Letters from the Inside (3 page)

We had training this afternoon — I’ve just come in, had a shower and sat down to write this letter. It was a hard training for once — our captain, a girl called Kylie Patrick, ran it, and Mrs Strauss let her. Kylie knows more about basketball than Mrs Strauss anyhow. So it was good. I like it better when it’s hard, even though during it you’re thinking, ‘I hate it, I wish it was over.’

I keep coming back to your letter. I’m not sure what to think when you talk about ‘the real me’. I thought I was writing about the real me. But I’ll try to answer your questions.

What do I look like? Well, I’m tall (176 cm) and I think I’m overweight, although everyone else says I’m just being anorexic. Wish I did have anorexia sometimes (though I’ve seen a few girls with it, and it’s pretty off). I’m blonde, my hair’s long at the moment, I’ve got blue eyes, fair skin (burns easily), have a modelling contract already signed — as if.

I don’t believe in God, definitely not.

I don’t do drugs or smoke, don’t drink or talk to strange men. Actually I sink the odd can or two and I wouldn’t mind talking to some strange men if I could find any.

I get on with everyone in the family — we’re close, like I told you. I can talk to my parents about anything and they’re really proud of us. So many kids’ parents get divorced, but mine have been married twenty-five years, and they never argue or anything.

I don’t follow footy much but I go for Norths. (Mainly because of Sam Marcroftsis, he’s so cute. He reminds me of my brother.)

I’m not a brain at school but I do OK.

What kind of jokes make me laugh? Well, here’s the latest:

Q. What do you call a fly with no wings?

A. A walk.

Pretty funny, hey?! Oh well, I thought it was.

What kind of clothes do I wear? I don’t like to dress up, although my father likes me to. He always wants me to wear expensive skirts and stuff, but I’m happy with jeans and a top. Those American sweatshirts, for example: I’ve got a few of those. I like clothes by Daniel, Heresy, Double First. I wear quite a bit of jewellery. I guess I do like some expensive things.

And for your final question: We went overseas, to Disneyland and Hawaii and London, when I was little, but I don’t remember much about it.

Now I’ll ask you some questions. What kind of stuff do you do with your friends? What’s your room like? Is it your own or do you share? What do you look like? Send me a photo. (Sorry I haven’t got any of me that I like.) Why’s your brother creepy? (You never answer that one.) How strict are your parents? Do you believe in God?

You see, you’re getting a taste of your own medicine now.

I’m so jumpy tonight. I think it’s that basketball. I’m all over the place, been having fights and getting in trouble, can’t do any work. Wish Casey was here to hold me and press against me and run his fingers down my back. God I love that guy. But he’s training tonight — he’s so fit. Well, I might go and play some music — Nicotine Monsters, I think. That’s the mood I’m in.

Wish me luck! See you!

Tracey

Mar 31

Mandy!

WE WON! I can’t believe it! By seven points! I’m so excited I had to tell someone, and you’re it. I mean nobody, just nobody, beats Chieftains. And I played OK too — sixteen points, second highest, and some good rebounds. Got fouled off in the last two minutes, but who gives? It’s so great — hope we can keep our heads on till the Grand Final. Oh well, gotta go to bed. But it’s so exciting, I wanted to tell you.

Love,
Trace

April 3

Dear Trace,

Wow, you star! That’s fantastic! I’m rapt. Congratulations. I’ve never done anything like that in my life. So when’s the big one? Bet you’re revved-up for it. That’s a hot team you’ve got there. Better tell Mrs Strauss to get herself in gear.

I love basketball — well, watching it I mean. I’ve been to a couple of NBL games and they were great — the atmosphere was huge. And I watch it on TV sometimes. I love those American guys. I wish I was tall and black and cool. Instead I’m short and pinky-brown and not cool enough.

So have you stopped celebrating yet? Wonder if you’ll be playing Chieftains again in the Grand Final. If you do you should be confident.

This has been a good couple of days, a good start to the week. Katrina was home for the weekend, and stayed till last night (think she missed a few classes). It’s so good when she’s home — everything’s much better. Plus I scored a heavy 78% in a Maths test, which is good for me, especially as we were doing parabolas, which I hate. I can’t see the use of them.

You sure turned the tables on me with those questions. They’re good though — they made me think. Some are a bit hard to answer, like, what my friends and I do in our spare time. I mean, we just do all the obvious stuff, like goss, back-stab, shop, go to the movies, check out guys, talk on the phone, play music. We even do homework once in a while. Cheryl Tsang, who wrote you that note, lives round the corner from me, and Rebecca Slater’s three blocks away, and Maria Kagiasis is opposite her. They’re about my best mates.

