text:
**Velvet S Pye stood outside the gates of Yarrabank High and a creeping feeling came over her. This was going to be the worst day, the beginning of a miserable year. In fact, the rest of her life was destined to be a complete write-off. She used to have it all – private school, luxury holidays, loads of friends – but then her world fell apart, sending her crashing to grubby, sports-mad Yarrabank High**.

**Could things get any worse?**

**Sure they could**.

**Velvet is yet to meet her cultural studies class**.

# Contents

Cover

Blurb

Black Dog Books logo

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

program

About the author

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Dedication

Also by Carole Wilkinson

# CHAPTER 1

Velvet S Pye stood outside the gates of Yarrabank High. She was certain of one thing: this was going to be the worst day ever, the beginning of a miserable year, in fact the rest of her life was totally ruined. A group of boys smoking by the front gate eyed her up and down – obviously checking out her breasts. One of them spat onto the bitumen. Velvet ignored them. She hitched her schoolbag over her shoulder and pushed her earbuds into her ears. Her music was on shuffle. As she walked through the gates, her phone chose that moment to play "The Point of No Return" from _The Phantom of the Opera_.

The garden bed alongside the driveway was a rectangle of trampled earth with one stunted shrub growing in it. Empty drink cans and screwed-up chip packets provided the only colour. The school building was crumbling red brick, not old enough to be historical, just faded and ugly. Paint peeled from the window frames, and the cracked glass was held together with masking tape. Two students leaning on a car were locked in a passionate embrace. They both wore grey pants and had matching asymmetrical haircuts. Velvet thought they were a boy and a girl. Their tongues explored each other's mouths. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't help it. She felt queasy. It was only 8.35 in the morning.

A group of girls, the hems of their uniforms millimetres away from showing their underpants, stopped talking to stare at her. They sniggered as she walked past. Velvet ignored them too. At least she wasn't wearing the ugly polyester green and white check Yarrabank dress. Her uniform, from her old school, was a lovely charcoal-grey woollen tunic, and she wore it below the knee. She patted her hair, which was pulled back in a neat ponytail, touched the school badge (an arrow-pierced heart) pinned to her maroon tie and took a deep breath (a mistake as someone was spraying chemicals on the walls to remove the tagging from the previous night). She entered the building.

The doors closed behind her with an ominous thud. Clumps of fluff swirled around in corners. Velvet went up to the office window where a sign informed her that Mrs Mangalis was the Office Manager. Someone had written "Arvi is a dickbrain" on it. Velvet closed her eyes and imagined that she was an exiled princess living in secret among peasants. She was hoping for immediate rescue.

Velvet opened her mouth to speak to Mrs Mangalis, but a girl with blue-streaked hair pushed in front of her.

"I forgot my excursion money at home, Miss," the girl said.

She had the sort of Australian accent that set Velvet's teeth on edge.

"Bring it tomorrow, Roula."

"I can't." The girl posted three sticks of chewing gum into her mouth. "Next-door's dog ate it."

"Ate your $12.50?"

"Yes, Miss. The dog ate the lot, coins and everything. It's a huge Rottweiler, with yellow eyes. Seriously, it's got teeth like a shark."

"You better report to your class anyway."

"Yes, Miss."

Roula walked off, leaving behind a cloud of body fragrance and a chewy packet.

Mrs Mangalis looked over her glasses at Velvet. "Yes?"

Velvet pulled herself up to her full height. "My name is Velvet S Pye."

"You must be new," Mrs Mangalis said.

Velvet's eyes filled with tears. "I shouldn't be here." Her voice started to waver. "If fate hadn't dealt me such an unkind blow, I'd still be at St Theresa's Anglican Ladies College – where I belong."

A small thin man in trackpants and a polar fleece vest jogged into the foyer.

"Mr Kislinski will show you to your classroom, dear." Mrs Mangalis turned to the man. "This is Velvet. She's... new."

"Welcome to Yarrabank, Velvet. What sports do you play?"

"I don't play sport."

Mr Kislinski winked at Mrs Mangalis. "We'll see about that," he said and jogged out through a door.

Velvet followed Mr Kislinski into the school hall. Glass cabinets lined every wall, each one filled with trophies. Above them, the walls were festooned with plaques and pennants. The honour board didn't record school duxes or past head prefects, it listed the best and fairest from 1938, when the school was built, up to the present day. The last name, in fresh gold paint, was Jesus Mbele.

The principal opened a door that led into a quadrangle where rows of students were doing pre-school aerobics and a dozen intense, sweaty boys were playing basketball as if they were competing in the Olympics. There he stopped to do some calf stretches before jogging into a classroom on the other side of the quadrangle. Velvet followed him. The noise level was unbelievable. Not a single student was in their seat. Two boys were playing football with a coke can at the front of the class, while another boy gave a continuous commentary.

It was just three years since Yarrabank had changed from an all-boys school, and there were only four girls in this class. Two of them were sharing iPod earbuds and singing along to a song. There wasn't a teacher in sight.

"Settle down, 9C," said Mr Kislinski. "Where's Miss Ryan?"

A harassed-looking woman wearing a purple floral blouse and a shapeless khaki skirt rushed into the room. She dropped her crocheted bag onto the teacher's table. Two apples and a well-used handkerchief fell out.

"Ah, Miss Ryan, this is Velvet. She'll be joining your class."

"Lovely to meet you. Welcome to Yarrabank." Miss Ryan patted Velvet on the arm. She smelled of patchouli and bacon.

Behind Miss Ryan's back, a boy with a swastika stud in his eyebrow was making obscene gestures. Velvet smiled feebly, and considered joining a convent.

"There's been a mistake," she said. "I need to speak to the principal."

Mr Kislinski smiled at her. "I am the principal."

That evening, Velvet begged her parents to let her go back to St Theresa's. She offered to take three after-school jobs to help with fees. She pleaded with them to let her apply for a scholarship to any private school, but her parents' new poverty had transformed them into keen supporters of state schools. She did her best to cry all night and came to breakfast the next morning looking haggard and tear-stained.

"Mother, I'll die if I have to stay at that school."

"We're all having to make sacrifices, darling. You'll get used to it."

Velvet was horrified by the way her parents were adjusting to being poor. Her father had a job mowing lawns for the local council, and claimed he was happier since he'd lost his high-powered, well-paid job as a merchant banker. Her mother seemed to actually enjoy being thrifty and devising budget meals.

"There's no music program."

"That is unfortunate."

"No one speaks English. They're all ethnic."

"It will be a cultural experience. You'll learn from it."

"Learn what? How to swear in a hundred and twenty-two languages?"

"I might organise a multicultural evening so that we can get to know the other parents. Everyone could bring one of their national dishes."

"Mother, Yarrabank isn't that sort of school."

As far as a different school was concerned, the subject was closed.

The rest of the week was just as awful. The English text 9C was studying was a book about a dragon that Velvet had read in Grade 5. The science teacher was Russian and his accent was incomprehensible. Technology was a bizarre subject that consisted of alternating classes of information technology and food technology. Velvet had studied French at St Theresa's, but Yarrabank's Year 9 French class was already overcrowded, and she had been forced to take up Mandarin. Everyone else in the class had been doing Mandarin for two years and even the dumbest boy could scrawl a few Chinese characters and understand most of what the teacher said. There were other strange subjects that Velvet had never heard of before – sports science and sports history.

But worse was yet to come. Thursday was sports day. Every day of the week students at Yarrabank had phys. ed., but on Thursday afternoons the entire school focused on sporting pursuits. There was a special timetable designed to make Thursday afternoons as long as possible. In the morning there were two forty-minute periods followed by recess. The entire school was expected to be in sports uniform and on the oval by 10.45. Then there were four hours of competitive sport, interrupted only by a brief break for a high-protein lunch provided by the school.

Velvet made sure she left her (secondhand) sports uniform at home, but Mr Kislinski found her a spare pair of shorts and personally ran her through a sports aptitude test.

"Won't take a minute," he said, collecting up an assortment of balls, bats and mitts. "Just need to get an idea of your skills. Make sure you start at the right level."

Velvet failed to catch, hit or kick whatever was thrown in her direction. When Mr Kislinski asked her to shoot a goal, she put on her mother's reading glasses (which she'd brought for just that purpose) and peered around short-sightedly until she located the netball ring. She missed that too.

"We'll have to start you at the lowest level, I'm afraid, Velvet," Mr Kislinski said sadly. "But don't worry, we'll soon have you up to scratch."

Velvet watched Mr Kislinski jog off. "I don't think so."

She'd been forced to go to an awful school. She'd had to drop French, which was her best subject. She had to write an essay about What I Did Over the Holidays. She put her hand on the arrow-pierced heart pinned to her uniform and made a vow. There was one thing she was not going to do, and that was play sport.

Miss Ryan appeared, wearing baggy orange shorts and an enormous Garfield T-shirt. She was in charge of Year 9 girls' sport.

"All right, girls, let's do some laps of the oval before we start our netball."

Velvet jogged for about twenty metres and then got a stitch. She walked the rest of the laps, ignoring the panting girls who streamed past her time and time again. There was only one other girl who wasn't sweating and straining. She appeared to be striving for the slowest jog in history.

"Come on, Hailie," shouted Miss Ryan. "You can do better than that."

Hailie Murchison was in Velvet's maths and humanities classes. She was one of those stupid boy-crazy girls who thought being smart was a social handicap. Velvet didn't like her. Hailie jogged up alongside her.

"Have you got your periods yet?"

"Excuse me?"

"Just asking," Hailie replied, as if chatting about menstrual cycles was a perfectly normal way to start a conversation with a stranger. "Well, have you?"

"Of course."

"How old were you?"

Velvet looked around, hoping no one was listening.

"I don't know, twelve I think."

"God, you're lucky."

Velvet's stitch had gone. She was about to jog away, but Hailie hadn't finished quizzing her.

"Got a boyfriend?"

"No."

Hailie smiled. "That's my boyfriend over there." She pointed in the direction of the football pitch. "The one with the Iron Man T-shirt. Gorgeous isn't he?"

Velvet didn't find muscles attractive. "No."

"Geez, you're a snob."

Hailie jogged even slower to make sure the gorgeous boyfriend got a good look at her in tight-fitting singlet and shorts, though Velvet didn't think that her stick-like body was likely to get any male too excited. Velvet started to run. She actually managed to jog a whole lap before she got stitch again. She stopped, chest heaving, and pretended to do up a shoelace. Hailie wasn't far behind, but she was busy smiling at the boyfriend and wasn't looking where she was going. She crashed into Velvet and both girls fell in a heap.

Velvet pulled herself out from under Hailie. "You should watch where you're going!"

Hailie lay writhing on the ground. Velvet thought she was faking at first, but real tears streamed from her eyes and there was a bone in her ankle sticking out at the wrong angle.

Miss Ryan came running over, T-shirt and arms flapping. "Not your ankle again, Hailie! I knew you shouldn't be jogging yet."

She bent down to help Hailie up, but Hailie squealed with pain.

"Oh, oh," wailed Miss Ryan, looking around for help. "Nestor!"

The gorgeous boyfriend came running over from the football field.

"Can you carry her to sick bay, Nestor?"

"Nah. I've got a shoulder injury. Can't risk it. If it gets worse, I won't be able to play next week."

"Velvet, help me," Miss Ryan said.

With Velvet supporting her on one side and Miss Ryan on the other, Hailie hopped to sick bay.

"That's the third time she's broken that ankle," Miss Ryan told Velvet.

She recounted the history of Hailie's ankle – the two previous breakages, their inability to heal, the perpetual cast that had only been removed in the last week of the summer holidays. Velvet put on a concerned face and tutted. Anything to get out of sport.

# CHAPTER 2

Yarrabank High was sports mad. The students played every ball game known to man – soccer, Aussie Rules, cricket, baseball, basketball, volleyball, lacrosse, tennis, hockey. Then there was swimming. Yarrabank boys had been state swimming finalists for fifteen years straight. In the two weeks that Velvet had been at the school, they'd had three assemblies with motivational speeches from famous old boys – one played football for Essendon, another batted for the Bushrangers, and the third had three Commonwealth Games bronze medals hung around his neck.

There were no restrictions on the sports girls could play. There were girls' teams even for Australian Rules and lacrosse. The Muslim girls had a special sports uniform that included long pants and a hood, all in the school colours. There was wheelchair basketball for disabled kids; judo, kung-fu and wrestling for the thugs. And in winter there was a sports camp in the snow.

Though the rest of the school was falling to pieces, the sports' facilities at Yarrabank were better than those at St Theresa's. There was the Olympic-sized Hawker Hardware Pool and a new gym, which was the biggest in the state.

Yarrabank's motto was _Semper Vigilatis Vestribus Pilas_ , which, according to the school song, meant "always keep your eye on the ball", but the translation popular with students when they sang it at assembly was "always watch your balls".

Velvet was sure there wasn't another student in the whole school who read serious literature. No one had heard of Isobelle Carmody or JRR Tolkien. And if that wasn't bad enough, the small classrooms were packed with smelly, foul-mouthed boys.

Velvet hated every day at Yarrabank High, but she dreaded Thursdays the most. At St Theresa's, Velvet had been president of the Literary Club, a member of the Madrigal Choristers and first clarinet in the school orchestra. Occasionally, wearing an attractive leotard, she had taken part in a lunchtime tai chi group. But sport? Never.

She now spent all her waking hours devising ways of getting out of sport. She soon learned that, at Yarrabank, illness didn't exempt you. No amount of coughing, limping or bandaging had got her excused. It was disgusting the way the rest of the school was so enthusiastic about sport. Everyone – all the loud-mouthed boys from her class who never listened to a teacher; all the girls with black-rimmed eyes and multicoloured hair; the thugs with tattoos and shaved heads; even the emos with piercings and black hair hanging in their eyes – happily changed into their sports uniforms and applied themselves seriously to sport. It was like a disease.

Velvet had to try out in the gymnasium next. She couldn't vault or hang upside down from a bar. She couldn't even do a backward roll.

A group of girls in what looked like white pyjamas caught Mr Kislinski's eye.

"Sofia," he called out.

A girl with short black hair and a dagger tattooed on her neck came over. She had a mean look in her eye.

"This is Sofia Ritano," he said, "our state judo champion."

"Show Velvet a few simple movements, Sofia."

Mr Kislinski was distracted by a pommel horse routine that was getting loud applause.

"Hi, my name's Velvet." Velvet smiled at the girl. She didn't smile back. "Look I don't know the first thing about ju –"

Before Velvet knew what had happened, Sofia had tripped her, thrown her on her back and wedged her knee against Velvet's windpipe.

Mr Kislinski came back. Velvet was still gasping for breath.

"Perhaps athletics might be more your thing," he said.

Running last in a race was easy, flattening the hurdles as she attempted to jump over them wasn't hard either, but snapping the low jump bar took a certain amount of skill. Mr Kislinski was not one to give up on a potential sportsperson, but Velvet was a match for him. When he suggested she try out in the pool, Velvet told him about the congenital disease that made her allergic to chlorine and had been responsible for the tragic deaths of three family members.

Mr Kislinski was undaunted. "I'm sure we'll hit on your special skill, Velvet."

By the end of her third week at Yarrabank, Velvet had tried out for every team sport and failed at each one. Mr Kislinski was still working his way through the track and field disciplines. He had a pile of what looked like weapons at his feet.

"How about shot-put, Velvet?"

He called over a small Year 7 boy to demonstrate. The boy tucked the shot-put under his chin like a professional and hurled it a surprising distance.

Mr Kislinski applauded. "Well done, lad. Now you have a try, Velvet."

Velvet picked up one of the metal balls. It was heavy. She summoned all her strength and threw the shot-put and it flew quite well, but in the wrong direction. It landed on the Year 7's toe. After he had been helped off to sick bay, Velvet concentrated on the other track and field sports. Her discus scattered the students at the long jump, her javelin caused a flurry in the garden of the retirement village next door and her hammer broke a window in the gym.

Mr Kislinski sighed and surrendered. "I'm afraid you'll have to join the cultural studies class."

Velvet put on an award-winning display of disappointment, while mentally high-fiving herself.

"It's over in T6."

Velvet turned and hobbled across the oval, a smile creeping over her face. It'd taken three weeks of hard work, but she'd won. No more sport.

# CHAPTER 3

Two-thirds of the classrooms at Yarrabank High were wooden temporaries. Parents had raised funds for exciting projects like the gym and an indoor basketball court, even new goalposts. There was currently a lamington drive and a skip-a-thon in progress to raise money for bigger change rooms. Local businesses had sponsored the swimming pool and the grandstand and covered them with logos, but it seemed no one was interested in having ordinary classrooms named after them.

T6 was squeezed between the far side of the football oval and the fence. Even for a temporary building it was remote. If it had been any further away from the main building it would have been outside the school grounds.

Velvet's mood of triumph faded as she opened the door. T6 wasn't so much a classroom as a storeroom. The cultural studies class consisted of only six or seven pupils, but it seemed crowded. The students shared the room with excess sports equipment – piles of baseball mitts, boxes of beanbags and stacks of gym mats. At the other end of the room were paint-splattered easels, a broken potter's wheel and various containers of dried-up paint and clay. It was actually the art room, but no one had enrolled in art that year.

The students all looked up for a moment as Velvet walked in, and then went back to their computer games, MP3 players and conversations – except for one overweight student who was asleep in the back row, his head on the desk among the remains of his lunch.

Velvet found herself a desk. "So what do we do?"

"Whatever you like," said an Asian boy who was playing a game that involved exploding zombies.

Velvet might have thought he was good-looking if she was interested in boys – which she wasn't.

"Isn't there a teacher?"

"Yep." The boy jerked his head towards the back of the room. "What's your name?"

"Velvet."

"Mr MacDonald, say hello to Velvet."

The overweight, sleeping figure was in fact the teacher. He didn't stir.

"I'm Peter," the Asian boy said, and went back to his zombies.

None of the other students bothered to introduce themselves, but Velvet recognised some of them. Hailie, whose foot was in plaster, was filling in a _Does He Think You're Sexy?_ quiz in a Dolly magazine that must have been at least ten years old. Roula, the girl with the blue-streaked hair who Velvet had seen on her first day, was painting her nails green. There was also a muscular African boy with cropped hair and a body like a junior Arnold Schwarzenegger who was doing ab crunches in a corner. Velvet had heard Year 7s reverently whispering his name as he passed in the schoolyard. He was Jesus Mbele, the previous year's soccer best and fairest. A boy with a sullen expression was playing a purple electric guitar decorated with lightning bolts. The guitar wasn't plugged in. His long hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail. He wore glasses and had bands on his teeth. As he plucked the strings his head swayed from side to side, as if he could hear the full sound of the notes and not the thin metallic plinks. He was too engrossed in his music to notice Velvet. A boy with his back to the class was kneading a lump of clay and forming it into something. He was the only one who seemed to be doing anything vaguely "cultural".

Roula blew on her fingernails. "What's your name?"

She was in Velvet's humanities class, but obviously had not been paying attention when the teacher introduced her.

"Velvet. Velvet S Pye."

Roula sniggered. "Weird name. Makes you sound like a cushion."

"What's the S stand for?" asked Peter, who was trying to be friendly.

"Snobnose?" suggested Hailie, who wasn't.

"Seraphina."

They all looked at her in disbelief.

"Seriously?" Roula said. "Don't your parents like you or something?"

"It was my grandmother's name."

"Hey, check this out." The boy who had been modelling clay moved aside to reveal his creation – a crude phallic shape sticking up from the desk.

Velvet blushed.

"Grow up, Drago," said Peter.

"You're a creep," said Roula.

Drago was short and stocky, with badly cut hair. He had a very unattractive face with a nose that bent to one side, little piggy eyes and a scar that twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer.

"Hey, what's your name... Corduroy, what school did you come from?" Drago spoke with an unidentifiable accent and a lisp.

"St Theresa's."

Hailie and Roula shared a look.

"So what's a stuck-up snob like you doing here?" Drago smirked crookedly. "Daddy made redundant?"

Velvet ignored him, and his sculpture, and pulled a book from her bag.

"What you reading?" Hailie took the book from Velvet's hands so that she could see the cover.

"Woo-the-ring Heights."

"That's Wuthering," Velvet said.

"Sh-tupid word. What's it mean?"

"It means old and spooky." Actually, Velvet had no idea what it meant. "It's the name of the house on the cover."

Hailie flicked through the book, looking for more pictures, before tossing it back to Velvet and going back to the pile of outdated magazines.

"I used to live in an old house like that when I was a kid," Roula said.

"What, in Greece?" Drago asked.

"No, in Brunswick, when we first came to Australia. There were ghosts. They rearranged things on the shelves, hid keys and made the tzatziki go off."

"Sure, Roula," Peter said.

"Seriously. You ask my mum."

"I'm just going to the toilet," Hailie announced, rubbing her stomach. "You know, just in case."

Velvet blushed again and glanced at the boys, who were pretending they hadn't heard. Everyone knew that Hailie was the only Year 9 girl who hadn't started menstruating. She went to the toilet about twenty times a day because she imagined she was getting cramps.

Velvet gave up trying to communicate to the cultural studies class.

# CHAPTER 4

The next Monday there was a lunchtime concert in the amphitheatre. This was where weightlifting competitions took place and where the school gathered when sports prizes were awarded each term. The school band was playing, or that's what Velvet thought Hailie had said. Velvet decided to go, in the hope that there were one or two Yarrabank students who were not total philistines, and she'd just been unable to find them among all the jocks.

There were only a couple of dozen kids in the audience. Peter was surrounded by a group of young female admirers. Hailie and Roula were there too, and some of the deviants with bald heads and tattoos. There was no sign of any classical music lovers.

The band members came on and boys in the front row threw polystyrene cups at them. It wasn't the sort of band Velvet had had in mind, with trumpets and flutes. Their name was painted on the drum kit – Toxic Shock. One of the band members was the sullen guitarist from cultural studies. He strapped on his guitar and launched into a crashing intro. The lead singer started shouting into the microphone. The other guitarist and the drummer joined in and the various sounds fused into a deafening roar. Velvet covered her ears. It was awful. The singer stopped making his contribution and the guitarist stepped forward to do a solo, hair flying, right arm swinging. She didn't stay for the next song.

That was the only attempt Velvet made to be involved at Yarrabank. Why had she imagined there would be anyone who she could relate to at such a grungy school? There wasn't a single person she wanted to be friends with.

The following week, the cultural studies class was quiet, even though Mr MacDonald was away. Velvet surveyed her classmates. They were the outcasts of Yarrabank High, the sports-handicapped – those too injured or too inept to play any kind of sport, or clever enough to convince Mr Kislinski they were.

Peter made one or two attempts to chat with Velvet, but soon returned to inscribing his desk with tags. Drago was working on his latest sculpture – a very realistic dog turd. The Toxic Shock guitarist, whose name was Taleb, was playing his guitar. This time it was plugged into a small amplifier and he was listening through headphones. Roula told them about the time she'd been swept out to sea while swimming and was saved by a dolphin. Jesus was improving his pectorals with a pair of enormous dumbbells. Velvet settled down with her latest book. She had decided that cultural studies was her chance to read her way through the classics.

When Miss Ryan popped in to check on them, they were all quietly getting on with their own business.

"Everything okay?" she said.

No one responded.

"Peter, I wonder if you could help me arrange the furniture in the hall after school? For the Trivia Night."

"Sure."

Peter didn't look at her. Miss Ryan hovered in the doorway, as if hoping for a chat, and then left.

"Miss Ryan's got a crush on Peter," Roula whispered to Velvet.

Velvet tried to avoid conversation with Roula, because it usually involved some unbelievable story, but she was quite interested to learn more about Peter.

"Really?"

Roula nodded. "Mothers and female teachers always fall for his charm."

"He is very good looking, isn't he?" Velvet said.

There was a constant knot of girls hanging around him in the schoolyard or trailing after him in the corridor.

"Can't see the attraction myself," Roula replied. "He's not my type."

Peter's skin was like brown satin and he had beautiful dark eyes and perfect teeth. His thick black hair was well-cut. He was one of those people who would look good in anything – even the shapeless Yarrabank uniform. He wore his pants just tight enough, his shirt just loose enough, and the purple hoodie seemed to hang just right for him.

"Why doesn't he hang out with kids his own age?"

Peter was in Year 10, but he seemed to prefer the company of younger kids.

"Dunno," Hailie said.

"Has he got a girlfriend?"

"Why? Are you interested?"

"No!" Velvet said.

"That's the weird thing," Hailie said. "No one has ever seen him with a girl."

"If all the girls think he's hot, but he doesn't want to go out with them, and if he's intimidated by his own peer group, he must be insecure. It's obvious."

"Geez, you say some dumb stuff, Velvet."

Hailie left to meet up with her boyfriend behind the change sheds – not the footy-playing one who had refused to carry her to sick bay, she'd dropped him the week before, but her latest boyfriend, the greasy-looking singer from Toxic Shock.

# CHAPTER 5

Velvet stared at the Mandarin test that had just been handed back to her. It was nearly the end of first term. She had developed an uneasy routine at Yarrabank High. She wrote long, passionate essays, and her English teacher told her she was brilliant. The other students in her English class thought she was a stuck-up snob and a try-hard. The maths teacher, Mr Axiotis, was quite nice and algebraic factorising and simultaneous equations made sense to her at last. Mandarin, on the other hand, remained a complete mystery. There was a giant D on the top of the page. Velvet had never got such a low mark in her life.

The Mandarin teacher, Mrs Dwyer, was a pretty young Malaysian woman who wore cute outfits. The boys all fancied her; the girls all wanted to be her. She cracked jokes and everyone enjoyed Mandarin lessons. Everyone except Velvet. Mrs Dwyer spoke perfect English, but she gave all her instructions to the class in Mandarin. The only time she spoke in English was when she was explaining new grammar. Velvet didn't understand a word she said – in Mandarin or in English.

Mrs Dwyer was writing characters on the whiteboard and saying something in Mandarin. The other students were busily writing down the answers. Velvet stared at the characters. The only one she recognised was the verb "to be".

Velvet hated lunchtime almost as much as she hated Mandarin. At St Theresa's she'd had lots of girls in her friendship group, and other girls who were desperate to hang out with her on any days when she wasn't speaking to her friends. At Yarrabank, she sat by herself. Even the newly arrived refugees had each other to sit with, though they didn't speak the same language. Velvet spent her lunchtimes in the library.

At St Theresa's she'd ordered sushi or rocket and haloumi salad from the refectory. At Yarrabank, she ate sandwiches made by her mother. They were awful. Velvet forced herself to eat one sandwich. As she was walking to the bin to throw the rest away, she could smell smoke. A crowd was gathering.

Velvet saw Peter. "What's going on?"

"Someone set the rubbish skip on fire," he said. "Three guesses who it was."

Miss Ryan was putting out the flames with a fire extinguisher.

Velvet stood on her toes so she could see over the crowd. Mr Kislinski was marching Drago to his office.

At least lunchtime on Thursdays was short.

Cultural studies wasn't exactly the highlight of Velvet's week, but it did mean it was almost the weekend, and it was better than doing fifteen laps of the oval or having some jock hurl balls at her. Velvet spent the time doing her homework and reading the complete works of Jane Austen and Douglas Adams. She texted her friends at Saint Theresa's, but they didn't text back.

The other cultural studies students kept pretty much to themselves. All Velvet had to do was put up with Drago's obscene clay models, Hailie's endless chat about boyfriends and period cramps, Roula's unbelievable stories and Taleb's tinny guitar playing.

Jesus didn't speak much, he mainly grunted.

"Hi, Jesus, how are you?"

"Urgh."

"Hey, Jesus, how's the knee?"

"Urgh."

"Want a chewy, Jesus?"

"Urgh."

He was the only one who wasn't happy being in the cultural studies class. Peter told Velvet Jesus's story. As well as winning interschool swimming medals and playing in the hockey and lacrosse teams, he had been the school's star soccer player – a celebrity because he'd scored sixty-two goals in a season.

"But he was jumped in the changing rooms by six thugs from another team that lost badly. They beat him up – fixed his knee so he would never play again."

Jesus spent most of his time staring longingly out of the window at the students playing sport on the oval. Velvet almost felt sorry for him.

Velvet had no friends at Yarrabank. That was okay. She would be studious, come top in everything (except Mandarin). She would be aloof from the Yarrabank students. The last thing she wanted was to become one of them.

Velvet would have gone on all year reading her way through the classics and feeling superior in peace every Thursday afternoon, if it hadn't been for Roula's Uncle Dimitrios. When she arrived at T6 the following Thursday, the cultural studies class was in uproar. Instead of the usual background noise coming from computer games and Taleb's guitar strings, there was shouting, swearing and the sound of a chair being hurled across the room. Velvet timidly put her head around the door.

"Your uncle's a stupid old fart!"

"You wouldn't say that to his face, you knob!"

Roula and Drago were facing each other, standing so close their noses were almost touching. They were both seething with anger. Peter was trying a little quiet persuasion to stop the argument.

"Come on, you guys. Who cares what her dumb uncle says?"

