Have You Seen Ally Queen? (22 page)

‘I have Killer Pythons.’ He pats his pocket.

I sigh. ‘Okay, then.’

Parrots squall and yark as we make our way along a trail from the back of the caravan park, which is where we’re staying tonight, our last night. Today is free time for everyone—we’re allowed to do whatever we want, so long as we don’t break any laws. Basically, it means no compulsory group activities. So
really
it means a break from everyone you can’t stand being around any longer. Some kids are sleeping, others reading, others have gone exploring. Mr Taylor gave out a bunch of compasses when we arrived and showed us how to use them, but I still don’t get the whole concept. What’s the point in knowing what direction you’re facing if you’re lost? I mean, to make it work, you have to know which direction you need to go in—like, which direction you would take to get home. And if you knew that, you’d just go, wouldn’t you? Or you’d actually have to be able to read a map. I dunno, I don’t have a clue about those things. Compass or no compass, I’d be just as lost.

The sun comes down in shafts between the clouds, and between us. The bush is making noises like it’s alive, and I remind myself that plants
are
actually alive. As we walk, I begin to relax. Who cares about English? There are only a few weeks left in the year, anyway. Not a big deal.

I like being with Rel.

Rel’s different. He makes me feel like I’m kind of important to him, like the way he always has Killer Pythons and stuff, and the bracelet. I don’t think he ate Killer Pythons before. Not like we do now, anyway. We gobble them all the time.

The sky is mainly blue behind the gum trees. The air has an edge to it, to remind us we are near the mountains.

Rel turns and says, ‘Come on, Ally.’ The backs of his boots are dusty; that’s how I know we’ve really been somewhere.

I think over all the things that have been happening at home the last couple of months. Mum being ill and away; Dad and Jerry being sad, and everything being different. I care about everyone so much, but it’s not all my deal, you know? I can’t solve this stuff on my own. I can only ride alongside Mum and Dad and Jerry, so we can do it together.

I take a big, deep breath, and as I breathe out I feel a million things leave me.

The sky’s a huge black ceiling with chinks of light coming through.

There’s a possum in the tree just next to the party tent. As I’m coming out for some fresh air, I see its tail disappear. It stops further up when it’s safe and looks back down at me with marble eyes.

Over on the other side of the camping ground, the teachers’ tents are glowing and rustling.

It’s cold again. The highly illegal wine (in easy-tocarry silver bladder) has warmed up my belly, but man, are my lips and nose cold! Even with a whole bunch of us squeezed into that tent, you could feel the cold coming in through the walls, seeping in. There’s kids in there with scarves wrapped around their necks and beanies pulled down over their ears. I’ve got two pairs of socks on, two T-shirts on top of one another and a jumper. I look a right tosser, but everyone does, so it doesn’t matter, for once.

It’s pretty cool, actually, this camp. Kids who would never normally hang out together have got to know each other, and it’s changed things, somehow. I saw Mike talking to Rachel this afternoon, and she and Jaya were having a big chat this morning, and they never normally talk to each other, those two. Saba Sophie’s even been okay. Sharing a tent with her has probably helped. She actually flicked a wasp off my back as we were having brekky today—did it as calm as anything. It’s kind of nice. I wonder what it’ll be like when we get back to school, if everyone will ignore each other again like nothing’s happened. I made a bit of an effort to be half-decent to Frizz-ball earlier. We were both heading in the same direction—to the
ablutions,
as Mr Roberts calls them—so I said hi. She had bandaids covering both her heels, poor thing. There’s a lot of kids sporting blisters today, I can tell you. Most of them are wearing thongs now. I can’t believe I came out relatively unscathed—the Blundies were okay after all.

‘Hey.’ Rel sticks his head out the tent door.

‘Hey.’ I turn and smile and blow out white breath.

‘Whatcha up to?’

I look up. ‘Just enjoying the night. And freezing.’

He squeezes out and I hear voices from inside, protesting.

‘Zip it up!’

‘It’s freezing, you dickhead!’

‘Jeeezuss, okay, okay,’ he says, sliding the zips up as fast as he can. ‘Snug as little bugs again, are we?’

‘Piss off!’ the voices cry.

We walk a little way away to a grassy bit under a tree and prop ourselves up against the trunk, like we do on the oval at school. I wonder when I’ll be back here again. I look up for possums but can’t see any this time.

We sit there, surrounded by the night.

After a while, Rel takes my hand and keeps it warm between both of his.

‘You’ve never asked about my mum,’ I say after a while, and before I even realise it. What am I
doing?

‘I know.’

‘She’s not dead.’

‘Figured so. That’s good.’

‘They’re not divorced, either.’

‘Right.’ He nods like it doesn’t make any difference.

I keep going now I’ve started. ‘She’s sick.’

He looks at me and hesitates. ‘Oh. Is she ... okay?’

‘I dunno, really. She’s living with my aunt at the moment. It’s um ... an ... anxiety thing. Not cancer, or anything.’

‘How long has she been like that for?’

I sigh. ‘A few months.’

‘She’ll get better, though, right?’

I look at him. ‘I hope so.’ I nod at our hands. ‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘So that’s okay,’ he says quietly.

The Stirlings are a heavy blue mass in the dark. The moon is on the other side. Yes, I think. It will be.

