Chloe came down to see me yesterday. It was hard talking to her. She brought some tuck, which was good, and her new boyfriend, a guy called Hamish. I swear, she has a new boyfriend every week. Last Christmas she bought a card with ‘To My Boyfriend’ on the front, but she made sure she didn’t fill in a name till the last minute. Anyway, I suppose I should be glad she came. At least she’s trying. But why can’t I talk properly to her? She asked me what subjects I was doing, what the teachers were like, what my dorm was like, if I needed any money, whether I’d heard from Mum or Dad. I asked her who’d done her hair, how her tennis was going, what work was like, whether she’d been to any good parties, how Ilka was. But we didn’t really talk once.
Hamish is a bit of a spunk actually. I think she’s done quite well for herself this time. He’s tall, with curly hair, and a bit pale, but he dresses well and he did crack some good lines. He works for his parents, in a ski-hire business. I think he’s a fair bit older than Chloe.
The tuck was good, but can you believe it, I put it in my locker, and by tonight three Mars Bars had gone and, I think, a can of drink too. This place is full of kleptos. It makes you sick. Emma said I should go and see Mrs Graham, but what’s the good? I tried that last year and she didn’t do a thing, just told me I should take more care of my stuff. So instead I made a speech at the start of Prep, and said I wanted it all put back, no questions asked, by lights out. I know it won’t be though.
FEBRUARY 20
Dear Mr Journal, sorry I’m neglecting you a bit. You won’t be getting much attention tonight either, I hate to tell you. It must be hard being a Journal—so closed and quiet for days on end, then coming to life for half an hour when someone opens you and puts a bit of breath into you.
It’s only five minutes before the end of Prep. I’ve hardly got anything done tonight. The French test yesterday was such a disaster that we have to do it again tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll go any better. Then I had a fight with Sophie—my first one, although I don’t think she’s ever liked me much. But she was being such a bitch to Marina. Marina, she annoys me too. I think people should show a bit of guts, instead of sneaking round the place like a shadow. I know she’s had a hard time, and it’s terrible what’s happened to her, but she’s not the only one, and she sure doesn’t help herself.
I was watching her a bit today but you have to be careful. If she thinks you’re watching she becomes self-conscious and hides, or makes like she’s busy. Like in Maths, she was sitting next to Cathy, and everyone was looking at Cathy while she was answering some long problem, and Marina just kept her head down and pretended she was writing. But I could see what she was doing: drawing faces in her book. I’ve seen her do that quite a lot.
At mealtimes she always sits near big groups, but if they talk to her she moves away quickly. And I don’t know if I’m imagining this, but I reckon she hangs around the phone a lot when people are talking to their parents. She always seems to be there, I don’t know why. It just struck me tonight.
Speaking of phones . . . I wish Huw’d ring. I like him, but he is slack. I’ve rung him the last three times, and it’s such a hassle. It’s the same for people ringing here I guess. You wait ten minutes for someone to answer, then you wait ten minutes for them to find him, and half the time he’s not there anyway, and that’s cost you every coin you’ve got. Last week I think they forgot me completely—I hung on for half the night, then got cut off without any answer.
FEBRUARY 21
This weekend’s the first Exeat Day, the only way to get out of here short of tunnelling. Issy asked me to go out with her parents but I said Chloe and Hamish were coming down again. They’re not, but I hate wrecking people’s exeats all the time by going out with them. It’s not fair to them. Issy hasn’t seen her parents for over three weeks and she’s entitled to the time. Then Tracey asked me too, and I used the same excuse. I think everyone’s going out except me, but I don’t, repeat, do not care.
I feel so disgusting tonight. I pigged out on a whole block of peppermint chocolate. Why do I do these things? I just took off the wrapper and tore open the foil, thinking I’d have one row, four squares, and then stop . . . ten minutes later I was licking up the last crumbs and feeling sick and revolting already. I’ll have to go for another run tomorrow. I do all that training and then blow it in one big binge. My ambition is to win the biathalon. I came fifth last year, which wasn’t bad for Year 8, and since then Holly, Liz Matthews and Liz Chen have left.
