Valentine Read online

  I’m sitting beside Phil, who is studiously taking notes with one hand and holding hands with Julian under the table with the other. I’m half taking notes and half watching Finn across the room. His left hand is bandaged but he’s certainly not taking notes with his right – instead, he seems to be trying to carve something into his desk with the point of a compass. This is not unusual. In his time at Haylesford High, I reckon he’s reduced at least five desks to kindling.

  He looks up and nearly catches my eye. I quickly turn my attention back to my notes and what Ms Rao is saying. I try to focus, but it’s not working. I’m totally going to have to borrow Phil’s notes later. Lucky for me she is the most diligent writer-downer-of-stuff in the world, even when half her attention is occupied by her boyf.

  (It’s not that I hate Julian or anything, okay? I’m not one of those girls who’s all like, ‘Oooh, BFF, you have a boyfriend and I don’t! I am consumed by jealousy and will now be a total bitch to you until you break up so I feel better about myself!’ It’s just that they’ve only been together for a few weeks, and Julian and I haven’t exactly managed to sort out a custody arrangement yet. Plus there’s that whole thing where I’m good friends with his ex. I mean, Marie is over him, but I was kind of obliged to take her side in the break-up, and even though that all ended waaaaaay before he started dating Phil . . . Ugh. High school can be such a stupid soap opera sometimes.)

  I allow myself one more glance at Finn – no longer looking in my direction, thank God – then flip to the back of my exercise book, AKA The Spot Where Pearl Writes Down All Her Ideas For Song Lyrics When She Is Supposed To Be Thinking About Other Stuff, and start to write. I’ve still got one ear on what Ms Rao is saying, but I’m not taking much of it in. Albert Speer. War crimes. Nuremberg. Green eyes. Long dark hair . . .

  ‘– what is it, James?’

  I look up, immediately forgetting what I was about to write. My heart skips a beat.

  ‘I have a message from Mr Day,’ Cardy says from the doorway. ‘He wants to see Pearl. And Finn.’

  ‘Fine,’ Ms Rao says. ‘Both of you, make sure you come back at lunchtime and pick up the homework.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Rao,’ I say, shoving my books into my bag. I mutter a farewell to Phil and then follow Finn and Cardy out the door, thinking be cool, be cool, be cool over and over in my head.

  Cardy is James Cardigan, the smartest dude in our year. He is tall and handsome and socially conscious – he’s been leading our local organisation for Indigenous teenagers since he was, like, twelve or something – and funny and smart and into the right kinds of music and if you haven’t managed to guess this already, he’s pretty much the man of my dreams. And I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I could be the girl of his dreams if he would ever condescend to notice that I, you know, exist and stuff.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Finn asks when we’re outside.

  ‘No idea,’ Cardy says. ‘I was in French when Mr Molloy came in and told me to go get you guys and take you to the headmaster.’

  ‘I hope we haven’t done anything wrong,’ I say.

  Finn snorts. ‘You couldn’t do anything wrong if you tried, Linford.’

  ‘An experience you will never know,’ I shoot back.

  ‘Hey, time out, you guys,’ Cardy says, making a T with his hands. ‘If you two kill each other then we really will be in trouble.’

  Finn lapses into sullen silence. ‘How was Tillie’s party?’ Cardy asks me.

  ‘Freezing. You didn’t miss much.’ Except that tiny little dress I wore just for you.

  ‘Yeah, it was raining so much I decided not to bother in the end,’ Cardy says airily. ‘And I had so much homework to do that it wouldn’t have been worth it.’

  I love how studious Cardy is. He is smart and he works for it and I admire that so, so much. But right now, remembering back to the hours I spent a) making myself pretty for that party, and b) nearly dying of hypothermia in that stupid dress, I kind of want to kick him in the face.

  And then drag him into a cupboard somewhere and make out with him, obvs.

  I look sideways at Finn at the same time he looks at me. That dress looks awesome on you, I remember him saying. Ugh.

  ‘Do you know if Marie’s here today?’ Cardy asks. ‘We’re supposed to get her too.’

