How to Grow a Family Tree Read online

  ‘What do you lot know about Fairyland Caravan Park?’ I ask, not looking at any of them.

  ‘I’m not allowed to walk past there,’ Lara says. ‘One of the caravans exploded last year because the tenant was cooking drugs.’

  ‘Yeah, but they ended up in jail,’ Clem says soothingly.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, they’re not at the caravan park anymore.’ He pats her head.

  Zin puts her hand to her mouth. ‘I’d die if my neighbours cooked drugs,’ she says, her voice catching. She blinks, like she’s about to get teary. ‘I’d just die.’

  Zin comes from a huge family and she’s the youngest, so I guess crying is a valid strategy for her. She has this lovely bronzy hair that you just want to run your fingers through, and somehow always looks amazing and glamorous, even when she’s just in her school uniform.

  Lara plays just about every sport on offer at Sutherbend and got on the news last year after being rejected from the boys’ soccer team. Lara and Clem argue ferociously, even though they agree on everything. It’s the only time either of them gets really worked up over anything – when the other one’s aggressively agreeing with them.

  ‘The Year Nines like to go and egg the caravans,’ Clem says. ‘Can’t be that bad if it’s the kind of place you can get away with egging. None of them have even been bashed.’

  ‘They’re all going to wake up dead one morning,’ Zin says. ‘Every single one that did the egging.’

  Lara snorts. ‘You can’t wake up dead.’

  ‘Just think,’ says Clem, his voice light, ‘We’ll be finished school soon. A year from now – fancy-free.’

  ‘Clem, stop talking.’ Zin waves a finger at him. ‘Just stop.’

  Clem looks at me. ‘You really don’t look good.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Seriously. What’s up? It’s not just Year Twelve.’

  Lara groans. ‘We’re not in Year Twelve, yet!’

  ‘It’s just so depressing at home at the moment,’ I say. ‘Mum’s been fighting with Dad. It’s been rough since . . . since he lost his job. He’s sleeping on the couch. Depressing, that’s all.’

  ‘That sucks,’ Lara says. ‘Although, if I ever move in with anyone, I’m keeping my own room.’

  Clem starts picking at a loose thread in his tie. ‘You do know that that defeats the purpose of living with someone, right?’

  ‘Oh, whoever it is will be able to visit, but sharing a room permanently?’ Lara shudders. ‘Why do adults want that?’

  ‘I think it’s romantic,’ says Zin. ‘Talking until the middle of the night, listening to the rain falling on a tin roof, other stuff . . . And honestly, I can’t wait to get married and organise all the decorations. And the bouquets! They’re going to be amazing.’

  ‘Your future wife’s not going to get a look-in, is she?’

  ‘We’ll have the same taste in flowers,’ Zin says. ‘She won’t care. We can’t get married if she doesn’t have the same taste in flowers as I do.’

  ‘You’re such a traditionalist,’ Lara says, shaking her head. Despite the fact she’d much rather kick a ball around the oval than study, Lara’s pretty amazing at all her classes. Everyone knows she’ll be one of the Sutherbend kids who end up going to university. Lara’s parents both work at the local Lexborough University campus. Her mother lectures in human rights law and her father’s a receptionist, and every afternoon they walk to their car holding hands.

  Clem nudges me. ‘And . . .’

  I smack at his hand. ‘Stop picking your tie! You’ll ruin it!’

  He glances down at his tie. ‘It’s alright.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to buy a new one,’ I say.

  He drops his tie and looks at me blankly. ‘What’s up with you?’

  I think about Fairyland, but it still feels like something that’s not quite real. ‘My biological mother wrote me a letter,’ I say.

  All three of them look at me. Clem opens his mouth and closes it again and then looks at Lara, who frowns, and no one knows quite what to say. I think of Clem with his parents who look just like him, and Zin with her mum and her brood of brothers and sisters, and Lara with her parents and uncles who are all like fathers to her. I wonder if adoption is something they’ve ever really thought about. At all.