We’re into sport a bit too. Maria and Rebecca and I are in the same softball team, called Mum’s Army (’cos Maria’s mum coaches us). But it’s pretty low-key, and we don’t do that well. Maria’s a mean hitter though.

Well, next question. My room’s a complete mess, now and forever. It has a bed, but not much else that anyone’d recognize. There are clothes everywhere, probably more of Cheryl’s and my sister’s than mine. But if it was ever neat (you have to use a lot of imagination here) you’d see something like this: a bed with a doona cover of sheep playing in a paddock in cute little ways; a desk under the window, covered with books; a set of shelves with more books and ornaments and toys; a dressing-table with more ornaments and family and school photos; and a built-in wardrobe with posters on the doors (mainly of Power Without Glory, needless to say).

The curtains are old white lace ones that used to be in my grandmother’s house. On the wall are a couple of pictures: one of my grandparents standing next to their first car; then a painting called
Science and Charity
, by Picasso; and then one of the ocean, by a guy called Christopher Pratt. I was allowed to choose them myself.

As for my brother, I’ll tell you about him another time, when I’m not in such a good mood. I don’t want to spoil this letter.

OK, last two questions. Well, for one, my parents aren’t bad. They’re strict on some things, like money, but Katrina softened them up on important issues like parties and curfews — and tidy rooms. They work hard, so they’re not home as much as some parents. They get in late quite often.

And yes, I believe in God, although not the way the churches talk about Him/Her. I think that there’s something there, some force, some presence. We had this guy who took us for religion last year. He said he was an atheist until one day in Wales, when a friend took him to the top of a mountain, pointed to the view and said, ‘Now tell me there’s no God’. And the guy fell to his knees and was converted. I’m a bit like that I guess. I can’t look at a sunset or the sky at night or my dog or a Pizza Supreme and not believe in God.

Wow, I’m exhausted by this letter. But why is writing a long letter to you so easy, and a 300-word English essay so hard? God knows. I wonder if She/He does. Anyway, good luck for the big game, keep in training: don’t smoke, drink or the other thing — see you —

Love,

Mandy

April 6

Dear Mandy,

Thanks for your letter. If I fall asleep before I finish this paragraph, hope you forgive me. What with training and schoolwork and everything else I’m out of it. But I liked your letter. I knew you’d understand how I felt about the basketball.

There’s nothing much to write about, so this could be short. My brother Dean was here for the weekend, and he came to our game, and took the whole team to McDonalds afterwards. We had a great time. It was so nice of him. He went back to university yesterday.

Next Friday’s a black one, the 13th. Our game’s the next day. Hope it’s not an omen.

I’m going shopping tomorrow, mainly for new jeans. I had some really good ones — light blue Geminis — but when I was feeding the horse yesterday they caught on a nail and ripped open, down the leg. It’s so annoying. Guess I shouldn’t have been wearing them to feed the horses. Hurt my leg too, scratched it deep, but not enough to need stitches.

Then tomorrow night I’m going to a party with Casey, at a friend’s of his. Some huge place, with a swimming pool and spa and everything. Should be fun. Hope Casey behaves himself. But I’ll forgive him if he doesn’t.

I’m too tired to write any more. Night!

Love,

Tracey

April 12

Dear Trace,

One week of school to go. I can hardly wait. This term seems to have taken forever. And generally it’s sucked.

I’m feeling so down and out. There’s too much work at school. Most of the teachers are stuffed. I can’t keep up with French. Rebecca’s being a bitch. This is definitely one of those weeks, one of those years, one of those lifetimes.

Rebecca’s got it in for me at the moment. She’s such a back-stabber. Every time I make a comment she says something sarcastic, and God help me if I crack a joke. It’s all those little things — like, if we’re in a class with Helen and Cheryl, she’ll keep seats for all of us, but if it’s only Rebecca and me she doesn’t keep a seat. She makes me so mad! We went right through primary school together, and she’s always been hot and cold.

So what are you doing for these holidays? Something glamorous and exciting with your perfect family? Sorry, I’m getting like Rebecca. But I hope you realize how lucky you are. Anyway, I think I’ve asked you about your holidays before. But I don’t think you answered.

I met a girl from Prescott High yesterday, but she didn’t know you. Anthea or Athina or some name like that. She’s in Year 11. She’s an exchange student from Greece, and they had a meeting here. We’ve got two Greek ones; one of them’s in some of my classes, a guy called Phil. He seems nice but I haven’t had much chance to get to know him.

Maybe while I’m feeling so bad I ought to answer your questions about my brother. I keep putting it off because I don’t want to poison these letters, but this one’s sour already. So. . . Steve. Where do I start? Bloody Steve. I gotta tell you Trace, this isn’t easy. Something in my head is telling my arm not to write any more. But I’ll probably keep going, now that I’ve started.