Give Me Four Reasons (2 page)

Elfi is already drenched, and so are most of the other girls from our class. I wave at Elfi, but she is busy chasing Cat Stanley across the playground and doesn’t notice me.

Jed is filling up his balloons at the tap outside the Art room. I put my head down and run across the playground to the next tree, expecting to be splashed at any moment. Two more trees and I reach Jed at the tap. He is tying a knot in his third balloon.

I hold my hands up in surrender. ‘Take your best shot,’ I offer.

‘Too easy, Paige,’ he says.

‘I’ll run then,’I say. I sprint off back to the safety of my tree and peer out from behind it. Jed picks up his wobbly balloons and runs in the opposite direction, to where the cricket match is still in progress. The kids playing must have missed the bell when it rang earlier.

Jed bowls one water balloon at the stumps and drenches the batsman. He turns and hurls another at the bowler and then the last one at Jonah Price, who is fielding.

The cricket match is abandoned as the players catch Jed and carry him off to the bubblers by the wrists and ankles. They lie him down in the flooded sink and turn the taps on all the way.

Rochelle spots me hiding behind my tree. She runs over and presses a water-filled balloon into each of my hands. ‘Aim one at Lee and one at Jackie,’ she orders. ‘They’ve wet everyone and now they’re hanging out beside Mrs Haggarty, hoping she’ll protect them.’ She points to where Lee Hossington and Jackie Horn are chatting to a teacher in a corner of the playground.

‘Why can’t you do it?’

‘Because I’m going to get the boys with
this
,’ Rochelle says. She digs in her bag and brings out an enormous super-soaker. It is already loaded with water. ‘Just throw the balloons at Lee and Jackie’s feet or they won’t burst.’ She scoots across the playground with her super-soaker. ‘Don’t miss, Paige,’ she calls back to me.

Holding the wobbly balloons is like trying to carry a bowl of jelly without the bowl. I don’t know what to do with them. If I hold them to my chest, Lee and Jackie will see me coming with them and run off. But if I hide them behind my back, other kids will see them and soak me before I even get close.

I sigh and look across the playground at my classmates drenching each other and laughing. I’ve got this funny, tight feeling in my tummy. It feels like I’ve been standing here so long, I’ve turned invisible. Elfi, Rochelle and Jed are splashing each other in the huge puddles that have formed on the playground in front of the boys’ bubblers. They haven’t even realised I’m not with them.

Carefully, I lay Rochelle’s water balloons on the ground next to the tree. Then I skirt around the edge of the playground until I reach the school building. None of my dripping-wet classmates pays me any attention. I am still bone dry. I go into the toilet block, lock myself in a cubicle and wait until the bell rings.

* *

I get only about ten minutes of hiding time before the toilet block is overflowing with the girls from my class. I step out of the cubicle. Everyone else is soaking wet, but no one says anything about my dry uniform.

Rochelle and Elfi are caught up in a group hug with another girl in our class, Janie Harrison. The signatures on their uniforms have become big black blobs, as though my friends were in an ink fight, not a water fight.

I slip out of the toilet block and run down to the playground to get my bag from where I left it by our tree. We have to put on our graduating class t-shirts. Janie Harrison’s father designed them. He’s a photographer. Our names and photos are printed in neat rows across the fabric in alphabetical order. My surname is Winfrey, so my name is last on the list. My smiling face is at the bottom of the t-shirts, on a line of its own, as though I am an afterthought.

And I guess I am. I wasn’t meant to be in this class at all. If I had been born on my due date, I would have been in the grade below. But I came three months early. We have a photo of me just after I was born. I’m inside a plastic bubble, all squished up and blue with tubes coming out of me. I was early then, and I have felt out of step with everyone ever since.

When I get back to the toilet block, I scurry into a cubicle to get changed. I don’t want people to see my lumpy puppy-fat body. I emerge from the toilet in my t-shirt and shorts. My t-shirt is really tight, stretching and distorting the photos of everyone’s faces. Maybe I should have got the larger size.

Lee Hossington and Jackie Horn are in front of the mirror, towel-drying their hair.

‘Nice one, Paige,’ Rochelle says sarcastically, jerking her head towards the girls at the mirror. ‘I knew I could count on you to help me out.’