"He is not dumb. He's smart. He's the Mayor of Yarrabank and he says Croats are sneaky liars."

Drago went for Roula's throat. Velvet rushed over to help Peter separate them.

"Let her go, Drago. You don't have to take any notice of what she says."

"Who asked you, stuck-up snobface?" Drago let go of Roula and turned on Velvet. "What would you know about this stuff?"

"Yeah," Roula said. "What would you know? This is... it's... European!"

Everyone was shouting. It even woke up Mr MacDonald. Roula had a hockey stick raised over Velvet's head, Jesus had Drago in a headlock, Hailie was throwing Drago's sculpture against the wall, Taleb had scrambled onto a desk with his arms wrapped protectively around his guitar.

The door swung open. It was Mr Kislinski.

"What is going on here?" he said in his best headmaster's voice. "Where is your teacher?"

They all turned to Mr MacDonald, who was reading the paper with clumps of red tapestry wool stuffed in his ears.

Once sporting equipment had been laid down, clay and wool returned to appropriate containers, and everyone was sitting down again, Mr Kislinski gave a speech about how fortunate they were, what great resources the school had and how they'd Let the School Down. He went on for ten minutes. Drago stared at Mr Kislinski, his eyes glazed, his chin resting in his hand.

"MacDonald, I think it's time the cultural studies class did something for the school in return," Mr Kislinski said.

Dig a big hole in the oval and bury themselves in it? Velvet couldn't imagine what he had in mind. Emigrate to Greenland?

"As you know this is the school's diamond jubilee year." Velvet didn't know. "There will be a week of festivities in November for parents of prospective students."

Drago's elbow slid off the desk as he pretended to fall asleep.

"Pay attention, Domitrovic. We're planning a sports cavalcade to show off Yarrabank's fine athletes. What we need is something artistic in between the gymnastics demonstration and the track and field finals, while visitors are having afternoon tea."

"Art-is-tic, sir?" Jesus pronounced the word as if it was a foreign term he'd never heard before.

"I want you people to put on a performance."

"I thought we just did that."

Mr Kislinski ignored Roula's comment and scowled at Mr MacDonald.

"I'm talking about something cultural. Prospective parents are looking for an all-round education these days. A flute ensemble or a string quartet. Or perhaps a short play."

Mr Kislinski was staring at the water-stained ceiling, searching for inspiration.

"Shakespeare. Now that's the thing to impress the arty parents. A Shakespeare play. MacDonald, I'd like you to organise something. I shall look in from time to time to see how things are progressing."

Mr Kislinski left T6 and jogged back across the oval.

# CHAPTER 6

The next week Velvet heard Mr MacDonald speak for the first time.

"Okay. We have to choose a play to perform."

The cultural studies students were busy with their usual tasks.

"Come on, Mr Mac," Hailie said. "Slinky didn't mean it."

Peter looked up from his current game. "He was just acting tough. He'll have forgotten about it by now."

"Yeah, he wouldn't let us loose in front of next year's parents. Would he?" Drago said.

"He means it." Mr MacDonald was thumbing through an Education Department book called _Shakespeare Adapted for Junior English Students_. The book looked like it was at least fifty years old. "It doesn't have to be great, just as long as you do something. How about _Much Ado About Nothing_?"

"My Mum's got that movie," Hailie said. "It's dumb."

"Okay. How about _Julius Caesar_?"

Everyone groaned.

"I'm not wearing a toga," Peter said.

"So what's he going to do if we don't come up with a play?" Roula asked. "Expel us?"

"Yes."

"Big deal," Drago said. "I got expelled twice last year."

"I'm not worried about you, Domitrovic," Mr MacDonald said. "It's me I'm concerned about."

"They don't expel teachers."

"I'm on a twelve-month contract. If I don't produce a performance for the jubilee, I could lose my job. I'd have to look for a position in another school."

"Great. Can we come too?"

"There are worse schools than this."

There was a murmur of disbelief.

"I might have to move to the country. There are Victorian schools that are practically in South Australia."

Mr MacDonald sat down and tossed the book of Shakespeare's plays to one side. "I have this recurring nightmare that I'm teaching in a place called Gundiwallop North." He sighed. "Okay. Not a play, a musical ensemble. I can tell Mr Kislinski that's a better idea. Taleb can play the guitar. How many other musicians do we have?"

"I play clarinet and piano," Velvet said, "but I don't have a clarinet any more. Or a piano."

"I used to play the violin," said Roula. "I was really good."

"You did not."

"I did so. I learned when I was four. I played in a children's orchestra that performed all over Europe. Seriously. In front of important people – kings and politicians and stuff."

"You can play violin, Roula?" Mr MacDonald was prepared to clutch at any straw.

"Yeah."

Taleb stopped playing his guitar. "Prove it."

"I had an accident and hit my head. When I woke up I couldn't remember how to play."

"Roula... you're... full of it," Jesus said, in between sit-ups.

"That's very sad, Roula. But are there any instruments you can remember how to play?"

"I learned the recorder in primary school."

"Terrific." Mr MacDonald sank back into his chair. "Anybody else?"

"I've had three saxophone lessons," Hailie said. "But Mum gave my saxophone to her boyfriend."

There was a kid at the back of the room with a patch over one eye who could play _Chariots of Fire_ on the recorder.

"Okay, we'll forget about the musical recital. Back to the play. Anybody done any drama? Velvet?"

"I had a part in _The Mikado_ at St Theresa's."

Mr MacDonald looked hopeful. "Anybody else?"

Silence.

Peter was looking through the book of plays. "We can't do a Shakespeare play. No one can understand this stuff."

"Drago can hardly read," Hailie said.

"We're all in this together, Hailie," said Mr MacDonald.

"Well, he can't. He's a dummy."

"Shut up."

"That's enough, you two."

Drago pushed his chair back noisily and stood up.

"I'd just like to say, I'm not sexist or nothing... but girls suck." He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that piles of sports equipment swayed precariously. No one took any notice.

"Can't we do something more modern," Velvet said. "A musical. Like... _Wicked_?"

"I saw that," Hailie said. "It was dumb."

"What about _We Will Rock You_?" Roula suggested.

Velvet sighed. "That's not a proper musical. It's just a string of pop songs."

"It's got to be Shakespeare. That's what Mr Kislinski wants," Mr MacDonald said. "No one will expect it to be any good. You just have to learn the lines."

"All of them?"

"We could just do extracts. Something funny like _Twelfth Night_."

"Has anybody ever read any Shakespeare?" Peter asked. "Apart from Velvet, of course."

Not a hand went up.

"I saw a movie with Mel Gibson where he went crazy," Jesus said. "That was Shakespeare wasn't it?"

Mr MacDonald sank back into his chair. "Gundiwallop North here I come."

Velvet had an idea. It took her a minute or two to decide whether she'd even mention it, since all they did was groan whenever she said anything. But Velvet wasn't the sort of girl who kept her opinions to herself.

"Why don't we do a modern version of a Shakespeare play, with music? You know, like an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical."

"Who's he?"

"The guy who wrote _The Phantom of the Opera_."

Everyone groaned again.

Velvet didn't tell them that she was a big fan of musical theatre. Three-quarters of her iTunes collection consisted of songs from musicals.

Taleb hadn't said a word up till then, but he put his guitar aside. "I refuse to play anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber."

"Not by him, just like that sort of thing."

"No way. I'd rather stick my head down the toilet."

Velvet was annoyed. "What do you know about Andrew Lloyd Webber?"

Taleb didn't answer. As far as he was concerned the subject was closed.

"That's not such a bad idea."

They all turned round to see who had said this. It was Drago. He was standing by the door.

"Sticking my head down the toilet?" Taleb said.

"No, making our own musical."

"Are you kidding?" Taleb said. "What do you know about music?"

"Nothing," said Drago. "But you do, and I reckon I could act a bit."

After a few moments of stunned silence, the idea began to catch on.

"It could work," Peter said.

"Can we wear gothic dresses?" asked Roula.

"Will there be battle scenes?" Jesus wanted to know.

Apart from Taleb, who seemed to be ideologically opposed to anything even vaguely connected with Andrew Lloyd Webber, Mr MacDonald was the only one who wasn't won over by Velvet's idea.

"A Shakespearean musical?" he said dubiously.

"It could be good, sir," Peter said.

Mr MacDonald liked it when they called him sir. "But which play would we do?"

"Stuffed if I know," Drago said.

The cultural studies class was silent again.

# CHAPTER 7

The following Thursday, Mr MacDonald brought in _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_. It was a very fat book. A total lack of knowledge of Shakespearean plays didn't stop anyone voicing a loud opinion on which one they should choose.

"Let's do _Romeo and Juliet_. Everyone's heard of that."

"Nah, it's got kissing in it," Peter said. "I'm not kissing any girls on stage."

"Would you prefer to kiss a boy, Pete?" Drago asked.

Peter ignored him.

"It's got to be one with lots of sword fights."

"Who asked you, Jesus?"

"It has to have plenty of girls' parts," Roula said, "not all battles and war."

"There's _King Lear_ ," Mr MacDonald said. "He's got three daughters."

"Does anyone die?"

"Of course. People always die."

"Let's do a funny one," Hailie said.

"How about _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" Mr MacDonald suggested.

"What's that about?" Roula asked.

"Fairies."

Jesus was unimpressed. "No chance."

Mr MacDonald held up his hand to stop the arguing. He started scribbling on a piece of paper.

"I'm writing down the names of every Shakespeare play."

"How many are there?" Jesus asked.

"About forty."

When he'd finished, Mr MacDonald used a ruler to rip the paper into strips. He whipped Peter's baseball cap off his head and put the pieces of paper in it.

"Hailie, pick one. Don't look!"

She reached in, picked out a strip and squinted at the writing.

" _Richard the Third_."

They all turned to Mr MacDonald. His smile faded.

"Is it a good one?" Drago asked.

"Not exactly the one that springs to mind when you think of snappy musical numbers."

"What's it about?" Peter asked.

"It's about a hunchback duke who kills his brother and two nephews so that he can become king."

"Sounds awful," Hailie said.

"There's a battle."

Jesus was pleased.

Mr MacDonald sent the girls to photocopy the play. When they returned, everyone stared at their photocopies as if they were written in Klingon. Even Velvet.

"I can't understand any of this," Hailie complained.

"You just have to pick out the key scenes. The exciting bits."

"There aren't any," Peter grumbled.

Jesus threw his photocopy aside. "Why isn't it written in normal words? It sounds weird."

"It was written 400 years ago." Velvet was pleased to be able to show off her literary knowledge.

"Yeah?"

"People spoke differently then."

"You mean people actually went around saying stuff like 'Good time of day unto your royal grace' instead of 'wassup'?"

"I don't know, Drago. I suppose so."

"Come on, guys, let's concentrate on this." Mr MacDonald started pacing around like a real teacher. "The first scene is called a soliloquy because Richard is talking to himself. He's got an inferiority complex. He's got a hunched back and a withered hand. Women think he's creepy. He's also got a popular hunk of a brother."

"King Edward," Velvet said.

"Right. Richard's angry. He wishes the war wasn't over. He was victorious in battle. A hero. He was happier fighting battles than going to polite social functions. So what does he do?"

"Talks to himself."

"Yes, but what is he plotting while he's talking to himself?"

"Ummm."

"Velvet?"

"He wants to be king. But he's the youngest so he has to get rid of his brothers first."

Jesus peered at the play. "How'd you work that out?"

"Velvet's right. He makes his brother Edward, the king, suspect that Clarence..."

"Who's he?" Drago was having trouble understanding the play.

"The other brother," Velvet explained.

"Richard fools King Edward into thinking that their brother Clarence wants to be king and is about to kill his young sons," Mr MacDonald continued. "Why does Richard want to do that?"

The cultural studies students studied the photocopies with furrowed brows.

"'Cos he's a creep?"

"'Cos he wants to be king himself?"

"You're both right. He does want to be king, but it's also partly to get his own back. No one likes him. 'Since I cannot be a lover, I am determined to prove a villain.'"

"He's misunderstood."

"Yes. Because he's ugly, people expect him to be mean. So he's going to oblige them."

Someone coughed.

Everyone looked up and realised that Mr Kislinski, true to his nickname, had crept into the room unnoticed. He looked disappointed. They were all studying the play. Even Drago.

"Coming along I see."

No one spoke. Mr Kislinski smiled and edged back out of the door. The class returned its attention to the photocopies.

"I don't see how we can write a song about this stuff."

"No one asked you to write a song, Jesus."

"Taleb? What do you reckon?"

"I dunno. Lots of songs are about guys saying that no one understands them." He played a few sad-sounding notes on his guitar. "I'll have a go."

"Great, you can work on it over the holidays."

# CHAPTER 8

When Velvet returned to school after the term break, there was a crowd outside the gym. Velvet knew the students at Yarrabank were keen on physical fitness, but surely they weren't so eager they were queuing up to get into the gym on the first day of term? Then she saw Roula and Hailie in the crowd, and she knew that couldn't be the reason. Her curiosity got the better of her. She pushed her way towards them.

"What's going on?"

Hailie pointed to the gym wall. Someone had graffitied it over the holidays. Red letters a metre high proclaimed SLINKY STINKS.

"Bet you five bucks it was Drago," Roula said.

"How do you know?"

"It's just the sort of thing he'd do."

Hailie's ankle was out of plaster.

"You're not wearing your snob-school uniform," she observed.

Velvet's looked down at the secondhand polyester dress and the purple polar fleece hoodie she was now forced to wear. Her mother had sold her St Theresa's uniform during the holidays.

Normally, Velvet and her parents spent the first-term break at their holiday house in Port Douglas, but they'd sold that. She'd hoped to spend a lot of time with Rhiannon, Ashleigh and Clara-Louise, her friends from St Theresa's. But Rhiannon and Clara-Louise went on music camp and Ashleigh had gone to Cambodia with her family. They'd only got together once.

Over the holidays, Velvet had had one small success. She had begged her parents to let her have a private music tutor outside school hours, but they'd said they couldn't afford it. Mr MacDonald, Velvet had discovered, used to be Yarrabank's music teacher before the music program had been axed so that funds could be diverted to the gym refurbishment. He still took instrument lessons at lunchtime. She had managed to talk her parents into forking out for a term of lunchtime piano tuition.

Only a handful of Yarrabank students took the extra-curricular music classes, so there were plenty of free sessions on Mr MacDonald's timetable.

When Velvet arrived in T6 for her first lesson, she was surprised to find Taleb there.

"I wouldn't have thought you needed music lessons."

"I don't."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I'm taking this class."

"You mean you're teaching it?"

Velvet looked around. She was the only student who had turned up. "Where's Mr Mac?"

"He's got a dental appointment."

Taleb indicated a dusty upright piano. "How good are you?"

"I've passed my Grade 7 Exam."

"That means nothing to me. Play something."

For some reason, Velvet was nervous playing in front of Taleb. She'd brought some sheet music with her – _Easy Piano: Andrew Lloyd Webber_. She played a bit of "Memory" from _Cats_.

Taleb looked like he'd just swallowed something unpleasant.

"I'm a bit rusty because we had to sell our piano," Velvet said.

Taleb rummaged through a pile of sheet music.

"Clarinet is my first instrument." Velvet didn't know why she felt the need to explain herself to Taleb.

"Try this. This is probably your sort of thing, since you don't know any music from this century."

He handed her some sheet music. It was _The Best of Simon and Garfunkel_. Velvet opened it to the first song, "The Sound of Silence" and struggled through a few bars.

"I can't play something just like that, without practising."

"So practise. Do it again."

She started again.

"Your fingers are too stiff," Taleb said. "Loosen them up."

Velvet stopped in the middle of a bar.

"Don't talk to me while I'm playing! I can't play and listen to you at the same time."

Mr MacDonald returned from the dentist with a swollen jaw. He collapsed onto a chair, moaning.

Taleb picked up his guitar and started playing "The Sound of Silence". He played it perfectly. He swapped to a country and western version, then a heavy metal version and finally a syncopated jazz version. He was a talented guitarist, but that didn't mean he was any good at teaching piano.

"I don't think I'll take lunchtime music after all."

"You need all the practice you can get," Taleb said.

"Yeah, well we can't all be musical geniuses." Velvet stuffed her Andrew Lloyd Webber book in her bag. "If I was a great pianist, I wouldn't need lessons."

She stomped out of the room, thinking how pleased her mother would be that she was saving her the thirty dollars a week it would have cost for piano class.

Mr MacDonald's enthusiasm for the performance had worn off over the holidays. He came into the cultural studies class with the employment section of the newspaper under his arm, and asked Peter to show him where to look up jobs on the internet.

"Aren't you going to help us with the play, sir?" Jesus asked.

"I've started you off. You can carry on by yourselves."

"But we need someone to tell us what to do," Roula said.

"Yeah, like in the movies," Jesus said.

"We need a director!"

"I need coffee," Mr MacDonald said. "Can someone get me one from the staffroom?"

No one volunteered.

"Velvet, you've done drama." Mr MacDonald put down his newspaper and went to the door. "You can be the director."

"I played a non-speaking schoolgirl in _The Mikado_!"

"Come on, Mr Mac." Even Peter failed to persuade him.

Mr MacDonald shut the door behind him.

Velvet wasn't about to let everything fall in a heap. "We can do it by ourselves."

"You just want to be in charge," Drago said.

"Someone's got to get organised." Velvet took a folder from her bag. "Over the holidays, I listened to some music to get inspiration and..." She opened the folder. Her copy of the play was inside. "I made some notes."

"You would."

"Seriously. You're such a try-hard, Velvet."

Velvet had had plenty of time to think about the school play over the holidays. "Are we going to do it or not?"

"Yeah, we're going to do it, 'cos we have to," Peter said, "but we don't have to be enthusiastic about it."

"Did everybody read the play?" Velvet asked.

Silence.

Velvet's photocopy had bits highlighted in magenta. "Did _anybody_ read the play?"

"I don't do schoolwork in the holidays," Hailie said. "Ever."

"What's the point? I give up."

"Come on, Corduroy, don't sulk. What else have you got in your fancy folder?" Drago snatched it out of her hand.

"Give it back."

Drago peered at Velvet's notes and then handed the folder to Peter to read.

"Overture, chorus. Scene one, Richard's song. Scene two, murder of Clarence. Murderers sing funny song."

"Give it back!"

"Let's see what music she's been listening to." Taleb picked up Velvet's phone and opened iTunes. " _Phantom of the Opera_!"

"I was just listening to it to get ideas. What's wrong with that?"

"It's sickly rubbish."

"It's famous."

"It's crap!"

Velvet had seen the stage production three times, and lost count of how many times she'd watched the DVD.

"I suppose the fact that millions of people went to see it means nothing?"

Velvet and Taleb were facing each other – Velvet with her hands on her hips, Taleb with his arms folded.

"Just because you can play a couple of classical pieces on the piano doesn't make you a musician."

"So you're a musical maestro, are you? You don't need to learn anything."

The others sat mesmerised, as if they were watching a play. Mr MacDonald came back with a mug of coffee, ignored the noise and sat down at his favourite desk at the back of the room.

"I know I'm not a proper musician," Velvet said. "But I passed my Grade 7 piano exam, and I was runner up in the Theodora Craddock Award for musical achievement at St Theresa's last year!"

"That means you know how to copy other people's music." One of the little fluorescent-pink rubber bands that hooked Taleb's top braces to his bottom braces pinged off and hit Velvet on the cheek. "You don't know anything about creating music."

"Those awful noises you make with your guitar aren't music. Anybody could do that!" Velvet snatched back her phone. "If you're so clever let's hear what you've done over the holidays."

Taleb picked up his guitar. Instead of the purple electric one, he had an acoustic guitar. He sat on a desk and tuned it. Velvet glared at Mr MacDonald, who hadn't done anything to support her. Taleb played an opening melody and then started to sing.

" _Now winter turns to summer and the sun begins to shine_.

_Every face you see is smiling, every face that is but mine_.

_For I am not a pretty boy_.

_My face is not my pride_.

_When I smile at a woman_ ,

_She turns her head aside_."

Taleb didn't have a great voice but it was a catchy melody and he sang in tune.

" _Now the gruelling war is over, I should celebrate the peace_.

_But I can't stop from wishing that the fighting didn't cease_.

_For I am not a pretty boy_.

_My face is not my pride_.

_When I smile at a woman_ ,

_She turns her head aside_."

After the second verse he gained confidence and his voice seemed to brighten the dingy classroom.

" _In the war I was a hero, everybody called my name_.

_But the battle cry has faded and with it went my fame_."

He sang the chorus again and finished with a plaintive guitar melody.

Everyone sat in silence. Now that his anger had disappeared, Taleb was too uncomfortable to look at them.

Mr MacDonald was paying attention again. "I think we have our musical director."

"That was beautiful, Taleb," Hailie said.

"Yeah," Roula said, "like a proper song."

"I have to work on the riff a bit." He twiddled the tuning pegs.

Jesus punched him in the arm. "I didn't know you could sing."

Taleb shrugged and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.

"We've made a start." Mr MacDonald sounded surprised.

Everyone nodded.

At home time the others were all out of the door before the bell had finished ringing, except for Taleb who was putting his guitar into its case. Velvet took her time collecting up her folder and pen.

She swallowed her pride. "That was good, what you did."

Taleb looked up at her, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"What do you mean?"

"You broke the ice. You were the first one to perform. The others didn't say anything, but they were all terrified of acting or singing in front of everyone. Now you've done it and they won't feel so uncomfortable when their turn comes."

Taleb did up the clasp on his guitar case. "I'm used to performing."

"You don't get nervous?"

"Yeah, I get nervous. I'm used to that too."

They walked towards the gate together. Taleb stopped at the bike rack, unlocked his bike and slung his guitar on his back. He turned to Velvet. She noticed that he'd replaced the little rubber band on his braces.

"Sorry I yelled at you," he said and rode off.

# CHAPTER 9

Mr MacDonald, who was looking in the employment columns less and talking about the play more, had asked the cultural studies class to work out what scenes they wanted to use from the play's first act. He wasn't getting much response.

"When do we get to the battle scene?"

"Shut up, Jesus. The battle scene's last."

Mr MacDonald continued, "Richard has to get everybody who's in line to be king out of the way. So he's got to kill his two brothers and King Edward's sons, the little princes."

Mr MacDonald continued to go through the play line by line, but after twenty minutes the others had lost interest.

"Okay. It's time we started casting," he said. "I think everyone will get into this a lot more if they know who they're going to play."

There was a murmur of approval.

"So who wants to take the part of Richard?"

"Richard is such a horrible person," Velvet said, not really helping the casting process. "He's mean to everybody. He tricks Lady Anne into liking him even though he killed her husband. And he looks creepy."

Mr MacDonald agreed. "He's probably the most hated king in British history."

"No wonder," Peter said.

"It's a great part."

A rare silence settled over the cultural studies class.

Velvet broke the silence. "I think Drago should play Richard."

"Thanks."

"I just think the role would suit you."

"Because I'm the most hated kid at Yarrabank?"

"That's not what I meant. But you do have a chip on your shoulder."

"Me? You're the one who's always moaning about how it was better at your old school, wishing things were how they used to be. You play Richard!"

Velvet was about to argue the point, but Mr MacDonald cut in.

"We'll audition," he said. "Peter, you go first. Read some of the soliloquy – the opening bit."

Peter read quite well. Taleb read in a boring monotone. When it came to Drago's turn, he struggled and stumbled over the unfamiliar words.

"I don't want to read this crap," he said and stormed out of the room. This time he slammed the door so hard that pots of paint teetered and basketballs were dislodged from their pile and bounced all over the room.

"You're right, Velvet," Mr MacDonald said. "He's perfect."

"He'll never agree." Peter said. "You could have been a bit more subtle, Velvet."

"What do you mean?"

"You practically said, 'You're ugly, you're mean, the part's yours'."

"That's not what I said."

"Drago can't have the main part," Roula said. "Seriously. He can't read normal books."

"He doesn't have to read. He just has to remember."

"Peter was better," Hailie said.

"How can you have a Vietnamese king of England?"

"It's the performance that's important, Jesus," Mr MacDonald said. "What do the rest of you think?"

"Peter's not right for the part." Hailie looked at Peter with what she probably thought was a seductive smile. "He's too good-looking."

"Drago's angry with the world just like Richard," Velvet said. "It has to be him."

Everyone agreed.

"Someone better find Drago," Peter said, "and break the news to him."

"I'll go," Velvet volunteered.

She found Drago smoking under a tree and sat down next to him.

"We all want you to have the lead role."

"You mean no one else wants to play Richard because he's such a creep."

"You've got the right edge to play him, Drago. You can be mean and angry and you've got... an attitude."

"Thanks."

"Peter hasn't got a mean bone in his body, Taleb can't act and Jesus is a total jock. It has to be you, doesn't it?"

"Like I said, no one else want's to do it."

"It's not like you've got anything more important to do on Thursday afternoons. You said you thought you could act. You'll be the star of the show."

"I can't say all that dumb Shakespeare stuff."

"We'll rewrite it. You can play it any way you like as long as it gets across the same message."

"Any way?" Drago smiled maliciously.

Velvet gave him a suspicious look. She couldn't begin to imagine what Drago's warped mind could do to Shakespeare.

"Almost any way. I think you'll be good. Will you do it?"

Drago shrugged. "I suppose so."

They went back inside.

"Drago's agreed to be Richard."

Everyone clapped. Drago tried to look like he didn't care.

"But we're going to rewrite it a bit, if that's okay, Mr Mac. So it's more like modern speech."

"Fine with me."

"We'll start with the scene where Richard woos Lady Anne," Velvet said.

"Okay, now we're making progress," Mr MacDonald said. "Look, it's too dismal in here. I think we should continue this casting meeting in Hades."

"Great idea." Jesus was already on his way to the door.

"Who's going to pay?" Drago asked.

Taleb was searching his pockets. "I haven't got a cent."

"I'll shout," said Mr MacDonald. "But don't think I'm going to make a habit of it."

They strolled nonchalantly past all the straining and sweating athletes. They were all trying to make out like it wasn't a big deal, but there was no doubt about it, walking out of the school gates and over to the coffee shop across the road in school time was a buzz. Even Drago was smiling. Velvet felt a bit guilty. She didn't want to actually start enjoying being at Yarrabank.

True to its name, Hades was warm. They pushed two tables together next to the open fire and peeled off their hoodies. The walls were painted black with orange flames. Red devil toys hung from the ceiling. The decor in Hades was really tacky, but it was a big improvement on T6. The owner had banned Drago from setting foot on the premises for putting sugar in the salt shakers, and Mr MacDonald had to plead for a good behaviour bond.

Their orders arrived and they all sipped frothy coffees and hot chocolates and started thinking about the play again.

"There aren't any good parts for girls," Hailie grumbled as she wiped some foam from Peter's top lip and licked it off her finger.

Roula and Velvet exchanged a glance.

"There's Lady Anne. That's a good part." Mr MacDonald leafed through his photocopy. "Turn to page three. She comes in mourning the death of her husband, who Richard killed in battle. What happens next?"

They all studied their photocopies.

"She slags off at him," Peter said. "She calls him names. A toad and a hedgehog."

"Oooooh, serious stuff." Drago was following the words with his finger.

"And she spits at him."

"Nice." Even Jesus was interested.

"Yes, but underneath the nasty exterior, Richard is a real charmer," Mr MacDonald continued. "Even though he's just killed her husband, he manages to win her over. He offers her his sword to kill him, but she can't do it. He gives her his ring."

"And she's sucked in badly."

"We'll need a song for Lady Anne there I think, Taleb."

Taleb shrugged.

Velvet was impressed. Mr MacDonald was managing to get the cultural studies class interested in Shakespeare.

"How come you know so much about this play, sir?" Peter asked.

"I studied it at uni."

"Which part did you play?" Velvet couldn't picture Mr Mac as a young man.

"I didn't act in it. I wrote an essay."

"Did you get a good grade?" Roula asked.

Velvet could see that they were getting off track again. "That's one girl's part. But there are three of us."

"What about Margaret, the old queen? There's a terrific scene where she curses everybody. And there's Edward's wife, Queen Elizabeth, and Richard's mother, the Duchess of York. Plenty of female roles."

"Great. So someone gets to play Drago's mum," Hailie said. "Very romantic."

"It's a boys' play," Velvet said. "We should have done _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ or _Much Ado about Nothing_."

"Quit whinging," Drago said. "We're not changing now."

"It's all right for you," Roula continued to whinge. "You've got the main part, you'll be in practically every scene."

Mr MacDonald waved his spoon. "Perhaps we can add another scene for Lady Anne. Velvet, I want you to do some research. Find out something about Anne that we can work in."

"Okay. Does that mean I can play Lady Anne?"

"Acting is only part of a production, Velvet. We've also got to adapt the play for our purposes. There's no point in having good actors if the script isn't good first. The scriptwriter is very important."

Velvet liked the idea of being a scriptwriter.

"We'll do the female roles next week," Mr Mac said. "Let's finish casting the boys."

