Smart Girls Don't Wear Mascara Read online

  Smart Girls Don’t Wear Mascara

  Published by Wombat Books

  PO Box 1519

  Capalaba QLD 4157

  Australia

  www.wombatbooks.com.au

  © Cecily Anne Paterson 2018

  Cover Design by Ann-Marie Finn

  Editing by Emily Lighezzolo

  Layout by Wombat Books

  Ebook ISBN : 9781925563634

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  For the Kangaroo Valley Public School

  Year 5 and 6 kids.

  Author’s note

  This book is set in Australia and uses Aussie words, expressions and spelling. We say ‘mum’ to rhyme with ‘thumb’. Year 6 is the same as sixth grade and, really importantly, high school begins in Year 7 and goes all the way through to Year 12. We do maths, not math, and we spell analyse and a bunch of other words with an ‘s’, not a ‘z’. In fact, lots of our spelling and vocabulary is just slightly different. If you come across a word you don’t know, check the glossary at the back of the book.

  Chapter 1

  The announcer’s voice started echoing around the showground hill. I got a tweak of nervousness in my stomach. It wasn’t much, just a pinch. A tiny little reminder of the fact that we were about to sing in front of, I don’t know, five hundred people. Maybe even a thousand. Whatever the number, it was pretty much everyone we knew in the whole town. They all turned out every year for this, glammed up in their special-occasion cowboy hats and checked shirts, kicking the dust and awkwardly wiping the sweat off their noses. The youth talent quest at the Kangaroo Valley Show—it was a big deal.

  And we were in it.

  When she called out our names—Jessica Styles, Bianca Georgio and me, Abby Smart—I breathed in, my body almost frozen. One foot managed to go in front of the other until I was up the stairs and standing on the back of a truck they’d turned into the stage with hay bales, bunting and fairy lights.

  I pulled Jessie up by the hand after me, like always, with Buzz pushing her from behind. ‘It’s nothing to be nervous about. Smart Girls stick together,’ we told her every year, and her big blue eyes peered out from her pale face.

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘it’s just … terrifying!’

  It wasn’t that scary for me.

  Feeling the slight give of the truck floor under my shoes, squinting in the sharp light and waiting for that one, tiny, exquisite moment when the music started and the earth stopped, that was what I loved best. Being on stage, the centre of energy—even just for the one song we were allowed to do—was amazing. Even when we didn’t win. We’d never won before.

  But this year was different. This year our names would be written in thick black marker on the winners’ envelope. I knew it, I just did. Even if child-genius-piano-prodigy Josh Pinkerton hadn’t moved up to the older age category and left the field wide open, it would still be us.

  It was our year. Our turn. Our stage.

  We lined up shoulder to shoulder in a row of matching red t-shirts and denim shorts, with me in the middle. There was one microphone for each of us and heaps of speakers at our feet. Buzz was getting comfortable, shaking her shoulders and pulling at her t-shirt. On the other side of me, Jessie was a deer in headlights. I poked her hip with my thumb and snuck her a look.

  ‘Don’t forget to smile,’ I whispered. She looked back at me with horror in her eyes, but all I could do was shrug my shoulders. It was too late to try and talk her up any more. The announcer—a woman with black clothes, a bright red scarf and dyed orange hair—was speaking.

  ‘We all know them. They’re the inseparable trio, and they’re here once again this year to entertain us with “Tomorrow” from the musical, Annie. A big hand, folks …’

  In the fading light, the audience—still holding drinks and sausage sizzles—clapped and whooped. Through the lights I could see Sam standing down at the fence line. He was cheering and giving us his best big-muscle arms. Yeah. Woo-hoo! Even my brother Miles, for once, was clapping, but maybe that was because he was sitting with Mum and Dad and they’d told him to be nice. From the stage Buzz gave a tiny wave. It looked like it was for Sam and his friend, Ollie, but I couldn’t quite tell.

  The cheering died down and a hush came over the crowd. They waited for the sound guy, in the smaller truck parked nearby, to work the tech.

  They waited.

  We did too.