Rochelle has had an ongoing war with Lee and Jackie. They always tease her about being tall. To get them back, Rochelle keeps hiding their bags so they can’t use their hairbrushes at the end of lunchtime. Now she’s annoyed that I didn’t hit them with the water balloons when I had the chance.

‘I’m sorry, Rochelle,’ I say. ‘You should have got Jed to throw the balloons.’

‘Forget it,’ Rochelle says. ‘It was a cool water fight anyway, wasn’t it?’

‘Great!’ I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

Janie Harrison suddenly stares at me from the far end of the sink. She’s leaving this afternoon to go to Denmark with her parents for a couple of months. She walks up to me and I think she is going to hug me, like she has been hugging everyone else. But she doesn’t. ‘Your t-shirt is a bit tight,’ she says instead. ‘I’ve got a spare one. I’ll give it to you.’

‘Thanks, Janie,’ I mumble. I grab the t-shirt she holds out for me, step back into the cubicle and peel off the shirt I’m wearing. The new one is not so tight across my chest, but it comes down almost to my knees. I tuck it into my shorts. The photo of me is hidden by my waistband.

I step out of the cubicle and check my reflection in the mirror. My sandy ponytail is messed up and my cheeks are a bit pink. My big, wide-spaced eyes, which are a classic sign of being a premmie baby, stare back at me.

We run to our classroom. Mr Muir makes us check inside our desks one last time for any pens, rubbish, or forgotten Christmas cards. Then he hands out our Passports.

‘Save them until you get home,’he says, ‘or we’ll never get you lot off the premises. We need you to be gone so the teachers’ Christmas party can begin.’ He winks at us.

Three bells ring. Rochelle, Elfi, Jed and I grab our bags and step off the verandah. ‘Ready, guys?’ says Rochelle.

‘Ready,’ Elfi says.

‘Ready!’ Jed yells.

‘Ready,’ I echo, but I have never been less ready for anything in my whole life.

We walk to the assembly area, which is a basketball court on the northern edge of the school grounds. It is shaded by an enormous tin roof. There is a concrete dais on the top side, like a stage. A wooden lectern has been placed in the middle of the stage, with a microphone attached to it. The rest of the school is lined up in classes along the concrete court, with kindergarten sitting at the front. They all have their bags in their laps, ready to be dismissed from the assembly area. For the final time my classmates and I sit cross-legged in our lines at the back.

Mr Tovety blows into the microphone and the kids hush. His speech begins. He talks about our year’s accomplishments and special moments. I listen to every word, remembering the camps and sporting achievements and fun times our class has had together. Lots of kids are mentioned by name, especially the debating squad and the netball team that won the state championships. My name is not mentioned. I have barely left a mark at Juniper Bay Primary School.

And then it is time for the graduation certificates to be handed out. It all sounds a bit formal, as though we’re leaving high school or university, instead of just primary school, but our school has always done it like this. It makes it really special for us, but also a little scary. At least for me.

We rise and walk up to the front, placing our bags on the ground on the left-hand side of the stage. We then line up in alphabetical order on the right-hand side of the stage. I am last in the line. Mr Muir announces each name and one by one, my classmates walk into the middle of the stage to accept their certificates. Then they shake hands with Mr Tovety and walk back down the other side.

I watch as my friends slip their certificates inside their bags and stand together at the far end of the basketball court, holding hands and waiting for the rest of the class to join them.

My hands are shaking and my knees are wobbling. I clap as each of my classmates receives their gilt-edged certificate. As I inch closer to the stage, I look down at the sea of kids below me. They are all staring at me, I think, but then I look over my shoulder at the large clock on the wall behind me. The minute hand is almost at the twelve and the hour hand is almost at the three. Jackson Prince, standing at the wooden post at the back of the assembly area, has his hand on the bell and his eyes on the clock.

‘And last, but not least, Paige Winfrey,’ announces Mr Muir.

A whoop erupts through the assembly and I think it is for me. But it’s because the clock has struck three and Jackson Prince has struck the bell. As I walk up to accept my certificate, the polite clapping stops and the younger students stand and throw their bags onto their backs. They are waiting to be dismissed.

‘Congratulations, Felicity … er … Paige,’ Mr Tovety says.

I don’t bother getting upset that he called me by my big sister’s name. Felicity used to be the school captain here, and she was the captain of the first school netball team to win the state championships. Sometimes I quite like it when people mistake me for her.