He turned to the next page of his script.

"This scene is where Richard has his brother Clarence murdered."

"Great," said Jesus, cheering up. "How does he get it? A bullet in the head? A sword in the guts?"

"He hires two guys to do it for him. It's actually a comic scene. They can't decide how to do the deed. In fact they get cold feet and don't want to do it at all. In the end they stab him and then drown him in a barrel of wine."

"Sounds like a stupid way to kill somebody."

"There's heaps of male characters," Hailie complained. "We haven't got enough guys to play them all."

"We needn't have all of them." Mr MacDonald started writing a list on the back of his script. "King Edward can die offstage, so we don't need him. We can forget about most of the minor characters. Buckingham is important though. He's a loyal friend and ally to Richard, but Richard has him killed in the end. Peter how do you feel about playing the Duke of Buckingham?"

Peter shrugged. A shrug was what passed for, "Yeah I'd love to" with Yarrabank boys.

"Taleb, you can be Clarence."

"The one who gets drowned in the wine?"

"Yep."

"What about me?" Jesus asked.

"I've got the very part for you – the Earl of Richmond. He's the guy who kills Richard in the battle at the end. He becomes the next king of England."

"Sounds great."

Velvet was worried about Jesus's acting ability. "Does he have to say much?"

"Hardly anything."

"The part's yours, Jesus," Velvet said.

Everyone laughed – even Jesus.

They went home fifteen minutes early and Velvet walked to the train station with the other girls.

"Isn't Peter nice?" Hailie said. "He's so thoughtful."

"Looks like you've got your sights set on him," Roula said.

"I'm going to be his first girlfriend."

"I wonder how come he's never had one before?" Velvet said.

"He's just shy. He needs an experienced woman to show him the way."

"And that's you is it, Hailie?" Velvet said. "You haven't even reached puberty yet."

"Cow," Hailie snapped.

"Anyway, I thought you were going out with Nestor Szkaley?"

Hailie looked at Velvet in disbelief. "That was in first term! I've had at least four boyfriends since then."

"Did you hook up with Dylan Harrison yet?" Roula asked.

"Yeah."

Velvet was horrified.

"You don't mean you... you didn't...?"

"You're so dumb, Velvet. Seriously."

"I tongue kissed him and he..."

"Yuk, I don't want to hear about it!"

"I s'pose you'll pash Drago soon. Since you and him are gonna write stuff together."

"No way!" The thought of kissing Drago made Velvet want to retch. "I just want the play to happen. It could be good."

"Could be a total disaster."

Roula was bored with this artistic talk. "Tell us about Dylan. What happened when you went bowling on the weekend?"

"Well he... "

Velvet rammed in her earbuds and turned up "The Music of the Night" full blast so that she didn't have to listen to the gory details.

"Settling in at school are you, darling?" Velvet's mother said when she got home.

"No."

"You seem a bit happier."

"I'm in a drama group. We're going to put on a play."

"Lovely. Are there some nice young people in the drama group?" Velvet's mother didn't like saying "kids".

"Nice? Not exactly."

"Why don't you bring them home for afternoon tea one day?"

"Afternoon tea! Mother, they aren't that civilised. Drago would probably break the china."

"Drago? Is that a nickname?"

"No, Mother, it's his real name. He's a bit of a creep. Taleb's okay though."

"Aren't there any girls, darling?"

"Yeah, there's Roula and Hailie."

"Hailie." Velvet's mother latched onto the one Anglo-sounding name. "Is she your friend?"

"I haven't got any friends, I told you. And Hailie doesn't have girlfriends, only boyfriends. She's got her claws out for Peter."

"Peter?"

"He's Vietnamese. And then there's Jesus..."

"Surely the teachers don't approve of you calling a boy Jesus!"

"That's his name. He's from some African country."

"Aren't there any Australian children at this school?"

"Mum, they're all Australian."

# CHAPTER 10

Velvet arranged lunchtime meetings with Drago twice a week, so they could work on the first act. The sun was shining and Velvet suggested they sit on the oval. She preferred to be out in the open, just in case he tried anything.

They were working on the scene where Richard reveals how he's going to convince King Edward that Clarence is about to kill the little princes. Velvet soon realised that Hailie was right. Drago could barely read, but he did have a good memory. If she read his speeches out to him and explained the difficult words, he had quite a knack for picking out phrases from the original and mixing them with modern speech. They'd just got to the bit where Clarence enters when Taleb walked past.

"'Dive, thoughts, down to my soul, here Clarence comes'," Velvet quoted and ventured a smile. Taleb stopped but he didn't smile back.

"We just got to your entrance in the play."

"Yeah?" He was watching some Year 7s play baseball, so it didn't look like he was talking to them. "What do I have to say?"

"You're upset that your brother King Edward is sending you to the Tower of London."

"Why's he doing that?"

"Richard has spread a rumour that there's a prophecy saying his sons, the little princes, will be killed by someone whose name begins with the letter G."

"But I thought my name was Clarence."

"George, Duke of Clarence. Just like Richard is the Duke of Gloucester. They call him Gloucester until he becomes king."

"Does everybody in this play have two names?"

"Pretty much."

"Hey, the prophecy comes true," Drago said, "because Gloucester kills the kids. Right?"

"Yes."

"I get it." Drago looked pleased that he'd been able to understand something.

Velvet tried to get Taleb back into the conversation. "The prophecy. Sounds like a good name for a song."

"Maybe," Taleb said and walked away.

Drago was still poring over the script.

"I could help you with your reading, if you like," Velvet suggested.

"I don't need any help."

It was the first cold day for the year. Suddenly winter didn't seem far away. T6 was freezing and rain dripped steadily from a hole in the ceiling into a misshapen bowl left behind by an embarrassed ceramics student. The girls were arguing about who should be Lady Anne.

"I'm the one with the drama experience," Velvet said.

"Yeah, but you don't know anything about modern music," Hailie said.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I'm the one with royal blood," Roula said. "I should be the one to play her."

Velvet was searching YouTube for Lady Anne's speech from the 1955 Laurence Olivier film.

The boys were sitting back, looking on with interest, safe in the knowledge of their own parts and relative importance – except for Drago who hadn't arrived yet.

Mr MacDonald came in. He cleared his throat and smiled. Velvet was immediately suspicious. He hardly ever smiled.

"I've decided who will play Lady Anne."

The girls stopped bickering and turned to him.

"What about auditions?"

"I've made an executive decision. Taleb's working on a terrific song for Lady Anne, so it has to be someone with a really strong voice. Isn't that right, Taleb?"

"I didn't say that."

"But we haven't heard the girls sing yet," Peter said.

Mr MacDonald held up his hand. Not that that stopped them from all talking at once.

"Everybody, I'd like you to meet our Lady Anne." Mr MacDonald beckoned to the open door and a Chinese girl walked in and bowed.

The cultural studies class stared at her. Velvet stood up to protest, but for once words failed her. She sat down again.

"Who the hell is she?" Drago had followed her in, his customary fifteen minutes late.

"Come on, guys, be nice. This is Mei Hua Qian. Wait till you hear her sing. She's a trained Chinese opera singer."

Mei Hua continued to stand to attention at the front of the class.

Velvet found her voice. "She can't be Lady Anne. What about us?"

"There are plenty of other parts for the rest of you girls."

"They're all a bunch of old dragons," Roula said.

"They're all excellent parts."

The girls glared at Mr MacDonald. The boys were unusually defensive on their behalf.

"That sucks, Mr Mac," Peter said.

Drago walked over to the new girl and looked her up and down. Mei Hua's smile didn't falter. She was wearing the sort of pink floral dress that five-year-old girls love. Her hair was in short pigtails tied with bows. She wore neat turned-down white socks and a plush backpack in the shape of a panda. She looked like she belonged in primary school, except for her breasts, which were very well developed.

"If she's such a good singer, let's hear her," Drago said.

"Would you like to sing, Mei Hua?" Mr MacDonald asked politely.

Mei Hua looked at him blankly, still smiling.

"Don't tell me," Velvet said. "She doesn't speak English."

Everybody groaned.

"She's only been in the country for four weeks. She's a very intelligent girl. I'm sure she'll pick it up in no time."

Mr MacDonald tried to mime singing, even sang a couple of bars himself, and Mei Hua finally got the idea. She took a deep breath and launched into a Chinese opera. The force of her voice nearly blew them out of their seats. It was strong, high-pitched and warbly, and of course they couldn't understand a word of it. She stopped as abruptly as she'd begun. The cultural studies class sat with their mouths open.

"What was that?" Hailie asked.

Even Peter couldn't disguise his horror. "Sounded like someone stepping on bagpipes."

Drago was still standing at the front of the class, arms folded, looking unusually thoughtful.

"Let me get this straight. You want to give someone who can't speak a word of English and who sings like a cocky on heat the main female part in our play?"

"Yes."

Drago paced up and down, frowning. Velvet suspected he'd been studying acting techniques on late-night television. "Even though we have three girls who speak English?" Drago indicated the girls with a sweep of his hand.

"Yes."

"Three girls who've been in this since the beginning?"

"Yes."

Drago turned to Mr MacDonald dramatically. "Slinky threatened you, didn't he?"

"Yes," said Mr MacDonald.

"You're pathetic... sir."

"He made me," Mr MacDonald whined. "Her parents don't want her to play sport, they think running will ruin her voice. Slinky promised them she would get the leading role in the school musical. They're going to donate heaps of money towards the electronic scoreboard."

"I thought Chinese people were all poor rice farmers," Jesus said.

"Her family owns a very successful electrical goods chain. They're rich."

Mei Hua bowed again. She must have heard a word she understood.

Drago was about to launch into another defence, but he stopped. "What's that noise?"

They all listened. There was a faint sound like someone gargling.

"Hey, Corduroy. Hate to tell you this, but it's your phone."

Velvet put her hand in her pocket. Her phone wasn't there. She looked around. Drago was pointing at the misshapen ceramic pot. "It's in there."

Velvet was on her hands and knees fishing her phone out of the water.

"No!" Velvet groaned. "Not my iPhone."

She dried the phone on her uniform and tried to play some music, check her email, call someone. It wouldn't respond. It wasn't the latest model and she had the cheapest possible prepaid plan, but her phone was the one thing that she hadn't had to sell. She wanted to cry.

The others were more concerned about the casting of the new girl.

"It's not fair," Roula said. "We didn't even get a chance."

Velvet stared at her phone's blank screen and prodded the button.

"My whole life is on my phone."

"Get over it, Velvet."

She'd lost her contacts from St Theresa's, photos of her old life. And her music – playlists she'd spent hours compiling. She was already angry because Mr MacDonald hadn't given her the part of Lady Anne, but this was the last straw.

"We should go on strike!" she said. "If we walk out, the play can't go on."

"Yeah," Hailie said. "Who's going to play all the dragon women if we go on strike?"

"Come on, girls. Only one of you can play Lady Anne," Mr MacDonald said. "Even if Mei Hua hadn't arrived, there'd still be two of you playing the supporting roles."

Velvet shook her phone to get the water out. "Well, we're not going to! You guys will have to dress up for the women's parts. You can be Drago's mum, Jesus."

"Get lost," Jesus said.

"Don't be stupid, Velvet," Peter said.

"I'm serious. That's what they did in Shakespeare's day."

"What?" Drago wasn't following.

"Men played the female parts. Only men were actors."

"Yeah?"

"Taleb, play Lady Anne's song," Mr MacDonald said, "so Mei Hua can hear it."

"It's not ready yet."

"It doesn't have to be perfect."

"I said it's not ready, okay?"

"How about we rehearse some of act one then? Let's have a look at the script you and Drago have been working on, Velvet."

"I'm on strike as a writer as well as a performer," Velvet said, cradling her phone in her hands.

It suddenly started to play "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" at full volume.

Taleb glared at her. "Turn off that horrible noise!"

The song kept repeating over and over again. There was nothing Velvet could do to stop it. Velvet sat on her phone.

When the bell went, the girls were still striking, Sarah Brightman was still singing and Mr MacDonald would not change his mind.

Velvet didn't think the battery in her phone was ever going to go flat. At home, she tried putting it under her mattress, burying it in the dirty clothes basket, but there was nowhere in their little house where she could escape the faint strains of "Don't Cry for Me Argentina". Eventually, she put it out in the shed and was able to get to sleep.

# CHAPTER 11

Mr MacDonald was droning on about the brilliance of Shakespeare's language, but no one was listening. Velvet was still trying to get her phone to work. Following advice on the internet, she had buried it in a bowl of rice grains to dry it out. She'd recharged it but the touch screen wouldn't respond. It was still blank, but at least iTunes had stopped playing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina".

Hailie and Roula's indignation hadn't survived the week out. The boys had all lost interest in the play, but they had nowhere else to go. The only alternative on a Thursday afternoon was to join the sweating hordes out on the oval. Drago had reverted to sculpting. This time it was a disembowelled rat. Jesus was improving his hand-eye coordination by aiming beans from a ripped beanbag at the girls. Hailie was practising sexy looks on Peter, who was studiously ignoring her. Taleb played his Toxic Shock songs with headphones on. Mei Hua continued to smile and the other girls continued not speaking to her.

Velvet prodded the screen again, and it suddenly lit up. There was a screensaver of a basket of kittens that she'd never seen before. Her phone started calling someone.

"Hello? Hello? Who is this?"

It was her grandmother's voice. On speaker phone. Velvet tried to hang up the call, but it wouldn't let her.

"Hi, Granny." The rest of the class turned to look at her. "Sorry. I dialled the wrong number. I'll ring you tonight."

Velvet was torn. The play had been the only thing making life at Yarrabank bearable, but she could never forgive Mr MacDonald for letting the main role go to Mei Hua, and she was determined not to take part in it.

She had to admit that she'd really wanted to play Lady Anne. If they'd auditioned, the part would have been hers, she was sure of that. It had been really stupid of her to imagine that she'd found something she could enjoy at Yarrabank. One of Jesus's beans hit her on the back of the neck. Really stupid.

There was only one thing for it. She'd have to get out of the school. She made a decision. She would apply for entry into Endeavour High, a state school with selective entry for high-achieving girls. Her parents had said it was too far for her to travel every day, but she didn't care.

Velvet then decided to spend Thursday afternoons studying. She would aim for straight As to help with her Endeavour High application. The school had a great drama program, and it was a designated music school. Velvet felt the sharp sting of a well-aimed bean for the third time. There was another good thing about Endeavour – there were no boys.

Velvet slammed her books shut and shoved them in her bag. "I've had enough of this."

Drago looked up from his rat intestines. "Where do you think you're going, Ms Snobnose?"

"None of your business."

"If you go outside this room you'll be dragged off to play basketball or hockey."

Velvet hesitated for a moment. Peter was right. There was nowhere else in the school where she could avoid the sweat brigade. Mr MacDonald had gone to get a coffee. She made another decision. She didn't like breaking rules. She certainly didn't want anything in her report about her lacking discipline, but there was only so much an intelligent girl could take.

"I'm going over to Hades, where I can work in peace."

Her phone dialled her dentist as she marched to the door. Taleb looked up and took off his headphones. She didn't wait to see if he was going to say anything. She left T6 and ducked through the hole in the back fence. She worked in Hades for the rest of the afternoon, interrupted only by her phone calling her old music teacher and triple zero.

As soon as she got home, she downloaded the Endeavour High application form.

The next Thursday, Velvet went straight to Hades after lunch. She felt quite bohemian sitting at the laminex table with a cappuccino, writing notes for an essay entitled _Psychological Metaphor in_ _Obernewtyn_.

She was now desperate enough to try and make contact with her old friends again, even though they'd ignored her for months. The touch screen on her phone still wasn't working, but she'd discovered she could speak instructions into it.

"Send text message to Rhiannon," she said. "Hi there. Lost all my contacts. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't changed your number." She sounded pathetic. "Delete message!"

The phone took no notice of her. A female voice said something in Spanish. The message was sent.

Velvet managed to make the coffee last for an hour and a half, and began writing a draft of her essay introduction. She didn't notice Taleb come in and was able to look genuinely surprised when he sat down at the table with her. He didn't say anything, but signalled for a coffee like he did that sort of thing all the time. Velvet carefully finished the sentence she was writing before she laid down her pen.

"What brings you here?"

Taleb stared at the little red devil hanging above their table for a while before he spoke. "We can't give up on this play, you know that."

"Why not? I've got other plans."

"Like what?"

Velvet didn't answer. She had sent off her application to Endeavour, but she didn't tell Taleb that she was planning on leaving Yarrabank.

He sipped his coffee. "We can still make the play happen."

"We?"

"Yeah. It just needs someone to keep it on track."

"And let the new girl have the lead role?"

"I've told Mr Mac I won't write the songs unless he holds auditions for the girls' parts. He's bluffing when he says he doesn't care if the play happens or not. It has to happen or he'll be in trouble. If I don't write the songs and you don't write the script, there won't be a play."

A text arrived from Rhiannon. "Think texting in Spanish will impress me? Loser."

Velvet had to face it. Her old friends had dropped her. She didn't need a lot of convincing to continue with the play, but she let Taleb keep trying anyway.

"I bet you wouldn't get a chance like this at your snobby girls' school."

"What? I wouldn't get a chance to be insulted and yelled at?"

"You wouldn't get a chance to produce your own show."

Taleb was right. At St Theresa's, Velvet had never been able to get a lead role in the school play. She'd only ever had the part of someone unimportant in the background. They never wrote their own scripts, and the Drama teacher did the directing.

"I've been thinking about what you said before... how it could be like... you know..." Taleb apparently had something on his mind, but was having trouble getting it out.

"Andrew Lloyd Webber?"

"It wouldn't be anything like that," he added hastily.

"No, but it could be the same concept."

"A story – with songs."

"And we can adapt the story a bit. It doesn't have to be exactly like Shakespeare wrote it."

"Yeah." Taleb opened his guitar case. He had a sheet of paper with lyrics scribbled on it, much crossed out. "I've finished Lady Anne's song. Do you want to hear it?"

Velvet nodded. The only other customers, two mums with kids in pushers, also listened as Taleb sang the song for her.

" _What do you do when those you loved_

_Are suddenly dead and gone?_

_My tears keep falling to the ground_

_I really can't go on_.

" _Why aren't the angels angry?_

_Why doesn't lightning strike him dead?_

_Why aren't the angels angry?_

_Why does he walk around instead?_

_"I curse the heart that had the heart_

_To do these dreadful deeds_.

_It doesn't change the way things are_

_The wound within still bleeds_.

" _Why aren't the angels angry?_

_Why does he live and they stand by?_

_Why aren't the angels angry?_

_Why is he here to see me cry?_ "

The mums applauded.

Taleb fiddled with the tuning pegs. "It needs another verse."

"It's lovely," Velvet said. Actually, it was possibly the most beautiful song she'd ever heard.

"The auditions for the girls' parts are going to be in the hall next week," Taleb said.

"In the hall?"

"Yeah. Mr Mac thinks it'll make Hailie and Roula nervous, so that we'll have to pick Mei Hua. He's got Drago helping her with her English."

Velvet laughed. "That's ironic."

Taleb strummed a chord. "Will you come and audition?"

"Okay."

He handed her his lyrics. They finished their coffee in silence.

Taleb picked up Velvet's phone. "Why does it say it's 9.20 a.m.?"

"That's the time in Dubai. Just add six hours."

"Right. It's nearly home time."

He felt around in his pockets and pulled out a dollar fifty, a toothbrush and a plectrum.

"Lend me two dollars? I'll pay you back next week."

# CHAPTER 12

Velvet watched from the back of the hall where no one could see her. The other three girls were up on the stage.

"Okay, Taleb's played the song for you," Mr MacDonald said as he handed them copies of the lyrics. "Now you all get a chance to audition for the part of Lady Anne."

His ploy to give the part to Mei Hua seemed to be working. Hailie and Roula looked terrified and were trying to blend into the curtains. Mei Hua stood centre stage as if she belonged there.

"Roula, you go first."

Taleb played the guitar introduction.

Roula had transformed from a loudmouth whose speaking voice could be heard from the other side of the oval, into someone too timid to sing in front of an audience of seven. It took three guitar intros before she finally had the courage to open her mouth. Her singing voice was whispery and hesitant. When it came to a high note she didn't even try. At the end of the song Taleb didn't say anything, he just stood tapping his foot impatiently.

"I'm not feeling so good today," Roula explained. "I've got laryngitis because I was singing in a talent contest last night. It's going to be on TV. I might win a sports car."

"You were fine, Roula," Mr MacDonald said.

Hailie strode to the front of the stage. "Let me have a go."

Seeing Roula fail miserably had given her new confidence, but somehow the note that Taleb intended was never the one that she hit. Sometimes it was just above, sometimes just below. Most of the time, it was miles off. Everyone was wincing. Everyone but Hailie, who launched into the chorus pretending to hold a microphone and making dramatic hand movements like a contestant in a TV talent show. The others held their breath when she hit the high note, or at least one within an octave of it. She ended on a D flat instead of a D with her arms spread wide. No one spoke.

Mr MacDonald had a smug smile on his face. "Okay, now it's Mei Hua's turn."

Mei Hua stood straight as a rod and projected the words to the back of the hall like missiles – or at least an approximation of the words, as her English was minimal. Mr MacDonald nodded his head in time to the music and smiled encouragingly, ignoring the scowls of his other students. Mei Hua had a strange Chinese sense of beat that was nothing like the rhythm Taleb was strumming on his guitar. He stopped playing.

"Why does she make it sound so cheerful? She's supposed to be sad."

No one actually spoke to Mei Hua, they just complained to Mr MacDonald about her. Mr MacDonald pantomimed tearful sadness. Mei Hua nodded and had another go. This time she wailed with loud, exaggerated grief. Taleb tolerated it for a verse and half the chorus, gritting his teeth harder and harder with each bar. Then he played a crashing Toxic Shock chord and stopped. Mei Hua carried on regardless.

"Someone shut her up!" Taleb yelled.

Mr MacDonald pretended he didn't know what was wrong. Mei Hua came to the end of the final verse, stopped singing and resumed her annoying smile. Taleb spoke through clenched teeth.

"She can't sing this song. It just won't work. We should let Velvet have a go."

"Velvet's not here," Mr MacDonald said.

"Yes, I am." Velvet emerged from the shadows. She walked up to the stage. She'd never been more nervous in her life, but Taleb didn't give her much time to think about changing her mind. He played the introduction and counted her in. Her voice wasn't perfect, but it was strong and tuneful and she'd memorised the words. By the time she got to the chorus, she was feeling more confident. She hit the high note.

"We should have a vote," Mr MacDonald said. "Who votes for Mei Hua?" He put up his hand.

"Forget the democratic rubbish," Taleb said. "Velvet's going to be Lady Anne. It's in her key."

Velvet felt her stomach lurch.

"But Mei Hua has to have the role," Mr MacDonald whined.

"No, she doesn't," Peter said.

Jesus agreed. "It sounds dumb when she sings it."

Even Drago was on Velvet's side. "It's not Mei's style."

When they were in such rare agreement Mr MacDonald had no answer.

"But Slinky said... the electronic scoreboard... "

It was Drago who solved the problem. "Mei can have a main role, but not this one. She can be old Queen Margaret."

"Why? Because none of the other girls want to play her?"

"No, because it's the best part for her voice. She has to yell insults and curses."

"I can write a song specially for her," Taleb said.

Peter took over the casting. "Hailie can be Queen Elizabeth. Roula can be Richard's mum. Okay?"

Nobody argued.

Mr MacDonald looked defeated. "What will Slinky say?"

"Tell him Queen Margaret is the leading role. He's not going to know the difference, is he?"

Mei Hua was still standing out the front smiling, with no idea what they were talking about. Drago, who had a personal history of English incomprehension, took pity on her.

" _Tebie de ge_ ," he said. " _Zhi wei ni_. Taleb _zuo_."

Mei Hua smiled and nodded.

The others were all doing French. They turned to Velvet. "What did he say?"

Velvet had no idea.

Drago translated for them. "I told her Taleb was writing a special song for her."

"You spoke to her in Mandarin?"

"Yes."

"And she understood you?"

"Apparently."

Velvet smiled. She was back in the play.

"Since we're here in the hall," Mr MacDonald said, "you may as well have your first try at acting on stage."

The thought struck fear into the entire cultural studies class.

"I've brought a few props and bits of costume." He pointed to what looked like a pile of things ready to be donated to the Salvos. "Now you can get a feel for the characters you're going to be playing."

"What if someone sees me?" Peter asked.

"That's what acting is all about," Mr MacDonald said. "Sooner or later someone's going to see you. You've all got your roles now."

"We're not ready."

"Velvet, I assume you're no longer on strike as the scriptwriter?"

"No, sir."

"Then go and make copies of what you've written so far."

Velvet returned and handed out copies of the script for Act I. Peter stood in the wings. Roula hid behind the curtains. Jesus wouldn't even get onto the stage. Hailie thought she had cramps and went to the toilets. Mei was perfectly comfortable on the stage, but she couldn't read the script.

Mr MacDonald tried to inspire them as if he were a coach and they were a bottom-of-the-ladder football team.

"Drago," he said. "Get up there and run through scene one."

Drago threw a blanket around his shoulders and picked up a plastic sword. He thought for a moment and then stuffed his jumper up the back of his shirt to make a hump. Drago didn't need his script, he'd memorised most of his lines and adlibbed the rest. He strutted around the stage waving the sword and snarling, looking more like a pirate than a duke.

The Year 11 hockey team, who were taking a shortcut through the hall to the showers, paused to watch, sweaty and boisterous after another win.

"Check out the drama queens," one of them said.

The rest of the hockey team sniggered.

Taleb played the introduction to Richard's soliloquy song, and Drago lost his nerve.

"I'm not singing," he muttered. "Not in front of them."

"Okay, let's move on to Lady Anne's entrance," Mr MacDonald said. "Velvet, you're the experienced performer. Show us how it's done."

The hockey coach gathered up his team and herded them out of the hall. Velvet put on the dressing gown that was making do as Lady Anne's dress and walked onto the stage. They acted out the scene where Richard wooed Lady Anne. The others sat in the front row and shouted encouragement. Drago handed Velvet his sword and put the point over his heart. Velvet made as if she would stab him, but didn't. Drago gave Velvet his ring (a cheap plastic thing with a skull and crossbones). The others applauded.

It wasn't exactly a great performance, but it was a start.

# CHAPTER 13

It was a beautiful late-autumn day. Velvet was sitting on the oval frowning at the Chinese characters that she was supposed to translate for homework. They made no sense at all.

Drago joined her for a lunchtime script meeting.

"I don't get it," she said. "How come you have trouble reading English, but you can read this?"

Drago shrugged. "I've got a good memory. I just remember them."

He was eating a pie that he'd just stolen from a Year 7 boy. Velvet looked around to see if anyone was watching. She didn't want people to think she and Drago were going out.

"With English, if you come across a new word, at least you can have a guess at how to pronounce it," Velvet said. "With a Chinese character, there aren't any clues as to how it should sound. I don't understand how Chinese children ever learn to read."

They worked on Clarence's murder scene. Drago wanted to make it funny, and it worked out well.

Velvet had an idea. "Drago, why don't you learn English words the same way that you learn Chinese characters?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you come to word you don't know, don't try to read it letter by letter. Just look at it like it's a Chinese character, and remember it."

Drago didn't look convinced. Velvet pointed to a word in her script.

"That's the English character for 'winter'. This one," she flicked through the pages, "means 'palace'."

"But Mrs Dwyer writes the new characters on the board and tells us what they mean."

"I'll point out words as we go through the play and tell you what they are. All you have to do is memorise them."

Drago shrugged.

Peter wandered over to them with his lunch.

"Act one is going to be okay," Velvet said. "There's a lot happening – the soliloquy, the prophecy, Richard wooing Lady Anne, Margaret's curses, Clarence's murder."

"Yeah, but act two is boring," Drago said. "Nothing happens."

"King Edward dies."

"That's not exactly an action scene, is it?" Peter said. "He doesn't die in a fight or anything. He just... dies."

"Actually, it's not a scene at all. It happens offstage."

Jesus and Roula came over and joined them, sharing chips and Twisties with the others.

"It needs some romance," Roula said.

"A sex scene!"

"Shut up, Drago."

"It's boring. People will fall asleep. Can we have some special effects?"

So far, the extent of the special effects was when the murderers put Clarence in the barrel that's supposed to be full of wine. Taleb had to drink a mouthful of Ribena from a jar inside the empty barrel and come up spitting it out as if he was drowning.

"What about when Clarence dreams that he's underwater?" Drago said. "We could have a dream scene."

"Have you been reading the play, Drago?" Jesus asked.

Drago didn't say anything about Velvet reading it out for him. He saw Taleb near the bike shed and called him over.

"He's right," Velvet said, thumbing through her copy of the play. "But that's in act one as well. Clarence dreams he's on a boat and falls into the sea. He sees sunken ships and skulls and fish eating dead bodies. Then he dreams he's dead and he goes to the kingdom of night where there's an angel covered in blood."

"Sounds awesome."