  Jessie was nearly dying. Her face was greenish. ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered to me, so I used my I’m-being-strong look to sort it out.

  ‘Yes. You can. You’re great. We need you,’ I said, looking at her full in the eyes. ‘Plus. We Smart Girls have to stick together.’

  She put her hand up to her mouth and I could hear her panting a little. I wasn’t worried. It was just the panic. She always recovered and told us how much she loved it after. I stood taller to compensate for her, beamed a smile out to the whole audience and then, finally, it happened.

  The music started.

  When the violins began to play, my stomach tightened, but then my arms relaxed and my throat opened and it was like one of those dreams where you begin a slow run, knowing you’re about to take off and fly.

  I looked at Jessie. She seemed okay. I caught Buzz’s eyes and she grinned, and then the three of us, on cue, opened our mouths and sang together.

  The words of the song were about the sun and I could see it in my mind, opening up its wide, warm embrace. The three of us put out both arms, palms up, to hug it back, just like we practised at home. We got through the second verse. I was relaxed. Even Jessie looked like she was going to be okay, and we smiled at each other as we headed into the next part of the song. The music was building, the tension rising.

  Imaginary clouds moved in with the change in the words. I was actually shivering thinking of them, and my voice became anxious for a second before the tension broke and we soared up, wild, into the sky with the chorus.

  Truly, when the notes flew out of my mouth, it felt like there were stars raining down gently on the audience. I had always known I could sing, but tonight was taking it to a whole other level. Buzz and Jessie were keeping up, but all I could hear was my own voice and again, I knew, just knew that that’s all everyone else could hear as well, because their eyes were on me completely. No one near the stage was eating or sipping or whispering anymore. I caught a glimpse of a tiny child pressed into his dad’s embrace. He was transfixed.

  The piped orchestra stopped and the sound guy pressed ‘end’ on the CD. For a silent half-second, the audience—sitting on the grassy hill and painted white stands, with children hanging off the fence at the bottom—all stayed completely still. My body was frozen. A rush of terror flushed through me and, for an instant, I understood how Jessie felt. But it wasn’t for long. In one movement, the entire town exploded with applause. People were standing, clapping, stomping and cheering.

  ‘Yeah! Woot! Woo-hoo!’ yelled Ollie. ‘Go girls!’ Next to him Sam pumped his fist in the air. Miles was screeching and for once I didn’t mind his squeaky voice. I looked further up the hill onto the benches where the grown-ups were sitting and saw Mum and Dad doing their shoulders-up dance from their we-once-lived-in-India phase. Only piano-playing Josh, skulking close to the stage with his music-carrying mum, didn’t look impressed, but I was so happy I didn’t even mind.

  The smile
on my face was going to be permanent. I honestly believed, right at that moment, that my heart would never be unhappy again. Kangaroo Valley, this tiny town, was and always would be the very best and most awesome place in the entire universe. The crowd was sending waves of love to me and I was sending thanks with everything I had before Jessie and Buzz grabbed my hands and I realised that we had to do something about getting off the stage. We bowed low once together; twice when the clapping didn’t stop. Finally we climbed, half-falling, down the shaky steps and walked back to our spot on the hill, hugging each other and giving high-fives to every little kid who tugged at our t-shirts.

  ‘You guys are so great,’ I said, grabbing my friends around the shoulders. ‘We were awesome, weren’t we? I told you. Smart Girls stick together. This is our year.’

  We sat impatiently through the final acts. A gaggle of girls from Year Three sang and danced, wearing cat ears and painted-on whiskers. There were a few ‘oohs’, but I was pretty sure they were just from their grandparents, recording it with their phones. A small kindergarten boy danced to a song I’d never heard of, shaking his hips and grooving with a hilarious over-confidence that got the crowd going.

  Jessie was melting. ‘Aw, he’s so adorable,’ she said. Her hands went straight to her heart. ‘Look at that!’

  ‘He won’t win, will he?’ asked Buzz, leaning over to me. ‘He can’t beat us.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Can he?’

