I Lost My Mobile At the Mall (11 page)

Of course I know where Will will be this sunny afternoon – down the back under the jacaranda tree. It's his place of refuge. Even Jayden's not so stupid as to try to bash him up inside the school grounds.

I peer around the corner of the red-brick tuckshop and see him in the distance, just sitting there on the grass. It's like my heart's being squeezed by the claw of a dying crab. I can hardly breathe. Will's curly blond head is bent over a book. I watch as he looks up through the branches and then falls back. He's lying with his long legs stretched out and he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe he's thinking about Lily.

I take a deep breath. I'll walk along the side fence where I'm not in plain view. I feel like some kind of ridiculous crazed stalker as I dart between the trees. I'm now as close as I can be without being seen, and I reckon there's only about twenty metres of open ground between him and where I'm hiding behind this stinking dumpster. I smooth my skirt and scrape the hair from my face with my headband. One last breath, I look around the corner and . . .

It's Lily!

She's walking up to Will. He sees her and jumps to his feet and runs his hands through his golden curls. Of course he'll be with Lily!
I'm so stupid!
Of course he's with her under the jacaranda tree. It's where we always used to meet every lunchtime.

It's weird though. He's backing away and turns his head as she keeps coming towards him. And now she stops and gets something out of her bag and holds it out to him. It's an envelope. He's shaking his head, he doesn't want to take it, but she insists. She's holding it out to him and I can see her pleading. Finally he takes it from her and puts it in his blazer pocket.

Now they're talking and both their heads are bowed. She's wiping her eyes and it looks like she's crying. He's shaking his head and shuffling his feet. Then he steps forward and takes her in his arms and . . .

I'm running. Flying back down the side fence. I can hear someone moaning in pain and I realise that it's me.

This afternoon I can barely see the desk in front of me. Tears spill and plop on the open page of my book. I'm hiding behind my hair and I've managed not to let anyone see. I don't want anyone's sympathy. It's my fault this time that I'm feeling so pathetic. I was bound to see Will and Lily together in person, but I wasn't prepared to see them like that so soon. In each other's arms. I'm only thankful that I didn't see them kiss.

If I had my mobile right now I'd ring that stupid number where you can text two names and see if they're a match. Only I probably don't have to. Will was right, our techno lives are just a mirage. I saw with my own eyes that Will and Lily go together – fair hair, dark hair; grey eyes, black eyes; tanned skin, pale skin. I didn't need a mobile phone to tell me that. At least I probably saved myself $1.50.

I can't believe I ever thought that I should be the one to warn Will.
I'm so idiotic!
I should have thought it through and known that Lily was there to care for him. He's hers now. She's his now. And their fates have nothing to do with me any more. They're holding hands and swimming away together in an open sea. And this little leg rope is untied, slack and all out of bounce.

We're with Mrs Ferguson for Drama. An assignment about the films and television series of
Jane Eyre
by Charlotte Brontë is plonked in front of me. As part of our study guide she hands us a list of websites to look at. Hah!

I happily inform Fergie that I don't have a computer any more, so this assignment will be impossible for me to complete. (Even though I happen to be reading Tilly's copy of
Jane Eyre
at the moment
.
I started a few weeks ago after Mum and I watched the series on TV and ended up blubbering wrecks. Of course I'm not about to tell Fergie that.)

'There's always the school computer centre, Elly,' she sniffs and re-ties her floral scrunchie around her red ponytail. 'And of course there's the library. Remember
the library
? It's where they keep
books
.'

Everyone giggles and I curse the sarcastic old bag under my breath.

'Jane Eyre didn't have a computer and still managed to gain an education. So I'm sure you will too. In fact –' she stops in her tracks, suddenly in the grip of a brilliant idea.

Uh-oh! Everyone ducks their heads, expecting a battering.

