Wow!” Josh says. “How come you know that?”

“Simone knows heaps about other religions,” I boast. “Don’t you, Simone?”

She coughs and sneaks a stern look at me. “Er . . . I try. She has to wear it once she gets married, right?”

“Yeah,” Josh says. “Solomon, that’s her fiancé, really wants her to.”

“Somebody’s waving to you over there,” Simone says. “In that car.” He turns around to look and then picks his bag up from the floor.

“My cousin. He’s a big shit-stirrer too. The whole family’s going to be talking now.” He grins at me. “We’ve got a family dinner tonight for Tamara. It will
definitely
be interesting.”

“Why would your family be
talking
?” I ask.

“Yeah? What’s so interesting?” Simone adds.

“It’s
talking with a Muslim girl
kind of interesting,” he says. I glance over to his cousin, who has a puzzled frown on his face.

“Add Palestinian,” Simone says.

“Do you want me to wave?” I ask.

“Yeah, Amal, actually, please do.” Josh walks towards the car and as I wave at him I meet his cousin’s open-mouthed stare. I smile cheerfully but his cousin dodges my gaze, turning his head to look out the window. Josh stops in front of the door and is about to get in when he runs back to us.

“Hey Simone, did you get those notes on that Orwell book,
Nineteen Eighty-Four
, in English today?”

“Er . . . yeah. . .” she stammers. “I did. Do you need them?”

“I took them down but boy was Mr Pearse racing through it, so I didn’t get it all. Do you reckon I can go over them with you on Monday at recess? We’ve got that test coming up and I’m so screwed. My notes are
so
bad.”

“Yeah . . . sure . . . no problem.”

“Cool.” He races off and gets into the car, slapping his cousin good-naturedly on the back as he rolls down his window.

“Hey girls!” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll continue our discussion about Israel’s secret operations in the West Bank on Monday, and you can finish leaking info about the PLO! Have a great weekend!”

We erupt into a giggling fit as we notice the furious scowl spreading across Josh’s cousin’s face. He slams his foot on the accelerator and screeches off.

Simone and I look at each other then start jumping up and down and squealing with delight like two kids in front of an ice cream shop.

12

I
t just kind of happens. Adam and Josh become part of our little group. Not every recess or every lunch time. But when they’re not in the library or playing sport with the guys, they sometimes sit with us. I emphasize the word sometimes because there is no routine or predictability to it. Therefore, whenever the lunch bell rings I need a Panadol because a million thoughts rush through my head. Three of those million are as follows:

1. (The bell rings.) Is Adam going to join us? Is Adam going to join us? Is Adam going to join us? What is the purpose of living if Adam is not going to join us?

2. (The bell rings.) Do I have time to put some lipgloss on, curl my eyelashes and make it to the oval, and if I do the aforementioned, do I risk him already having gone to the oval, not seeing me there and walking off?

3. (The bell rings.) What if I’m eating my sandwich and he happens to join us right at the moment I’m taking a huge chunk out of it? What if there’s food stuck in my teeth? (Yesterday Simone, Eileen and I decided that we’d use code to help each other out. If we say “Big Brother” it means that there’s an urgent need for you to pick your teeth. If we say the word “Survivor” it means that you are safe.)

On second thoughts, perhaps I need more than one Panadol.

Eileen is away sick today so at lunch time Simone and I are sitting by ourselves under a tree next to the football oval. Our attention is absorbed in a magazine article about “overcoming your body hang-ups” and how “flabby arms should be no obstacle to loving the inner you”. As further reinforcement of this tabloid wisdom, the article features a model in a size six bikini with about as much flab as a foetus. Suddenly Adam and Josh approach us from across the oval and Simone immediately hisses “Big Brother”. I do some pretty impressive quick-pick-teeth action and flash her a huge smile. She nods reassuringly at me and my heart resumes its normal beat. Josh and Adam then plant themselves down next to us and Simone and I put the magazine aside.

“Hey, can I have a look?” Josh asks Simone.

“Are you serious? It’s a
Cosmo
.”

“Yeah, so? My sister used to have them all over the house.” Simone passes him the magazine and he opens it.

“Adam, man, check this chick out.” Adam leans over the page and I glance at Simone who is suddenly looking uncomfortable and shy.

“Yeah, she’s hot!” Adam says.

“Bull crap!” Josh cries. “She looks like she’s about to snap in two. Mate, you could be sneezing in another suburb and she’d fall flat from the impact.”

It’s funny how a person’s body can ignore internal messages. I’m pretty sure Simone is silently ordering her mouth to stay neutral but it is stubbornly ignoring her and widening into a massive grin.

“Do they have any of those quizzes?” Josh asks.

“Yeah,” Simone says, “but this edition is about whether you’re a social butterfly or a wallflower.”

“OK, ask me the questions and let’s check out what score I get.”

“Man, what are you doing?” Adam asks, punching Josh in the arm.

“Getting in touch with my feminine side,” he says in a high-pitched tone, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at Adam.

“Let’s see how you score then!” Simone says, opening the magazine. “OK, Josh, question one: your high heels are giving you excruciating blisters. Do you a) sit down; b) go home; c) continue partying – nothing’s going to stop you from getting on the dance floor!”

“You asked for it!” Adam says. He comes and sits next to me, leaving Simone and Josh close together, poring over the magazine.

“So Adam,” I say, trying to sound calm and wishing I’d had time for the lipgloss. “What’s the
real
deal with your mission to become the next Einstein? I mean, I know you want to get into med, but you’ve taken it up a notch, don’t you think?”

He looks at me and shrugs. “Don’t give me the analysing treatment, Amal. There isn’t a deep and dark secret driving my ambition.”

“Come on. Almost every recess or lunch you haven’t managed a conversation without mentioning molecules and electrons. You should find yourself a reason pretty soon or you’re stuck with ‘nerd’.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Why is it that guys cop the nerd label when they study hard but girls don’t?”

“Nerd is nothing. We’ve got eating disorders, looks, body mass index, hairstyles and dress sense to deal with. We’re beating you guys by a mile.”

He leans back on his hands. “What do you want to know? That I’m following family tradition? That I nearly drowned when I was a kid and was inspired to live to save lives?”

I snort in disbelief.

“I guess I’ve just always known what I want to be.”

“Lucky you. I still don’t know. Do your parents give you the career advice sessions every night? At my place we don’t get through one dinner without lectures about how my future is in my hands and this one decision will affect the course of my life.”

“So your parents sit you down and give you long lectures about rising above people’s low expectations and climbing to the top peak of the mountain and all that crap?”

“Pretty much.”

He grins, shaking his head. “Boy, that’s intense. I’ve escaped all of that.”

“Lucky you!”

“My dad and his partner don’t have time to lecture me, so I’m spared all that crap.”

“You mean both your dad
and
your mum leave you alone?”

“Charlene isn’t my mum.”

“Where’s your mum?” As soon as the words come out of my mouth I realize how nosy I sound and want to grab them back.