Mr Tovety reminds everyone to be safe in the holidays and declares the school year over. The students whoop again and then, forgetting Mr Tovety’s words about safety, rush in all directions for the gates, their parents, and the buses.

I push through the crowd of fleeing students towards my classmates. They have formed a tight circle between the basketball post and the high mesh fence. Everyone is shouting out the school song. I shove my certificate under my arm and tap on the closest shoulder. It belongs to Jackie Horn and she shrugs off my finger as though I am some kind of pesky fly.

I look for Rochelle and Elfi. They are on the other side of the circle. I run around and squeeze along the fenceline so that I can break in between them. But the circle begins to turn. Everyone starts kicking up their feet like they are doing some crazy Greek dance. I follow the circle, trying to get closer to Rochelle and Elfi, but their backs are to me.

I spy Jed through a small gap in the thick fence of human flesh, but he isn’t looking my way, either.

Stop!
I want to scream out.
Remember me? Paige Winfrey. I’ve been here since kindergarten, too!

The circle speeds up and begins to move across the court like a giant spinning top. It moves so fast, some kids lose their grip on each other’s hands. The circle breaks up into three smaller circles. I chase after the one nearest me, looking for a weak spot. Duncan Tilbury heaves to the left and Stacy Lawler’s arm is left hanging. I jump into the gap.

And then the circle collapses on top of me.

* *

‘It’ll be all right,’ Rochelle says, trying to flatten out the creases and wipe off the dirt on my graduation certificate. I am so upset I barely notice as we walk out of Juniper Bay Primary School for the last time.

‘It’s a reminder of the day,’ Elfi says. ‘Every time you look at that certificate you’ll be caught up in the whole circle singing-and-hugging thing again.’

I stare at my friends. They didn’t even notice that I almost missed out on being in the circle.

‘Why didn’t you put your certificate in your bag?’ Jed asks.

‘I didn’t have time. I was the last to get one, remember?’ I stuff the certificate into my backpack with my uniform and the remnants from inside my desk. And, of course, my Passport. I take it out and hug it to my chest.

The best thing about the Passports is that they have blank pages at the back so everyone has space to write something nice in everyone else’s book. I spent most of the morning in the classroom, writing in each one. I’d almost dripped tears onto the felt-tipped words as I realised that most of these people would be at a different school from me next year.

A shriek pierces the post-school afternoon madness. At the bus stop, Jackie Horn, Rhianna Grim, Lee Hossington and Cat Stanley have their Passports open and are reading them out loud and laughing.

‘Listen to what Michael Jones wrote,’ Cat Stanley squeals. ‘
Roses are red, violets are blue, you were the funniest girl on our trip to the zoo.
’

Rochelle unzips her bag and takes out her Passport. ‘I’m reading mine.’

‘Mr Muir said we couldn’t read them until we got home,’ I remind her.

‘Oh, Paige,’ Rochelle says. ‘The three o’clock bell has rung. We’ve finished! Those teachers have no control over us now.’

I grab Rochelle’s Passport off her. ‘Let’s all open them tonight at my party,’ I say. ‘We’ll read them together.’

‘I don’t think I can wait till then,’ Elfi grumbles.

‘Great idea, Paige,’ Jed says. ‘It will be something fun to do tonight.’ He takes his Passport from his bag and gives it to me. Then he turns to Elfi. ‘Give yours to Paige.’

Elfi reluctantly hands over her precious book. ‘No peeking, Paige.’

Rochelle snorts. ‘As if she would.’

Jed places his hand solemnly on the top Passport. ‘We hereby entrust you as the Keeper of the Passports,’ he says to me.

Rochelle places her hand on top of Jed’s. Elfi puts hers on top of Rochelle’s. I withdraw one of mine from under the stack of Passports and place it on top of the wobbly pile. We wiggle our fingers up into the air in an arc above our heads then slam them down into our famous hand sandwich on top of the Passports.

‘
Track three!
’ we yell.

The Passports slip out of my hand and fall to the ground.

‘Oh no!’ I say. I bend down and pick them up again. Mine is a bit scuffed. Everyone else’s is fine, but that’s not the point. My friends trusted me, and I let them down. Just like I let Rochelle down by not joining in the water fight. I sigh and fumble the Passports into my bag.