'I'd like everyone to follow Ms Pickering's lead,' she announces from the front of the room. 'You can
all
consult the library for this assignment and complete a part of your research from the extensive volumes contained therein on English history, culture, literature and cinema.'

There is a huge groan from the room as Fergie's brainstorm unleashes its full power.

'I will expect a full bibliography at the end of your work. I'll inform Mrs Wales at the library desk that each one of you will be visiting and borrowing reference books over the next week. I will also contact the Oldcastle library and leave a full list of all your names so you can check-in there as well. This will be a
wonderful
experiment. It will give you a true insight into what it was like to gain an education In The Days Before . . .'

I look around the room and see that every single person is staring at me, wanting to wring my neck with their bare hands. I feel so low that I want to stand up and ask who'd like to go first?
Alrighty!
Everyone get in line!

There's a
thwack!
on the back of my head and I turn to see that Jai's just lobbed a half-eaten doughnut at me. Bianca looks utterly furious. Oh well, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining – or in this case, strawberry icing.

Tilly pulls up in her battered old silver Mazda outside the school gates. She's offered me a lift home and I'm so grateful I don't have to take the bus and face everyone from Year Nine paying out on me. I jump in and she roars into the traffic on Charles Drive without indicating. The car behind us toots angrily and she holds up one elegant finger in a rude salute.

'BOG OFF, YOU FOOL!' Tilly shouts at the rearvision mirror. Then she turns to me and I can see her cheeks are pink with fury.

'By the way, we're not going straight home,' she fumes. 'I have to go to the Oldcastle
library
! The
actual
library! As if I'm in some third world country or something. I tell you, if Dad doesn't come home tonight with a new computer, I'm going to
lose
it! I told him. I can't buy myself a new one. I haven't got enough cash. This is my
future
we're talking about. I've only got a week till I start my exams and I've lost
all
my study notes.'

I want to tell Tilly that I saw Will and Lily together today. I open my mouth to speak, but she's off again.

'And I get down to the school library this afternoon to do some research and it's totally clogged with pathetic dweebs from Year Nine all making a racket! How did that happen?'

Of course, as a pathetic dweeb from Year Nine, I know exactly how that happened. I better not say it was my fault everyone's gone there to do their assignments. Tilly weaves back into the other lane and there's another angry toot.

'WHAT AM I? BLOODY INVISIBLE?!' she yells out the window.

By now I am gripping the door handle, Clinging like a mollusc on a rock in a tsunami.

'I've gotta get to a computer!' Tilly complains. 'I need peace and quiet. I have to finish this presentation on the International Space Station. And do you think I can find that in a
book
? Hardly! Technology's moving at a million miles an hour! Books are so slow, they're not even snail. They're still trying to wriggle their way out of some primordial swamp! Do you think there would even be an International Space Station if we only had
books
?'

Tilly brakes so hard that my schoolbag comes flying over from the back seat and smashes into the windscreen. I grab it so at least I can see what we're about to hit.

'You know something, Elly?' says Tilly.

No. I don't know anything . . . except that sitting in this car going at a million miles an hour I wish Tilly was watching the road instead of boring her eyes into mine.

'All the
idiots
– Mum and Dad and teachers and everyone else included – who think that the internet is scrambling our brains
Just. Do. Not. Get. It
. They're evolutionary throwbacks,' shouts Tilly as she slaps the steering wheel. 'They're no better than the flat-earth morons who locked up Galileo for daring to think the earth revolved around the sun.

'It makes me
so
mad and I am sick up to
here
. . .' and she slashes her throat with a murderous gesture, 'with their dumb, endless lectures about the way life
used
to be. I wish they would just SHUT UP! The rest of us are trying to
think
.'

But, I say to Tilly, I can't help wondering whether it's the internet that broke my heart. She instantly swivels her head to me, even though she should really be concentrating on the semitrailer in front.