Hailie came out of the girls' toilets and joined them.

"We could set up the stage like it's underwater," Velvet said, "with strips of blue and green material to look like seaweed."

Hailie turned to Roula. "Could you do that? You used to be good at textiles when we still had an art program."

"Sure."

"We'll need some freaky music," Drago said.

Everyone looked over to where Taleb was hanging out with the other members of Toxic Shock. He didn't like to be seen with the cultural studies students out of class.

"Then we can get Queen Elizabeth to come on at the end of act one and say the King has died."

"What about Richard's mum?" Roula said. "I'm not in act one at all!"

"You can come on at the end as well, and bawl that you've lost two of your sons," Drago said. "Act one finito."

"That's not in the play!"

"Don't be so picky, Corduroy. No one's going to know."

"What about act two?"

"Who needs it?"

Hailie was sitting so close to Peter that their thighs were touching. He ignored her, stretching out his legs and revealing a pair of bright purple socks.

Uniform rules were strict at Yarrabank. Only Year 12s were allowed to come to school out of uniform. The one thing the school turned a blind eye to were socks. Hardly any of the girls wore white socks and only the daggiest boys wore the regulation grey socks. Hailie and Roula wore socks with flowers, spots, pigs or teddy bears on them. Mei, who had a uniform now, wore socks with random English words on them, like "sexy, hairdo, ankle". Jesus wore Nike sports socks. Drago liked to wear odd socks. Taleb's were always plain black. Even Velvet had given up wearing white socks. Her favourites were a pair covered with musical notes.

The girls' lacrosse team was doing training laps.

"Look. It's the drama queens," one of them said as they jogged past.

It wasn't a flattering name, but none of the cultural studies students minded standing out from the sporting jocks.

The bell went and everyone got up and dawdled off to their next class. Velvet and Hailie had maths. When they got to the classroom, Mr Axiotis was busily scrawling algebra problems on the blackboard. Hailie sat down and started concentrating. Not on the problems, but on 10F who were straggling past outside the window on their way to French.

"I'm looking for a new boyfriend." Hailie studied the passing prospects. "I reckon there are three possibilities."

Velvet was also watching 10F or one of them at least. Taleb was in 10F.

"You've got the hots for him, haven't you?" Hailie said.

"No, I haven't. Who?"

"Taleb. I've seen you checking him out when you think no one's looking. And you go all red when he talks to you."

"That's because he's always yelling at me for something."

"It's cool."

"Not everybody is boy crazy like you, Hailie."

"Relax. You don't have to worry about me going for him. He's too... intense for me."

"I know it's hard for you to grasp, but I'm not interested in boys. The only relationship I want to have with Taleb is a creative partnership. I want this musical to work."

"Yeah, sure."

It was easy enough to get Hailie to change the subject. All Velvet had to do was get her to talk about herself.

"So aren't you interested in Peter any more?"

"I can't wait around forever."

"How long has it been?"

"At least a month."

"You still like him though?"

"I dunno. He's beautiful, but he doesn't seem to have any feelings."

Velvet nodded. It wasn't very often that she and Hailie were in agreement.

"I've finished Mei's song," Taleb announced at the next cultural studies class.

"Great," said Mr MacDonald, who was still trying to get them all to like Mei. "Let's hear it."

"It's where Lady Margaret curses everyone."

Velvet noticed an uncharacteristically nasty glint in Taleb's eye as he plugged his guitar into a small amp. He launched into the song, yelling Margaret's curses in between jarring heavy metal chords. It was loud and aggressive, the total opposite of the one he'd written for Lady Anne.

" _You killed my husband. You killed my son_.

_Give me one good reason to forgive what you've done_.

_My sadness is because of you, you know it well_.

_I wish you would leave this world and go to hell_.

" _Bottled spider!_

_Rooting hog!_

_Spotted toad!_

_Foul dog!_

_I hate you. You... you... you... hedgehog!_

" _Listen to me, my words will all come true_.

_Your friends will turn their backs on you_.

_Your nights'll be sleepless, your days like bad dreams_.

_Don't you others trust him. He's worse than he seems_."

Taleb yelled the chorus again. Velvet was horrified. Mr MacDonald looked stunned. When it was over they all sat there, listening to the ringing in their ears.

"What is going on in here?" It was Mr Kislinski standing in the doorway.

"We're just rehearsing our play, sir," Peter said.

"I thought you were doing Shakespeare."

"We are, sir. _Richard the Third_."

"What was that awful noise?"

There was a moment's silence while everyone tried to think of something to say. It was Roula who had the brainwave.

"It was a performance exercise, sir. Method acting. It helps you get over stage fright."

Mr Kislinski swallowed Roula's story. "Keep it down, could you? You're disturbing the athletes."

"Sorry, sir."

Mr MacDonald hadn't said a word. The principal glared at him.

"If this production isn't up to scratch..." He left him to imagine the consequences.

Mr MacDonald looked pale. "You just lied to the principal, Roula."

"It's Taleb's fault."

"You nearly blew it, dude, with that awful song," Jesus said.

"It was a joke, right?"

"Absolutely not." Taleb was unrepentant. "It'll sound different when Mei sings it in her screechy voice. Margaret's a crazy old woman."

Velvet couldn't contain herself any longer. "It's horrible. It'll ruin the musical."

"I like it," Taleb said. "It'll be a contrast to the other sickly sweet song."

Velvet loved Lady Anne's song. "The audience will leave."

"Not everyone's got your white-bread taste in music, Velvet."

"Settle down," Mr MacDonald said, glancing nervously out of the window.

"We should find out what Mei thinks. Drago can you..."

" _Ni xihuan zhi shou ge ma?_ " Drago asked.

Mei thought for a moment. " _Xihuan!_ "

Everyone turned to Drago.

"Yeah, she likes it."

Velvet glared at Taleb. So much for their creative partnership.

# CHAPTER 14

On Thursdays, Velvet had technology for the two periods before recess. That week, it was food technology, which, at Yarrabank, was a euphemism for cooking. They were making jam roly-poly pudding. The teacher, Miss Guerin, had only been at Yarrabank for three years, but she was at least 150 years old and she had previously taught home ec. at a girls' school. She hadn't changed her lesson plan since about 1955, so it didn't quite fit the curriculum emphasis on healthy food.

Taleb was the only Year 10 in the class. Somehow he had managed to fail food technology the previous year and he was repeating. Velvet was still angry with him for writing that awful song for Mei and being critical of her taste in music. Taleb didn't have a cooking partner. Velvet didn't either. But neither of them had suggested they team up. That was fine with Velvet. It wasn't like they were good friends.

Nothing had been said, but Hailie and Roula now allowed Velvet to sit with them at lunch. Velvet's jam roly-poly pudding might not have been healthy, but it tasted good and the three of them were eating it with their fingers.

"You're not listening, are you?" Roula said.

"What? Yes, I am." Velvet's mind had been somewhere else. "Something about red-back spiders living in your cousin's hair."

Hailie went off to the toilets. Roula and Velvet followed her. They were all sticky and needed to wash their hands.

"I was thinking about the play," Velvet said. "I've had an idea about a scene where the whole cast sings a song with lots of harmonies, something to liven up the second half."

"You're such a loser, Velvet," Roula said, looking at herself in the mirror and arranging her hair, which now had pink streaks. "It's like this play is the only thing in your life."

It was, but Velvet wasn't about to admit to that. "I like to excel at everything I do. You wouldn't understand that."

There was only one person who cared as much about the play as Velvet did. She decided that it was very immature for the scriptwriter to not be on speaking terms with the musical director. She knew Taleb would never be the first one to say something after their argument over Mei's song. It was up to her to set the standard for professional behaviour.

"Where are you going?" Hailie said, as she came out of the toilet cubicle.

"I've had an idea for the play. I'm going to see what Taleb thinks."

"Why don't you tell him this arvo?"

"If he hates the idea, I'd rather find out privately than have him yell at me in front of the others again."

Roula and Hailie shared a look. "Yeah, right. You just want to go and talk to him."

"I do not. Not everyone is like you, Hailie. Communication between boys and girls doesn't have to be based on primitive urges."

Hailie pulled a face in the mirror.

At lunchtime, Taleb hung out near the canteen with the other members of Toxic Shock and their followers. It was perfectly reasonable for Velvet to discuss artistic matters with him. She composed her face so that she looked calm and disinterested, before turning the corner to the canteen.

Taleb was sitting on a bench. Usually he was strumming a guitar, but that particular day, instead of a guitar strap, a girl's arm was wrapped around his neck.

Velvet stopped dead.

It was Sofia Ritano, the judo champion who had decked her in first term. The casual words she had prepared got stuck in her throat. The greasy lead singer was the only one who noticed her standing there.

"Hey, Taleb. You've got a visitor."

They all turned to look at her.

"So what can we do for you, Ms Snobnose?" Hailie's name for Velvet had spread.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

Sofia's lips formed a thin line, which could have been a sneer or a smile. Taleb didn't move.

"Come on." Eddy the drummer sneered at her too. "You didn't come all the way over here from the library, or wherever it is you hang out, for no reason."

"It can wait till class."

Velvet turned and fled. Her heart was pumping, her face burning. She ran straight into Hailie who had just come out of the canteen with six dim sims.

"Watch where you're going."

Velvet tried to get past Hailie, but her feet wouldn't do what she wanted them to.

"I've got to sit down."

Hailie looked over Velvet's shoulder at Taleb and Sofia. She took Velvet by the arm, led her to the edge of the oval and sat her down on a bench next to Roula.

"What's wrong, Velvet? You look awful."

Velvet was close to tears. "I don't feel well. I think I'm coming down with something."

"I think you've already got it," Hailie said.

"Got what?" Roula asked, helping herself to one of Hailie's dim sims.

"She just saw Taleb with Sofia Ritano."

"Oh."

"It's not that... it's..."

"It's okay, Velvet. You can talk to us," Hailie said. "You've got nobody else."

"Yeah. Stop fooling yourself."

"I ate too much roly-poly pudding." Velvet watched Roula bite into a dim sim. "And the smell of those dim sims is making me feel sick."

"It's not the dim sims or the pudding, Velvet. Face it. You're in love."

"Oh, God."

Velvet lurched to her feet and threw up in a nearby rubbish bin. Then she sank back onto the bench, supported on either side by Roula and Hailie.

"What will I do?"

"I dunno," Roula said. "I've never felt that way about anybody."

"It must have happened to you hundreds of times, Hailie."

"Only once."

"But all those boyfriends..."

"That's different. I just like them. Most of them anyway. They're someone to have around."

"Who was the one?"

"I was in love with Michael Abilovski last year."

"I remember him," Roula said. "He had nice curly hair. Not my type though."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I tried to talk to him and he ignored me. I moped around for a couple of weeks and then it went away."

"So you think that'll happen to me? It'll just go away?"

"Yeah."

Velvet thought about that for a few moments. Did she want it to go away?

"Taleb's got no taste in girls, that's for sure," Roula said.

Velvet couldn't get the memory of Sofia Ritano's spiteful smile out of her mind.

"Sofia's such a cow." It was like Hailie could read her mind. "Just don't let him know you're upset."

"Yeah, he's not worth it, is he?"

Velvet didn't answer.

Roula and Hailie exchanged another look.

"Come on, Velvet. The bell will be going in a minute." Hailie dragged her to her feet. "You look terrible. You've got to get yourself together before cultural studies."

They went back to the toilets. After Hailie had practically drowned her in cold water, Velvet managed to regain some of her composure. In a way, she felt better. She'd confessed her feelings. Not only to Hailie and Roula, but to herself.

The bell rang.

"You've got to promise you won't tell anybody, Hailie," Velvet said as they walked across the oval.

"God's honour."

Velvet wasn't sure that meant a lot coming from Hailie.

"Do you think Taleb knows?"

"Nah. Boys are really stupid about that sort of thing."

They reached T6.

"Are you ready?" asked Hailie.

Velvet nodded.

"You don't have to say anything in class this afternoon," Hailie said. "Everyone will just think you've got period pains."

Hailie was right. All Velvet had to do was sit quietly at the back of the class and let Drago rave on endlessly about his latest idea for the play. Any other day, she would have argued every point, but today she'd keep quiet.

Unfortunately, this week it was Taleb who had the ideas.

"If this is supposed to be a musical, we better start thinking about some music."

"You're writing the songs aren't you?" Jesus said.

"Yeah, but don't you think we need some musical accompaniment?"

"I thought you were going to play your guitar."

Taleb rolled his eyes.

"One guitar all the way through? We need a band."

"That's a great idea, Taleb," Mr MacDonald said.

"There should be a..." Peter turned to Velvet. "What do you call the music at the beginning?"

Velvet's mind went blank. She couldn't think of the word.

"Overture," Mr MacDonald said.

"Yeah. We need an overture, and some of us might need something to help us stay in tune." Taleb glared at Hailie.

"Will Toxic Shock play it?" Drago asked.

"Are you kidding? They wouldn't be seen dead in this play."

"You're going to be seen in it."

"I don't have a choice."

"So who's going to be in the band?"

Taleb looked at them. "Who do you think?"

"Just us, I guess."

"Right."

"So, you'll be on guitar," Peter said. "What else have we got?"

"Hailie on sax. Velvet on piano."

Velvet flinched at the mention of her name. She felt fragile, as if her skin were made of tissue paper and if anyone poked her she'd deflate like a balloon.

Taleb sighed. "That's it. That's all we've got."

"Me on recorder," said Roula.

"I don't think so," Taleb said. "Eddy might play drums for us."

"You just said Toxic Shock wouldn't be seen dead in our play," Peter said.

"Eddy owes me a favour. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be in the band."

"The guy with green hair and a ring through his top lip?" Hailie asked.

"Yeah."

"We don't want him in our band," Jesus said.

"You can play drums, can you?"

"No."

"So, we'll ask Eddy."

Taleb was frowning. "We need something else. What happened to that kid who could play _Chariots of Fire_?"

"He recovered from his injuries. He's back playing sport."

Taleb turned to Velvet. "Didn't you say you played clarinet?"

Velvet nearly jumped out of her chair. There was a strong possibility that she might throw up again. She managed to squeak out one word in answer.

"Yes."

"Can you play clarinet better than you can play piano?"

"Much better." Two words, she was doing well.

"But I thought she was playing piano."

"She can play both."

"Huh?"

"Not at the same time, Drago."

Velvet no longer owned a clarinet, but she didn't trust herself to get out a whole sentence.

Fortunately, after that, Drago started to argue with Mr MacDonald about whether they should do the play in medieval costume or not. Velvet was able to sink back into silence while she waited for her heart to stop pounding.

"Our costume budget is zero," Roula said.

"We've got to have fancy dress," Drago was insistent.

"No, you don't. I saw a performance of _Hamlet_ once," Mr MacDonald said, "and all the actors wore duffel coats."

"Duffel coats?"

"It was a long time ago. It was very groovy."

"Groovy?"

Mr MacDonald was staring out of the window. "I was about your age."

"Thanks for sharing, sir."

"We can't wear ordinary clothes," Peter said. "It's not like we're terrific actors or anything."

"But we haven't got any money to hire costumes."

"It doesn't have to be totally historically correct."

"What if we wore modern clothes and hired a few bits of really good costume, proper stuff, and wore them over the top?" Roula suggested. "Richard could wear one of those fancy doublet things over jeans."

"Normal schools would have money for props and costumes for the school play."

"Yeah, well this isn't a normal school. If we were putting on a gym display we'd get money."

"There must be something in the school budget for cultural studies, Mr Mac."

Mr MacDonald frowned. "I doubt it, but I'll ask."

Velvet's stomach had settled down and she could breathe properly again. She was just convincing herself that it had been the dim sims after all, when Taleb turned to her.

"What did you want to say at lunchtime?"

Velvet's stomach lurched again.

"I had an idea for act two," she managed to say. "I thought we could have a song where everyone sings together, with harmonies."

There were no immediate objections.

"We could have a coronation scene," suggested Peter, "when Richard is crowned king. Everyone would be there, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah. Except Clarence, he's already dead."

Velvet took the plunge. "What do you think, Taleb?"

He shrugged.

"I got the idea from the soundtrack of _Fiddler on the Roof_. Ever heard of it?"

Dumb question. Why would a Syrian heavy-metal guitarist have heard of an American musical about a Jewish milkman?

"Do you want to have a listen?"

Velvet pulled something from her bag.

"What's that?" Roula asked.

"It's a cassette tape," Taleb said. "It's what music came on in between vinyl and CDs."

They all stared at the tape like it was a historical artefact.

"Haven't you got it on your phone?"

"Yes, but it won't let me choose what I play anymore. Is there a tape player anywhere, Mr Mac?" Velvet asked. "Didn't you have one when the music program was going?"

Mr MacDonald went to the back of the room. He moved aside piles of gym mats and easels to reveal a cupboard. He took out his keys and unlocked the doors.

"This is the remains of the music program," he said sadly.

The cupboard doors swung open. Inside there was a huddle of bent music stands, a box of plastic recorders, a pile of sheet music. There was no tape player.

"There's one in my car," Mr MacDonald said.

They all went out to the teachers' car park and stared at Mr MacDonald's faded red Holden Camira.

"This is like a museum piece," Jesus said. "Do you have to turn one of those handles to start it?"

"Very funny."

Mr MacDonald sat behind the steering wheel. Velvet slid along the bench seat next to him and handed him the cassette. Drago and Peter got in the back. Hailie sat on Peter's lap.

"You better sit in the front, Taleb," Roula said, squeezing in alongside Drago, "so you can hear it properly."

Taleb shrugged and got in the front seat. Velvet felt her cheeks start to burn again. Mei got in the front too. Taleb moved even closer to Velvet. There was no room for Jesus, so Mei wound down the window and he leaned in.

"I haven't used it for a while." Mr MacDonald pushed the cassette into the tape player.

Nothing happened.

"It's a bit touchy."

He fiddled with knobs. He thumped it three times. Finally, he jammed a pencil into the player. Velvet could feel Taleb's thigh pressed against hers. She could hear his breathing. A whirring sound came from speakers in the doors.

"Here we go!"

Mr MacDonald turned up the volume. There was the sound of a single violin. Then singing.

" _Tradition!_ "

Velvet hadn't heard the song in a while. The car's speakers were better than she'd expected. The sound of those voices singing together sent a tingle down her spine as it always did. _Fiddler on the Roof_ was the first live musical she had ever been to. It had been an amateur production that her Aunt Evelyn's theatre group had put on.

That was what sparked her love of musical theatre. The singers had no microphones, but when all those voices sang together and filled the little hall it had taken her breath away. After that Velvet and her aunt had seen every musical that came to Melbourne.

Roula and Hailie were giggling in the back seat. "Is that what you listen to on your phone?"

"Yes, it is actually."

Taleb was listening closely to the song. The track finished. Velvet felt as if someone had just read her diary.

"Not my sort of music," Jesus said.

"I don't mean exactly like that, but something with that... feel."

Mr MacDonald tried to eject the cassette, but instead the tape came spooling out in curls.

Taleb nodded. "Could be a good way to start act two."

Mr MacDonald finally got the cassette out and handed it to Velvet with the tape hanging from it like spaghetti.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." Velvet was pleased to have something to do. "I can fix it."

She wound the tape back into the cassette with the pencil.

After school, Velvet walked to the train station with Hailie and Roula.

"How did I go?"

"You were good," Hailie said. "Nobody would have guessed."

"Really?"

"Well, you sounded like a moron," Roula said, "but you always do."

Velvet knew she was lucky to have survived the afternoon with her self-respect intact. She was grateful to Hailie and Roula. They had helped her get through it, and they'd promised not to tell anyone. She hoped they'd keep their word.

# CHAPTER 15

The cultural studies band assembled for the first time the following Thursday. Except for Eddy, who despite his green hair and pierced lip was a crucial member of the Yarrabank athletics team. He was involved in an inter-school competition.

Taleb played the tune he'd written for the overture on his guitar.

"Nice," Peter said.

They all agreed.

Hailie had got her saxophone back from her mother's now ex-boyfriend. Velvet rummaged through the pathetic remnants of the axed music program and found a battered plastic clarinet. It was a long way from the lovely ebony Armstrong that her father had sold, but she didn't complain. Taleb doled out tambourines and rhythm sticks to everyone else.

"Velvet will play the intro on the piano, then me and Hailie will come in with the main refrain." Taleb gave handwritten music to Hailie and Velvet. "Velvet will join in on the clarinet on the fourth bar. The rest of you just keep a basic rhythm, right?"

Hailie frowned at the music. "I'm not much good at this crotchets and quavers stuff."

"It's easy, Hailie."

Velvet looked around the room. "Where's the piano?"

The upright that used to be in the corner was gone.

"Slinky sold it," Mr MacDonald said.

"I've got a piano." Taleb undid a black case and pulled out a battered looking electric keyboard. "I borrowed it from Eddy."

"I thought he was a drummer."

"He is, but he used to play keyboards. Tried to anyway."

Taleb set up the keyboard on a desk and plugged it into his amp. Velvet looked at it like it was something slimy and drooling.

"I can only play a proper piano."

"It is a proper piano, just electric. Try it."

Velvet prodded a couple of keys and then tried a few chords.

"It sounds like the Chipmunks."

Taleb sighed and pressed some buttons, making the keyboard sound like a church organ, a harpsichord and then a piano.

"Okay. Everyone know what they're doing?" Taleb asked. "After the intro and the wind section, I'll do a bit of a guitar solo and then we'll have the piano playing around the guitar melody after that."

"Where's my music for that bit?" asked Velvet.

"Just improvise. It's in A minor."

"I don't know how to improvise. I need sheet music."

"You don't need sheet music, Velvet. That's the whole point of improvisation." Taleb was getting annoyed. "You can play the scale of A minor, can't you?"

"Of course I can." Velvet demonstrated.

"Okay. Just play those notes, in time, in whatever order you think sounds good."

Velvet felt like she was sitting an exam.

"Let's try it. This is the beat." Taleb tapped out a rhythm on the desk top. "The rest of you keep the beat with the percussion instruments."

Velvet took a deep breath and played the introduction. Then Taleb came in. Hailie missed her entrance and played two notes behind him. Velvet fumbled with the clarinet. She was out of practice and produced squeaks instead of high notes. Drago bashed his tambourine without any sense of rhythm at all. Roula stood with her rhythm sticks poised waiting for the right place to join in. Peter got a beat going, but it was the wrong one. Mei was playing a weird Chinese rhythm. Jesus was the only one who managed to keep in time. Roula was still waiting for the right place to start when it came to Velvet's piano improvisation. Velvet struggled to play a dozen notes in the right key, spread sparsely throughout Taleb's ten bars of intricate guitar playing. The overture ended. Roula's rhythm sticks were still poised. Taleb buried his face in his hands and groaned. The rest, all miserably aware of their musical inferiority, even Velvet, waited meekly for his inevitable crushing criticism of their pathetic effort.

Mr MacDonald, who had enjoyed watching someone else trying to drag results out of Yarrabank's misfits, came to their rescue.

"Needs a bit of work, but it's coming along."

"That was great, Velvet," Hailie said, after the others had all gone home.

"My playing?"

"No. The way you gave Taleb such a hard time."

"Yeah, that'll show him," Roula said.

Velvet smiled feebly. Upsetting Taleb seemed to be something that she was particularly good at.

Drago and Velvet were working on the second act. It was hard to find anywhere in the schoolyard that hadn't been turned into cricket practice nets or handball courts, hard to get out of earshot of the crowds of students eating their lunches in the small spaces that were left. And Velvet didn't want to be seen sitting with Drago all the time. She had chosen one of the broken seats at the front of the school. It was supposed to be out of bounds, but so far no one had objected to them being there.

They had decided that, though Shakespeare's play had five acts, theirs was going to have just two. Even so, the second half was still causing problems. It was a difficult part of the play.

"The first act's got a bit of everything: comedy, drama, romance, the psychedelic dream scene, Margaret's heavy metal curses." Drago was picking the tomato out of the sandwiches Velvet hadn't eaten.

"And at the end there's the battle where Richard is killed and Richmond claims the throne. It'll be a good ending." Velvet sighed. "It's just the middle bit."

"There's no action. It's all talk. How are we going to stop people from walking out?" Drago asked through a mouthful of cheese sandwich.

"There's Buckingham..."

"Who's he again?" Drago was still having trouble keeping track of the characters.

"That's Peter. He's Richard's right-hand man. He helps him spread the rumour that the little princes are really illegitimate, because Edward was betrothed to someone else when he married Elizabeth."

"So what?"

"In those days it meant that you couldn't marry anyone else. The church wouldn't recognise the marriage."

"So if the princes were bastards, Richard would be next in line for the throne."

"That's right, then nasty old Richard lures the little princes to the Tower of London, saying they'll be more comfortable there."

"What a knob."

"And he promises that when he becomes king, he'll make Buckingham an earl to reward his loyalty."

Drago feigned a yawn.

"Then Buckingham tells the lords and bishops that Richard should be king. Richard pretends to be praying in church and reluctantly agrees to accept the crown."

"It's a set up," Drago said.

"Right."

"It's boring. Weren't you going to do research to see if you could find some interesting stuff in history books?"

"I started, but I got too busy. I'll have another look."

Drago's solution to brighten up a dull scene was to have Richard pinching Queen Elizabeth's bottom or looking down her dress.

"You can't do that!" Velvet said. "She's your brother's widow. Edward's only been dead for five pages."

"Okay, I know. We have to have a passionate kiss."

"Who does?"

"You and me?"

"In your dreams, Drago."

"Just for dramatic purposes. After I win you over."

"No way! And that's in the first half anyway."

Drago's next idea was to have some history students arrive by time machine from the future and tell him where he was going wrong.

Velvet didn't want to encourage him, but she couldn't help laughing. That was when Taleb walked in through the front gate. He looked surprised to see Velvet and Drago alone and chuckling together.

"Did you sleep in?" she said.

"Orthodontist." Taleb never wasted energy on a full sentence where a single word would do.

"I had an idea for a pashing scene with me and Corduroy," Drago said. "What do you reckon? Should spice things up a bit, eh?"

Velvet thought she saw a flicker of jealousy in Taleb's eyes. Then decided she'd imagined it.

"Since the band's so pathetic," Taleb announced. "I've decided we need band practice at least once a week at lunchtime."

"But –"

"No arguments. It's going to be bad enough as it is, even with practice. Tell the others."

He walked towards the office to get a late pass.

"What's up with him?" Velvet asked. "Did the orthodontist tighten up his bands too much?"

"He's getting nervous about his musical mates seeing him in the play. They're already giving him a hard time."

"Are they?"

"They think he should be concentrating on Toxic Shock, not on a dumb school musical."

The bell went. Velvet gave Drago a head start and then headed for class.

"Velvet, can I speak to you for a moment?" It was Miss Ryan who was picking up litter around the rubbish skip.

Velvet was sure she was about to get into trouble for being at the front of the school during lunchtime. But Miss Ryan wasn't wearing her stern "I'm about to recite the school rules to you" face. It looked more like a "I'm going to ask you to collate 500 humanities handouts" face.

"I've been meaning to ask you about your drama production."

"Yes?" Velvet said, thinking that there must be another school rule that they were breaking.

Miss Ryan was fiddling with her hankie. "Actually I'd like to be involved."

"Really?" Velvet tried to edge away from her.

"I think it sounds like an interesting project." Miss Ryan flushed a little. "I could help with costumes. I can sew quite well, you know. I make all my own clothes."

Velvet looked at Miss Ryan's aqua and mauve checked skirt and frilly lemon blouse.

"That would be wonderful. Thanks so much for the offer. We'll let you know when we're ready to make costumes."

Miss Ryan went back to picking up litter. Peter was going in the side door. He'd overheard the conversation.

"Don't even think about it," he said.

"Don't worry. That day will never come."

# CHAPTER 16

Velvet had never been late for cultural studies before. She flung open the door and stood breathless and flushed at the front of the class, clutching a book as thick as a house brick. Everyone else had arrived, even Drago.

Mei was playing "Over the Rainbow" on a French horn. She was playing it very well.

"Why didn't someone tell me she could play?" Taleb said.

"So she's in the band is she?" Hailie said.

"You bet she is." Taleb handed Mei some sheet music.

Mei smiled.

No one had noticed Velvet's dramatic entrance, so she dropped the heavy book onto a desk. "It's all lies!"

The others turned towards her without interest. They were used to Velvet's outbursts.

"What is?"

"The way Shakespeare portrays Richard. He didn't have Clarence killed. He didn't murder the princes and he'd been in love with Anne since childhood. Richard was a good guy."

Mr MacDonald inspected the book.

"It's a historical novel, Velvet. It's someone's fictional idea of what happened. That doesn't make it the truth."

"And the play is just Shakespeare's idea of what happened. And it's wrong!"

Velvet was digging in her bag. She pulled out another book.

"This is a proper history book. It says there's no proof that Richard was evil. In fact there's plenty of evidence that he was a good king." She pointed an accusing finger at Jesus. "It's his fault."

Jesus looked up mid pushup. "Me?"