We had to write a poem for Prep. Yikes! I can’t write poems. He gave us the first line and we had to do the rest. Mine was:
In the silence of the night (he gave us that)
The house was dark and tense.
I looked at the sky and thought,
But nothing made any sense.
I looked at the moon and the clouds,
I saw the shape of a bird.
I said a silent prayer
And wondered if anyone heard.
We’ve been passing them around all through Prep. People seemed to like mine. Sophie wrote:
In the silence of the dark
I thought of Steve and thought of Mark.
I thought of David, Will and Rick,
Jeremy, Richard, James and Nick.
Alex, Trent, Serge and Ben
Where are you guys? I need some men!
Way to write, Soph! She was pretty proud of that.
I liked Cathy’s poem the most, but she’s the best writer in the class.
In the silence of the night
I walked across a plain
Of falling flowering snow
And gentle dancing rain.
I came to a rippling river
Near a smooth and ancient hill.
Where the snow was soft and even
And the wind and stars stood still.
And there I saw the colour
That I’d been looking for,
A little green by the river,
A tree that grew on its shore.
FEBRUARY 22
Dear Ms Journal, I got heaps and heaps of work done tonight, while everyone else carried on like immature idiots. The latest craze is spitballs. They get gobs of paper, slag on them endlessly till they’re soaking wet, then chuck them at each other—or at the walls when the tutor turns her back.
Kate used yellow paper for hers, that left nice yellow stains on everything.
In the middle of all this, Miss Curzon, who was on duty, caught Sophie with one in her hand, that she was getting ready to throw. ‘Put that straight in the bin Sophie,’ Miss Curzon said. Miss Curzon never shouts, but you know when she’s serious, and she was serious. ‘Oh Miss Curzon, I can’t,’ said Sophie. ‘He’s my pet.’ She was cuddling it like it was a mouse or something. ‘His name’s Albert,’ Sophie said, looking round at Kate to make sure she was laughing. I hate the way she does that. Miss Curzon started shouting then. I don’t blame her. Sophie’s always so rude to her.
I tell you what though, Ms Journal, if they start mucking round after Lights Out again tonight I’ll be into them like a nuclear missile. Tomorrow’s a big day for me—there’s rowing all day, plus I want to go for a run and a swim before breakfast. Kate’s so inconsiderate that she’d talk all night, even if you’re sick or something.
I want to be totally stuffed by Sunday so I can just sleep all day, while everyone else goes out with their families.
FEBRUARY 25
Dear Journal, or Mr Lindell, whoever I’m writing to, I’m in the cruddiest mood, so don’t expect any great words of wisdom. Had a massive bitch fight with Sophie last night, then one with Ann this afternoon. Wonder who’ll be next? Line up folks, to be blown away by Cyclone Lisa. But honestly, I’ve asked Sophie about sixteen times not to smoke in the bathroom. I hate it. The fight with Ann wasn’t so bad—I thought she’d dobbed on Issy to Mrs Graham (Issy got three hours for getting into the kitchen on Friday night and knocking off some Milo) but Ann swore she didn’t, so I ended up believing her.
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Then, on Saturday, while I was rowing my guts out, some klepto took ten bucks from my drawer. Honestly, I’ve never been in a dorm where so much stuff gets kleptoed. It’s disgusting. Soph reckons it’s Marina, and Trace reckon’s it’s Emma, but I don’t think it’s anyone from this dorm. Trace is playing detective—trying to work out who was in the dorm on their own on Saturday—but she’s not getting far.
Just about everyone’s had money taken, and other stuff too. It’s really quite off. You don’t know who to trust.
The only thing about Saturday was that I was wrecked by the end of it. I ran eight k’s before breakfast, then we rowed till our arms were like dog food. Kizzy was crying from start to finish of the last sprints. Me, I love it. I want Eddie to drive us even harder. I wanted to go for a swim after training, and I would have too, if we hadn’t had an extra Inspection at five o’clock (Kate’s fault).
Went to Sick Bay yesterday, even though I hate going there, but I thought I had the flu. She just gave me Panadol. I chucked them away—I can’t take tablets any more. I choke on them now.