  ‘I don’t think she is,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen her. But I heard she got pretty wasted at the party, so maybe she’s still hungover.’

  ‘I think her parents are out of town again,’ Finn says. ‘I’d stay home too.’

  Of course he would. Juvenile delinquent.

  Cardy holds the door to the office open for me, because he is a gentleman and an all-round wonderful person. We have to wait a couple of minutes before Mr Day will see us and I get pretty nervous. If it was just me and Cardy here to see him, then I would assume it was for something good (though I’d still be nervous, because, hello, Cardy) but the addition of Finn can only mean one thing: we’re in trouble.

  I’m not a nerd. I’d like to put that out there right now. I hate getting up to go to school in the morning. I’ve pretended to be sick to get the day off more than once in my life. I hate having to study, though I care enough about my marks to do it. All my school reports say I’m ‘bright’ and that I ‘apply myself’, but I’m not freakishly smart or anything.

  What I am is a good student. Emphasis on the good. I am not, and never have been, a troublemaker.

  ‘What do you think we’ve done?’ I ask Cardy nervously.

  ‘Settle, Pearl – it might be something good.’

  ‘With Finn here?’

  ‘I can hear you,’ Finn says pointedly.

  ‘I know,’ I shoot back.

  There’s a pause before Finn speaks again.

  ‘Maybe it’s one of those Valentine kid things,’ Finn says. ‘Remember how they used to make the four of us do all those “look, wow, four kids born on Valentine’s Day, what a hilarious coincidence” photos and stuff in primary school?’

  ‘Why would they care about that now?’ I say. ‘It’s July.’

  ‘Forgive me for making a suggestion,’ Finn snaps.

  ‘Mr Day will see you now,’ the secretary interrupts, thankfully before we actually have a throw down on the office floor (and thus get into even more trouble).

  Mr Day is our headmaster. He’s about four thousand years old and looks every second of it. ‘James, Finn, Pearl, good morning,’ he says. ‘But where is Marie?’

  ‘She’s out sick today,’ Cardy answers.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Mr Day says. ‘Well, we’ll tell her the good news when she gets back to school.’

  Good news? So we’re not in trouble after all. Phew. But Finn –

  ‘I’m sure you all know why you’re here,’ Mr Day says, smiling.

  I think for a moment that Finn was right and it is about the fact that the four of us were all born on Valentine’s Day before it dawns on me. Oh, you have got to be joking.

  ‘We finished counting the votes from the election over the weekend,’ Mr Day goes on, ‘and I’m happy to announce that you will be our new school captains and vice-captains once Year Twelve go on study leave at the end of the term.’

  Okay. This is not so bad. In fact, if we take Finn out of the equation, this is great. I guess I can kind of understand why Finn got vice – he’s pretty popular and it is a popularity contest when it comes down to it, but the vice-captains don’t do that much really (which is good, on account of I’m pretty sure Finn only put his name on the ballot as a joke), which means me and Cardy will be running everything and going to all kinds of leadership functions together and we’ll be thrown into each other’s company all the time and obviously inevitably we will –

  ‘James and Marie will be our vice-captains, while Finn and Pearl will be our captains,’ Mr Day announces.

  This is going to be the best thing – wait, what?

  ‘Congratulations, man,’ Cardy says, slapping Finn on the back.

  Fi
nn doesn’t even respond. He, like me, is staring at Mr Day in something resembling abject horror.

  ‘I discussed this with all your teachers, and although there was some concern expressed, we ultimately decided to uphold the results of the election,’ Mr Day says. It’s pretty clear this is directed at Finn. ‘I’m sure both of you will rise wonderfully to the responsibility.’

  ‘But –’ Finn and I say at the same time.

  ‘That will be all for today.’

  It’s official. This is going to be the worst year ever.

  ‘Oh, one more thing, Pearl, Finn,’ Mr Day says. ‘We have a new student starting in your year level tomorrow. As part of your new responsibilities, I’d like you to show her round the school.’

  ‘Of course,’ I answer automatically.

  ‘Excellent. You can meet her before school tomorrow in the quadrangle – eight o’clock?’

  ‘But –’ we both protest.

  ‘That will be all.’