"Richmond, the guy you're playing. After he killed Richard and became king, he rewrote history. He said Richard had done all these terrible things. They even changed paintings of him so he looked mean. And he didn't have a hunched back. They made it up!"

"So what are you saying, Velvet – that we should rewrite Shakespeare?" Peter asked.

"Yes! We could call it _The True Story of Richard the Third_."

"No way."

"Drago, I thought you'd be on my side at least. You'd be a hero instead of a villain."

"I like being a villain."

"It's not fair."

Mr MacDonald stepped in to stop another brawl erupting. "We can't change the script now."

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about what could happen in Act II. Taleb had questions to ask Velvet about the coronation song – how many harmony parts they should have, whether there should be a solo.

"How come all the good scenes happen offstage?" Jesus said. "You know, like the one where some guy called Hastings gets his head cut off."

"We can't fake a beheading on stage."

"Someone could bring the head to prove that the job's been done," Jesus suggested.

In the end they agreed with him, just to shut him up. Drago volunteered to sculpt a head out of clay.

After school, Velvet didn't feel like listening to Hailie and Roula chatter on about the latest reality TV show, so she told them she had to return a library book. She waited five minutes, and then walked slowly to the railway station. She needed time to think.

For as long as she could remember, Velvet had known exactly where her life was going. She'd had it all planned out: a successful secondary education at St Theresa's, Law at Melbourne Uni, with perhaps a year off to travel overseas after graduating with honours. But things had changed. Now she had no idea how her life was going to turn out. If she got accepted into Endeavour High, she'd have to change schools and be the new girl all over again. Perhaps Law wasn't the right choice for her. She'd only wanted to do it because her Aunt Evelyn was a lawyer. Velvet admired her single-woman lifestyle: nice apartment, lovely clothes, overseas trips every year. Travel was definitely out of the question for Velvet now that her parents wouldn't be paying for it. And then there were her feelings for Taleb, which she still hadn't got used to. Distracting emotions had never featured in her imagined future. Her life had become complicated.

It was the distracting emotions that she had to deal with first though, as Taleb rode up, got off his bike and started to walk along side her.

"You had a lot to say this afternoon," he said. "Not that that's unusual."

"It doesn't seem fair that Richard's been made into such a bad guy."

"It's only a school play. It's hardly going to change the world."

"I suppose not, but if there was just something that we could do to help put the facts straight."

Taleb smiled at her.

"What?"

"You take everything way too seriously."

She wasn't about to admit to Taleb that the play was pretty much the most important thing in her life at that moment.

"You take your music seriously."

"I guess so."

They had reached the railway station. Taleb got on his bike. "See you tomorrow at band practice."

He rode off and Velvet walked up to the station and sat down. She was immediately pounced on by Hailie and Roula who had been watching from behind a billboard.

"Did he ask you out?"

"No!"

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. Just stuff about the play."

The train arrived.

"I think he likes you."

"He does not." Velvet got onto the train. "What makes you say that?"

"He _smiled_ at you," Hailie said. "I've never seen Taleb smile before."

# CHAPTER 17

On the last day of term, Mr MacDonald strode into T6 looking very pleased with himself. "I've got an announcement to make."

"You're not going to re-cast the play, are you?" Velvet asked.

"No."

"Have you been transferred to a proper school?" Peter asked.

"No. I'm not going anywhere."

"You've won Tattslotto and you don't have to teach anymore?" Drago said.

"You're miles off. It's to do with the play."

"Hailie's decided not to sing?"

"That's not funny, Jesus."

"Come on, sir. We give up."

"I've got some money for costumes." Mr MacDonald grinned from ear to ear. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Yeah, how much?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars."

"Wow. Where did you get it from?"

"School funds."

"You mean Slinky gave us a hundred and fifty bucks?"

"Not willingly. He tried to tell me there were no funds allocated to cultural studies, but Mrs Mangalis looked it up in the budget. He couldn't deny it then."

"Yay, Mrs Mangalis."

"So, this afternoon I thought we'd go on a little excursion."

"Seriously?" Roula's interest in the play suddenly increased.

"We don't have to watch a real Shakespeare play, do we?"

"No, Jesus."

"What then?"

"I thought we could go and check out the costume hire place."

"Cool."

"Do we get to bring stuff home?"

"No. It's still four months till the play. We're just going to decide on the general look of it. I thought it would inspire you."

"Don't we have to have one of those forms that says our parents consent to heart surgery and amputation before we can go?" Peter asked.

"You all filled in a general consent form at the beginning of the year to cover short unscheduled excursions."

"Okay. Let's go."

They were almost at the gate when Miss Ryan ran up behind them.

"You're not thinking of taking these students out of the grounds are you, Mr MacDonald?"

"It's all right, Elise. Just a short excursion."

Mr MacDonald's attempt at being charming was unsuccessful.

"But you haven't recorded it in the journal. There could be insurance problems if it's not properly documented."

Everyone was starting to get restless.

"Trust her to screw it up," Drago muttered.

It was Peter's turn to be charming. "You should come with us, Miss Ryan. We're going to choose costumes. We were just about to ask if you'd like to be costume mistress. Weren't we?"

Velvet nodded and tried to look enthusiastic. "Yes. I told everybody you were interested and they were... thrilled."

The rest of them looked horrified.

"Oh, I'd love to come with you, but I'm refereeing the girls' soccer match."

"That's a shame," said Peter. "But don't worry, Velvet will do a report for you."

They left Miss Ryan at the gate. She appeared to have forgotten all about school procedures.

They caught a train into the city. Jesus did gymnastics hanging from two straps and no one watched him. Peter stared out of the window, ignoring two girls who were trying to chat him up. Hailie and Roula sang pop songs. Taleb sat next to Velvet, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. Drago got out at every station and waited till the last second to get back on again. Mei giggled. Mr MacDonald sat in a far corner pretending he wasn't with them.

Hailie's bag looked unusually full. Normally she didn't take any books home from school.

"What's in your bag, Hailie?"

Hailie dug into her bag and pulled out a pair of ugly yellow platform-soled shoes made of fake patent leather. The heels were worn down, the toes scuffed.

"I've got to take these to the mender's for my mum." She stuffed them back in her bag. "Don't let me forget, or she'll kill me."

The costume shop was up a flight of stairs above a Chinese herbalist in Little Bourke Street. It was like every kid's dress-up dream come true. It was big enough to get lost in. There were racks and racks of colourful costumes. Hailie and Roula squealed at every new sequinned, bejewelled ensemble. There were cancan skirts, feather boas and peasant blouses; spacesuits, wizards cloaks and clown costumes. More racks hung from the ceiling, out of reach.

Mr MacDonald wandered around trying to keep track of them all and reassuring the sales assistant that they weren't going to wreck anything. Velvet discovered a whole rack of medieval gowns and the girls spent three-quarters of an hour deciding which they wanted. Velvet chose a maroon dress with big sleeves that almost reached the ground. Hailie chose one with a low cut, laced bodice. Mei found a gaudy orange gown covered in frills. For Roula they selected a simple black velvet dress suitable for Richard's grieving mother.

The boys were more interested in alien masks and a suit of plastic armour, until Velvet spotted the doublets on one of the higher racks. The shop assistant hooked them down with a long pole. Drago tried on a green velvet one with gold braid and purple satin inserts. He found a jewelled crown and strode up and down the aisles reciting his lines. They managed to get a schools' discount, but even at thirty dollars per outfit they'd already gone over budget. They took photos with their phones. Drago had to have the crown prised out of his hands before they could leave.

It was the end of term, so they decided to forget about going back to school and go home from the city. Velvet had thought of several things she could talk to Taleb about on the train, but he had Toxic Shock practice and scurried off to jump on a tram before she had the chance to begin a conversation. Mr MacDonald told the others they had to go straight home. They walked towards the railway station until he was out of sight and then turned back.

Velvet was confused. "Where are you going?"

"You didn't think we were really going straight home did you?"

"Yes."

"Seriously. You're such a try-hard, Velvet."

Velvet hesitated for a moment before following them.

Jesus headed off to the skateboard park near the river. Mei went to her family's business in Spencer Street. Peter wanted to go to a games arcade. Drago went with him.

The first thing Hailie did was find the ladies' toilets. "I'm going to change."

Roula and Velvet followed her in. Hailie took off her school dress.

Hailie's mother couldn't afford to buy her a winter uniform, so she was wearing bike shorts and a long-sleeved spencer underneath to keep warm.

"You can't go out in public looking like that, Hailie," Velvet said. "You're practically in your underwear."

Hailie ignored Velvet, stuffed her uniform into her bag and put on a short denim jacket (confiscated by Miss Ryan two weeks earlier and only just returned to her that day). Then she disappeared into one of the toilets to check if her period had started.

Roula was applying hair product to her purple-streaked hair, making it stick out in all directions.

"You need to do something with your hair, Velvet."

Before Velvet could explain that her hair was fine the way it was, Roula had ripped off Velvet's hair-tie and was smearing hair product all over her hair. Then she scrunched it with her hands. Velvet saw herself in the mirror. She looked like she'd forgotten to comb her hair for a week.

Hailie came out of the toilets.

"That looks great, Velvet. You look almost normal."

She pulled out the platform-soled shoes.

"You're not going to wear your mum's shoes?" Even Roula was shocked.

"Why not?"

Hailie stepped into the shoes. They had heels almost twenty centimetres high. She picked up a lipstick that was on the hand basin and quickly smeared some on her lips before the owner came out of the toilet. She tied her hair in a high ponytail. Velvet couldn't help thinking that if Hailie was as resourceful with her school assignments she'd get straight As.

Hailie ignored her and tottered out into the street.

"And you'll freeze to death."

Roula hesitated, then went after Hailie. "Better keep an eye on her."

Velvet followed them. "But where are we going?"

They tried on clothes in the Myer basement until the shop assistant barred them from going into the change rooms. Then they went to the skateboard park to watch Jesus. The rest of the boys there were doing jumps and slides, and falling over, but Jesus was swooping gracefully up and down the curves of the bowl on a borrowed board. Skateboarding was one of the few physical activities he could still do.

"Let's find the other boys." Hailie pulled out her phone.

Peter and Drago were in a games arcade, deeply involved in noisy and violent combat games like the ones Peter played on his phone, but bigger and louder. It was a grungy place, and they were the only people there. Roula talked Velvet into trying a game that involved dancing.

Hailie stood next to Peter, offering encouragement and advice. Peter ignored her. After about half an hour watching Peter splatter aliens, Hailie had had enough.

"My feet hurt," she said. "Let's go to the Hungry Jack's next door."

Hailie and Roula ordered fries and a chocolate sundae. Velvet bought a bottle of water. They sat at a table next to two boys who looked like they were on day release from juvenile detention.

"I've given up on Peter," Hailie said crossly, taking off her denim jacket and leaning forwards on one elbow so the boys at the next table could see down her top.

Velvet watched their heads turn. "Hailie!"

"I don't understand why he's never had a girlfriend," Roula said.

"You don't think he's gay do you?" said Hailie.

"Possible, I suppose."

"Hey, how come he gets out of sport?" Roula said. "Drago and Taleb have got asthma, Jesus's got a bung knee, Hailie's got her ankle, I've got a rare heart condition. What's wrong with Peter?"

"There's nothing wrong with Velvet. She just scammed Slinky."

"But Peter's not sneaky like she is," said Roula. "Maybe it's his hormones. He might be, like, changing sex."

"Get real, Roula."

"No, there was this boy who lived in my grandma's village in Greece. His name was Georgios. He disappeared for a couple of years and when he came back he had plaits and his name was Georgia. Seriously."

The two boys in leather jackets came over, one blond and good-looking, the other with a nasty case of acne. They sat on either side of Hailie, ignoring Roula and Velvet. Hailie was soon chatting with them like they were old friends, laughing at their sleazy jokes and telling them her life story.

They bought her a coke, offered her cigarettes.

"Wanna go to a bar?" said the blond one.

"Sure," said Hailie.

It was starting to get dark outside.

"I have to go," Roula said. "I'll get grounded if I'm not home by six."

Roula caught a tram. Velvet didn't like the idea of leaving Hailie by herself, but she had to go home too. She went back to the games arcade to tell Drago and Peter to keep an eye on her, but they'd already left.

Velvet was halfway to the train station when she remembered that Hailie hadn't taken her mother's shoes to the menders. She hurried back. She was just in time to see Hailie teetering on her heels as she walked into a laneway holding hands with the blond boy. The other boy followed them. Velvet started running. By the time she got to the corner of the laneway, the boy had grabbed Hailie's bag.

"Hey!" Velvet yelled.

The boys turned, but when they saw it was just Velvet, they laughed. Hailie reached out to grab her bag back, but one of her heels got stuck between the cobblestones. Velvet winced as she watched Hailie's ankle turn and heard her scream as she fell. The pimply boy walked toward Velvet.

"Get lost, little girl."

Velvet didn't move. She took out her phone. She could still only use voice commands. " _Cómo puedo ayudarle?_ " said a female voice.

"Help!" Velvet shouted into the phone. "Someone's robbing us!"

" _He enviado el mensaje de texto_ ," the phone replied.

"Stupid phone!"

"I'll have that." The pimply boy snatched the phone from Velvet's hand.

She yelled for help, but the passing commuters took no notice.

"Oh, God," Hailie screamed, holding her ankle.

"No good talking to God, sweetheart. He can't hear you."

The blond boy emptied Hailie's bag onto the cobblestones and took her phone and wallet.

Velvet needed to protect herself. She picked up something long and thin and hit the boy with it. He laughed as her weapon crumpled. It was a stale breadstick.

"Jesus!" said Velvet.

"Are you two religious or something?" The boy laughed. "Jesus isn't going to help you either."

"Yes, he is," said a voice behind them.

The two thugs spun round to see where the voice was coming from. They both yelped when they saw a tall, dark figure surrounded by a halo of light.

Jesus Mbele stepped out of the lamplight and strode towards them, taking off his hoodie. The muscles of his bare black arms glinted. The two thugs froze like taggers in a cop's torch beam. Jesus grabbed the blond one under the arms and threw him into a skip as if he was a toy. Velvet had found a more effective weapon – a milk crate. She hit the pimply boy with it until he dropped her phone.

The strains of Julie Andrews singing "My Favourite Things" came from the phone. As Velvet bent to pick it up, the boy started to run, but Jesus took two strides and tackled him into a pile of green garbage bags spewing leftover fast food. Jesus then went over to the blond boy who, in his haste to climb out of the skip, had fallen and lay on the cobblestones whimpering like a child.

"Say sorry to the young ladies." Jesus ground his foot into the boy's chest. "I can't hear you."

"Sorry," stammered the boy.

The boys scurried away when Jesus turned his attention to Hailie, who was sobbing and shaking like a leaf.

"She's broken her ankle again," Velvet said. "Can you carry her?"

Jesus gently lifted Hailie into his arms. "You need to be a bit more particular about the company you keep."

He carried her all the way to St Vincent's Hospital.

"I didn't know you knew Spanish," Jesus said, as he and Velvet waited for Hailie to have her foot put in plaster again.

"I don't."

"But you texted me in Spanish."

"My phone only texts in Spanish, and it was just a fluke that it decided to send it to the only person in my contacts list who could understand it."

Hailie limped out on crutches. Velvet rang her father on a payphone and he delivered them all home.

# CHAPTER 18

The holidays hadn't been as bad as the last ones. Velvet had worked on the script as well as finishing an English assignment. Her dad had found her a cheap Casio electric keyboard in an op shop, so she'd practised her piano pieces. She'd kept the plastic clarinet from Mr MacDonald's music cupboard and joined a woodwind ensemble organised by the local neighbourhood house. But the highlight of the break had been going to see _Annie_ with her aunt. It wasn't Velvet's favourite musical by a long way, but there were some good songs, and she always loved the experience of a live performance. Afterwards, over coffee and cake, she and Aunt Evelyn had a lot of fun working out why the second act was so flawed. The holidays had been quite satisfying, and Velvet no longer cared that her old friends never called her.

Velvet's first lesson that term was Mandarin. She stood outside the classroom as the other students streamed in, talking about what they'd done during the break. The other thing Velvet had done over the holidays was worry about her woeful Mandarin grades. She'd tried to study, but it still made no sense to her. It wasn't fair. She was two years behind everyone else, but weeping in the deputy principal's office had failed to get her out of Chinese.

She'd come up with a plan. It was so radical, she wasn't sure if she could go ahead with it. Getting a D in a test was bad enough, but what if she failed the exam? She couldn't bear the thought of having that on her report. Pulling herself up straight, she marched into the classroom and sat down. Next to Drago. A murmur passed through the class. No one ever sat next to Drago.

"'Sup, Corduroy?"

"I need help."

She took out her books.

Word had spread about the drama of the last day of term, and Drago called a meeting at recess.

"Don't go around blabbing about what happened to Hailie, okay?" he told them. "If Slinky finds out, he'll blame Mr Mac and he'll be in big trouble."

"And he'll cancel the play," Peter added.

Earlier in the year, they would all have been delighted if the play was cancelled. It was different now.

"I spent practically the entire holidays doing physio at the Fracture Clinic," Hailie complained.

Once the others found out about Jesus's heroics, they treated him with more respect, especially the girls. Hailie had gone off boys for at least a week, but Jesus had visited her over the break to see how she was, and she'd asked him if he'd go out with her. He'd said yes.

"You'll never guess what I did over the holidays?" Roula said.

Nobody guessed. They knew that no matter what bizarre things they suggested, Roula would top them.

"A film crew was in our street, filming a scene for a new movie. The director asked me to audition for a part!"

Jesus was worried that the two thugs would come looking for revenge, so he appointed himself the girls' bodyguard. He insisted on walking them to the station after school for a couple of weeks, just in case. He also wanted to give them self-defence lessons at lunchtime.

"I'm gonna show you girls how to use your elbows as weapons and how a knee can make any guy cry like a baby."

Taleb had written a new song and, for once, they were all keen to go to lunchtime band practice to hear it.

"It's the one about the prophecy," he said.

Velvet was pleased. That had been her idea.

"It's when Clarence is talking to the murderers and he realises he's been framed."

Taleb played an introduction that sounded like it was from a murder mystery.

" _Did you hear the rumour that's going around town?_

_There's a murderer amongst us. I hope he'll soon be found_.

_How will we know him? Who could it be?_

_There's only one clue. His name begins with G_.

_It could be Gianni from the kitchens, or Gavin in the forge_.

_It isn't either of my brothers. Me? But my name's_..."

"And then the murderers say together... _George_!"

Everyone loved it. "That's great, Taleb."

"It's a bit short."

"You can do a guitar solo and sing that verse again."

"It's terrific," Velvet said, "but we might need more medieval-sounding names like Geoffrey and Giles."

They made Taleb play it again with the new names.

"I did some work on the play over the holidays," Drago said.

"Really?"

He pulled something out of a plastic bag. Everyone gasped. It was Hastings's head, perfectly sculpted from clay with a clump of hair glued to the top, a purple tongue hanging out and blood around its severed neck.

"Gross."

Peter picked it up. "It weighs a tonne."

Taleb made them spent the first two weeks of term practising the prophecy song, working out each band member's part and going over it again and again. Velvet was learning how to loosen up and improvise. Hailie mastered her saxophone piece. Taleb had relented and let Roula play something simple on the recorder. Jesus had discovered a talent for percussion, and every week arrived with a new piece of junk to bang, ring or rattle. And Mei's contribution with her French horn made them sound more like a band.

An ad in the school newsletter had failed to unearth a single drummer, so Taleb decided they would manage with Jesus as percussionist. Mr MacDonald remembered that he'd taught flute to Peter in Year 7, and Peter was able to regain his skills enough to play a flute solo just before he was executed. Drago revealed that he had a talent for drama, although he did have a tendency to overact. Taleb spent more time with the Cultural Studies band than with Toxic Shock. Hailie still couldn't sing, but no one expected her to.

Drago had realised that Mei could actually understand English well, and it was their Australian accents that had confused her at first. She'd developed a good heavy metal style of singing, but Taleb was struggling to get her to pronounce his lyrics correctly. She had a habit of dropping the ends off words and substituting familiar words for ones she didn't know.

"Spotted toad. Bottled spider," Taleb said for the nineteenth time.

"Spotty toe! Bottom spy!" Mei replied.

"Give it a rest, Taleb," Peter said.

"You're not supposed to understand heavy metal lyrics anyway," Roula said.

Taleb was about to make them run through the prophecy song again, so Drago distracted him.

"I think I've found a bit that will make the second act more interesting."

"If this is another feeble attempt to put in a sex scene, Drago..."

"No. This is high drama." He pulled a dog-eared copy of the play from his pocket.

"Geez, Drago," Hailie said, "you really have been reading the play."

Drago ignored her. "The night before the battle, Richard is in his tent near the battlefield getting nervous. The ghosts of all the people he's killed come and guilt trip him."

"Cool. A ghost scene."

"We could make it really spooky."

"That's a great idea, Drago," Velvet said.

"And then the ghosts visit Richmond in his tent and tell him he's going to win the battle," Drago said.

Velvet was very pleased that Drago had been reading the play. "We could have Richard and Richmond on opposite sides of the stage and light one first and then the other. Make it look like night and then have some pink light to make it look like dawn."

"So who gets to come back as a ghost?" Jesus asked.

"All the dead people," Mr MacDonald said. "Clarence, the little princes, Buckingham and Lady Anne."

"Does Lady Anne die?"

"Yes," Velvet said. "Shakespeare hints that Richard poisoned her. It's not true, of course."

Mr MacDonald continued. "Then comes the battle and the bit where Richard shouts, 'a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse' and Richmond kills him."

"But he was brave," Velvet said. "Even Shakespeare says so. Can we get that in somehow?"

Peter groaned. "Give it a rest, Velvet."

Velvet had come up with a lot of ideas for defending Richard's name. She wanted to have faceless black figures walking across the stage with placards proclaiming Richard's innocence. She'd written a scene where Anne defended Richard against the other women, but no one liked it.

"Let's stick with Shakespeare's story, Corduroy," Drago said. "Even if it isn't true."

Velvet was disappointed, but proud. Drago was defending Shakespeare. That was because of her.

# CHAPTER 19

Velvet and Drago were trying to get the seduction scene right. It wasn't working.

"This is a first for me," Mr MacDonald said, "but I'm inclined to agree with Drago."

"No," Velvet insisted. "I am not kissing him."

Mr MacDonald had told them to use their own experience for their performances. It was hard enough trying to think of Drago as someone who could seduce you, but Velvet just didn't have any experience to draw on.

Taleb was still trying to get Hailie to sing in tune. He was convinced she'd get the hang of it once he'd explained a few musical principles to her. Because he was naturally musical himself, he didn't understand how anyone couldn't get it right. Hailie didn't think her singing needed improving.

"I need my own song," she said. "After King Edward dies, I should have a sad song. Something that will have everyone in tears."

"Anything you sing will have people in tears," Peter said.

"I'm not writing another song," Taleb said.

"Why not? When Velvet suggests a new song, you write it."

"Velvet is the director. If she suggests a song, it's to improve the play, not to give herself more time in the spotlight."

Velvet tried not to look pleased.

They continued with the scene. Hailie's acting wasn't good either. She clomped around with her foot in plaster trying to look seductive.

Peter was unusually impatient. "It's no good. You can't have a couple of Year 9 girls trying to be sexy women. It just doesn't work."

"And what would you know? When was the last time you came on to anybody?" Hailie snapped.

Peter looked like he might have had something to say, but if he did he kept it to himself. Velvet, aware of her own shortcomings in this area, was immediately defensive.

"How old do you think Lady Anne was when this was really happening?"

"I don't know," grumbled Peter. "But I bet you're going to tell us."

"She was fifteen."

Velvet got the reaction she wanted. The others were all genuinely surprised.

"She was not. That was Juliet."

"She was fifteen and already a widow. And she'd had a horrible time with her first husband."

"So it's all right if you can't act," Peter said. "Is that what you're saying?"

Drago came to her defence.

"She's doing okay, Peter. Stop giving her a hard time. So how old am I, Corduroy?"

"Nineteen at this point."

"Is that all?"

"Yep. Richard fought his first battle when he was nineteen. He led a battalion or division or whatever they're called. And he got badly wounded in the shoulder. That's what gave him a slightly lopsided look and what historians later turned into a hunched back."

"I thought they were all old," Jesus said.

Mr MacDonald broke in. "So now you can feel comfortable in these roles. If Velvet feels out of her depth being seduced, that's just the way she should play it."

Velvet didn't have time to go to the library at lunchtime any more. She had script meetings with Drago on Mondays and Wednesdays, self-defence with Jesus on Tuesdays. Mei had offered to do Chinese conversation practice with her on Thursdays. And now Taleb had organised extra band practice for Friday lunchtime.

Velvet's science class had gone over time. Velvet hated being late. She took a shortcut down the stairs near the science lab. No one ever went out that way. The stairs led to a back door near the rubbish skip. Not only was it smelly, it was also where the delinquents hung out. Velvet hurried down the stairs and ran straight into Eddy, the Toxic Shock drummer, and other assorted thugs.

"Look, guys, it's Ms Snobnose Pye." Eddy blocked her way with a tattooed arm.

"She must want to get into your pants, Eddy."

Eddy smelled bad.

"Let me through," Velvet said.

"Why should I?"

Velvet turned to go back up the stairs, but Eddy pulled her round so that she was looking into his ugly face. His breath had that smell of cheap cigarettes. He slid his hand down her back and grabbed her bottom. The other boys sniggered. Velvet looked into Eddy's eyes and smiled sweetly. She pulled back her knee and aimed for his groin. Eddy crumpled onto the stairs, his eyes nearly starting out of his head, tears streaming down his face, in too much pain to cry out. Velvet didn't move, stunned by what she'd done.

Taleb came down the stairs, paused for a moment to take in the scene. He stepped over Eddy.

"Come on, Velvet," he said, grabbing her arm. "You're late for band practice."

When they were outside, he shook his head. "I saw you heading for the stairs. You know Eddy always hangs out there."

"I was in a hurry. I didn't think."

"I was just about to come and rescue you. I should have known you could look after yourself."

"It's what Jesus taught us. I didn't mean to hurt him. It was just instinct. I've only ever done it to a punching bag before."

"Eddy'll live."

They went through the hall and into the dressing room that Taleb had discovered behind the stage, where the band could practise unseen and unheard by anyone. The lunchtime sessions weren't popular with the other members of the band. No one else had turned up.

Velvet sat down, still shocked by what she'd done.

"This is the coronation song," Taleb said, "the chorus song that you wanted. I haven't got all the lyrics yet."

He plugged a device into his guitar. It looked like the foot pedal of a sewing machine.

"What's that?"

"It's a distortion pedal."

He played a strong, stirring melody, bending the notes with the pedal. Velvet watched him play and calmed down a little. She still wasn't sure about Taleb. Sometimes she was positive he liked her, other times – like when he yelled at her for playing something wrong – she was convinced he didn't.

"What do you think?" he asked, without looking at her.

"It's great. Of course. All your music is good. I'm even getting used to Queen Margaret's song."

Taleb looked at her. "What about my Toxic Shock songs?"

"I wouldn't go that far. I saw you play once at a lunchtime concert. I only listened to one song, if that's what you call them. It was too noisy for me."

Taleb smiled as he tuned his guitar. Once he got the braces off, his smile would be beautiful.

"These are the lyrics I've got so far."

" _Three cheers for his majesty_ ,

_He'll rule England well_.

_Ring the bells for his majesty_ ,

_Da-da-da-da-da-del_.

" _Make way for his majesty_ ,

_Who wears the royal crown_.

_Da-da-da his majesty_ ,

_At his feet bow down_."

"I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with 'well' that worked."

Velvet went through rhyming words in her head.

"How about ' _All our fears he'll repel_ '?"

"That's good." Taleb wrote down her words. "What about the other missing bit? ' _Something, something, his majesty_ '."

"We've had cheering and bell ringing and bowing. What about singing? ' _Sing praise for his majesty_ '?"

Velvet tried to look like it was no big deal that Taleb had asked her to help him write a song.

"Do you think it needs a chorus?" he asked.

"Songs in musicals usually have choruses. Perhaps it could be a contrast to the verses. Like an aside. People whispering their doubts about Richard."

"Go on."

" _We don't really like him. We're scared what he'll do_."

Taleb finished it off. " _They say he killed the princes. And his brother Clarence too_."

He wrote it down. "That's great. I can make the chorus music sound a bit menacing. Plunky bass notes."

An image of sheet music with "composed by Haddad/Pye" printed on it flashed into Velvet's mind.

"Toxic Shock's playing at Yarrabank Plaza on Saturday morning," Taleb said. "You should come. See if you think we've improved."

"I think I better keep out of Eddy's way."

"Don't worry about Eddy."

Taleb plucked a few notes on his guitar.

Velvet remembered something Drago had said the previous term.

"Do they give you a hard time about this play, the others in the band?"

Taleb groaned. "Yes. Nonstop. About the play, the music, the company I keep."