FEBRUARY 26
Dear Mr Lindell, do you think bears get periods? Alex seems very moody today, and off his food. I guess male bears are exempt.
I ran twelve k’s this afternoon—did the Horseshoe crossie, then kept going out, past the tip and back along the beach. Cathy came part of the way but she didn’t do the extra bit.
Mr Lindell, you know what Tracey said to me after English today? She said: ‘The reason you’ve got no friends is that you don’t tell anyone your problems.’ What a bitch! I hate the way they tell everyone every single detail about themselves. I don’t like talking about myself. Is that so bad? I mean, what’s talking going to do?
If you ask me, it’s dangerous. Once you start, you don’t stop. There’s things I have to keep secret, and it’s easiest to do that if you don’t talk about yourself too much. It cuts down the risks.
Marina’s got the right idea, I reckon. Anyway, my life’s so seriously stuffed that there’s nothing I can do about it. My Mum and Dad are never going to get back together, and I don’t even want them to. There’s no way Dad’s ever going to buy ‘Connewarre’ again. That’d be the only thing that would make me happy. No, that’s not true—it’s too late for Dad just to buy it back, as though that would fix everything. My ambition is to get enough money when I’m older to buy it myself, and live there fulltime.
Oh, I’m too depressed to write any more.
FEBRUARY 27
Wow, the fan sure got splattered tonight. Kate caught Marina with one hand in her locker and Kate’s Rock City shirt in the other. Kate went off like a space shuttle, grabbed Marina and chucked her half way across the dorm, yelling and screaming as only Kate can. As soon as Marina got a chance she snuck out of the dorm and disappeared, which turned out to be a major problem when we couldn’t find her again. Eventually we had to tell Mrs Graham, and the prefects got sent out to search. They found her in the Bag Room having a nervous breakdown, so now she’s in Sick Bay for the night, and we’re all in trouble.
It beats me how Marina can steal stuff and yet we end up in trouble.
Still, as Mrs Graham said, we don’t know for sure that she was stealing. The trouble with Marina is you never know where you are with her, ’cos she doesn’t defend herself. But I don’t think Mrs Graham was very fair to us. We’ve been pretty good to Marina, if you ask me. She hardly gets a hard time from anyone, and we often do her jobs for her, and we’re always offering to help her or give her things. It’s a bit hard when you don’t get any response though.
I wonder if she was knocking off Kate’s shirt. She wouldn’t want to be. But she might have just been admiring it, or she could have found it lying around and been doing her a favour by putting it back. Kate’s pretty sure it was in her locker though.
Anything’s possible, but we’ll probably never know the truth. Wonder if she took my ten bucks?
FEBRUARY 28
Rowing was so slack today. Eddie didn’t turn up, so Mr Bostock looked after us, as well as the Thirds, and I mean fair enough he had to give the Thirds most of his time, but he could have given us a few minutes at least. Instead he sent us on a run for about half an hour then just had us do sprints up and down the river. Because he wasn’t watching, no-one tried much. Ho hum, what a waste of time, what a useless afternoon.
MARCH 5
Tracey’s right about one thing. I don’t have any close friends. I don’t know if she’s right about why, but the way I see it, a lot of people like me OK but that’s where it stops. The funny thing is that I haven’t got any serious enemies at the moment, except Ann maybe. Even though I have quite a few fights, I try hard to get on with everyone most of the time. I’m always sharing tuck and lending people stuff and helping with jobs, and I’m pretty good friends with people like Issy and Kizzy and Trace. But no-one was there when I really needed them. Oh I suppose I should learn to ask, but I don’t seem too good at that.
Today, for instance, we had to clean the boats, and I ended up doing ours myself, ’cos all the others made excuses or hypo’d out of it. Then at tea I sat with Marina ’cos she was on her own again and looking pathetic. Then I spent most of first Prep teaching Sophie how to do sine and cos and tan. Sometimes it all gets a bit too much. Sometimes I feel like doing terrible things. That last time haunts me. I don’t want to remember it, but it sneaks back into my mind.
MARCH 6
Chloe rang tonight but I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk. She stayed with Mum last weekend and they went to ‘Her Majesty and Mr Brown’, then to Mt Sandon on Sunday. Wish they’d taken me to ‘Her Majesty’—I’d like to see that.
