Up Over Down Under (14 page)

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Authors: Micol Ostow

BOOK: Up Over Down Under
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Billie cast her eyes down onto the floor, toward an invisible point several inches in front of her feet. She didn't respond. If she made too much of a fuss, or threw too much of a wobbler, would they send her back to Melbourne? She certainly wasn't ready for her semester to end.
Sensing her reluctance to spill any details, Ms. Franklin continued. “I can tell that you're trying to be diplomatic. That's a good thing. That's the professional way to be. You obviously know better than to be too squeaky of a wheel at work.”
If only Ms. Franklin actually knew.
“To be honest, I think I might already be too much of a squeaker as it is,” Billie confessed. Maybe she really had been starved for a new BFF; she was so appreciating talking freely with Ms. Franklin. “It might be time for me to tone it down at the internship, and decide to just make peace with sending useless e-mails on a daily basis.”
To Billie's surprise, Ms. Franklin actually burst out laughing. Now her teacher, the last vestige of her support system, was openly having a laugh at her expense?
“There are lots of other ways to get your voice heard, you know,” Ms. Franklin said gently as her laughter died down. “Ways that might be more subtle, but also more effective.”
“Like what?” Billie asked, curious.
“You could write a piece for the school paper here, maybe an editorial or a human interest piece about conservation. Take a hard look at some of the states that have imposed a clean-water tax and compare it to the budget problems here in D.C. and Virginia.”
Billie nodded, considering the suggestion. It wasn't a bad idea at all. “But . . . this being the capital and all…even the school paper must get heaps of submissions about things like the environment, or politics, or . . .” She trailed off. “The environment” and “politics” were all she'd taken in of D.C. since she'd arrived. Those, and museums. Did people write about museums?
“You'd be surprised,” Ms. Franklin said. “I think, precisely
because
we're an arts-based school in a political city, the newspaper tends to shy away from ‘issues' and lean more toward coverage of the arts—and specifically, student or school projects and exhibitions. Your viewpoint could bring a breath of fresh air to the paper.”
Billie grinned. “No pun intended.”
Ms. Franklin smiled right back. “How can you be sure of that?”
 
Ms. Franklin's suggestion was such a good one that, at lunchtime, Billie went straight to the student activities office. She found it on the third floor of the building, just next to the faculty lounge. It was a dingy room that some kind—and optimistic—souls had obviously seen fit to try to decorate with a smattering of inspirational posters (HANG IN THERE!) and teen magazine pullouts.
The room was empty save for two people. One was Heather, hunched over in her seat with her back to the door. She appeared to be focused intently on a notepad she held in her hand.
The other was Parker.
What were the odds? Billie wondered. Two of the only people she really knew in D.C., and they both worked on the newspaper for which she now wanted to write. This had to be one of those “karmic” moments that people on daytime talk shows always went on about.
Billie cleared her throat, and Heather whirled around in her seat. Her eyes widened when she saw Billie, and she tapped Parker's shoulder. The two of them seemed awfully surprised—though not unhappily so—to see Billie in the newspaper office. She took the fact that they were both offering quizzical smiles to be a good sign, and forged ahead.
“Hi,” she said, waving a tentative hand. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you guys.”
“You didn't,” Parker insisted. Then he took a breath and smiled even more broadly. “Duh. Obviously you did. Don't worry about it.”
“What are you doing here?” Heather asked, grinning. “Did you want to get your write on?” She tilted back in her rickety chair and ran her fingers through her mass of curly brown hair.
“It's just…Ms. Franklin told me that this was where I should go to sign up for the newspaper?” Billie scanned the room, seeing nothing by way of a sign-up sheet and, in fact, no real signs of life other than Parker and Heather.
“Yup,” Heather replied brightly. “But you don't have to literally sign up. I mean, there's no, like, sheet, or roster, or anything. You just get an article assigned to you.”
“Okay,” Billie said. “Easy enough. Who does the assigning?”
“That would be me,” Parker said, standing up. “I'm the editor in chief of the paper. And you”—he added, eyes twinkling—“are suddenly, what, my stalker or something?”
Billie couldn't help herself, she giggled. “You wish,” she quipped, then bit her lip nervously. Was she
flirting
with Parker? Was this what actual flirting was? If so, it left her feeling slightly weird. It was like she was…
spying
on Eliza, somehow. The fact that she and Parker seemed to have so much in common made it only odder still.
“Right,” Parker said, making a goofy face. “Tell me the truth—did Eliza put you up to it? Following me around, I mean?”
“It was dead simple,” Billie teased. “I recognized you straightaway from the pictures in her room,” she blurted without thinking.
At this, a slight blush crept up Parker's neck, spreading across his cheeks until he was fully flushed. “Yeah? She still has those up?”
“Oh, yeah,” Billie said, waving her hand in an “of course” sort of gesture. She felt a flush creeping up her own neck, though she wasn't sure exactly why it was happening.
Suddenly the air in the room had taken on a charge, like electricity. It was as though the mention of Eliza's pictures, however innocent, had suddenly set everyone on edge.
“I've been e-mailing her,” Parker continued, “but I haven't heard back yet. I guess she must be busy.”
Uh-oh. Have I walked into some relationship drama?
Billie worried to herself. If she didn't even have a relationship of her own, the last thing she needed was someone else's complications. Eliza hadn't mentioned much about Parker in her last e-mail to Billie, but then again, it wasn't like the girls were so close that they'd exchange all manner of boy-friendly secrets.
Now what?
Billie wondered. The room had grown awkwardly quiet. Even Heather was looking like she'd rather be buried in quicksand than caught in conversation with Billie and Parker.
Billie knew she had to say something. Purely on instinct, she tripped over herself agreeing with Parker enthusiastically.
“Yeah, the S.A.S.S. programs…they're murder on your social life.” Not that she knew this from experience, of course. The whole reason she wanted to write for the paper, after all, was because of her complete and total lack of social life.
“I'm sure you'll hear from her soon,” she added, briefly wondering if that was true. Or why she cared, for that matter. She'd never even met Eliza, and up until now, Parker had only been a bloke at her internship.
Heather shook her head softly, just outside of Parker's view. Then she rolled her eyes.
“Yeah,” Parker said shortly. “She just needs space, you know, to adjust over there....” He abruptly trailed off, as though afraid of having revealed too much. “Anyway,” he said, sighing and changing the subject, “you wanted to write?”
“Well, yeah, Ms. Franklin suggested it,” she said, wondering why she was suddenly feeling so shy. “Just, you know, as a more creative platform…”
“So, you want to do, like an op-ed piece?”
“Right.” Billie nodded. “About conservation. You know, what we can do, and how much, literally, of a difference each of our decisions makes every day.”
“Are you going to mention Proposition Seven?” Parker asked.
“Um, I think so,” Billie replied. “I was going to maybe look at a side-by-side analysis of other states that have enacted clean-water programs, and talk about the benefits of federal funding versus volunteer efforts.” Parker shrugged. “Works for me.”
Aces,
Billie thought. From where she still sat, Heather nodded, echoing her agreement.
He shook her hand, making their agreement that much more official. “Five hundred words. By Thursday, five P.M., if possible.”
“Too right!” Billie smiled. “No worries.”
Chapter Eleven
Subject:
busy bee!
 