  For a couple of minutes I was nervous that perhaps the judges would go for the cute factor. I wanted to pick at my fingers and flick my toes but I knew I had to stay confident, at least until the judges had talked and the woman came back to the microphone.

  ‘It’s going to be us,’ I told Buzz and Jessie. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Buzz. ‘Look. She’s speaking.’ We craned our necks forward, trying to hear.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ began the announcer. ‘I know you’ve all been waiting for this—some of you all year! And I’m not going to keep you in suspense. Tonight’s runner up is …’ She took a deep breath and smiled at the audience. ‘It’s Max Jones! Yes, Max, we’ve never seen so much confidence from such a little person, and such groovy dance moves. Come up here, young man, and pick up your prize.’

  ‘Ohhh, that’s so cute,’ exclaimed Jessie, clutching her hands to her cheeks as the kindergarten dance sensation walked out to get his prize. He turned left instead of right and his mum ran up to the stage to help him. ‘Oh, how adorable. Look, Abby, he doesn’t even know where to go.’

  I couldn’t answer. My confidence had been overtaken by a very strong sensation of concrete in my lungs.

  ‘We do have a winner for tonight,’ the announcer continued. ‘With so much talent in our wonderful Valley, it’s very difficult to choose. But our judges have done their best and there is a name on this envelope.’

  I let out a sudden squeak. Completely without meaning to, of course. Buzz gave me an odd look.

  ‘Tonight’s winners are … Buzz, Jessie and Abby!’ The announcer’s face swelled into a massive grin. ‘Come up here, girls. You’re getting the prize!’

  Buzz immediately started screaming and Jessie’s mouth was open, but I was simultaneously aware of three things. First, the relief. It was instant and overwhelming, like jumping into a pool on a warm day. Second, the words ‘I was right, I knew it’ playing over and over in my brain. Third, a smile—bigger than any other smile ever before—stretched from one side of my face to the other. I had reached the part of the dream where you flew and nothing could bring you down.

  Two hours later, when the prize money had been spent on ice cream and bumper cars, the music was starting to fade and I was waiting for Mum and Dad—who always had just one more person they really needed to catch up with—I was still smiling. A cold fog came up from the river, chasing the warm evening away and I shivered slightly in the stands under the tall spotlight. Miles was asleep like a puppy on the bench next to me.

  The Show was nearly over for another whole year now, and the stragglers were starting to head home, laden up with sideshow prizes, bags of produce or their prize-winning something-or-other they had entered in the Pavilion. I was dangling my feet, replaying our performance in my head, picturing what the three of us must have looked like from up here. Whenever someone walked past, they said, ‘Congratulations Abby,’ or, ‘Wow, you can really sing, Abby. That was great.’ My face was getting tired but the smiles found a way to pop out of my heart and onto my face every time anyway.

  I could hear Mum and Dad still chatting below the stands. I was tired, but there was no way I was going to sleep on Show night. Instead, I jiggled my feet, shrugged my shoulders and stretched my neck. As my head moved from one side to another, my eyes caught a flicker. I stopped and turned back to follow it, then gasped.

  High above me, in the light of the spotlight, was a golden, buzzing glow. Burning there were tiny fire fairies, sprinkles of floating golden dust. It looked ethereal. It was a gift; something rich and beautiful to finish the very best day of my life.

  And then I realised something else. This was a sign. It had to be. Just like before, when I knew we would win, now I knew something else. All of this—this win, these friends, this warmth, this song, this night, these smiles—were only the start. It was no coincidence that we picked ‘Tomorrow’ as our song.

  Something very special was going to happen this year.

  Chapter 2

  I was on the phone at nine in the morning, which was the earliest Mum would let me ring. She and Dad were sleepy-eyed, drinking tea and reading the latest papers piled on top of the already-read papers. It was a little game they played—who could keep theirs open longest without having to move anything off the table. Miles had already disappeared on his bike towards Sam’s place. He practically lived down there with Oscar, who was his best friend and Sam’s little brother. Ziggy was emitting little dog snores and gruffle noises from where he was settled on top of a pile of cushions and old jumpers in the corner of the room.