  Awesome. Fan-freaking-tastic. Not only do I have to spend the next year working with Finn – which means, basically, doing the work of two people, when I could have been working slash possibly making out with Cardy – I’m going to have to leave work early tomorrow and con Dave into covering for me. Which means I will make less money – and did I mention that I’m going to have to spend time with Finn?

  I am, like, ninety-nine per cent sure that the universe hates me.

  I have singing practice with Mr Hunter after school (read: an hour and a half of him yelling at me) and afterwards I walk over to the newspaper office to get a ride home with Disey. I’ve cheered up a little over the day by focusing on the fact that I’m going to be school captain, but it’s hard to remain cheerful when you have to walk half a k in torrential rain and your hopes of working with the love of your life for a year have been thwarted.

  And then it only gets worse when the first person you see when you walk into the building is Helena.

  ‘Oh hey, Miss Pearlie!’ she practically squeals. ‘Grab a seat! Grab a magazine! I’ll make you some tea! Look at you, you’re saturated! Take off your coat, you poor thing!’

  Helena talks only in exclamation marks. She’s Disey’s nemesis at the paper – which Disey will never admit, because she thinks that she transcends the petty competition at the Haylesford Independent, but it’s true. Helena always calls me Miss Pearlie and fusses over me and asks me what I’m up to and how my life is and have I got a young man and I pretty much want to yell at her to please God stop talking most of the time.

  But there’s this thing wherein she’s also Shad’s girlfriend, so I have to be nice to her. Which is the most annoying thing of all.

  ‘Hi, Helena,’ I say, dropping my schoolbag on the floor. ‘Is Disey around?’

  ‘She’s just in a meeting with the editor, but she’ll be out any sec,’ Helena says. ‘Now, tell me everything that’s going on in your life right now. Anything new and exciting happen?’

  There’s no way on earth I’m telling her I got school captain before I tell Disey and Shad, so I give her a brief download about Tillie’s party and the horse instead so that she doesn’t start harassing me about my singing lesson and did you know you are so talented Miss Pearlie, and you should go on Australia’s Got Talent or The Voice or The X Factor, because you would win, you know you would, and you know I would vote for you, don’t you?

  Her eyes widen until they’re the size of saucers. ‘A horse?’ she says. ‘A black horse? And did anyone touch it?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Marie got pretty close, but I don’t know if she actually, you know, made contact.’

  ‘That boy who scared it away must have been very brave,’ she says earnestly.

  I don’t know if ‘Finn’ and ‘brave’ are two concepts that really go together. ‘Finn’ and ‘annoying’, maybe. ‘Finn’ and ‘distractingly pretty’, unfortunately. ‘Finn’ and ‘I wish I didn’t devote so much time and energy to thinking about him’, definitely.

  ‘Which boy was it?’ she asks.

  I open my mouth to tell her, but thankfully Disey comes out before Helena can actually start a petition to have Finn recognised as a saint. ‘Hey Pearlie,’ she says. ‘Sorry that took so long. Let’s go.’

  Given that Disey and I are on exactly the same page re Helena, our escape is hasty. I have zero idea how Disey manages to spend all day every day in the same office without blowing up at her. My sister is not exactly a shy retiring violet, and spending time with Helena is like scraping finger­nails down a blackboard.

  Unless you’re Shad. I guess Helena must have hidden depths or something. But they’re pretty damn well hidden, because neither Disey nor I have ever managed to catch sight of them. But then, neither Disey nor I is a certified genius like Shad is, so maybe we’re just not smart enough. I dunno.

  Shad’s only just got up when we get home, sitting at the kitchen table in an old INXS shirt reading some computer manual while drinking coffee, hair rumpled from sleep. People usually think it’s weird when I tell them my brother is nocturnal, but it’s all I’ve ever known, so it just seems normal to me. ‘Hey girls,’ he says as we walk in. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Well,’ I begin, ‘I have some news.’

  ‘Ooooh, intriguing!’ Shad says. ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Not until you give me a drumroll.’

  Shad and Disey obligingly drum their hands on nearby surfaces. ‘And . . .?’ Disey says.