  Clem swears softly and starts picking at his tie again.

  ‘What did it say?’ Lara asks.

  ‘I didn’t know you were adopted!’ Zin says.

  I slap Clem’s hands away from his tie and he shakes his head. ‘How can you possibly have known Price for this long and not know that she’s adopted?’

  ‘It doesn’t come up much,’ I say. ‘It’s just not that big of a deal. Until now, I guess.’

  ‘It is a big deal!’ Zin says.

  ‘It’s not,’ Lara snaps.

  ‘I haven’t opened it yet,’ I say, pulling the letter out of my pocket.

  Lara runs a finger over the envelope and glances at me. ‘What does your mum say?’

  ‘What does Taylor say?’ Zin asks. ‘Did she lose it? Did she break something?’

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Zin has been morbidly fascinated with Taylor since we were in kindergarten and Taylor melted three of my plastic dolls. She was devastated when Taylor got kicked out of Sutherbend and had to go to Ascott. I think most other people just sort of breathed a sigh of relief.

  Clem reaches up for his tie and then stops himself and sits on his hands.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone yet.’

  Lara frowns. ‘Why?’

  ‘They’ve got . . .’ I think of Fairyland and swallow. ‘Just, they’re busy at the moment, that’s all.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Clem asks, his fingers working back up towards his tie.

  ‘I don’t know. Alright. Bloody hell, Clem. Just leave your tie alone.’

  Clem takes the letter from my hands and gives it a squeeze. ‘One page, maybe two.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘I know.’

  He squeezes again, his head tilted. ‘There’s something else in there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something crunchy.’

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ says Lara.

  ‘I’m not!’ He holds it out to me. ‘Go on – give it a squeeze.’

  ‘No.’ I cross my arms.

  ‘Go on! Squeeze it! Please?’

  Zin snorts.

  ‘Grow up, Zinnia.’ Clem hands the letter to Lara, who inspects it closely and drops it into my lap.

  ‘There’s definitely something crunchy,’ she says.

  I squeeze the letter and realise they’re right – there is something in there other than paper. My palms start to sweat. I put it down on the floor between us.

  Clem tugs at my sleeve. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘She has neat handwriting.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve been staring at it non-stop. Her writing’s burned into my brain.’

  Clem stares at the letter. ‘So, are you going to open it? Or just wait for it to disintegrate so you don’t have to deal with it?’

  I reach out and take Clem’s tie off him. ‘Stop picking at it!’

  The bell rings, but they keep staring at me, and eventually I clear my throat and get up. Clem hands me the unopened letter without a word. ‘We’ll be late,’ I say.

  ***

  That afternoon, we’re just heading into a talk on study methods when the school alarm goes off. Our school alarm goes off a lot. Particularly when there’s an exam or a test or something else that people aren’t interested in doing.

  ‘Ugh,’ says Lara, and we start trooping across the grounds to the oval, where we huddle in the sun and wait for the teachers to give us the all clear.

  They look as bored as we are. I mean, it was exciting the first few times and it felt like a massive bonus to get out of whatever class we were meant to be in, but I’d honestly rather be taking notes in front of a portable fan right now.

  I
take a hat around school with me in summer because there’s nothing worse than the sun baking down on your uncovered head on the oval while the teachers wearily try to confirm that there’s no bomb. Lara, Zin and Clem all tease me about the hat, but I never stop wearing it.

  Zin’s somehow got a box of still-warm chips in her pocket.

  ‘How did you get these?’ Clem asks. ‘We were just in class together.’

  ‘Witch,’ says Lara, stuffing a handful into her mouth. ‘She’s a witch!’

  Clem nudges me. ‘Reckon it’s someone in Year Ten – they were meant to have an English exam today.’

  ‘Which book?’

  ‘Play – Much Ado About Nothing.’

  ‘Fair call,’ says Lara, licking salt off her fingers. ‘But I reckon it’s probably the Year Twelves swinging by the school and getting nostalgic. I mean, it’s probably their last bomb scare.’

