Have You Seen Ally Queen? by Deb Fitzpatrick

them with no socks, even though Mr Fisher tells him off about it most daysand sends notes home to his mum about shoes and socks being school dress policy.
     
    Right now, I can’t believe my luck. How much worse can things be? I mean, is this some kind of sick joke? Of course he’s gunna ask why I’m going in the wrong direction. ‘School’s that way, Queenie,’ I can hear him saying. I look around, but there’s no escape. I have to keep walking, and then I have to say something believable when he asks me what I’m doing.
     
    I don’t slow down too much as we approach. I try to appear to be in a hurry, like I’m doing something important, eyes not quite on him.
     
    He’s watching me. My body goes into daggy gangly robot mode. Even though I couldn’t care less what he thinks of me, I still feel a hundred metres tall. He’d never get called short, but I’m still taller than him—a bit. Even with my trick of bending one knee and slumping at the hip, but keeping the other leg stretched out in front. It drops you a good seven to eight centimetres. It sounds complex, but it’s my standard pose.
     
    He grins. ‘McQueen.’
     
    I nod, let out a small snort of recognition.
     
    And then he’s gone. I’m still walking, and when I twist my head, ages later, he’s heading down the road,down to the bus stop. I nearly laugh out loud. Nothing. No questions, no Spanish Inquisition. No sarky guesses. I almost smile. A couple of rabbits scurry across the road, from one saltbush to the next. I tuck my hair behind my ear. For a moment, I almost like the guy.
     

MUSICAL WORRIES
    While everyone’s out, I crank up Triple J and sit in the middle of the lounge with a packet of extra salty, extra vinegary Red Rock chips. I reckon I need them after the ordeal of having to coax Mum out to the car so Dad could get her to the doctor. She was more than reluctant. She put her sunnies on, even though it’s cloudy today, and insisted on sitting in the back seat. Like Dad was a taxi driver, or something! So embarrassing. And it was upsetting to see her like that, too. She didn’t even seem to notice that I wasn’t getting ready for school.
     
    I cram chips into my mouth. The things I need to think about are:
     
    Mum
    Dad
    Shelly
    Ms Carey’s assignment
    Rel
    I feel sick when I think about Mum. Somehow the mulberry tree keeps coming up when I think about her. I know she’d like that tree. I can almost hear her now, raving on about gardens that provide. I’m gunna have a bowl of them on the counter for when she gets back. I’ll wash them and everything. I know Dad’ll like them, too, so that’s two things off the list for the time being—Mum and Dad.
     
    Shelly texted again this morning.
     
    Just checking in on u! xxx
     
    I fiddle with the phone.
     
    Sorry, Shel, stuff going on at home.
     
    I press the back-delete button till the screen is blank again. My thumb hovers weakly. There’s what’s happening here, and there’s what’s happening there. I know that everything’s still going on in Perth without me. But I’m out of the loop now about who’s going out with who, and who’s been dropped—all that stuff. The weird thing is that when I think about it now, I almost don’t want to know. And how could I explain what it’s like down here? I break out in a small prickle of sweat. It’s too weird. I almost wish I wasn’t friends with anyone back there now; I have a new life. And there’s something kind of ... independent about not telling anyone, about being on my own down here, that I almost like.
     
    Shel, sorry 4 silence. Things OK, but a bit intense. Will email/call this w/end.
     
    That’s fine. I press send.
     
    Next? I’m gunna have to get an extension for my assignment. There’s no way I can get it in by this arvo. I won’t even be at school. Which means I’m gunna have to tell Ms Carey what’s going on at home. Or I could lie and say my grandma died, but how many grandmas can you have? If they