'I'll tell you something,' she says passionately. 'All the technology in the world can't break your heart. It's humans and their Neanderthal emotions that break your heart. The only thing that happened is that you found out Will was two-timing you a lot faster and more easily than you might have when Mum and Dad were our age. It doesn't alter the fact that you deserve a boyfriend better than Will. It doesn't mean he's not a liar and a cheat. Think of the alternative – what if Will was on with Lily behind your back for ages and you didn't know?'

I nod. She's right. Everyone's right – Mum and Dad, Nan, Tilly, Carmelita, Bianca and Jai, Jayden, Lily, Georgie . . . everyone's right . . . and everyone's wrong. Problem is, I don't know the difference between right and wrong any more. My brain's like a busted GPS – heading off in all directions.

'The internet is mankind's greatest invention!' Tilly declares. 'Bigger than the wheel or the telephone. There are more than a billion people who can talk to each other and share their lives and opinions. And we're all part of the best conversation the world's ever had.'

Oh yeah? I ask how come most of the conversation on the net seems to be about Angelina Jolie's kids.

'Don't be smart, Eleanor,' snaps Tilly.

She's called me 'Eleanor' and that hardly happens, so she must be about to give me a serious talking to.

'It's exactly like real life,' says my sister, who seems to have been blessed with X-ray vision as she narrowly misses a biker who's shaking his leather fist at us. 'You meet someone down the street and say, "Hey, what about Angelina Jolie's kids?" But when you get past that, there's a whole lot more stuff to talk about. Big stuff. Important stuff. And that's what most of us are doing on the net. All the rest is just dumb gossip.'

Tilly's phone rings and I sincerely hope she's not going to answer it while she's driving. No such luck. She rummages in her handbag and again we veer across the road to jeering toots from other cars. She scans the screen and now she's texting, driving and talking all at the same time. It's utterly nerve-racking.

'Do you know that right this minute I could probably send a text from my mobile phone to the International Space Station circling almost 350 kilometres above the earth?' she says.

I tell her what Mum said about all the people in refugee camps dragging buckets of water. If they had a mobile, what would they ask the International Space Station?
Hey, can you see my cardboard shack from up there?

'Of course there are millions who live in poverty right now,' Tilly nods. 'But it's not the internet that's causing it. One day every single person in the world will be online and have unlimited access to all the knowledge that's stored there, just like us.' We fly into the library's car park, brakes squealing. 'And they won't have to spend three hours looking for a parking space to get to it.'

'I'm sorry, dear, but you can't get on the net today. All the computers have been booked for this afternoon and right through to this evening,' says the woman from behind the front desk at the Oldcastle library.

I look at Tilly and see the blood drain from her face.

'
What?
' She shakes her head, uncomprehending, as if the librarian is speaking Swahili.

'We only have four computers in operation at the moment. Of course you're very welcome to bring your laptop in and use our wireless network . . .'

The rest of her sentence trails away as Tilly rudely turns her back and marches out the door, stopping only to kick over the Wilderness Society plaster koala on the footpath. The librarian's mouth is hanging open in shock and before she can complain about Tilly's appallingly bad manners, I quickly ask her when a computer might become available.

'Any time between 9 am and about 4 pm is perfectly fine,' she says. 'But I don't suppose that's much help to you, being during school hours.'

She's right there. I thank her and race across the car park to where Tilly is already backing her car out. I leap in the passenger seat and with a screech of tyres we roar out onto the main road again.

'I need an internet café. There's one down at Crowns on Wobbegong Beach,' Tilly gabbles as she puts the foot down.

Wobbegong Beach? Erk! If I could turn this car around right now, I would. Could Will be there? Could he be there with Lily? Could Bianca, Jay and Jayden – and in fact most of Year Nine – be there lying in wait behind a tea-tree with a lump of wood? If I had my mobile I'd be able to ring Bianca and find out. I suppose Tilly would lend me her phone, but now that Ponsford The Airhead is off my Christmas card list, there's no way I'm calling her.