  ‘Jess? It’s me. Listen, can your dad drop you down after he’s back from milking? I’ve got something to tell you. And it’s really important.’

  When I rang Buzz, she was still asleep. At nine in the morning! I couldn’t believe it (I’d been up since six-thirty).

  ‘Can you wake her up, Sylvia? Pleeeease?’ I begged her mum. ‘It’s super important.’ She did that ‘I don’t know’ noise with her mouth that grown-ups do, but she went into Buzz’s room anyway. I heard her muffled conversation.

  ‘Bianca? Abby’s on the phone. Well, obviously, yes, I know. It’s nine o’clock anyway. Here. Just talk.’ I assumed she handed the phone to Buzz as her sleepy voice came through the speaker.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Good morning, Bianca.’ I loved to tease her when I heard her mum use her full name. ‘Wakey-wakey!’

  ‘No. Seriously. What?’

  My voice went back to normal. ‘I can’t believe how grumpy you are in the mornings.’

  ‘I’m only grumpy when I get woken up at the crack of dawn,’ she said. There was a shuffling sound and I could hear movements. ‘Ugh. Alright. I’m getting up. But you have to tell me what you want.’

  ‘I can’t tell you on the phone,’ I said. ‘It’s bigger than that. Can you come over? Jessie is. We need to be together today. It’s really important.’

  ‘Two days of full-on practise and then the Show all day yesterday. Haven’t we had enough of each other by now?’ Buzz gave a small laugh. I laughed as well.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ I said. ‘We’re best friends. We don’t “have enough” of each other. Anyway, what time are you coming?’

  ‘Can’t you tell me on the phone, whatever it is?’

  ‘It won’t be the same. Come on. Come over. You have to,’ I pleaded.

  ‘I’ll have to ask Mum,’ Buzz said. Her voice still so
unded tired. ‘If she can drop me around, I’ll come.’

  We made times and arrangements, and I spent the hour-and-a-half wait trying to clean. My room was usually okay-ish, even the corner where Ziggy slept. I mostly tried to keep things off the floor and I made my bed nearly every day. But I had a missing cupboard door—which had been on Dad’s ‘fix it list’ for ages—and you could always see my shelves of games and books, which wasn’t that neat. I didn’t mind, but I got a bit conscious of it when Buzz was here. Her house looked like it should be on one of those TV ads where everything’s glossy and wiped down and put away. No piles of stuff. Not like ours.

  I once asked Mum about it when I was in the middle of a clean-up blitz, but she just kind of threw her hands up in the air and looked hopeless.

  ‘I mean, I could clean up, I guess,’ she said, ‘but I’m busy. I’ll get to it one day, when work’s not so busy.’

  I tried to clean up when I was excited, and today my brain was buzzing so much that I moved four piles of newspapers from the lounge room to the recycling bin before Miles—now back at home—dug most of it out again.

  ‘You can’t get rid of this. I need it,’ he said. His face was cranky.

  ‘What for?’ I said. ‘All of it?’

  ‘Oscar and me are going to make a volcano,’ he said. ‘You need a lot of paper.’

  ‘Oscar and I,’ I said. ‘How big’s the volcano?’ I had visions of a massive, backyard-sized papier-mâché hill, but he’d already stalked off to his room.

  I gave it one more go and attempted to put away a stack of Mum’s books, but the shelves were too full. To do it properly, I’d have to go through the other books, pick out the ones we don’t read (which would be totally impossible because we all read all the time) and find another home for them. The job was getting bigger and bigger by the second, so I gave up and put on my favourite movie.

  Watching Annie was a never-fail recipe for happiness. And it wasn’t just me. Buzz and Jessie loved it too. I’m not kidding. We’d probably seen it over 25 times. We’d made our own home-filmed versions of it (I did a great Miss Hannigan). We’d even written and filmed our own sequels. I always played the role of Annie, of course. It’s practice for the day when I actually get to play her in a real show, because that’s my ambition—to be on a stage, singing one day. It’d been my dream to play Annie since the very first time I saw the movie when I was nine.