Riggs Crossing by Michelle Heeter

McDonald’s.
    ‘Is there a Burger King any place around here?’ I ask Lyyssa during our weekly counselling session.
    Lyyssa is both thrilled that I’ve said something and flustered about what to say.
    ‘Burger King? Well! Um . . . let’s see. Burger King is an American fast-food chain, but we have a restaurant called Hungry Jack’s that’s the same thing. Why? Do you want to go there?’
    So that’s how the whole damn Refuge got to go to Hungry Jack’s for dinner. Well, everyone except Jo and Sky Morningstar, who are boycotting Hungry Jack’s because breeding cattle to make hamburgers causes soil erosion and greenhouse gases. Honestly, I don’t know which is more embarrassing – being seen with the other Refuge kids at the Westgardens Metro, or being seen with them at Hungry Jack’s. Karen, instead of whizzing her pants, spills her thick shake down her front. Bindi, instead of being mean to Karen about whizzing her pants, is mean to Karen about spilling her thick shake. Cinnamon, instead of flirting with some store clerk, starts making eyes at some teenage ethnic guys at the next table who are all wearing Lonsdale tracksuits and baseball caps on backwards. They’re good-looking, but I wouldn’t trust them for a minute. They’re grinning at Cinnamon and saying stuff to each other in Arabic. Probably they’re saying, ‘Look at that slut’s boobs’.
    Cinnamon’s so damn stupid. It’s boys like them who got arrested some years back because they pack-raped some girl and hosed her down afterward. They think every girl who doesn’t wear a headscarf is a moll.
    I’m still safe from things like that. The guys don’t even notice me, because I’m still a girl, not even close to being a woman.
    As if things weren’t bad enough, now that stupid LeeLee Nelson song, ‘I’m Still a Girl, Not Yet a Woman’ is running through my head. How do you get rid of a song going through your head?
    ‘Karen, stop crying, it’s okay, I’ll get you another thick shake,’ Lyyssa is saying, on their way back from the ladies’ room, where they’ve been cleaning up Karen’s shirt as best they can. There’s still a big wet spot and the trace of a chocolate stain across Karen’s chest. Her face is as red as her hair and her eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying. As soon as she sits down, she starts chowing on the super-size fries that she left, even though they must be cold by now.
    Lyyssa goes to the counter to get another thick shake for Karen and chocolate sundaes for Shane and me. I’m still drinking my Coke, watching Cinnamon flirting with the boys.
    Bindi is staring at me. Why is she staring at me when she’s got Karen to make fun of ? I realise, with a flush of shame rising to my cheeks, that I’ve been humming ‘I’m Still a Girl, Not Yet a Woman’.
    ‘Hey, look!’ Bindi screams, grabbing Cinnamon’s arm. ‘Len thinks she’s LeeLee Nelson!’ They start shrieking, and then do a piss-take of ‘I’m Still a Girl, Not Yet a Woman’ for the boys, who whistle and cheer.
    I’m so humiliated I can barely eat my ice-cream when Lyyssa brings it back. All the way home, Bindi, who’s sitting behind me in the van, hums that stupid song in my ear.
    I go straight to my room when we get back to the Refuge. I don’t even care what Lyyssa and the rest of these morons are up to.
    The best way to calm down and forget about something unpleasant is to read a book you don’t care anything about. You don’t even have to read the book; just skimming your eyes over the text and looking at the pictures is enough. There’s a book called Japanese Prints that’s really good for that. It was in another box that came from the Salvation Army. The book is only a little one, only ten centimetres square. I snapped it up because it had a picture of a huge wave on the front, but the pictures inside aren’t as good. They’re drawings of old-fashioned Japanese ladies with small, squinty eyes who carry parasols and wear