Miss Understood (22 page)

‘Well, that’s just the thing, Betty. It’s not really my fault either. We’ve got chemicals in our brains –’

‘Who does?’ I interrupted.

‘We all do. These chemicals make everything work properly. But if you don’t have enough, you sometimes need help to not feel cranky and miserable.’

This was confusing. In fact, it wasn’t really making any sense at all. ‘So you’re saying that you’re cranky and miserable all the time? But you’re, like, really happy. You know, making jokes and being silly, and getting the words of songs wrong.’

‘I know. I’m good at that, aren’t I? But I don’t feel that way all the time. A lot of the time I feel very down. Of course, you’re allowed to feel sad when sad things happen, and you can get angry about things when they deserve it. But not all the time, even when things are good.’

‘But I remember Ms Richardson getting us to write down all the good things and all the bad things we had in our life, and to then think about how many more good things there were than bad things. Why don’t you just do that to make yourself feel better?’

‘That’s the point, Betty,’ he said. ‘Exactly that. I
know
how good my life is. But then I get so angry or down about things that really shouldn’t make me react that way. And that’s why I went to see the doctor.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He agreed that those things shouldn’t make me react that way. So he’s given me a few things to try, like some medicine, and the name of a lady he’d like me to talk to. He also gave it a name.’

‘A name? What did he call it?’

‘He called it the Black Dog, because these feelings are just sniffing around at your feet and getting in the way.’

‘The Black Dog,’ I repeated. ‘At least Muppet is mostly white.’

‘That’s true,’ Dad said. ‘Here, I got something for you to look at.’ He placed a brochure on the table. It was red and white, with a cartoony black dog on the front, and these words:
Keeping Depression on a Leash.
‘You can read it later if you like. And Betty, I’m really sorry.’

I gave him my confused-but-also-a-bit-cranky face. ‘You just said it’s not your fault.’

‘It’s not. Not really.’

‘Then stop saying sorry.’

W
hen we’d finished our drinks, Dad handed me the car keys. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ he said. ‘I just want to have a quick chat with Lou.’

I read the Black Dog brochure while I waited. I didn’t understand every single bit of it, but lots of it did make sense. And on the second page was a checklist. I read it carefully. Mood swings, having no energy, feeling like everything was hopeless, finding it hard to keep relationships, feeling like everyone else was doing better. Yes, I thought that a lot of them sounded like my dad.

Later, after we’d got home, I took Muppet for a walk. It had been a while since I’d done that, and when he heard me get the lead, he went kind of crazy, running around my legs and almost tripping me over.

We walked to the end of our street and over three more streets until we reached the little HomeFest office that was built into the front of one of the display houses. There, rearranging the brochures along the top of the black marbly bench, was Derek. No one else was in the room, and in the corner was a big TV playing a DVD of the insides of huge houses.

Derek looked up when I walked in. ‘Sorry, no dogs, if you don’t mind . . . Oh, it’s you,’ he said. ‘Betty.’

‘Hi, Derek,’ I said. ‘Thanks for not saying you knew me the other day. Mum and Dad don’t know that I’ve been coming over to the house to talk to you through the window.’

‘I guessed,’ he said. ‘And thanks to you too, for not telling anyone.’

‘Are you going to be all right?’ I asked him, because it felt as if we were friends now, sort of.

‘Oh, yeah, we’ll work it out,’ he said, even though his eyes said something completely different.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ I said, and I put the Black Dog brochure on the top of the marbly counter.

‘You didn’t take it from where you work, did you?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s about the Black Dog,’ I said.

‘I can see that.’

‘There’s a list in there.’

‘A list?’

‘Of things that you might be feeling.’

‘Oh. Thanks – maybe I’ll read that later,’ he said, opening the brochure and glancing inside, then tucking it away in his shirt pocket.

‘There’s a whole bunch of phone numbers and websites and things inside as well,’ I said.

‘Good. Thanks.’

He looked kind of uncomfortable then, so I said, ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Come on, Muppet.’

Dinner that night was a yummy beef stroganoff that Dad gave four and a half stars, as usual. I gave it five, because Mum was looking a bit sad, and I thought she could do with the encouragement. And then Dad said, ‘I’m going to do something unprecedented, and change my score. I’m going to give my first perfect score.’ Which made Mum look a lot less sad.

I went upstairs to call Jenni from my room, but as I passed the door to Dad’s study, I heard him make this big sigh, like he’d been trying to catch his breath, and had finally been able to do it. I stopped and looked in. He was sitting at his desk, slightly hunched over.

When I put my hand on his arm, he looked at me all surprised, as if he’d just woken up in a room he didn’t recognise. ‘Hey, Betty,’ he said. ‘Whatcha doing?’

‘Seeing if you’re okay,’ I said.

‘Oh, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I just sent an email that I didn’t really want to send, that’s all.’

‘What kind of email?’

‘I sent the apology.’

‘The one to the restaurant?’

‘The one to the newspaper
about
the restaurant.’

‘You told us you weren’t going to do that,’ I said. ‘Why did you change your mind?’

‘Sometimes you can be right but still a bit wrong,’ he told me. ‘I know that makes me sound like I’ve been spending too much time listening to a TV yoga instructor, but I think it’s true. The food at Yuck Sausage
was
terrible. In fact, the only thing worse than the food was the service.’ Then he smiled a bit, like he found what he’d just said quite funny.

‘So why are you saying sorry?’ I asked him.

‘Because it doesn’t really matter what I thought – my review was still a bit mean, like you said. And I can’t afford to go to court, only to be told that I have to apologise, and give them a whole bunch of money. That’s why, Betty.’