I don’t know who sees it first (because I’m concentrating on how nice Rel’s hands are), but there’s a patch of sky that erupts with falling stars, and we watch and point like little kids. They blitz all over the place, dozens of them. Rel reckons it’s a meteor shower. It’s over really quickly, but we keep staring at that part of the sky, just in case there’s more. I’ve seen falling stars before but not that many in one hit.

We talk a little bit about going back home tomorrow and how boring school’s going to be. Rel’s already got plans to go surfing down at Yallingup with some mates next weekend, and I’m surprised that I don’t feel too bad about going back. Mainly I’m looking forward to seeing Dad and McJerry. And maybe Mum. And going for a swim and seeing if the seal’s still around.

‘Who’s that?’ Rel whispers.

‘Who?’

He points. ‘Over there.’

I squint into the dark.

‘Someone’s over by the teachers’ tents,’ he says.

‘I can see someone,’ I whisper, staring at the crouched figure. ‘But I can’t tell who it is.’ But I’m thinking: burglar.

The middle tent, where the person is, is unzipped by whoever is inside, and the crouched figure and the person inside the tent start talking, so that completely blows that theory.

‘It’s Ms Carey!’ Rel leans forward. ‘It’s
Ms Carey
.’ He turns to look at me. ‘I can’t believe it.’

I look back. I can only make out figures. I wonder if I need glasses. ‘Which one is Ms Carey?’

‘The one inside the tent.’ He pauses. ‘Look! It’s Mr ...
Jesus Christ.’

I crawl forward a bit and finally I can see her head in the light from her tent. ‘So what, they’re just talking, aren’t they...’

Then I see
Mr Roberts
leaning down and
gettinginto the tent.
Getting into Ms Carey’s tent, with Ms Carey. And then the door is zipped shut and Rel and I are on all fours, just gobsmacked.

Gobsmacked.

We look at each other.

‘Was that really...? Did we just see—’

He nods. ‘I think so.’

‘Oh, my God.’

He nods. ‘I know.’

‘Shit.’

‘I know.’

‘Jeez.’

‘Yeah.’

We both just stare at each other. On the one hand, I’m shocked, but on the other, I want to laugh. I thought it’d be kids who might get caught swapping tents on this camp, not
teachers.
And
her,
of all people. And
him.

‘We can’t tell anyone,’ I say.

‘I know. I don’t want to. I’m just amazed.’

‘Yeah, me, too. I mean, yuck, Ms Carey and Mr
Roberts.
Gross!’

His eyes widen and he shakes his head at me, grinning in happy disgust.

My nose wrinkles up. I can’t keep the smile off my face, either.

The stars stay still and everything else looks the same.
The trees scratch leaves from time to time and there’s that big silence in the distance, that no-sound, where the traffic normally hums all night. The silence is beautiful, deep, when Rel leans over and puts his head close to mine. When our eyes have become accustomed to each other’s, he kisses me softly on the lips—a short kiss at first, and then a second long, steady kiss that makes me feel incredibly, wonderfully, radically fantastic about him, and me.

In the bus on the way home, the other lovebirds acted like nothing was going on. Ms Carey actually came up to me and started talking about the English class thing again. Rel was trying to catch my eye and make me laugh, and I almost did. It was so embarrassing—grinning like a dickhead at someone while they’re talking to you about something half serious. She must have thought I was whacked on weed, or something. I felt kind of bad, but what can you do?

As we get closer to home, I know I’m running out of time to do something I should do.

I head up to the front of the bus with a CD, and sit in the seat opposite the driver—Mr Taylor. The bus is fairly noisy, so no one else can hear us.

His eyes flick my way. ‘Ah. A music request?’

‘Yes, please, when you have a chance.’

He looks in the rear-view mirror, and checks the side mirrors. ‘Have you enjoyed camp?’

I nod. ‘Yes, a lot.
Heaps.
It’s been
awe
some.’

‘You did a great job on the walk,’ he says. ‘You killed it.’

I try not to break out into a full smile and say, sort of to my feet instead of him, ‘Thanks. Actually, I wanted to say ... sorry for being a bit ...
off
with you when you were trying to help, at school, I mean. You know.’

‘Yes, I know. And that’s perfectly okay, Alison, but thank you for saying something. It’s just good to see you settling in so well. I hope things are easing up for you, all round.’

‘They are,’ I say, and wonder if—finally—Angelgirl might have arrived.

The bus drops us Melros kids off at the turn-off—that’s Rel and me—and we’re so Kathmandu-out-there that we decide to hike the two ks home. We’re more than an hour early, so Dad won’t have even left yet to pick me up. It’s funny, I’d have been spewing if I’d had to walk this far before, but it seems like nothing compared to what we’ve done in the last few days. My pack is positively empty now: no water, no snacks—it’s a breeze. It’s a sunny day and we cross the road to hit the deli for pythons and caramel buds for the mission home.

Rel and I part at the track at the end of my road, where he cuts through to the firebreak to get to his place. It’s a bit funny saying goodbye after spending so much time together, and especially after last night. He says he might drop round tonight, and I nod, not wanting to look too keen but hoping he’ll know that I really do want to see him—as soon as possible. I can almost feel myself slipping way into these feelings, and I try to catch myself, but at the same time I want to go with this, I want to let go and feel it, all of it—and if I get lost somewhere along the way, well, then, okay, but at least I’ve experienced this amazing thing. I know one thing: I’ve never felt anything like this before. This is like going into a wonderful cave deep inside you, where all this rich, intense stuff lives that you never knew was there.