  ‘Can you even imagine?’ Zin shakes her head. ‘I’m going to miss this place.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be out in the sun like this,’ I say.

  ‘There’s nowhere shady out here,’ Clem says flatly. He tends not to burn, even when we’ve been stuck out on the oval for two hours.

  ‘We’ll go back in soon,’ says Lara. Her fair skin’s already going pink. She’s the sort of person who’s eternally hopeful every time she accidentally gets sunburnt that this time she’ll get a tan. All that ever happens is that she peels and gets a fresh scattering of freckles.

  ‘Hey! I nearly forgot!’ Clem pulls a hat out of his back pocket. It’s one of those floppy, wide-brimmed ones. It doesn’t fit his head properly, but he puts it on and beams at me.

  Lara groans. ‘Take that off.’

  ‘No.’ He adjusts the string under his chin. ‘I’m taking care of myself. I’m investing in my future.’

  Lara shakes her head.

  Someone from the soccer team walks by and laughs. ‘Nice hat, Liu!’

  Clem bows, keeping his hat on with one of his hands. ‘Jealousy is unattractive, Steven!’

  ‘Oh, Clem,’ Zin sighs.

  ‘Can I have my tie back?’ Clem asks, swinging around to face me. ‘I promise not to pick at it.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘Yeah, I swear.’

  I hand him the tie out of my pocket, feeling the letter against my fingers.

  ‘Check out Matthew Clarke,’ Zin says.

  I crane my neck. Matthew Clarke is talking to the teachers like he’s one of them. Matthew’s tall and blond. I don’t know what colour his eyes are; I’ve never been game enough to look at him that closely. He’s one of those people who are involved in absolutely everything – backstage at musicals, athletics, choir, water polo, soccer and the school’s fundraising. He doesn’t really seem to have friends or get along particularly well with anyone in our year. Matthew Clarke has fascinated Zin and me since we started high school. Lara gets very impatient about it all – I think because they’d been on the soccer team together before Lara got turfed. Lara gets impatient with everyone on the soccer team, including Clem.

  ‘Can we go back in now?’ I call out. ‘We’re burning!’

  Across the oval, the Year Tens are sunbaking on the grass with their shirts pulled up nearly to their bras. I see one of the teachers take a step towards them, then she stops and pulls out her phone and it’s just another afternoon at Sutherbend High.

  ***

  I stay at the library for a little while after school, partly because I love the library and partly because the bank’s sending someone to value our house this afternoon. The computers are all being used by kids on detention, so I sit in my favourite aisle, under the air-conditioning vent, and play with the bouquet of flowers Zin had left in my locker. I have no idea what any of them are, but I’d never let Zin know that.

  ‘Richard!’ the librarian yells. ‘Put him down right now!’

  I crane my neck to see one of the Year Nines lifting another Year Nine up by his shirtfront. He says something to him that I can’t hear.

  Clem, who’s on detention for being disruptive during final-period maths, glances up from his computer game.

  At about five the library staff start making their daily everyone-out signs. I hitch my bag up onto my shoulder out in the yard and Clem falls into step beside me. We walk in silence for a while.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  ‘Hey. What was that all about?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Year Nines.’

  ‘Oh. Think Carl’s been doing crap at Fairyland. And that kid, Richard, isn’t happy about it.’

  ‘Right.’ I swallow. ‘What sort of crap?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Why’s Richard not happy about it?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe he lives there?’

  ‘I thought all the Fairyland kids went to Ascott.’

  Clem snorts. ‘That’s stupid – they probably go to lots of different schools. Who’s going to broadcast that they live in Fairyland? Anyway, wanna do something? My tutor’s not coming till seven.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The physics and chemistry one.’

  ‘You don’t get a break over summer?’

  ‘Are you kidding? It’s all being ramped up so I’m set for next year.’ He rolls his eyes.

