Have You Seen Ally Queen? by Deb Fitzpatrick Page A

checked with my old school, I’d be totally busted.
     
    There’s still a couple of things left on my list. Shite. There’s too much to think about, too much to worry about!
     
    I shut the front door behind me and stick my feet into Dad’s thongs, the only ones there. We often thong-swap; his are almost the right size for me. A giant oaf. Why couldn’t I be a pretty little thing, with jeans that always hang over my heels and size five shoes, and be able to sit in chairs without my legs falling flat on the floor? I fairly lumber over the road, my hands twisting a plastic bag, and tilt my face to the sun, and the mulberry tree.
     

WINDCHANGE
    Ms Carey’s floating towards me, her legs somewhere beneath the layers of her beautiful purple skirt. She’s looking down, like she’s concentrating. I look at the tree next to me, like I’m suddenly interested in tree bark, or something. I know what this is about. One of the little freckled suckhole chicks told me this morning that Ms Carey failed everyone who didn’t hand in their assignment on time, i.e. yesterday, and where was I? I looked at this chick for a moment, at her dry red hair in a perfect plait, and I couldn’t help it; I said, ‘At children’s court in Perth. Got busted shoplifting. And you?’ She went red, so red, it was hilarious. But I just felt like a loud-mouthed loser. LAM, LAM, LAM. Or is that SAM, SAM, SAM? Whatever. I don’t care what she tells all her stupid friends, but why am I like that? That’s what I hate the most, because it’s not what I’m really like, not when I’m on my own, like on the beach or fishing with Dad and Jerry. Everything’sgood then, everything’s fine. I don’t want to stay like this. I’ll grow out of it, or something, won’t I? Otherwise I could end up like that kid in the story who pulled faces and then the wind changed and he was stuck with the worst face forever. That’s why I have to concentrate on Angelgirl.
     
    I put my sandwich down, squash the lid back on the box. Plain Vegemite’s pretty boring.
     
    ‘Hi, Alison.’
     
    ‘Hi, Ms Carey.’ I wince into the sun, which is right behind her head, like some kind of halo.
     
    ‘You weren’t at school yesterday.’
     
    ‘Nope. I wasn’t.’ I can’t think of anything else to add to that.
     
    She moves her lips, looks away for a moment. ‘Well, you know the assignment was due yesterday.’
     
    ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’
     
    A group of kids is watching from the oval. God, this is tiring.
     
    ‘I’m going to have to fail you if you don’t hand it in.’
     
    ‘Yeah, I know. One of the other girls told me.’
     
    ‘Right.’ She’s looking pretty awkward, and I’m feeling like a complete carrot, but what am I going to say? Can I have an extension because I just found out my mum’s a loony?
     
    I push my feet under my schoolbag. ‘Can I hand it in a bit late? It’s...’
     
    She’s looking at me.
     
    All I can manage is: ‘There’s a good reason.’
     
    Her bangle is loose against her wrist. The silver is almost white, like a sunny-day cloud.
     
    She nods loosely, gives me a grin, like she’s a pushover, or something. ‘Only till Monday, though, unless you’ve got a note, or something.’
     
    ‘Okay,’ I say. (Yeah, I’ll just get Mum to write me a note. My apologies that Alison was unable to attend school on Thursday the 24th. She was busy looking after me while I quietly lost my mind.) ‘I’ll get it done on the weekend and bring it in on Monday.’
     

WORDS
    Dad, Jerry and I are finishing off the mulberries for dessert. It’s weird, having dinner without Mum. Knowing she’s just lying in the next room, in the dark. Dad’s trying to make it less weird by asking us things about school, but that’s worse than when we’re not saying anything at all, which is the rest of the time. No one’s asked where the mulberries came from. I wouldn’t tell them, anyway, but that’s just how odd it is here tonight. The