 
Hey there—
I'm assuming they've got you running in circles down there in the outback, based on your radio silence! Don't worry—we're all managing here without you—just barely. ☺
I don't know how much you've been e-mailing with the exchange student, Billie, but she and I and have been interning together, and yesterday she came by the newspaper wanting to write. She seems pretty cool. She's really into the environment—I know, duh—but, like, even more so than a lot of the students here at Fairlawn. She's doing a piece on the benefits of an all-volunteer clean-water act here in D.C., assuming there is one. For her sake, I kind of hope there is one—who knows what your father will think if she keeps going on about how bummed she is that the Chesapeake Bay cleanup has been postponed. That could be awkward.
If you get a chance, shoot me a line. I want to hear how you're doing. But in the meantime, as they say where you are: “No worries.”
Parker
It felt like Eliza had merely blinked, and before she knew it the two weeks since Macca invited her to the college party had flown by. She had traded e-mails with Parker in that time, and was glad to hear that he seemed to be having fun back home, but their exchange really served only to underscore how excited and eager she was to be spending more time in Australia with Macca.
One thing she wasn't excited about, though, was the tight rein that the Echolses still held over her. It wasn't that they were mean, per se, but Eliza knew by this point that the Echolses did not look favorably on her being anywhere they couldn't find her after sunset—the incident with her cell phone had only reinforced that belief. She couldn't help but reflect on the fact that her own parents were, as a rule, much more lenient. Of course, she also had to admit to herself that, back in D.C., it was rare that she ever did anything after sunset that would give a parent pause. So there was that.
Regardless, Eliza was certain that sneaking into college parties with strange boys was probably on the Echolses' “forbidden” list. But bowing out was not an option. Therefore, she had, with Jess's help, come up with a plan that involved equal parts cunning, conniving, and conspiracy. Now the day had come, and Eliza was in the midst of nervously executing her scheme.
The girls had gone shopping the previous week. Eliza dipped into her spending money for a fabulous, funky black cocktail dress they'd uncovered at a thrift shop. She stashed it in Jess's closet so as not to arouse suspicion. Eliza had gotten the Echolses' permission to sleep over at Jess's house that night. She had called Mr. Winstone late that afternoon and, in strained tones, had told him that she would be unable to make the morning sample collection on Saturday as she was laid up with a terribly sprained ankle from a sports accident.
Now the pieces were all lined up in place, and all Eliza had to concentrate on was getting gorgeous for her Australian formal debut. Fortunately, Jess was in on those machinations, as well.
“Here, you have to try these.” Jess held a pair of diamond studs up to her ears. Eliza was focused on adjusting the hemline of her dress, turning to one side and then the other and squinting at herself in the mirror, making sure it looked good from every angle. Finally, satisfied that she was absolutely, every bit as cute as she could be, she glanced up at Jess.
“They're gorgeous. Are you sure it's all right for me to borrow them?”
“Absolutely. They'll look great on you; just don't lose them, okay?”
“Come on. You know me better than that.” She winked and held her right hand over her heart. “I do solemnly swear that I shall guard these earrings with my life.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jess rolled her eyes. “Just get a move on 'cause you're running late and you don't want to keep Hugh Jackman waiting.”
Eliza fastened the earrings, spritzed her hair with shine spray, and stealthily made her way downstairs and through the back door of Jess's house with Jess in tow. They walked out to the main road, where the cab they'd called earlier was waiting. Eliza opened the passenger door and turned back to Jess.
“How do I look?”

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