‘Can I read it?’

‘Some other time, maybe,’ he said.

I went to my room then, but instead of calling Jenni, I took out my project and kept working on it. I’m not sure how long I worked on it, but the next thing I knew, Mum was telling me that it was late and I should start getting ready for bed.

I went back to Dad’s study. He was still in there, reading something in his comfy chair.

‘You again,’ he said when I went in. Then he saw the folder in my hand. ‘What’s that?’

I held it out. ‘It’s not quite finished yet, but it’s the thing I had to do for Mum. She wanted me to do a project on someone with an interesting job, or an interesting past, or who was just an interesting person.’

‘Basically someone interesting,’ he said, smiling again. ‘And who did you do it on? Can I see?’

‘Well, before I give it to you, I should tell you that Mum thought I could send this to Mr Hilder as well as the report from the charity shop, just to show him that I’ve learnt something else as well, and then hopefully he’ll let me come back. I’m putting this in with it,’ I said, handing him the letter I’d written to go with the project.

Dad took it from me, cleared his throat and began to read.

‘“Dear Mr Hilder . . .”’ He paused and looked at me sternly. But I could see a bit of fun in the corner of his mouth. ‘You weren’t tempted to start with, “Hey, Barry!” or “Was’sup, Bazza?”’

I shook my head. I really hadn’t been. I hadn’t even remembered that Mr Hilder’s name was Barry!

‘Fair enough,’ Dad said. ‘Respect is important. “Dear Mr Hilder,

‘“I want to say thanks for letting me write to you about getting back into Our Lady of the Sacred Wimple. I’ve had lots and lots of chances to think about things since you told me I had to leave the school for a while, and I think that maybe I’ve changed a bit. I also know a bit more about taking responsibility for my actions.

‘“When I was doing homeschool with my mum, she told me I had to do a project on someone with an interesting job, or an interesting story to tell. The person I picked has both of these things. Also, he’s a bit like me, because sometimes people think he’s one way when he’s another way, and sometimes people blame him for things that aren’t even his fault. (That doesn’t mean I’m saying that what happened with the cardboard principal that those kids made wasn’t my fault, by the way. That was my fault, and I totally get that now. And even though I said sorry at the time, I want to say it again – I’m really, really, really, really, really, really, REALLY sorry.) This person is also heaps responsible, and I thought that if I sent you my project along with my letter about what I think I’ve learnt, you might let me come back to Our Lady of the Sacred Wimple. And if you do let me come back, I promise I’ll try much harder.

‘“Anyway, this project is about . . .”’

Dad stopped reading, and then he looked at me. It was as if he was trying really hard to think of the right words to say, because his voice wasn’t even working.

‘You did it about me?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Is that okay?’

‘It’s more than okay. I’m honoured, Betty.’ He opened the front cover of the folder and read the first page. Then he looked up at me. I think he might have had something in his eye, because he was blinking, a
lot
.

‘You all right?’ I asked him.

‘Interesting? You think I’m interesting?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Of course you’re interesting. And responsible, too. You didn’t have to go and see the doctor about the Black Dog. You could have just been cranky all the time. But you went and saw him, and you also said sorry to those people you upset, like the ones who came into the house, and for the review you wrote, and . . . and everything else as well.’

‘You think I’m interesting
and
responsible! Wow!’

‘And you know what else, Dad? Maybe – just maybe – you’re a bit like me.’

Then his eyes went all twinkly, which is probably impossible, but it still looks like a totally real thing when it happens. ‘I’m a bit like you? A ten-year-old girl?’

That really made me laugh.

‘You’re mad,’ he said.

‘I’m just like you,’ I said.

Because I am.

If you or someone you know is feeling like things are too much to cope with, here are some people who can help.

www.kidshelpline.com.au
or 1800 55 1800
www.lifeline.org.au
or 13 11 14
www.beyondblue.org.au
or 1300 22 4636

JAMES ROY was born in western New South Wales in 1968 and spent much of his childhood living with his missionary family in Papua New Guinea and Fiji, where he adventured by day and read books by night.

His critically acclaimed works of fiction and non-fiction include the CBCA Honour Books
Captain Mack
and
Billy Mack’s War
, and the CBCA Notable Books
Full Moon Racing
,
A Boat for Bridget
,
The Legend of Big Red
,
Anonymity Jones
and
Town
. In 2008,
Town
also won the Ethel Turner Prize for Young People’s Literature in the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards as well as the Golden Inky in Australia’s only teenage choice awards.
Anonymity Jones
won the 2010 Western Australian Premier’s Book Award for young adult literature.

James lives with his family in the Blue Mountains. He enjoys trying to make music and art, doesn’t like olives very much, and hasn’t entirely abandoned his dream of sailing around the world.

ALSO BY JAMES ROY

Almost Wednesday

Full Moon Racing

Captain Mack

Billy Mack’s War

Problem Child

Edsel Grizzler: Voyage to Verdada

Town

Hunting Elephants

Anonymity Jones

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian
Copyright Act 1968
), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Version 1.0
Miss Understood
9781742748771

Copyright © James Roy 2012

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

A Woolshed Press book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at
www.randomhouse.com.au/offices

First published by Random House Australia in 2012

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

Author: Roy, James
Title: Miss Understood [electronic resource] / James Roy
ISBN: 978 1 74274 877 1 (ebook)
Target audience: For primary school age
Dewey number: A823.4

Cover photo © iStockphoto.com/J-Elgaard
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