  I’d asked Mum for a tutor, just after Clem started with one. I wanted to learn how to craft my essays better. I wanted to learn how to structure things in a way that made sense, like the books I read. She’d looked at me, her expression completely bewildered. ‘But you’re doing well enough, aren’t you? You don’t need a tutor. Just talk to your teacher if you’re confused.’

  I don’t think Clem’s parents are really on board with the concept of ‘well enough’. He and Lara complain bitterly to each other about the tutors they have to see, and I sit there and seethe and wish my parents were the type who saw value in that sort of thing.

  Clem nudges me with his shoulder. ‘Hey, Price?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there? Other than the adoption stuff?’

  I hesitate. Telling Clem about moving to the caravan park isn’t going to change anything. It’s not going to stop my dad from gambling, or stop the bank from coming out to value our house. I keep thinking of the way they’d all stared at me about the letter stuff. And Fairyland is much, much worse.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s it.’

  Clem looks at me and I think he’s going to keep pushing, but then he suddenly runs off and latches onto the low branches of a tree on the nature strip, his hat swinging from his neck by its string. ‘Wanna climb it?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to climb it.’

  ‘It’ll cheer you up.’

  ‘Clem – c’mon. You’ll rip your uniform. Again.’

  He ignores me and pulls himself up onto the branch. The tree trembles alarmingly, but he just keeps climbing up and up until I can’t see him anymore. ‘Clem?’ I call, hating how uncertain my voice sounds.

  ‘It’s very green up here!’ he calls back. ‘Green’s the most soothing colour, remember? You told me that! Remember when you wanted me to paint my room green?’

  ‘Come down,’ I say, but he doesn’t and I think about walking off, but I don’t do that, either. I stand by the trunk with my arms crossed and watch two little primary school kids and their mother unlock their front door across the road and go inside. I wonder what the kids are looking forward to. I wonder what they’re worried about. I wonder whether their mother has dozens of overdue bills fanned out like playing cards on her cluttered desk.

  I kick the trunk of the tree so hard that all the leaves shake. ‘Clem!’

  He lands on the ground next to me, grinning and covered in leaves and sticks.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ I say as he dusts himself off and puts his hat back on.

  ‘Race you to that car?’

  ‘I’m not running in my stupid school shoes!’

  But he’s off, bag in hand, runn
ing full-pelt down the footpath as though he’s being chased by things that only he can see.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My dad took me to the track once. I’ve been since with Mum, searching for Dad when he was meant to be at work. A couple of times, I’ve gone looking for him by myself. But when I went with Dad that one time, the whole place seemed like a wonderland.

  Taylor had a friend’s birthday to go to, so Dad just took me along with him. Running errands, he’d told Mum. For ages after, I’d thought an errand was another word for horses. Perhaps the sort of horse we’d seen at the track that day, gleaming and delicate and frothing at the bit. Even now, if I see a hint of a race on the news or something, I always watch the horses speeding around the track. Running errands.

  Dad had intensity to him that day that I thought was about the horses, the errands. His clenched fingers and damp forehead, the way he watched the races without blinking, every part of him trembling with the enormity of it.

  I thought he was overcome, as I was, by their size, their grace. The impossibility of them. The crackle of anticipation in the air. The way he let his breath out in a laughing gasp when some of the races finished.

  I guess he won a lot of money, although I don’t really remember anything about that part of the day. Not really. What I do remember is how happy he was, how he spun me around and around. I remember him buying me an orange icy pole. I remember how I sat in the car with the windows down, sucking on it, while he raced into a florist and bought a bouquet for Mum. It was so large that it filled the back seat, and the bright-green smell of it gave me a headache.

  When Mum saw it, she wasn’t as happy as I’d thought she’d be. She brushed her fingers along the shining leaves, the impossibly bright petals. She sniffed at the sharp smell and looked away from Dad.

  ‘Oh, Charlie.’ She didn’t look at the flowers again.

  ‘Where’d you go today?’ Mum asked me later that night, while she watched me wash my face and brush my teeth and hair.