On the Jellicoe Road

Then I’m there, flying through it, slamming the door shut, locking it. Only then do I lean against it, sliding to the floor, taking deep gulps of air, slowing down my heart rate, pushing my perspiration-matted hair off my face, and bending my head between my legs, feeling for the reassuring shape of my inhaler….

Three year-seven girls are standing in front of me, Jessa McKenzie in the middle of them.

“Someone used up all the water,” Chloe P. tells me.

“Celia’s got matches,” the other one, whose name I don’t know, says in a hushed voice.

I get up slowly, ignoring them, dragging my body up the stairs, but they are still there beside me.

“Where’s Ha

I stop and look into Jessa McKenzie’s eyes and suddenly I see someone…something that I have seen before. I feel an anxiety I can’t explain.

I push past them and escape to my room and when it’s securely locked, I walk to the basin and lean over it, nausea rising in me.

I want to see Ha

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

At lunch I’m forced to sit with the other House leaders in the food hall as part of our “official” prefect initiation. The Principal makes a speech about unity while Richard whispers to the leader of Hastings. She giggles at something he says and they look at me until she passes it on to the person next to her. Richard has the rest of the House leaders eating out of his hand, except for Ben who is hoeing into his lasagne with a passion. I know that I need to act quickly before there’s a coup and as I glance around the table I realise, once again, that my only potential ally is a drop-kick moron with tomato sauce all over his face.

“Ben, make contact with the Cadets. Tell them I’m ready to make a deal.”

Ben looks up, in the middle of wiping the plate with his bread, his eyes wide with shock.

“Me?”

“Him?” Richard exchanges glances with the others.

“You,” I say.

“What are you doing, Taylor?” Richard asks in that voice of his with the warning in it.

“I’m asking my deputy to do what deputies do. To negotiate,” I say politely, standing up.

Ben mouths deputy to me like it’s a dirty word and then Raffaela walks by and he mouths deputy to her as well and even she looks a bit worried.

“And by the way, Murrumbidgee and Hastings House,” I say, looking at both the girl and Richard. “I read the Little Purple Book last night. Written in 1986 by the first of the UCs. The leader, I think, referred to himself as Chairman Meow. Pretty bad handwriting, but it’s all there, including the fact that no House leaders can fraternise with each other in a romantic sense. Don’t know why but probably because it takes away the competitive edge.” I look at Ben. “Let’s go.”

Raffaela follows us as well. I don’t say a word until we get outside.

“Where were you last night?” I ask her.

“I got town privileges. My best friend’s brother’s best friend’s teammate—”

“Get to the point.”

“—had a message for me. The Townies are ready to meet us. Tonight.”

The halfway hut where negotiations take place with the Townies is dark and musty. The flashlights offer little light and no one dares sit down for fear of sitting on the unknown. In front of us there are three Townies. I only recognise Chaz Santangelo, far too handsome for his own good, but at least he doesn’t have that mean, hard, feral look that Townie leaders from the past have had. Santangelo’s sidekicks are typical hoons. Is there a manual out there that says Townies have to have mullets? Raffaela beside me is fidgety and I figure that they are all waiting for me to begin negotiations.

“So let’s make a deal,” I say.

“What makes you think we’re here to make a deal?” Santangelo asks.

“Because river rats don’t usually warn us that they’re coming up to see us. They usually cruise around the place and create havoc and then expect us to negotiate just to stop the mayhem.”

“I don’t operate that way…we don’t operate that way.”

Judging by his sidekicks I’m not too sure.

“Well then, Santangelo. Is that what I should call him?” I turn to ask Raffaela. She doesn’t answer. She’s still fidgeting.

“Chaz,” he answers for her.

“Santangelo…Chaz, whatever they call you down there, let’s make a deal.”

“Then you start. Tell us what you want.”

First rule of negotiation: never let them think you want something.

“We want access to the Prayer Tree,” Raffaela blurts out.

Raffaela failed negotiating class in year eight. The seniors in our House once had her in mind for leadership after I went through my arsonist stage and burnt half of the oval. We have a collection of arsonists at our school. There are at least two in year seven in my House who are going to set fire to us in our beds one day.

“We want access to the Club House,” Santangelo states bluntly, looking at me and not her.

“Club House isn’t ours. It belongs to the Cadets.”

“Yeah, but it’s a massive hike for them unless you let them use the river. They want access to the path that leads to it, and you’ve got that.”

“Why the Club House?” Ben asks.

“Limited options. We can’t get into any of the pubs, so it’s hanging out at the Seven-Eleven at night or the car park at Coles. We’re looking for peaceful coexistence, here. One night a week, Saturday night, maybe even two.”

“You’re talking to the wrong people. The Cadets will never allow you in.”

“They might if you give them access to the path.”

I shake my head. “The path is too close to the school boundaries.”

“And the problem is?” he asks.

“We have junior girls,” Raffaela says. “We don’t want strangers that close to our boundaries.”

“Why? Because last time the Cadets got that close you ran off with one of them?” The three Townies exchange looks and I am suddenly suspicious.

“You don’t know who you ran off with, do you?” one of the Mullets says, stepping towards me. “You are one stupid—”

“Is this the best you can do?” Raffaela snaps at Santangelo, pointing to his morons, her finger almost an inch away from the bigger Mullet. He growls and makes a bite for it and Ben drags her back.

Still nothing from Santangelo and then I realise he’s deliberately ignoring her and that they have some kind of history.

“You two know each other well, I presume.”

Just a sigh and pursed lips from her and a hellish scowl from him.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, walking to the door.

“No it’s not. It’s called coexistence.” Santangelo blocks my exit. “Once you and the Cadets get it right, we might even try to sell the idea to the Israelis and Palestinians. What do you reckon?”

“You haven’t told us what you have to offer us yet,” I say.

“The Prayer Tree,” Raffaela says immediately.

“I’m not negotiating with her.”

I glare at Raffaela. Personally, I’m not interested in the Prayer Tree. I’m curious about what they’re going to use as a bargaining tool.

“I’ve got information,” he says to me, “that you might want.”

“About?”

No answer, and for a moment I think we’re dealing with an amateur who has come with nothing to offer.

“What?” Ben asks.

I glance at Santangelo and I get a gut feeling that it’s not about the territory wars or the Club House.

“We have a map that could possibly be the draft for a tu

A ploy. Doesn’t mean the map is non-existent but he’s holding back and I want to know why.

“Means absolutely nothing to us because they never finished it beyond your school boundaries,” he continues. “But it might be important to you.”