"They don't like me."

"Especially you. Mostly they give me a hard time about you."

"What did I do?"

"You don't have to do anything. They find you threatening."

"Why?"

"Because you're smart, rich..."

"I'm not rich. I used to be. Not any more."

"... and stuck-up."

"I'm not stuck-up."

"They think you are."

"Do you?"

"You used to be." Taleb smiled again. This time he looked at Velvet, just quickly, but long enough to make her heart thump.

That's when Jesus arrived, clinking and rattling with his latest collection of percussion "instruments" – three coke bottles with different levels of water in them, an empty Milo tin and a lunchbox containing a handful of dried peas. Hailie followed him in, carrying the saucepan lids that Jesus had been using as cymbals.

"Let's get to work," Taleb said. "Velvet and I have written some lyrics for the coronation song."

They all turned to him. "What, together?"

Roula was behind them. "I just saw Eddy," she said. "He says we wants his keyboard back."

"He was limping. What happened? Did you have a fight with him, Taleb?"

"Not me. It was Velvet."

"Go, Velvet."

"It was instinct. I just did what you taught us, Jesus. I thought you were exaggerating when you said it'd make boys cry."

"I taught her everything she knows," Jesus said proudly.

"Yeah, it's terrific, but now we haven't got a keyboard." Taleb wasn't smiling anymore.

"I've got a keyboard at home. Dad bought it at an op shop," Velvet said. "It's not very good."

"It'll have to do."

# CHAPTER 20

Hailie and Roula looked up when Velvet entered half-way through humanities class. She'd been absent all morning.

"Where've you been?" Hailie asked.

"I had a doctor's appointment." Velvet was lying. She'd been to sit the Endeavour High entry exam.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Period problems," Velvet said. She knew that would shut Hailie up.

Velvet sat with them. They were working on a mapping project. Theirs was a map of France. Roula had drafted it and was now drawing a picture of the Eiffel Tower straddling Paris. Roula was very good at drawing. She made it look three-dimensional, like it was coming up out of the paper. Hailie was drawing red dots where the towns were. Velvet was writing information about the regions in boxes. Her mind was only half on the project. Not even half.

"I'm telling you something really important, Velvet," Hailie complained.

"She's not listening."

The door was open and from where they were sitting they could see into the classroom across the corridor, where 10F had French.

"You can take your eyes off him for a minute. He's not going to disappear." Hailie was only happy if she was getting all the attention.

"I wasn't looking at anybody in particular. I was just staring into space."

"Space is straight up, Velvet." Roula pointed at the ceiling. "Not across the corridor."

"I'm trying to tell you about this tragic event and you're drooling over a boy."

"I am not drooling, Hailie. Don't be gross."

"How can you still be interested in him when he's always so mean to you?" Roula asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what the attraction is. It's not like he's good looking or anything."

"Don't you think so?" Velvet was surprised.

"He's got bands on his teeth, wears glasses and his nose is too big. And his clothes! He's daggy. Jesus is much better looking than Taleb." Hailie was still going out with Jesus. She turned to Roula for support. "Isn't he?"

"He's not my type."

"Me neither," Velvet said. "I'm not into muscles."

"Yeah, you prefer skinny, wimpy boys."

They pretended to work on their project as the humanities teacher walked past their desk.

"How do you know if a guy likes you, Hailie?" Velvet asked, when the teacher was out of earshot.

"Easy. I ask him out. If he says yes, he likes me. If he says no, he doesn't."

"I think Taleb almost asked me out. He said I should go to a Toxic Shock gig on Saturday."

"That's not exactly a date."

"Yeah, I'm kidding myself, aren't I?"

The teacher came back down the next aisle. Roula drew some mountains where the Alps were, covering them with tiny skiers and pine trees. Velvet wrote snowfall statistics and heights of peaks. Hailie coloured the sea blue.

"Good work, girls," the teacher said.

"So what's this tragedy you were talking about, Hailie?"

"Maurice died last night."

"Who?"

"My mouse. The cat got him."

Velvet made sympathetic noises while she thought about what nice eyes Taleb had and how strange it was that two people could look at the same face and see something completely different.

"It's a good thing really," Velvet said to no one in particular. "All part of a cosmic plan I suppose."

"My mouse dying?"

"No, I was thinking about something else."

"Seriously, Velvet." Roula was losing her patience. "You'll wait forever if you wait for Taleb to ask you out."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because of Jessica Saatci."

"What about her?"

"Taleb was going out with her for two whole terms last year," Hailie said. "She dumped him for Nick Papadimitriou."

Velvet stopped writing. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Everybody knows. Taleb was cut. He hasn't been out with anybody since."

"Hailie, I wasn't here last year!"

"Sorry."

"What about Sofia Ritano?"

"She doesn't count. She's a groupie."

"There are _hundreds_ of boys at school, Velvet," Hailie said. "Why stress yourself over Taleb?"

Velvet had stopped listening again. This new information put a whole new light on things. It was all clear to her now. If Taleb had been traumatised by a previous relationship, she would have to make the first move. She knew she would never be able to bring herself to actually ask Taleb out, but she could summon the courage to go to Yarrabank Plaza on Saturday morning.

Velvet's mother was going through a mother–daughter bonding stage. She was always planning things they could do together – an op shop crawl, a craft afternoon, an Eighties romantic comedy retrospective. When Velvet said she was going to Yarrabank Plaza on Saturday morning, her mother wanted to go with her. Velvet was no longer tying her hair back. She had spent nearly an hour in the bathroom scrunching her hair until she was happy with it.

"It's your father's birthday soon," her mother said. "We could look for something really nice for him."

Velvet had to do some fast thinking. "We can't afford it, Mum. We're poor."

"I know, but we might get some inspiration for something that we could make ourselves."

"Like what?"

"Some wool. We could knit him a beanie."

"Dad doesn't like wearing hats."

"We could make him some brownies, he'd love that."

"Last time you tried to make brownies, he called them blackies. Remember?"

"You're not being very helpful, Velvet."

Fortunately, the phone rang and her mother got involved in a deep discussion with an old friend and Velvet was able to slip away. She left a note saying she'd be home for lunch.

Velvet went to Kmart first. If she did some shopping, it would look like she just happened to pass by as the band was playing. She bought a pair of socks and some highlighters with money that her grandma had sent her. Then she bought her first lipstick, not blue or blood red, like Roula and Hailie's, but a modest shade of pink.

Most of the shoppers were ignoring a terrible rap band playing in the mall. Only a small group of teenagers and what looked like the band's mothers were listening. Velvet had to wander back and forth while three more inept teenage bands played before Toxic Shock came on. Maybe she wasn't quite as conservative as she had been back in first term, but they did seem to have improved, though she still couldn't understand a word the greasy singer was shouting. She stood where she was sure Taleb could see her and listened to all of the five songs they played.

When they'd finished, Velvet waited for him to come over and talk to her, but he didn't even acknowledge that she was there. Sofia Ritano was down the front. Eddy sneered in Velvet's direction. She went home.

She'd been thinking that she shouldn't have bothered sitting the Endeavour High entry exam. Now she was glad she had.

# CHAPTER 21

"We should open a bank account and put the costume money in it."

"You're so sensible, Velvet," Hailie said. "You make me want to puke."

"It's only a hundred and fifty bucks," Peter said. "We'll get about five cents interest if we're lucky."

"Yeah, and we'll be spending it all in a few weeks. What's the point?"

"Well it'll be safe there. What else can we do with it? Give it to you to look after, Jesus?"

"It's totally illogical," Peter said. "Can't we give it to Mrs Mangalis to keep in the office?"

Mr MacDonald intervened. "I think it's a good idea, Velvet."

"Yeah, someone get the elephant stamp."

"Whose name will we put it in?"

"You can call a bank account anything you like. You're a drama company. What do you want to call yourselves?"

Jesus and Drago refused to be members of a group called the Drama Queens. Velvet liked Dramatic Irony, which according to the dictionary on her phone had something to do with the characters on stage not understanding what was going on. They all agreed that was pretty appropriate, but eventually settled on Stagefright. It might have been tempting fate, but it had a good ring to it.

"To open an account, we'll need two people who are over sixteen to sign," Mr MacDonald said.

"I'm sixteen," Drago said.

"As if we're going to give you the money!" Hailie said.

Mr MacDonald ignored her. "We need another volunteer. Mei, you're sixteen aren't you?"

Mei nodded.

"You'll need a letter from the school. Ms Mangalis has them on file. We go through this all the time with sports clubs."

"We'll probably never see Drago again," Roula said after he and Mei had gone to the bank. "Why did you give it to him?"

"I wanted Drago to know that we trust him."

"You might."

"This play has been good for Drago," Mr MacDonald said. "He hasn't been in trouble for quite a while."

"What about when he threw a desk out of a first-floor window?"

"Apart from that."

"And when he put Gladwrap over the toilets in the teachers' loo."

"Was that him? Anyway he's only been suspended twice this year. That's a record. And his grades are improving."

"Yeah, he's getting straight Ds now."

"And that's only because Velvet's helping him with reading."

"I brought my keyboard," Velvet said.

"Fantastic," Taleb said, smiling at her. "At least someone is focused on this play."

Velvet felt her cheeks burn. She plugged in the Casio keyboard. It was bright red.

"Matches your face, Velvet," Jesus said.

Velvet played a few bars of "Country Gardens" and "Amazing Grace".

Taleb winced. "That's not a musical instrument. It's a toy!"

"Sounds like elevator music."

"It's all we've got," Velvet said.

"It'll do for practice," Peter said. "Perhaps we can find something better later."

Taleb picked up his guitar. "Okay, let's run through the overture first, as a warm-up. Then we'll work on the coronation song."

They played the overture almost without a mistake.

"The sax sounds good, Hailie. And you've improved, Velvet."

"I've been practising my improvising," she said proudly.

Drago and Mei came back from the bank and everyone admired the Stagefright bank book.

"We couldn't get a debit card," Drago said. "We have to withdraw money over the counter."

Taleb sang the coronation song. Velvet played the keyboard part flawlessly, but it was supposed to sound like a big church organ. On the Casio it sounded like something from _Play School_.

"That sounds like crap, Velvet," Taleb said. "Can't you make it sound better than that?"

She'd been working hard on the piece all week at home. Velvet felt her eyes start to prickle and fill with tears. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of everyone, so she got up and walked out of T6 as fast as she could.

Velvet was angry with herself for letting Taleb affect her, and sick of her roller-coasting emotions. One minute feeling happy, the next devastated. She hid behind the bike shed, wiping her eyes and her nose on her sleeve. That's where Taleb found her. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I know it wasn't your fault it sounded bad."

Velvet blew her nose.

"The lyrics are good. The song will work well."

Velvet sniffed.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"You're always yelling at me."

"You don't usually get so upset."

Velvet bit her lip to stop it quivering pathetically. "It's my birthday."

Despite her efforts to stop them, the tears welled up and started running down her face again. She hadn't minded that all she'd got for her birthday was a badly crocheted scarf from her mother, a box of chocolates past their use-by date from her dad and the twenty dollars from her grandma. But this was too much.

Taleb put an arm around her.

"You should have told us."

"And I went to Yarrabank Plaza on Saturday and you ignored me."

He put his other arm around her. "I didn't see you."

"I was right there."

"I wasn't wearing my glasses. It stops me getting nervous if I can't see the audience."

"Really?" Velvet looked up at him. His arms were still around her.

"Yeah."

Velvet wiped her nose again, on the hankie this time.

"We better get back to class."

Taleb leaned forwards and kissed her on the mouth. His lips were soft and his skin smelled spicy and male.

Velvet forgot to breathe.

"Happy birthday," he said.

When the others found out it was Velvet's birthday, they talked Mr MacDonald into going over to Hades for the rest of the afternoon. Taleb promised he wouldn't yell at anyone and Mr MacDonald promised he'd try to find a better keyboard.

Velvet spent a lot of time pondering her new relationship with Taleb – if it was a relationship. He walked Velvet to the station after school (taking the long way to avoid running into Hailie and Roula). They talked about the harmonies for the coronation song, what they would use for a backdrop and the latest home ec. disaster. Did that mean they were going out? Or was the kiss just meant to be a birthday present? A first kiss was a major milestone in a girl's life, even more important than her first period or her first bra. But it was over and done with before she'd had a chance to realise what was happening.

"What was your first kiss like, Hailie?" Velvet asked during maths the following day.

"It was with Giancarlo Wong. Remember him, Roula, in Year 7? He left."

"Yeah, he was cute. But, you know, not my type."

"What was it like?"

"He was a bit too keen. He banged his teeth against mine and chipped a piece off my front tooth. I had to tell Mum I did it playing hockey."

"My first kiss was wonderful," Roula said.

"Yeah?" said Hailie and Velvet together, waiting for the crunch.

"It was this gorgeous boy in Greece. He was seventeen and I was only thirteen. Seriously. He was very passionate... on the beach... with the sun setting."

"Was he your type?" Velvet asked.

"Not really."

"What about your first kiss in Australia, Roula?"

"That was my cousin Con. I paid him two dollars to see what it was like."

Velvet decided that her first kiss hadn't been so bad after all.

Taleb rang Velvet on the weekend, late at night. He was the only student at Yarrabank who didn't have a mobile phone, and as Velvet's wasn't reliable he used the landline. Velvet took the cordless phone to her room and they talked for nearly two hours without her having to worry about using up her phone plan or getting a brain tumour. She learned more about Taleb over the phone than she had all year in cultural studies class.

He told her about his family. He was the youngest, and the only one born in Australia. There were more than fifteen years between him and his eldest brother, who had just gone to Syria to support the rebels. His sister was married and there were two other brothers in their twenties still living at home. His sister and brothers all spoke English among themselves. As far as Taleb was concerned, Arabic was a language for speaking to parents and grandparents.

"So how does your family feel about your music and... your hair?"

Velvet could almost hear him shrugging on the other end of the line.

"I get away with a lot more than the others did. I wanted to buy a guitar when I was twelve. Dad said I wasn't allowed, but my brothers convinced him it would be okay. I saved up for it by delivering papers and collecting cans after the footy."

When Velvet was twelve, she'd had three rooms of her own, a monthly allowance of $200 and everything she ever asked for.

"Dad cracked it when I started growing my hair. But my sister said it suited me. He gave up."

Taleb fell silent. Velvet was trying to think of something else to say, when he spoke again.

"I just finished the guitar solo for the dream scene. Do you want to hear it?"

"Sure."

The house was dark and silent, but in her ear Velvet could hear the sound of Taleb's guitar, played just for her.

# CHAPTER 22

"Guess what?" Roula said when she arrived at T6. "I just heard a kid in French singing the chorus from the coronation song."

"Yeah?"

They'd spent the last two weeks practising it over and over again.

"We're practically famous," Jesus said.

"He must have heard us after school."

Taleb was flattered, but also concerned. "We better have the after-school rehearsal in the backstage room as well."

Everybody groaned.

"Why? I hate that little room," Hailie said. "It smells all sweaty."

"That's Drago," Roula said.

"It is not!"

"We don't want everyone hearing all the songs," Taleb said. "There won't be any surprises when they see the performance."

"I think there'll be enough surprises."

"Hailie's singing."

"Drago's acting."

"The lack of scenery."

"Hey, that reminds me," Roula said. "There's a sale on at Spotlight. I need to get some material for the dream scene."

"You can have twenty dollars," Velvet said.

"Who put you in charge of the money?"

"I'm the sensible one, remember?"

Drago looked uncomfortable, which worried Velvet because normally nothing fazed him. "What's wrong?"

A sudden hush came over the cultural studies class.

"What have you done, Drago?"

"Where's the bank book?"

Mei took the bank book out of her bag and gave it to Velvet. "Sorry."

Velvet couldn't believe her eyes. "Five dollars!" Drago was unusually quiet. The rest of them were suddenly noisy.

"How come there's only five dollars in it?"

"I had to leave something in to keep the account open," Drago said.

"You rat. You've nicked our money."

"Drago, you miserable... "

Jesus looked like he was going to attack him. Mr MacDonald had to intervene to prevent bloodshed.

"Just a minute. Let Drago explain."

"Okay, explain why you stole our money," Peter said.

Drago didn't say anything.

"He didn't steal," said Mei, acting as Drago's interpreter for a change.

"Where is it then?"

"He lost it."

"What do you mean he lost it?"

"In horses' race."

"One of my foster brothers gave me a certain winner at good odds. I thought if we had more money, we could get better costumes and scenery and stuff."

"Drago!"

"Isn't it against the law to bet if you're underage?"

"My foster brother did it for me. The horse's name was Gloucester Rose."

He seemed to think that would explain everything.

"So what?"

"It seemed like a sign. You know, Richard was the Duke of Gloucester, the War of the Roses."

Everybody started shouting. Everybody but Drago, who for once had nothing to say. After a few minutes they ran out of names to call him and suggestions for horrible things to do to him. An angry silence settled over T6. The money was gone.

"What are we going to do about costumes now?"

"We'll have to manage without them," Mr MacDonald said. "Do it in ordinary clothes."

"We can't do that," Velvet said. "It'll look awful."

"What else can we do?"

They all scowled at Drago, but no one had any ideas.

It was Miss Ryan and Velvet's mum who came to their rescue. Miss Ryan had been offering to help with costumes and scenery all the previous term. Jesus's dad was a house painter and he had given them a drop sheet and some half-empty tins of paint. Eventually, they'd given in and let her start painting a backdrop. Miss Ryan got the perspective all wrong and she had the worst sense of colour coordination in the world. It looked awful. But she could sew. She had already made headdresses for the girls and told them she could run up a doublet or two out of a bedspread she had at home. They were desperate enough to let her try.

But there were some things that Miss Ryan couldn't sew. Drago needed a crown, even though no one thought he deserved one. They needed swords, a throne and more paint. That's where Velvet's mum came in.

"We need a fundraiser," Peter said, "like the school has for sports equipment. A raffle or something."

Peter was unconvinced. "We haven't got a prize."

"A garage sale."

"We haven't got anything to sell."

"What about one of those 'guess how many jelly beans in the jar' competitions?"

"Roula, just keep your dumb ideas to yourself, will you?"

"You should be the one thinking of something, Drago. It's your fault we need money."

"My mother had this idea," Velvet began, then changed her mind. "No, that was a dumb idea too."

"What?"

"She said something about a multicultural food thing. She meant a get-together for parents, but we could have a stall at lunchtime. If everyone brought stuff from home we could sell it to the other kids."

"That is such a lame idea," Hailie said. "Trust you to come up with it, Velvet."

"I could bring some spring rolls," said Peter, whose parents ran a Vietnamese restaurant.

"My mother make dumplings," Mei said.

"That's great. Roula, what about some of those vine leaf things and spanakopita?"

"Spanner what?" Jesus wasn't familiar with Greek food.

"Pasties with feta cheese and spinach in them."

Roula nodded. "Yeah, my yiayia makes them."

"What sort of food does your family eat, Jesus?"

"Just normal stuff."

"What am I supposed to bring?" Hailie said. "Kangaroo tail soup?"

"I'll make passionfruit tarts," Velvet said.

"You were right, it's a dumb idea," Taleb said. "I'm not gonna stand about selling cakes."

"Got a better plan?" Velvet was annoyed by his lack of support.

"I'd rather do some busking outside Yarrabank Plaza."

Jesus offered to go busking with Taleb.

"Let's do both."

"I'll do a flyer about the food stall," Roula volunteered.

"Sure, Roula," said Drago, who never believed anything Roula said.

"She can draw, Drago," Velvet said. "What exactly are you doing to contribute?"

"I'll think of something."

# CHAPTER 23

Miss Ryan managed to get permission for them to hold a Multicultural Food Stall the following week. They stuck Roula's flyer around the school. Everyone agreed to bring food, but Peter was the only one who would help Velvet on the stall. The rest of them thought that being seen fundraising was far too daggy.

"No one will bring anything. They'll forget, I know they will," Velvet muttered to her mother as she was filling passionfruit tarts the night before.

But they didn't forget, everyone brought something. Drago, whose current foster mother was part Italian, brought a slab of pizza. Jesus brought egg sandwiches. Hailie brought some slightly burned cookies. Even Taleb brought kebabs and baklava.

Mr MacDonald borrowed the microwave oven from the staffroom for them to heat up the food. And they set up a table near the canteen with an extension cord running in through a classroom window. Miss Ryan was flapping around, concerned about health and safety issues. Mr MacDonald was their only customer at first. He did his best and bought six different things, even though he'd already eaten his lunch at recess. Miss Ryan bought one passionfruit tart. Velvet was just starting to really panic, when Drago rounded up some Year 7s and threatened them with torture if they didn't buy something. The queue at the canteen was as long as it always was, so when the Year 7s actually seemed to like the food and none of them dropped dead from poisoning, other students started to buy from the stall. Soon they were doing brisk business. Some teachers bought things as well, since their microwave had mysteriously disappeared. The stall was a success.

Afterwards they all skipped period six and went to the band practice room to count the takings and pigout on the leftovers. Jesus ate the passionfruit tarts two at a time.

Velvet counted up the money. "There's fifty-four dollars and seventy-five cents."

"Is that all?"

"How much did you think we'd make from a food stall?"

"I dunno, but it's not even enough to hire two outfits."

"We'll have to see what the busking makes."

The busking was successful. The rest of Stagefright went along to Yarrabank Plaza to create an audience. A crowd soon gathered to see what they were looking at. Taleb took his little amp and played some old favourites that he'd selected specially to appeal to old people: "Stairway to Heaven", a couple of Pink Floyd classics and the Star Wars theme. He also played a guitar-legend version of "Memory" from Cats, which Velvet thought might have been just for her. Jesus did a surprisingly good job of percussion accompaniment, even though he didn't know any of the songs. When Taleb counted the coins in his guitar case there was thirty-eight dollars and sixty-five cents.

They had a meeting at a cafe afterwards to discuss how they would use the money. It was the first time they'd all been together out of school uniform. Drago was wearing green baggy pants that made him look like a garden gnome; Jesus a soccer shirt; Roula a long velvet skirt; Hailie a tight fitting T-shirt, cut-off jeans and goosebumps. Velvet thought about sitting next to Taleb but changed her mind. They hadn't talked about it, but neither of them felt comfortable about being seen together in public. Velvet knew that the other members of Toxic Shock would relentlessly make fun of Taleb for having such an uncool girlfriend. And she hadn't quite let go of being the princess exiled among the plebs. Even in cultural studies class they kept their distance. Velvet didn't think the boys had a clue, but Roula and Hailie knew something was going on. They'd been quizzing her about it for weeks, even though Velvet had insisted that their relationship was strictly professional.

Mei arrived and distracted Velvet from her thoughts. Without anybody noticing, Mei had undergone a transformation over the last term. She'd cut off her pigtails and now wore her hair in a bob. Her eyes were skillfully made up. She no longer wore little girls' clothes. Her skirt was tight and her blouse even tighter, outlining her large breasts.

"I get lost," she told them. "Take wrong bus. Go to Richmond by mistake."

They all squeezed up to make room for Mei. Drago moved next to her and Velvet ended up sitting next to Taleb anyway. She could see their reflection in a mirror. They didn't look anything like a couple. Taleb was wearing black jeans and a black Slipknot T-shirt. Velvet had on her light blue jeans and a mauve shirt, and even with her hair down and carefully messy, she still looked neat and ironed. She and Taleb just didn't go together. Velvet was worrying about whether this was important when someone remembered what they were supposed to be there for, and they started talking about their new funds and what they were going to do with them.

"We've got a bit more than half the money we had before," Peter said, who had nominated himself Stagefright's accountant. "We still won't be able to hire costumes."

There was some general grumbling about Drago and then they tried to think of alternatives.

"We'll have to take up Miss Ryan's offer. Let her make stuff."

Peter groaned. "Do we have to?"

"I'll end up with an orange cloak," Drago said, "with big flowers on it."

"Poor Miss Ryan," Velvet said. "You shouldn't make fun of her."

"Yeah, Drago, you should be grateful," Roula said. "She's getting you out of trouble."

The girls still wanted to wear flowing gowns.

"I've got the bridesmaid's dress I wore at my cousin Kiki's wedding," Roula said. "That might look okay if I altered it a bit."

That gave Velvet an idea. "We might be able to get some long dresses at the War Widows shop." It was one of her mother's favourite op shops and it wasn't far away.

"They'll all be pink and horrible though," Hailie said.

"We can dye them."

Miss Ryan had given them the address of a remnants shop where they could get cheap material. Drago needed a coronation cloak and Roula still needed some streamers of green and blue material for the underwater scene.

"You'll have to have a cardboard and aluminium foil crown though," Roula said.

Drago opened his mouth to complain.

"Shut up, Drago."

He did his best to look apologetic. "Can I choose what colour cloak I get?"

"No."

Peter gave Roula forty dollars and Miss Ryan's instructions for how many metres they'd need. Drago insisted on going with her.

"If you don't come back with everything we need and change..." Jesus left it to Drago's imagination what he would do.

Hailie had a date (she'd just dropped Jesus). Peter had to help in the family restaurant. Jesus wanted to watch his old soccer team play in a semi-final. No one seemed interested in going to the War Widows op shop with Velvet.

"I'll go with you," Taleb said.

"Thanks." Velvet tried to look like it was no big deal.

Taleb picked up his guitar with one hand and took Velvet's hand in the other. They said goodbye and the others stopped arguing about which tram to catch as they watched them walk away hand in hand.

"Geez, Roula," Velvet heard Hailie say. "When are you going to get a boyfriend? Even Velvet's got one."

That was the end of Velvet's reputation as the aloof princess. Everyone would know she was going with Taleb now. She didn't mind at all really.

The op shop had two racks of dilapidated ball gowns and bridesmaids dresses in hideous colours. Velvet tried some on. Taleb was supposed to be looking around for anything the boys might be able to use, but when Velvet wanted to show him a dress she thought might work, she found him fossicking through a pile of sheet music. He didn't like the dress. Velvet tried on some more. There was one that hung beautifully but was an awful shade of green, another was made of lovely silky material but stuck out too much. Another two had a vague medieval look and might have looked okay if they were dyed darker colours. They were marked at fifteen dollars each, but Velvet bargained with the little old lady behind the counter and got the price down to twenty dollars for the two, with a lace curtain thrown in to use as a veil. Taleb bought a peculiar selection of sheet music ranging from ABBA to Miles Davies.

"What are you going to do with those?" Velvet asked.

"Learn how to play them. I can use bits in guitar solos or make heavy-metal versions."

Afterwards Taleb walked Velvet home along the river. A couple of months earlier Velvet would never have believed that she would soon be walking along a bike path hand in hand with a boy – especially one with hair the same length as hers whose idea of a musical genius was Jimi Hendrix. What would her friends at St Theresa's think? Her ex-friends.

They sat under a willow tree with their backs against the tree trunk, inside the curtain of branches that brushed the ground as the breeze caught them. They talked for a while and then abandoned conversation. Velvet learned how to kiss someone who had bands on their teeth. Not that she'd had any experience at kissing anybody without them, apart from a kid she'd played kiss-chasey with in Grade 3 whose name she couldn't remember. Velvet was amazed at how quickly she'd taken to kissing. Swapping saliva with someone had always sounded gross. It was actually very pleasant. She still wanted to make sure that she knew where she stood with Taleb.

"So, does this mean we're going out?"

Taleb shrugged. "What do you think?"

"I just wanted to make sure."

"Would you like something in writing?"

"Very funny. I was just wondering about..."

"What?"

"About Sofia Ritano."

"What about her?"

"You were going out with her a few weeks ago."

"I've never been out with Sofia Ritano."

"I saw you. You were wrapped around each other."

"She was wrapped around me. She does that with all the guys in the band. I don't even like her, but she does the sound and lights for our gigs. And anyway, she's a lesbian."

"Is she? Okay. It's no big deal. I just wanted to know."

It wasn't quite the formal request and acceptance that Velvet had imagined. When other girls talked about boys asking them out, she'd thought they'd meant it literally. Boy meets girl. Boy asks girl out. Girl accepts. It seemed a shrug was the best she could hope for. She'd also thought it meant you actually went somewhere. Out. It was the twenty-first century. Velvet decided it was time for her to take the initiative.

"Do you want to go to the movies tomorrow?"

Another shrug.

"I'll have a look online tonight and see what's on."

It was nearly two-thirty and Velvet had said she'd be home for lunch. They walked quickly the rest of the way to her house. She didn't invite Taleb in. It was taking her a while to get used to having a boyfriend, and she certainly wasn't ready to introduce him to her parents.

# CHAPTER 24

No one was in the mood to work hard in the last week of third term. Except Taleb.

"Let's just go through all the songs once, in order. To see how they sound."

The others grudgingly agreed, but it was a half-hearted effort and Drago was so late for class he missed his soliloquy song and Taleb had to sing it instead.

When they had finished, everyone was talking about what they were going to do over the holidays. Velvet was admiring her most recent Mandarin test and congratulating herself after getting a C+. Sitting next to Drago had been a masterstroke. He explained the grammar much more clearly than Mrs Dwyer, and helped her learn the characters. Having conversation sessions with Mei had been his idea as well, and that had improved her spoken Mandarin. Velvet was hoping she could get her mark up to a B by the end of the year.