  ‘I got school captain for next year.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Disey exclaims.

  ‘Awesome, Pearlie!’ Shad gets up and hugs me, lifting me off the ground.

  Shad makes tacos for dinner because they’re my favourite, and then we eat the Viennetta in the freezer that we’ve been saving up for a special occasion. Disey and Shad get into a fight over who was the bigger truant when they were at school and I have to mediate, so I end up telling them they’re both as delinquent as each other and that obviously they weren’t perfect like me, and they call me a cyborg and all in all, it’s a lovely night . . . until dinner is over, and I have to face the monster that is homework.

  I may be a model student, but I, like every other normal person, hate studying, so I have to make homework vaguely attractive. I have two big candles that I light, a special playlist of music so dull it won’t possibly distract me, and a chocolate stash in my desk drawer. And – my worst indulgence – even if I’m not using my computer to study, I always have it on and connected to the internet . . . and open to Facebook.

  Procrastination central, I know, but that’s not even the real reason. Every so often – ‘seldom’ to ‘sometimes’, I would say – Cardy and I use the chat function and have these great conversations. So every night, just in case he decides this is one of those nights, I keep it open while I study. Yes, I realise this probably does not foster excellence in concentration, but I’m not failing any classes yet.

  Tonight, it seems, is not destined to be one of those nights. I make it industriously all the way through my English assignment and half my history homework, but there is no Cardy chattage for me. Sigh.

  Idly, I click on Finn’s page. We’re not friends, but he doesn’t have his profile set to private so I stalk him sometimes. His picture is one of him with his little brother at the beach, which I find surprisingly sentimental. Holly-Anne has been writing all over his wall. Unsurprising. His photo albums seem to consist purely of surfing and fishing trips, though he’s been tagged in heaps of albums by other school people at various parties and stuff. There is one picture of him at Annabel’s birthday which is just so him: slouched on a couch, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, Holly sprawled over his lap. Vom.

  Disey comes in and I shut the lid of my laptop hurriedly. She smirks. ‘Phone for you,’ she says, handing it to me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, face bright red. She shakes her head and chuckles to herself as she leaves. I’ll have to get her back later. ‘Hello?’ I say into the phone.

  It�
��s Mr Hunter, my music teacher. ‘Pearl,’ he says. ‘I have an opportunity for you.’

  It turns out that he’s managed to get me a slot singing at the Saffron Room, which is this cool-ish restaurant in town where they do live music on Friday nights. ‘I’ll be honest – I don’t know if you’re ready for this,’ he says, ‘but you need to bleed in front of an audience if you’re going to improve.’

  Mr Hunter, as you can see, is a terribly cheery fellow. He also seems to delight in making me feel awful about myself, but this is a small town and he’s the only decent music teacher around, so I can’t exactly avoid him. I suppose his attitude has a) given me a thicker skin, and b) made me appreciate any reaction to my music that isn’t actually burning me at the stake, but . . . gah. I know I’m a pretty decent musician and sometimes I wish he’d give me a bit more credit.

  We sort out a setlist in between his barrage of insults (‘No, I will not permit you to sing that in public, you will completely humiliate yourself’ is always a top way to motivate your students, right?) and then I wander out to put the phone back and to tell Disey and Shad. They are predictably thrilled, as they are whenever I get a gig, and promise to invite every single person that they know.

  And then I get back to my desk to finish my homework and discover, to my horror, that Cardy started a chat with me. Twenty minutes ago.

  Oh my God. Crisis.

  Pearl Linford: hey cardy! sorry I was awol there – was on the phone.

  I have to wait nearly five minutes before he replies, and in those five minutes, I die a thousand deaths. But then finally:

  James Cardigan: hey no prob!

  Phew. Situation under control. Crisis averted.

  Pearl Linford: just got a gig singing at the saffron room this week!

  I curse that answer nearly as soon as I send it. Where’s the hook? How am I going to keep him engaged in the conversation? Can I say something else before he replies?

  Pearl Linford: you should come!

  Why did I just write that? Why? I am the lamest person in the world, and I bet he’s laughing at me uproariously right now because I am just so –