Last time Chloe rang I asked her to look for my old ballerina box when she went to Mt Sandon. It’s nothing much—just a tacky old music box that has a dancing ballerina when you open the lid. But when I was a kid I thought it was the greatest thing I’d ever been given. I’d begged for one for a year, and finally got it for Christmas—I can’t remember whether it was from Santa or who. I loved it so much. The trouble is, I was here at school when everything got packed and moved, and so much of my stuff got lost. Maybe it was just thrown out, I don’t know.
Anyway, when I asked Chloe tonight, she said she hadn’t had time to look for it. God she’s a selfish bitch. It’s pathetic of me to want it, I know, but I just do.
The ballerina’s stupid when you think about it—the way she just goes round and round.
MARCH 7
Marisa Chan asked me today if I’d organise the Debating teams for Years 7, 8 and 9. I was really flattered. I like doing jobs like that. The first Year 9 team is going to be Cathy Preshill, Rikki Martin and me, then we’ll probably change it for the next one. The topic is ‘Winning is Everything’ and we’re the Government, which suits me, ’cos winning is everything for me.
It’s against St Margaret’s, on the 21st. They’re always pretty good. We’ll have to get a move on.
I ran the 8k course tonight. These creeps in a car were following me along the road section—three or four of them, real losers, making smart comments. It’s happened before, but I never know what to do about it. If I dob on them I won’t be allowed to run again, not on my own anyway. I have to run to live. I breathe through my feet.
MARCH 12
Gee Mr Lindell, I’ve been a bit slack with my Journal these last few weeks. Sorry about that! When I look at Cathy’s, and see pages and pages in it every night I feel pretty bad. I’ll try harder, I promise.
There’s been plenty of action tonight anyway. Mrs Graham’s just been in here cracking a psycho about Trace and Emma who got back from Exeat severely off their faces. Trace chucked all over the bathroom floor. I ended up having to clean it up and put her to bed—she was giggling and falling over and wanting to talk to everyone non-stop. Then the moment she was in bed she suddenly dropped into a deep sleep and started snoring. What a mess. They’re pretty dumb.
It was a shock for Mrs Graham though—Trac
e and Emma are real try-hards, normally.
MARCH 14
Mr Lindell, do you think it’s fair that you can’t ring your mother even if she’s left a message asking you to ring? Two days ago Mum rang and left a message with whoever was on phone duty, for me to ring back, and I’ve been trying ever since, but there’s always someone on the phone. Then tonight I was going to Prep and saw it was free and I rushed over and started dialling the number, and before I’d even finished dialling, Mrs Graham was out of her flat yelling at me. It’s so unfair! And the more I tried to explain, the more mad she got.
You know what I love about teachers? They ask you a question, like ‘What are you doing on that phone?’ and then when you say, ‘Well, I was just ringing my . . .’ they yell, ‘Don’t answer me back!’
It’s hard to keep your sense of humour sometimes.
Wonder what it’s about? Probably Easter. Chloe and I are going to Hawaii with Dad. Can’t wait! They reckon it’ll still be warm enough to swim. I’m so excited—I try not to think about it, so I don’t get too churned up. He told Chloe he’s booked us business class, for a bit of an extravagance. Hope he can afford it—I’m grateful but I wish he wouldn’t waste money like that.
But what if Mum’s sick or something? I’m so cut off here. I hate the way this place does that.
MARCH 15
Dear Monsieur Diary, this debate’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’ve been trying to organise a meeting—shouldn’t be hard with three people—plus Miss Curzon wants to be there, because she’s our coach. But someone’s always got something else on, and Rikki doesn’t know if she can do it at all. We were going to have a meeting this afternoon but the rowing bus was so late that we didn’t get back till tea had started. Cathy’s collected some great quotes though, from a book in the library. ‘Every time you win, you’re reborn; when you lose, you die a little.’ That’s from a guy called George Allen. Then there’s one from someone called O. J. Simpson: ‘Show me a gracious loser and I’ll show you a perennial loser.’ I agree with that.