As Winchester Headland comes into view at a truly terrifying speed, my schoolbag turns into a safety airbag. I whine to Tilly that I want to go home.

'You can catch the bus back if you want,' says Tilly grimly. 'I've got a ton of stuff to print out and I've got to get organised. I start exams next week, Elly. Next week! That's seven days away. Stop being so selfish.'

The car comes to a stop on the gravel with another almighty lurch and I'm saved by my bag from catapulting through the windscreen and onto the footpath. Tilly's out the door in a flash. I sit and catch my breath and peer through the car windows in all directions. There's no-one around. The coast is literally clear, so I climb out of the car.

The first thing I'm glad to see is that there's absolutely no surf. The sun is mostly hidden behind banks of grey clouds and the sea is choppy and dull. Here and there the odd whitecap is being whipped up by a cross-shore wind. As Will would say:
It's blown out
and messy – nothing to see here.

That means of course that Will won't be down at the beach tonight, and I hope he's home in his cosy little shack in Hammerhead. At least that's one place Jayden wouldn't dare go. Will's dad Took would bounce him down the sand on his pointy head.

But then I can't help wondering whether Lily is there too. Is she sitting on the floor with Pookie playing Boggle? Is she dipping into jars of glaze, helping Jasmine decorate her pretty pots? Or is she sitting on the old cane couch in Will's bedroom, snuggled in his arms, her head on his chest and watching the late afternoon sun slant across the ocean?

The thought that Lily might have slipped so easily into my place, eating Jasmine's delicious curry puffs and listening to and laughing at Took's crazy stories, makes me unbearably sad. I wish I had my mobile now. I'd ring Carmelita. I know she'd say,
It's all in
your imagination, Els. Just calm down and stay focused on what
you know.

But I don't have my mobile this afternoon and I'm alone with thoughts that take flight like a sea eagle, swooping off towards the misty horizon.

I button up my blazer to keep myself warm and think back to lunchtime today for the trillionth time. I can't stop replaying the scene in my head. What was in that envelope Lily held out to Will? The one he didn't want to take. A love letter? And why was she crying? I'm still trying to imagine what could have gone down there when there's a loud
bang!
from the front door of Crown's
.
I see Tilly – her dark eyebrows scrunched together like two demented caterpillars – stomping towards the car.

'BLOODY BACKPACKERS!' she spits and wrenches open the door. 'Stealing our waves and hogging our computers! Get in the damned car!'

And then we're backing out and skidding on gravel.

'You should have seen those boofheads huddled over every single screen in the place with their cans of Red Bull and bags of jelly beans and disgusting knitted beanies. Playing their lame online games. Poncing around pretending to be dragon slayers or wizards . . . it's all dumb, time-wasting CRAP!'

So much for the great online meeting of brainiacs in the sky.

'What am I going to do
now
?' wails Tilly. 'It's all so . . .'

And, uh-oh! Tilly's crying! As I watch, the tears spring from her eyes with such force they land and
ping
off the steering wheel.

'I'll drop you home and then go to Eddie's place,' she sniffs. 'I'll use his laptop. I think the flat upstairs has a network and I might be able to log into that if I can get the password. But there's no printer . . . so I guess I'll use a data stick. And then print it out tomorrow . . . at school or the library . . . My God, this is a
nightmare
!'

It is a bad dream. We're teenagers on the edge of a technological breakdown. And if we're this hopeless and unable to cope without our shiny gadgets, imagine if we were caught in a war zone, invaded by aliens or about to be hit by an asteroid?

EEEK! That wasn't an asteroid that almost wiped us out, but a Beefeater Butchery smallgoods van. I beg Tilly to
pleeeeease
slow down. She pretends not to hear how terrified I am as we whiz along Kensington Street. I suddenly remember that the post office is meant to be here somewhere. In the schoolbag I'm hugging to my chest there's a pile of Nan's party invitations that I promised to post.