Suddenly, the sounds of their own voices were filling the room. Taleb had borrowed Velvet's phone at the beginning of the class. She hadn't given it much thought at the time. He had connected it up to his amplifier.

"You douche," Hailie said. "You recorded us."

The overture sounded bad. Velvet could hear her clarinet squeaking, and her piano playing was very ordinary. Hailie's sax wasn't in tune. Mei's voice drowned out all the others, and the harmonies sounded terrible.

"I wanted you all to know how bad you sound."

Velvet cringed when she heard herself singing Lady Anne's song. She was in tune, but it had no emotion.

"That's not fair. We weren't even trying." Velvet was angry that Taleb hadn't told her what he was planning.

"Well, you should be trying, all the time."

"You knew it was being recorded, so you did your best."

"I always do my best as far as music is concerned."

They practised the harmonies in the coronation song again and then ran through all the songs. This time they sounded better.

Velvet was still annoyed. "The songs need to link more."

"If you want to write the music, go ahead." Taleb wasn't used to musical criticism.

"I don't want to write the music. But at the moment, what we have is a string of songs. I'm not saying they're not good songs, but..."

"Just stick to writing the script, Velvet," Peter said.

"Yeah," Taleb said. "You're director, scriptwriter and leading lady. Isn't that enough?"

"Look, you're a great musician, a good songwriter and a guitar hero, but you don't know the first thing about musicals!"

The rest of the cast watched in silence. None of them would have dared to criticise Taleb's music.

"I may be an average clarinetist and a less than average piano player, but I've seen every musical that's ever been staged in Melbourne since I was six. I've seen Broadway shows – on Broadway. I know about musical theatre!"

She waited for Taleb to explode. But he didn't, so she continued.

"The music should flow, so that when you play the songs back to back it feels like a continuous piece of music. It doesn't need much – a hint of what's to come in the overture, an occasional recurring melody. And there has to be a finale."

The bell went.

"Geez, Velvet." Hailie picked up her bag. "It's just a school musical."

"Yeah," Jesus said. "We're not trying to win an Oscar."

"Tony."

"Huh?"

"The awards for theatre productions are called Tonys. Oscars are for movies."

"Whatever."

"We need to rehearse over the holidays," Taleb said.

Peter couldn't. "I've got to work at the restaurant."

Neither could Drago. "I'm going to the country to stay with my granny."

Jesus was coaching at a soccer camp. Hailie's mother's latest boyfriend was taking them to the snow. Roula had to look after her little brother.

Taleb sighed as they headed for the door. "You all have to work on your songs over the holidays."

"And your lines," Velvet added.

Taleb handed back her phone. A voice with a crisp English accent told them it was currently seventy-five degrees in Miami.

"That was sneaky," Velvet said, "recording us like that. But it's probably what we needed."

She was expecting Taleb to be angry with her for being critical of his music in front of the others, but he wasn't.

"I want this musical to be as good as it possibly can be," he said. "I can take criticism."

"I'll practise over the holidays."

"And I'll write a finale – if you write the lyrics."

He put his guitar in its case. "We should get together over the break."

Velvet nodded. That was fine by her.

"We'll need some inspiration," she said. "I'm going to my aunt's place on Monday. She's got an amazing collection of musical soundtracks. Do you want to come?"

"Sure."

Velvet's Aunt Evelyn lived in a sixth-floor apartment overlooking the river. It was modern and sparsely furnished, and bigger than the house Velvet and her parents were living in.

"Looks like something out of a magazine," Taleb said, kicking off his runners before he walked on the pale carpet. "Your aunt must be rich."

"She's a lawyer."

"And it's okay for us to hang out here?"

"I rang her to let her know I was coming. She told me it was okay, anytime I wanted some space." Velvet hadn't mentioned that Taleb would be with her.

"I thought we could listen to a couple of soundtracks all the way through. You can hear how things link and how the finales work." Velvet opened a cupboard. It was full of CDs. "Let's start with..." she ran a finger along the shelves, "... _The Lion King_."

"Isn't that a cartoon?"

"It started off as a Disney animation, then it was adapted for the stage."

Taleb looked dubious.

"It's been running on Broadway for fifteen years."

"Okay. Let's hear it."

Velvet worked her way through her favourites from relatively recent musicals – _Hairspray_ , _Wicked_ , _Billy Elliot_ – to her favourites from the past – _Chicago_ , _Oliver_ , _Porgy and Bess_.

"This is one of my all-time favourites. It's old, but I love the jazzy Fifties music."

She played the prologue to _West Side Story_. She could tell that Taleb liked it too, so she found the dance sequence from the movie on YouTube. It was all she could do to stop herself dancing around the apartment.

"I wish we could have finger-clicking in our musical," Velvet said, "but I guess it's not very medieval."

Velvet made lunch. It was a nice day, so they ate it on the balcony overlooking the river. She felt very mature. Taleb played his guitar and wrote down ideas.

"Play some more finales."

Velvet selected more CDs.

"No Andrew Lloyd Webber though."

She'd made sure not to include any in her favourites.

"I don't know why you're so allergic to him."

"I have my reasons," Taleb said.

"What?"

"Apart from the fact that his music's crappy and clichéd, in Grade 5 the music teacher spent the whole year teaching us an Andrew Lloyd Webber medley. I must have heard those songs a thousand times. And she always sang along with us." He shuddered. "It makes my skin crawl when I hear them."

Velvet washed the dishes before they left, so there was no evidence that she hadn't been alone.

# CHAPTER 25

"Do you know what the date is today?"

"Nah."

"Is it somebody's birthday?"

It was the first cultural studies class after the holidays.

"No, it's the fifteenth of October!"

"So?"

"I think what Velvet is trying to point out," Mr MacDonald explained, "is that it's only four weeks until the performance."

"Four weeks! Are you sure?"

"Yes. The jubilee celebrations are taking place over the second week in November."

There was a silence as the reality of this hit everyone. It had been fun so far, singing and acting in T6 and in the practice room behind the stage, but in a few short weeks they had to do it in front of an audience.

"When's the actual performance?"

"It's set for the Friday afternoon."

"That's not Friday the thirteenth, is it?"

Velvet looked at her school diary. "Yes."

"Great."

"Can't we change it to another day?"

"What, reschedule the school's jubilee?"

"Slinky would be rapt."

"Thirteen is a lucky number in some cultures," Mr MacDonald said. "Let's work out a schedule."

He started scribbling dates on the board. It was the first time Velvet had seen him use a whiteboard.

"You've got five Thursday afternoons before the performance. You can do a full run-through this week and next week. Then a dress rehearsal. After that there'll be two sessions to refine it."

"Refine it? We haven't finished writing it yet! There's still something missing in the second half."

"It's time you found out what it is then. Let's get to work."

The first run-through didn't get off to a good start. Drago refused to sing. They'd been so concerned about the band, the hole in the second half, the costumes, Hailie's singing and Mei's elocution that it hadn't occurred to them that they'd never actually heard Drago sing the soliloquy song that opened the show.

"I don't want to sing."

"You have to."

"I can't."

"Now he tells us!"

"You can act, Drago. It's the same thing."

"No, it's not."

"You have the main part," Velvet said. "If you've got stage fright here in T6 with nobody but us around, we've got serious problems."

"Why didn't you tell us before?"

"I didn't know till now."

"I'm gonna strangle you, Drago."

It looked like another brawl was looming.

"Why don't you all sing the soliloquy song together?" Mr MacDonald suggested. "Help him get into it."

Taleb started playing the song. "Does everyone know the words?"

Velvet sang along with Taleb. They went through it again and the others slowly joined in. At the fourth attempt Drago finally sang, only so quietly that no one could hear him.

"I've never sung before," he said defensively.

"You have too! What about the rude version of the school song?" Jesus said.

"Yeah," Roula said. "I've stood behind you at assembly. You can sing loud enough then."

"That's different."

"Why is it different?"

"You know. I'm not supposed to."

"So you can do anything if it's against the rules?"

Drago shrugged.

Taleb had an idea. "Treat the song the same. Richard likes to break the rules. I'll spice it up a bit. It can be a defiant song rather than a sad song. You know, 'I'm not a pretty boy, so who cares?' I can make it like a rap song."

Taleb sped up the tempo and changed the key. Drago got the idea and half-sang, half-shouted the words. It wasn't quite what everybody had had in mind, but at least Drago was singing.

They stumbled through the rest of Act I. Taleb's acting in the dream scene was appalling. They didn't have anyone for the roles of the murderers and spent twenty minutes arguing about who could play them.

"We've already got to have a couple of kids as the princes," Peter said. "I reckon that's enough outsiders. What if they don't turn up?"

"Okay. Peter," Velvet said, "you're not in that scene, you can be a murderer. You too, Jesus."

That was one problem solved, but Velvet was already worrying about another.

"I don't think anybody is going to understand what's going on."

"We don't," Drago said. "Why should the audience?"

"We haven't explained properly that Richard is doing all this mean stuff because he wants to be king."

"Nobody expects to understand Shakespeare," Hailie said.

"I know!" said Peter. "We could have Drago eyeing off the crown while Edward's sick and dying. You know, picking it up and polishing it, trying it on when no one's looking."

"That's great."

"Except that we haven't got a King Edward."

"We have to have one. It's such a good idea."

"King Edward died because he ate and drank too much," Velvet informed them. "He doesn't even have to speak."

"All we need," Roula said, "is someone to lie around looking fat and then lie around looking dead."

There was a sudden silence as the same idea hit everyone at once. They all turned to Mr MacDonald who was in his customary place at the back of the room eating an iced doughnut.

"What?" he said, wiping hundreds and thousands off his chin.

Hailie put on her sweetest smile. "We want you to play King Edward."

"Please."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Go on, sir. You'd be great."

"Say yes."

Mr MacDonald didn't have a hope in the face of all that enthusiasm. "All right, I suppose so."

Everybody cheered.

They worked out a whole routine with the Duke of Clarence and Richard both admiring the crown. Taleb wasn't a good actor, but, as Velvet had predicted, Drago was great as the villain. They decided to continue the theme into the next scene and have Richard carrying the crown when he meets the little princes.

"And the prince who is heir to the throne wants to try it on," Peter suggested, "but Richard won't let him."

"That's not in the play though."

"Jesus, I think we're way past worrying about that," Velvet said.

"The prince could say it's got to be made smaller to fit him."

"Then in the coronation scene when Richard finally gets to put on the crown it's a really big moment."

"God, we're brilliant."

"Yeah, I hope Miss Ryan's cardboard crown will make the distance."

Act I needed so much work, they didn't have time to get to Act II.

"Next week we'll finish going through the second half."

# CHAPTER 26

Drago was swanning around in his new coronation cloak, which Miss Ryan had made out of purple curtain material from the remnants shop. It had a fake-fur trim. They had only just started the run-through of the second act when they ran into problems.

Velvet was reading from her script. "'Richard is sitting on the throne with his cloak swirling around in front of him.'"

Drago sat in an old armchair salvaged from someone's shed, and his cloak didn't quite reach the floor.

"'Buckingham puts the crown on his head. Everybody sings the coronation song.'" Velvet sighed. "It's very static. Maybe we could choreograph this."

"I'm not dancing."

"I didn't say anything about dancing, Peter. I just mean moving around the stage in a set way, weaving in and out."

"There's a bigger problem, Velvet," Taleb said.

"What?"

"Drago and Peter are the only ones on the stage. Everyone else is in the band for this song."

"Oh."

"I've got to have more than one person at my coronation," Drago complained.

"Anne's got to be there, at least," Velvet said. "She's the new queen."

"Did we get married already?"

"Yes, Drago."

"Where's it say that in the play?"

"It doesn't. Remember, more than ten years have passed since the scene when Richard woos Anne. They have a son."

"I missed that bit. Could we run through that again, Corduroy?"

"Shakespeare makes it all seem like it happened in a couple of weeks," Hailie said.

"I know. It's all part of the plot to make Richard seem mean and ruthless."

"Forget about the domestic arrangements," Taleb said. "What are we going to do about this scene where you all have to be in two places at once?"

"I dunno. You're the musical director."

"If we had a proper keyboard we could program something in and it would just keep repeating. Velvet could play the first bit and then walk onto the stage and leave the keyboard cycling."

"I don't think the Casio is up to that somehow."

"I forgot to tell you," Mr MacDonald said. "I've borrowed a keyboard from a friend of mine. It's out in the car."

He sent Jesus to get it.

Jesus came back with the keyboard wrapped in an army blanket.

"I hope it's not another Casio," Taleb said.

Mr MacDonald pulled the blanket off with a flourish and Taleb's face lit up.

"It's a Yamaha DX7!" he said. "I've read about these."

"All the good Eighties bands used them." Mr MacDonald dusted it off and plugged it in. "Talking Heads, Depeche Mode, Queen."

"It looks like a real dinosaur to me," Peter said.

Taleb inspected the buttons enthusiastically. "Try it, Velvet. Play your organ bit from the coronation song."

Velvet played the stirring melody.

"Sounds great!"

Velvet felt like a real musician. She played a medley of Beatles' songs to try out the different sounds on the new keyboard. Jesus joined in on percussion, and everybody bopped along, until Taleb made them go back to work. The Yamaha didn't have a stand, so the boys spent an hour figuring out what to put it on. Roula suggested an ironing board. The girls worked on the choreography for the coronation song.

"We need a song for us girls to sing," Hailie said. "The queens. Together."

"What will you sing about?"

"I dunno. Aren't they bummed that Richard's bumping everyone off?"

"That's it!" Velvet was leafing through her script. "Hailie, you're a genius."

"Really?"

"That's just what we need to fill in the hole in the second half!" She found the scene she was looking for. "The women get together and lament all the deaths. It's actually two separate scenes, but –"

"We can squish them into one," Hailie said.

"Exactly!"

"What sort of song did you have in mind?" Taleb asked.

"You know those sixties girl groups?" Velvet had seen the movie version of the Broadway musical _Dreamgirls_.

"No."

"They all wore the same outfits and had bouffy hair," Velvet said. "Their songs were poppy, with harmonies."

Taleb looked at Velvet dubiously. "Okay, so you want something up-tempo with harmonies about lamenting deaths."

"You'll think of something." Velvet had complete confidence in his musical ability. "I'll lend you the DVD."

"You're not a queen, though, Roula," Hailie said. "You can't be in it."

"She's a duchess, Richard's mother," Velvet said. "That's close enough. She's in."

Mr MacDonald brought them all back to earth. "You know there's only three weeks to go?"

Taleb had two songs to write, the band needed heaps of rehearsal and they didn't have any scenery.

"We'll never be ready."

"There's no need to start panicking," Mr MacDonald said. "Everything's going pretty well."

"Don't say that. It's bad luck."

"It's time for a dress rehearsal," he said. "All the way through, from beginning to end."

"I haven't worked out my costume yet," Roula said.

"But we don't want the rest of the school to see it."

"No one will come to the performance if they see how bad it is."

"And we definitely don't want Slinky seeing any of it. It's not going to be anything like he thinks it's going to be."

Peter was right. The play had changed radically from the principal's original idea.

"It'll have to be after school," Mr MacDonald said. "How about next Thursday?"

# CHAPTER 27

Taleb came and sat next to Velvet. He'd never sat next to her in food technology before. There were rumours that they were dating, but in school they didn't hang out like other couples did. Velvet could feel everyone looking at them. Taleb didn't smile or say anything to her, but she was glad he had decided to make their relationship public.

They were making pancakes. Miss Guerin spent the first half of the double period talking about starch grains, incorporating air and the function of an egg in batter. She always made food technology sound like a science lesson.

While Miss Guerin was writing the recipe on the whiteboard, Velvet tried to start up a conversation with Taleb.

"How's the queens' song coming along?"

"Good."

They weighed their flour and sifted it. Taleb was even less talkative than usual. Velvet had a horrible feeling he was about to drop her. They whisked milk and an egg.

"Make a well in the centre of your flour, girls." Miss Guerin had never quite got used to having boys in her classes. "Then pour in the milk and egg mixture and add the flour little by little."

Taleb was still using his whisk.

"You're suppose to be using the wooden spoon," Velvet told him. "Let me do it."

"Flip the batter to the side of the bowl with your wooden spoons," Miss Guerin said, "so that it makes a plopping sound."

It would have been easier with an electric mixer, but Miss Guerin never used appliances.

Taleb finally got up the courage to say what was on his mind. "You know the dress rehearsal we're having tonight?"

"Yeah."

"I can't hear enough plopping!" Miss Guerin shouted.

"I can't make it."

"Plop, plop, plop! That's what I should be hearing."

"What?" The batter spilled over the edge of the bowl and up Velvet's sleeve.

"Toxic Shock's got a gig."

Velvet couldn't believe her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but she was so stunned nothing came out.

"Another band pulled out at the last minute. It's a big opportunity."

Velvet still didn't say anything.

"You can do the rehearsal without me."

She finally found her voice. "You're the musical director. We can't possibly do it without you."

The only reason Taleb had come and sat next to her was so that he could tell her without her yelling at him. The class was watching them, enthralled as Velvet stood with her hands on her hips, dripping batter all over the floor.

"Miss Pye, Mr Haddad, could you please concentrate on your work!"

"And what if you get a gig on the day of the performance?" Velvet poured batter into a frying pan. "What happens then?"

"We won't get a gig at 1.30 in the afternoon."

"I'm speaking hypothetically."

"This is the first gig we've had since July."

"I don't want anyone trying to toss their pancakes," Miss Guerin shouted.

Naturally, everyone in the class immediately attempted to toss their pancakes. Everybody but Velvet and Taleb. At least they could argue without everybody watching them now.

"I thought this play was important to you."

"It is."

"But Toxic Shock is more important."

"No... yes... I can do both."

Velvet was furious. "If you don't come to the dress rehearsal tonight, it's over between us."

Taleb didn't say anything.

There was an ear-piercing sound. It was the smoke alarm. Their pancake was burning.

Taleb wafted the smoke away with his textbook. The shrill sound of the smoke alarm stopped, and was replaced with the bell for the end of period three. Velvet picked up her things and walked out, leaving Taleb to clean up the mess.

Roula stood in the doorway of T6 with her bag over her shoulder, looking miserable. She hadn't been at school that morning.

"I can't be in the play."

At first everyone thought it was just another one of her stories.

"Sure, Roula," Peter said without looking up from his zombie-slaying. "Why is that? You've snapped your vocal chords? You've got a previous engagement with Prince Harry. What?"

"Seriously. I'm not allowed."

Hailie was painting her nails bright red. "Who says?"

"My parents."

Roula was close to tears and they gradually realised that she was telling the truth.

"What did you do wrong?" Jesus asked.

"I didn't do anything. They found out about Drago."

"I didn't think my reputation was that well known."

"It's because you're Croatian. My family hates Croats."

"Why?" Velvet didn't understand ethnic stuff.

"Something that happened ages ago."

"That's dumb."

"I've got a note." Roula sniffed. "I have to go to the library on Thursday afternoons till the end of the year. Next year I've got to go to the Greek Orthodox school."

"Can you talk to her parents, Mr Mac?" Velvet asked.

"I could try, but..."

"It's not Dad, he doesn't mind. It's Mum and Uncle Dimitrios. Their father had a fight with a Croat when they were young."

"Just one Croatian guy?"

"Papou was badly injured. He couldn't work."

Roula blew her nose and went to the library.

No one could concentrate that afternoon. Velvet sat on the opposite side of the room to Taleb. The keyboard stopped working and Mr MacDonald didn't know how to fix it. Taleb left early.

The dress rehearsal after school was a disaster. No one could play in time without Taleb leading them. Drago was an hour-and-a-half late. Peter had to leave early. Velvet had to be understudy for Roula. They all forgot their lines. They didn't even get halfway through.

# CHAPTER 28

"What sort of a day did you have, darling?"

Velvet's mother had asked that same question every day after school since prep. This was the first time that Velvet had burst into tears. There were no words to describe such a day. The play that she'd worked so hard on all year was in ruins. She'd broken off with Taleb and she'd got a C for a humanities assignment. The play was the cause of all her misery. If it hadn't been for the stupid play she wouldn't have started to like being at Yarrabank, she wouldn't have neglected her studies and she wouldn't have even spoken to Taleb. Her first thought when she'd arrived at Yarrabank had been right. It was definitely the worst year of her life.

She sat down in front of her warmed-up dinner. The last thing she felt like was eating.

"There's a letter for you, dear," her father said.

An envelope was propped up on the mantelpiece. Velvet recognised the Endeavour High logo. Her parents hovered nearby.

"Why are you getting a letter from Endeavour High?"

Before she had time to answer, the doorbell rang. Velvet's father opened the front door and a familiar voice said, "Is Velvet home?"

The next thing she knew, Taleb was standing in the kitchen, dressed in his black AC/DC T-shirt and jeans with a rip in one knee. His long hair was escaping untidily from a ponytail and he was still sweaty from the gig. Velvet's parents stared at him. From their point of view Taleb must have looked like the boyfriend from hell.

"Mum, Dad, this is Taleb Haddad."

Velvet's parents muttered greetings. Taleb's eyes darted to the front door, like some sort of trapped wildlife looking for escape.

"He's the musical director of the school play I told you about."

"Can we talk, Velvet?" Taleb said. "About the play?"

Velvet's parents smiled politely, but she knew they were thinking their worst nightmare had come true. She led Taleb to her room and then wished she hadn't. The pink frilly doona cover was embarrassing. Her walls were covered with posters from musicals. Too many of them advertised the work of Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Velvet and Taleb stood in silence for what seemed like hours. Velvet kicked some dirty underwear under the bed as she waited for an apology.

Taleb finally broke the silence. He didn't apologise. "You've got no right to be angry with me."

"What? I should be thrilled to bits that you deserted the play?"

"You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"You think the play's nothing?"

"I missed one lousy rehearsal."

"You missed the dress rehearsal!"

"I've spent more time than anybody on this. No one else spends hours at home thinking up songs."

"What does it matter? When it comes to the crunch Toxic Shock is more important."

"And what if your woodwind ensemble was performing or you had a piano exam that clashed with a play rehearsal? What would you have done?"

"I would have worked something out."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be smart like you."

"I'm not doing the play any more," Velvet said.

"You have to or you'll get expelled."

"I don't care." She was still holding the letter. "I've been accepted into Endeavour High."

"Back with the snobs where you belong?"

That hurt.

"Better than being stuck with a bunch of losers."

Taleb breathed in sharply, as if she'd jabbed him in the stomach. He turned on his heel and walked out. She heard the front door slam.

Her father poked his head around the door. "Everything all right, darling?"

"Everything's fine."

He was looking at the letter in Velvet's hand.

"Not good news?"

"I've been accepted."

"That's wonderful. Congratulations."

Velvet smiled unconvincingly. She didn't have to go to Yarrabank. She could be among girls who strived to achieve academic excellence. There would be no boys. She waited for relief and happiness to wash over her. It didn't.

Velvet didn't go to school the next day. She watched her favourite musicals on DVD. In the past, when she was sick or unhappy, that had always made her feel better. This time, it made her feel worse. She was almost desperate enough to ring her ex-friends at St Theresa's, but she didn't want them to know how miserable she was.

Just before lunch on Saturday, she had more visitors – Peter and Jesus. Velvet hadn't had any boys knocking on the door since Clayton Hopkins used to come and ask her to play when she was in Grade 2. Now in two days she'd had three different male callers.

"What lovely roses," Peter said. "Did you grow them, Mrs Pye?"

How did he always know the right thing to say? Velvet's mother blushed and made them a cup of tea. She also got out the chocolate biscuits. She hadn't done that for Taleb.

"We're having a rehearsal this afternoon," Peter said.

"How can we?"

"It's all organised," Jesus said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit. "Mr Mac is letting us in. Everybody will be there at one."

"Everybody?"

"Taleb's cancelled Toxic Shock practice. Drago's promised to be on time. Roula..."

"Roula?"

"She's allowed to do the play now." Jesus smiled. "Pete went and had a chat with Mrs Anagnostopoulos."

Velvet's mother brought over some sandwiches on a vintage plate she'd bought at an op shop.

"Thank you, Mrs Pye. This looks wonderful."

She smiled radiantly at Peter.

"What did you say to change Roula's mum's mind?"

"Nothing much. I just told her how important the play is to us all. How we get left out of school activities because we can't play sport."

"What about Drago?"

"I filled her in on what a disadvantaged lad he is, orphaned at a young age, what a pathetic sick child he was."

"And she fell for it?"

"Needed a hankie," Jesus said, taking another sandwich.

"Roula just has to make sure that her Uncle Dimitrios doesn't go to the play."

"What can I say, Peter? You're brilliant."

Jesus took two more sandwiches. "I don't think it's got anything to do with his brains."

"So are you still in?" Peter asked.

"I know you're going to Endeavour High next year," Jesus said, "but that doesn't mean you can't finish this off."

Velvet hoped Taleb hadn't told them she'd called them losers.

"I'm in. Of course I am."

# CHAPTER 29

Everyone arrived more or less on time. Hailie and Mei hugged Roula as if they hadn't seen her for months. Velvet did too, but she had one eye on Taleb who was ignoring her. Mr MacDonald gave them all a speech about how they shouldn't let all their hard work go to waste by slacking off at the last moment, and how they all had talents and should let everybody know about them. No one believed him, but Velvet could tell they all liked hearing it. She had to do her best, for Mr MacDonald's sake.

Miss Ryan was there as well, pinning up dresses and sewing on braid, even though she was nervous about breaking so many school rules. She had made a very nice doublet for Drago out of a dark green brocade dressing gown. It had puffs at the top of the sleeves, lots of buttons down the front, and a stand-up collar with a bit of lace peeping out.

"It's lovely." Velvet felt guilty. Miss Ryan must have spent hours working on the costumes. "You've done such a great job!"

Roula's bridesmaid's dress, now black and with the petticoats ripped out, was unrecognisable. Velvet's op shop dress had been dyed maroon and Miss Ryan had made her some big sleeves out of a ghastly floral tablecloth. Not quite what Velvet had had in mind, and nothing like the beautiful satin sleeves on the dress she'd chosen at the costume shop, but they would probably look all right from a distance. The other op shop dress hadn't been quite to Hailie's taste so she'd attacked the neckline with scissors, leaving a jagged raw edge. Mei had to make do with a purple Indian cheesecloth dress that Hailie's mum had donated. It wasn't even slightly medieval and the buttons were threatening to burst where the dress was stretched over her ample figure.

Peter's doublet was still in pieces, and Taleb and Jesus didn't have anything yet. Drago strutted around wearing his doublet and his fur-trimmed coronation robe. He looked quite regal apart from Miss Ryan's cardboard and foil crown, which was already starting to fall apart. They stood around inspecting each other's costumes and the sketch that Roula had drawn on the other side of the drop sheet. Then they had to set up the keyboard on stage.

Drago was fiddling with his schoolbag. It was the first time Velvet could remember seeing him carry one.

"I've got something..."

Velvet had never seen Drago look shy and self-conscious before either. He opened the bag and pulled out a crown. It was modelled on the one they'd seen in the costume shop. It was a bit lopsided and had glass beads glued on instead of set into it, but it shone like real gold.

"I made it in metalwork."

"It's great, Drago," Roula said. "Put it on."

Drago put on the crown.

"I got a C+ for it. That's my highest grade ever."

"Really?" Peter said. "We should go over to Hades and celebrate."

"Okay, enough loitering. It's a fabulous crown, Drago," Mr MacDonald said. "Let's get started otherwise we'll be here till midnight."

The musicians took their places on stage, and plugged in or tuned their instruments. Jesus set up his saucepan-lid cymbals and an African drum as well as his shakers. Velvet and Taleb had managed to keep out of each other's way until this point. Taleb had set up his amplifier as far from the keyboard as possible, but it was a lot harder to avoid eye contact now. He counted to four and the rehearsal finally got underway.

It took a while for everybody to warm up. Velvet's sleeves kept getting in the way of her playing, and Hailie couldn't tune her saxophone. But as they worked through it, for the first time they had a sense of the production as a whole. Mr MacDonald took his place as the bedridden king. They went through the coronation scene. It was six o'clock and they were still nowhere near finished. They ordered pizza and everyone rang home to say they'd be late.

"So do you want to hear the girls' song?" said Taleb, after the pizza. He was going to play it anyway, so he didn't wait for an answer.

"There's a verse for each of you and then you all sing the chorus together. Hailie's is the first verse.

" _Once I was a mother_.

_Once I was a wife_.

_Once I was a queen_.

_Until this brother changed my life_.

"Then there's the chorus.

" _We're the queens, the queens of sadness_

_And all we do is cry_

_If words could kill, he'd be dead right now_

_And we could sing bye-bye_."

He had trouble hitting some of the high notes as he'd written it in a key for the girls, but the song had a catchy tune and infectious rhythm, even if it didn't really fit the lyrics.

" _My curses all came true_

_Like I said they would_.

_Except he's still alive_.

_How I want to spill his blood_.

"That was Mei's. The next one's Velvet's.

" _The place is full of corpses_

_But he hasn't finished yet_.

_I'm sure to be the next one_

_If you want to make a bet_.

"The last one's Roula's.

" _I'm his only mother_

_He wasn't a nice kid_.

_Even I don't like him_

_Let's make him hurt just like he did_."

"And while each one's singing the others sing _sha-la, sha-la-la-la_ and then _bye-bye, bye-bye_ in the background. Get it?"

Everyone loved the song. Velvet felt guilty that she'd been so ready to give up on the play.

The girls started learning their verses and working out a few dance steps. They kept the movements simple, but still found it hard without tripping over their dresses.

"You'll have to do a lot of work on it to get it right in time," Taleb said.

Velvet didn't ask if he was working on a finale. No one else seemed to think it was important.

They practised the songs at lunchtime every day and rehearsed the second act scenes after school. The following Saturday, while Velvet directed Drago and Jesus as they rehearsed the battle scene at the end, Roula supervised as the others painted the castle walls she had sketched. With a cardboard tree in front of it, the backdrop became outdoor scenery; with a couple of bits of furniture, it was indoors. Roula also made a cardboard bloody angel for the dream scene that really impressed everybody.

Jesus was having trouble curbing his natural competitiveness. It only took him a few seconds to beat Drago in the sword fight.

"Jesus, this isn't a real contest," Velvet said. "We all know you can beat Drago. You have to act. Make it look like Richard is going to win, but then, at the last minute, you get the better of him."

"Okay. Like in a footy match when you pretend you're injured and then come back and tackle your opponent when he's not expecting it."

"Yes. Exactly like that." Velvet hadn't realised that football involved acting.

They rehearsed the scene again and again. Velvet sat in the front row. Jesus made the fight look convincing, even though they were only using plastic swords.

"It'd be better with some dramatic music," Drago said.

Velvet glanced at Taleb. Drago was right, but she wouldn't have dared suggest it. She hadn't spoken to Taleb since the night he came to her house.

"I can either write something for the battle scene or I can write a finale. I haven't got time to do both."

"The battle scene can be the finale," Jesus said. "I kill Drago. He falls to the ground. I celebrate my victory and the curtain comes down."

"I guess so," Velvet said.

"Are we going to do a curtain call?" Peter asked.

"A what?"

"You know, at the end when everyone claps and the performers all hold hands and bow."

"I'm not holding hands with any guys, okay?" said Drago.

Peter looked worried. "Maybe no one will clap."

# CHAPTER 30

Velvet was on her way to the last lunchtime practice, on the day of the performance. She already had butterflies. Peter came running up to her in the corridor.

"Drago's done it this time."

"Done what?"

She followed Peter through a crowd of students to the staff car park, where a late-model BMW sat with a truckload of sand piled up against it, blocking it in. It was the principal's car.

Mr Kislinski was standing next to his car fuming. "You did this didn't you, Domitrovic?"

"No, sir, the truck driver did it," Drago said.

"You're expelled. Empty your locker. If I see you anywhere in the school grounds, I'll call the police."

"Oh, no," Velvet groaned.

Drago didn't know how to look apologetic. He smirked at Mr Kislinski and slouched off, shrugging his shoulders as he passed Peter and Velvet.

"Now what do we do?" Peter said.

"I don't know."

"But you always think of a way around things, Velvet."

"You'll have to play Richard."

"I can't. I don't know the lines. And who's going to play Buckingham? I can't be both."

"Taleb will have to do it. There's no one else."

Mr MacDonald was tugging at the ropes that operated the curtains. "It's no good. The rope's come off a pulley. I can't get them to close."

Velvet was looking out at the hall from the wings, wishing she hadn't talked Miss Ryan into making her sleeves, which weighed a tonne. The seats at the back of the hall had been cleared away and about fifty people were gathered there, looking at display boards about sporting achievements and school camps. They were admiring the pennants and the cups and chatting to teachers. They were drinking tea and eating scones provided by the Parents' Committee. No one was sitting in the seats waiting for the performance.

"Where is everyone?"

Mr MacDonald was doing his best to calm their nerves.

"Come on, you lot. All actors get nervous on their first night."

Peter was sitting in a corner, reading through Richard's lines.

"It's not a first night," Hailie said. "It's a first afternoon."

"And we're only doing the one performance," Jesus added.

"It's not nerves," Roula said. "It's more like..."

Velvet knew just what she meant. "Dread."

They all agreed.

Taleb had flatly refused to be Buckingham at first. But there was no other option.

"I wish I was somewhere else," Velvet said. "In a double Mandarin class, doing detention. Anywhere but here."

"When are the students coming in?" Hailie asked.

"They're not," Mr MacDonald said.

"What do you mean?" Velvet said.

"Slinky rearranged the program. All students that aren't taking part in the track and field contest have to stay and watch."

It took a few moments to sink in.

"So this is our audience?" Velvet didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"He did that on purpose," Peter said bitterly.

Mr MacDonald nodded. "You still have a performance to do."

The band took up their positions on the stage. Velvet and Peter were the only ones in costume. Taleb wanted to leave it till the last moment to put on his doublet. He was wearing a black Korn T-shirt, Jesus was just wearing the singlet that he wore under his armour, and Roula and Hailie had ordinary clothes on because they didn't have to come on till after the interval and had plenty of time to change.

The hall was usually dark and dingy, but it was a sunny day and shafts of afternoon sunlight streamed through the high windows. Velvet felt really stupid sitting there in broad daylight in her dyed op-shop dress with the tablecloth sleeves in front of a keyboard balanced on an ironing board. Not that it mattered. No one was looking at the stage anyway. That wasn't quite true. A Chinese couple was selecting seats in the middle of the front row. Mei was waving to them from the wings on the other side of the stage.

Taleb waited for a minute or two, as if he were hoping an earthquake or a hurricane would come and put them out of their misery. Then he counted them in. They fumbled through the overture and Hailie only made three mistakes. Velvet dropped her clarinet and missed the first three bars of the wind section. It wasn't their best performance, but it was passable. Mr and Mrs Qian applauded. Everyone else continued to chat and scoff scones.

Peter crept onto the stage. Drago's doublet was too short and too wide for him. It looked like he was wearing a bolero. He walked back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to look evil for a full minute. Velvet was sure he'd lost his nerve.

"You can do it, Peter," she whispered.

He took a deep breath, focused on the two members of his audience and said his first lines. Then the band started up again and Taleb played the introduction to the soliloquy song. Peter sang it in a whispery voice that didn't fit the words or the rap rhythm at all. He paused after the song as they'd rehearsed, but no one applauded. Then he had to do the prophecy scene. Taleb was as nervous as Peter. Mr and Mrs Qian were watching intently as if they understood every word.

Mr Kislinski came into the hall just as Clarence was being arrested. Mr MacDonald was supposed to be directing, but when he saw the principal, he got flustered and mixed up the pages of his script. He told Mei to go on before they'd done Lady Anne's scene.

Mei launched into her song. She was the only one whose voice drowned out the chatter and the clatter of teacups. Mr Kislinski froze with a scone held a few centimetres from his mouth. Mei didn't realise that the principal was watching her; she continued to catapult her words to the back of the hall. Mr Kislinski put down his cup of tea, marched towards the front of the hall and strode up the steps onto the stage. He waved his arms at the band to make them stop. Mei sang on defiantly. At the end of the song, the rest of the cast waited for Mr Kislinski to stop the play, but Mr and Mrs Qian were smiling and applauding.

"They think it's part of the show," Mr MacDonald said. "Velvet, do your scene."

"But it's out of order."

"Who's going to know? Quick."

Velvet rushed onto the stage and sang Lady Anne's song. She didn't even falter when there was a PA announcement saying Mr Kislinski was needed out on the oval to judge the track and field finals. The principal left the stage.

In daylight, it didn't feel like a performance at all and the tackiness of their makeshift props and costumes was revealed for all to see. In the bright sunlight, Roula's seaweedy streamers of fabric were hardly visible, and Mr MacDonald forgot to lower the bloodstained cardboard angel. The songs were lifeless, the acting dull. There was no spark, no magic. But it didn't really matter, because hardly anyone was listening.

All Velvet's lectures about pausing for dramatic effect went out the window, and they rattled through Act I in twenty minutes. The little princes hadn't turned up, and the scones had run out, so the rest of the prospective parents left to watch the track and field finals.

"There's no point in going on," Taleb said.

"Yeah," Jesus said. "Let's go home."

Velvet looked over at Mr MacDonald, who was sitting in the wings with his head in his hands.

"Mei's parents are still here," Velvet said. "Remember what Slinky said? If they aren't happy, and they don't donate money for the electronic scoreboard, Mr Mac could lose his job."

"But I don't know Buckingham's lines."

"Okay. Let's just do the songs."

Everyone agreed.

"And the battle scene," Jesus insisted.

Mr MacDonald wouldn't play his part, and they had to use a bundle of rags with the crown perched on top for the king. The coronation song sounded more like a funeral march, the queens were too nervous to do their dance steps, and the ghosts looked about as spooky as a Grade 3 choir.

The battle scene finally came. Taleb had only played the first two chords of the battle music, when Jesus knocked Peter's sword out of his hand with his first blow. Mr Kislinski returned in time to see Peter die with a sense of great relief. He lay on the stage and Jesus looked around wondering what he should do next. Taleb cut the battle music short. The curtains wouldn't close, there were no lights to fade, and no one applauded. Peter got up and the two of them left the stage.

Mr and Mrs Qian realised the play had finished and clapped enthusiastically. They went over to shake Mr Kislinski's hand. He smiled grimly at them, and went backstage.

"What is the meaning of this, MacDonald? I asked for a Shakespeare play, not a pop concert!" He wasn't waiting for answers. "How dare you use school funds for this sort of thing? In fact, you couldn't have used all that money on such a travesty. I want it repaid. Every cent of it."

Mr Kislinski stormed out. The bell rang and the rest of the school went home. The members of Stagefright sat miserably on the edge of the stage and in the front row of seats. Mr MacDonald plinked discordantly on the Yamaha DX7.

Taleb unbuttoned his doublet. "That's it then."

"Yep," Peter said.

"I can't believe we spent all year working our guts out for that," Hailie said. "All that effort for nothing."

"Less than nothing," Jesus said. "We owe the school a hundred and fifty dollars."

"That's nearly twenty bucks each."

"I'm not paying twenty bucks," Roula said. "Drago should pay it all. He lost it."

"Where's he going to get that much money?" Velvet said.

"He can earn it," Taleb snarled. "Get a newspaper round or a night-fill job in a supermarket."

"Wait till I get my hands on him," Jesus said.

Jesus was about to storm off and find Drago, when Velvet had another of her ideas.

"I know how we can earn the money."

"Not another cake stall."

"No."

"What then? What brilliant plan have you got this time?"

"We can put on another performance. Only this time, we sell tickets."

"No one came when it was free," Hailie said. "Why would anybody pay to see it?"

"The only people in the school were parents who want to send their kids here next year. They didn't know us. They weren't interested."

"My parents like," Mei said. "They watch the whole show."

"Yeah, but they're loopy."

"They just wanted to see Mei."

"Corduroy's right, as usual," said a voice from the side door.

Everyone turned round.

Mr MacDonald and Taleb managed to restrain Jesus from leaping off the stage at Drago.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm not much good at maths," Drago said, "but even I can work out that if we charge three dollars a head, we only need to sell fifty tickets."

Hailie wasn't convinced. "So we get maybe a dozen parents, if we're lucky."

"None of the other kids were allowed to come and watch," Velvet said. "They all had to be out on the oval breaking world records, or in the gym doing double backflips. I reckon a lot of the other kids would come."

"Dream on, Velvet. You don't really think anyone would come after school hours."

"My old soccer team would come," Jesus said.

"All the girls in our class wanted to see it when I told them Peter would be wearing tights," Hailie said.

"I'm not wearing tights!"

"I lied."

"The rest of Toxic Shock will come so they can slag off at me afterwards."

"You mean you're going along with this, Taleb?"

"Why not?"

"The play sucked, by the way," Drago said.

"You saw it?" Velvet said.

"Most of it."

"We'd have to be a bunch of masochists to want to go through that again," Peter said.

"There'll be one big difference in the next show," Drago said.

"What's that?"

"I'll be in it."

"But you're not allowed in the school grounds."

"This performance will be at night."

"So when will it be?"

"It'll have to be soon. Half the school breaks up the week after next."

"But what about Slinky?"

No one had noticed that Miss Ryan had come into the hall. "The principal will be away all next week. He's coach of the rowing team and there's a competition in Nagambie. Then he's got a principals' conference the following Monday and Tuesday."

They all stared at Miss Ryan. Was she really suggesting they deceive the principal?

"I'll be acting deputy principal while he's away. I can sign off on permission to hold the performance. We can have the concert on the Tuesday night."

"Okay. We'll charge five bucks for adults, three for kids," Peter said.

"And this time we'll try harder," Taleb said.

Velvet knew that Taleb didn't care about the money that was owed. He just wanted another chance to make the musical better. So did she.

"We'll need a poster to advertise it," Mr MacDonald said.

"Something with a really eye-catching graphic," Velvet said. "Can you do that, Roula?"

"Sure."

"We've got just over a week."

# CHAPTER 31

The members of Stagefright gathered around, admiring the poster. It featured a bloodstained sword sticking up out of the ground with a crown hanging on the hilt. Taleb's dad had printed fifty of them.

"It's ace, Roula," Jesus said.

Peter read out what was written on the bottom. "'Encore Performance, by Popular Demand.' Is it okay to lie on posters?"

"It's essential," Velvet said.

They were all wearing purple T-shirts with Roula's design on the front and _Stagefright Presents: Richard the Third_ on the back with the date and the time.

"Why did they have to be purple?"

"Dad's got a stack of them from an order that fell through," Taleb said.

Miss Ryan had given them permission to stick up the posters around the school and to wear the T-shirts over their uniforms. Even Taleb was wearing one. Peter had paid another visit to Velvet's mum and Mrs Anagnostopoulos, and they had agreed to serve refreshments during interval.

Taleb didn't mind if the acting was terrible, but he was nervous about the music. His reputation depended on it.

"The band needs more practice," he said. "Every lunchtime."

They all groaned. Except Velvet. "And rehearsal after school, so Drago can come," she added.

Actually, Drago was the least of Velvet's worries. He knew all his lines and he only had one song. It was the others who needed to work on their performances. She wanted it to be as good as possible. Her blabbermouth mother had invited half her family. Her Aunt Evelyn, various cousins and her grandmother were all coming to the performance.

Velvet was punctual as always, only stopping at her locker to get her sandwiches on the way to the practice room. Taleb was there before her though. He looked up when she came into the room, but went back to tuning his guitar without saying anything. Velvet didn't speak either. She took the cover off the Yamaha and plugged it in.

When Jesus arrived, Velvet was dusting the keys of the electric piano and Taleb was tidying up the spare strings and plectrums that he kept in his guitar case. Jesus set up his cymbals, drum, bells and shakers.

"Come on, you guys. You have to speak to each other. You can't play music together and not talk."

"Who says we're not talking?"

"Yeah, I've got nothing to say at the moment."

The rest of the band dawdled in and they practised the girls' song over and over again. Hailie's singing was tuneless, Roula couldn't quite hit the high notes and Mei drowned everyone else out. Velvet's singing was fine. She sang in tune, hit all the notes and her lyrics were clear, but she wasn't very good at the movements. Where the other girls bopped and swayed, Velvet's movements were stiff and wooden.

"You do realise I'm supposed to be dead by now, don't you?"

"That explains why you dance like a puppet," Taleb said.

"How come you pick on the one thing I'm not good at? You don't pick on any of the others."

"You just can't take criticism."

"No arguments, okay," Jesus said.

"You were complaining that I wasn't saying anything a minute ago."

"Look. I'm not gonna spend my lunchtimes listening to you and Velvet squabble."

"I'm the musical director. I can't always be nice." He turned to Velvet. "I think you should die at the end of the song."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?"

"No. We have to know that Lady Anne dies and Richard poisoned her. You can say you're not well and then collapse. The other women can explain what's happened."

Velvet wrote down the changes on her script.

"Okay," Peter said. "The girls' song is fine. What else do we need to do?"

"We need a finale," Velvet said. "You saw how flat it was when we ended with Jesus killing Richard."

"That was because Peter and Jesus made a complete mess of it," Hailie said.

"No, she's right," Taleb said. "It needs a big finish."

Velvet was annoyed with her heart, which started thumping even though she officially hated Taleb.

"How can you have a big finish when there's hardly anyone left alive?" Roula said.

"What if the ghosts all come back on stage and sing?" Velvet suggested to the group.

Taleb nodded. "That could work."

"What will they sing about?"

Taleb shrugged. "I dunno. Peace at last or something."

"I know, I know!" said Velvet, suddenly excited. "This is where we can say something about Richard being a good guy, that Shakespeare was wrong."

"Don't you ever give up, Velvet?"

"Drago stopped wearing his hump, didn't he?" Hailie said.

"It's only a few days till the performance," Taleb said. "I just haven't got time to write another song."

"What's Drago going to do during the finale, just lie on stage dead?"

"No, he'll be a ghost too," Velvet said. "Miss Ryan can make him a ghost outfit."

Everyone was getting nervous at the thought of their friends coming to see them.

"If we're talking about making it better, we need some lights and microphones," Peter said.

"I know someone who can do that," Taleb said. "Let's get going. We've got a lot of work to do."

They went back to practising again.

Taleb rang Velvet late at night for the first time in a month.

"Listen to this," he said, without even saying hello. "It's for the finale."

He played the song over the phone to her. The music started off slow and quiet, and it contained refrains from earlier songs, just like a finale should, and then it built to a rousing chorus. Taleb had made it everything she'd said a finale should be. She was finding it hard to stay angry with him.

"It's good," she said. "It's great."

"I'm still working on some better music for the battle scene. Do you think you can write some lyrics?"

"I'll try."

"It needs to end on an up note."

"I don't see how it can. Everyone's dead."

"You'll have to think of something. By tomorrow. Then we'll have two days to rehearse it. I'll email you the music."

That evening Velvet listened to the melody again and again. She knew what was needed, but she couldn't think of any positive message that could come out of a story where the main character is horrible and almost the entire cast dies.

She stayed up late, but nothing came to her. Not a single word.

Velvet woke before it was light, when her phone announced that she had to catch a 6.30 flight to Hamburg. Taleb's melody was still in her head. She thought back to the start of the year. She would never have dreamed that in November she would be struggling to write song lyrics instead of studying for end-of-year tests. She'd done a lot of things she couldn't have imagined doing in her old life. She sat up. She recalled how miserable she'd been in first term. She remembered when Drago had told her that she was like Richard – grumpy and whinging because she'd been hard done by. She wasn't like that now. She'd changed.

She reached for her notebook and started scribbling words. Now she knew what the message for the finale was.

Velvet was nervous about singing her lyrics in front of the others. The words were personal. What if they groaned? What if they laughed? What if Taleb hated them? He'd probably think they were too sentimental.

She had to take that chance.

The morning dragged by, but finally lunchtime came. Velvet hoped the others would be late for practice, so that she could show them to Taleb first, but they were all on time for once.

"Did you write some lyrics?" Taleb asked.

Velvet nodded.

"Do we really have to learn another song?" Hailie complained.

"We haven't got time to memorise it properly," Peter said. "We'll get it wrong."

"You might not like it," Velvet said.

"Let's hear it."

"Can't you just read the words?"

"Lyrics are for singing." Taleb picked up his guitar and played the introduction. Velvet took a deep breath.

" _Don't wish for what you haven't got_.

_Don't yearn for what is gone_.

_Count up your blessings, they're a lot_.

_Stand tall and then move on_."

Then came the chorus.

" _Live, love, dream, strive_.

_Be proud of who you are_.

_Be brave, be true, be strong, be you_.

_Be yourself and you will star_.

" _When you're all alone, life makes you sigh_.

_Every challenge seems extreme_.

_But with friends beside you, hills aren't high_.

_For together we're a team_."

Velvet repeated the chorus, and couldn't stop a catch in her voice. No one spoke. She felt like she'd just run down the street in her underwear.

"If you hate it we don't have to do it."

"It's great, Velvet," Roula said.

Jesus dug her in the ribs with his elbow. "That was good."

She looked at Taleb.

"It's perfect," he said.

# CHAPTER 32

The night of the performance was hot, very hot. It had got up to forty degrees during the day, and even with every door and window open it was like an oven in the school hall. It was hotter still wearing their costumes and the makeup Miss Ryan had insisted they all wear because they were performing under lights. The curtains had been fixed. The members of Stagefright were all living up to their name and taking it in turns to peep through the gap in the curtains.

"I can't believe it. The hall's full!" Hailie said. "Why have all these people come?"

"To watch us looking stupid," Roula said. "I couldn't sleep last night."

The people in the audience were all fanning themselves with the programs that Miss Ryan had run off at the last moment. Everyone's parents were there, and lots of other family members as well. And every single one of their classmates.

Even Taleb was nervous. Eddy and the singer from Toxic Shock were in the second row.

Velvet gasped. "Oh, no!"

"What's wrong?" Taleb said.

"Rhiannon, Ashleigh and Clara-Louise are out there. My friends from St Theresa's. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Not again," said Jesus. Taleb tried not to smile. Velvet turned raspberry-coloured. Hailie must have blabbed.

"Oh my God," Roula said. "My Uncle Dimitrios is about to sit next to Drago's grandma!"

"You were supposed to stop him from coming!"

"My stomach's doing somersaults," Jesus said. "I never used to feel like this before a soccer match."

"Come away from the curtains, all of you," said Taleb. "Don't look out there."

"It's all right for you," Velvet said. "All you have to do is take off your glasses and you can't see the audience."

"The stage lights will shine in your eyes when we start. Pretend there's nobody there."

Velvet couldn't drag herself away. She peered into the shadows at the back of the hall.

"Who's that operating the lights and the mixing desk?"

"It looks like Sofia Ritano," Roula said. "Who asked her to be part of this?"

"I did," Taleb said. "She does sound and lights for Toxic Shock."

Hailie looked out through the curtains.

"Geez," she said. Her latest boyfriend (John Zollo who had just become the national under-18 breast-stroke champion) was in the front row. "I need to go to the toilet."

"You've only got ten minutes, Hailie," said Miss Ryan, who seemed as nervous as everyone else even though she was just costume mistress and prompt.

"And Slinky's definitely not here?"

"No," Miss Ryan assured them. "I spoke to him at lunchtime. He's attending the conference dinner tonight."

Even Mr MacDonald was pacing around. "Where's Drago?"

"Isn't he here yet?"

"I haven't seen him."

"What if he chickens out and doesn't come?"

"He wouldn't bail on us, would he?"

"Remember how nervous he was about singing?"

"Mei isn't here either."

"I can't play Richard again," Peter said. "Not in front of half the school."

"Less than ten minutes to go and the main character is missing!"

They all spent the next five minutes panicking. Then, finally, Drago swaggered in looking not the least bit nervous. In fact it was Drago and Mei together, holding hands. Everyone stopped and stared. They were such an unlikely couple. Mei was a full head taller than Drago and very well-proportioned. Drago looked like a puzzle that someone had put together wrong. There was another reason why they were staring – Mei had undergone another one of her transformations. Her hair was short and spiky with bleached tips. She was wearing black lipstick, ripped fishnet stockings and a short dress made out of a patchwork of bits of old leather jackets, with a very revealing neckline. Drago was wearing his green jeans and a particularly tacky rugby shirt that his foster mother had bought at a Kmart sale. They were all distracted from staring at the new couple when Hailie came back in tears.

Peter put his arm around her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"My periods started!"

The audience was getting restless. They were already running late. Roula and Velvet took Hailie back to the toilets to initiate her in the use of feminine hygiene products, while Drago and Mei put on their costumes and Miss Ryan did their make-up. Taleb paced about in the wings. Mr MacDonald went out on stage and made a boring speech thanking Miss Ryan and Taleb's dad and anyone else he could think of, while Sofia Ritano clipped radio microphones to everyone. Hailie emerged from the toilets walking like someone with a pillow strapped between her legs. At least her foot wasn't in plaster.

They couldn't put it off any longer. It was time for the band to go out and take their places.

"Oh, God." Velvet's nerves, which had disappeared while she was tending to Hailie, suddenly came back and paralysed her.

"Have some chewing gum," Taleb said.

She took the gum, but couldn't get her fingers to undo the wrapper. Taleb undid it and handed the gum to her.

He smiled at her for the first time in six weeks. "You'll be okay."

The band walked out onto the stage to some half-hearted applause and ironic cheers from the second row. Velvet had insisted that they all wear their costumes from the beginning. Even Taleb was wearing his doublet. He ignored the wolf whistles from his classmates and concentrated on getting his petrified band to actually play. He counted them in and conducted them as best he could for someone with both hands busy. The others watched his every movement as if their lives depended on it. It was easier to watch him than look at the audience. When it came to the piano improvisation, Velvet chewed hard on her gum and tried to imagine that it was just another practice session. The overture finished, the curtains opened, and Drago came onto the stage. He started his speech and various boys in the audience called out. Taleb played the introduction to the soliloquy song and Drago did his tough-guy impersonation and half-sang, half-shouted his song to the whoops and cheers of the audience.

It was Taleb's turn. He sang the prophecy song to loud heckling from the audience. Then it was time for Lady Anne's entrance and Velvet walked on, sleeves trembling. Drago entered from the opposite side of the stage. It was the scene where Anne starts off saying how much she hates Richard and ends up saying she'll consider marrying him. At first the reactions of the audience stunned her. People laughed, shouted insults, and booed Richard. It wasn't really the reaction they wanted, but it was a response to their performance and after the initial shock had worn off, the adrenaline of performing started to kick in. A spotlight shone on Velvet, and she sang her song confidently. Drago finished the scene by grabbing Velvet and kissing her on the mouth, much to her horror and the audience's delight.

The audience was stunned into silence by Mei's song, but cheered loudly when she finished. The dream sequence looked effective. To the sound of eerie music programmed into the Yamaha, dreaming Clarence fought his way through Roula's ragged streamers, which were bathed in blue and green light and were blowing about, thanks to Miss Ryan directing a fan on them. Everyone gasped when the cardboard angel came swooping onto the stage bathed in blood-red light. Taleb's death scene in the barrel of wine got some laughs.

At interval the audience hadn't gone home, and the excitement level backstage was rising. Velvet could see her mother, wearing a last year's Country Road dress, selling coffee and trying to strike up polite conversation with Jesus's mother. Peter's parents clung to each other like a pair of timid animals. Hailie's mum was wearing skin-tight jeans with rips in them, a low-cut sequinned top and a bolero made from fake fur. She was standing between Drago's tiny grandma and Roula's Uncle Dimitrios, laughing at a joke she'd just cracked, digging them both in the ribs.

"Didn't you tell her about the feud between my family and Drago's?" Roula asked.

"I told her. She bet me five dollars she could get them talking to each other."

No one went out to join their parents. They didn't want to break the mood.

Act I had gone pretty well. The audience had laughed in more or less the right places. The scenery had worked and the songs sounded good.

Hailie sat backstage holding a hot water bottle against her stomach and groaning. "I feel sick."

"This is it, Hailie, what you've been waiting for," Velvet said unsympathetically.

"Seriously," Roula said, "this is your life every month till you're ancient."

Hailie groaned again.

Drago produced a small bottle.

"Want some of this?"

"What is it?"

"Rakia. My grandma brews it from plums."

"I thought your breath smelled of alcohol!" Now Velvet knew why he'd been so confident in the first act.

Hailie took a swig.

Velvet opened her mouth to yell at them both, but before she could get any abuse out Taleb came up to her.

"I want to talk to you, Velvet."

When she didn't move, he took her by the hand and led her away from the others, out through the side door and onto the oval. Led her in fact to the very same spot where she'd thrown up in the rubbish bin five months earlier.

Velvet felt weird being outside in her long dress and sleeves. It was a strange night – hot and still, but with occasional flashes of lightning.

"Velvet..."

"Yes?"

"So..."

"So what?"

Silence.

"You're the one who dragged me out here." Velvet's heart was thudding again. "And I'm supposed to do the talking?"

"You know." Taleb stared at the orange freeway lights in the distance.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't, but just for once I'd like you to say what you've got to say, and not just wait for me to say it for you."

Velvet's outburst was followed by another silence while Taleb cleaned out his fingernails with a plectrum.

The orange freeway lights reflected off the layer of low cloud that hung over the city like a ceiling. Even though the sun had set, Velvet could see everything in fine detail – the dandelions on the oval, the woodgrain on the bench, the pearl buttons on Taleb's doublet. It was like they were in a scene from a futuristic movie.

Taleb looked at Velvet. He hadn't put his glasses back on after the first act. His brown eyes were dangerous without the glasses in front of them. What remained of Velvet's anger drifted up to join the clouds. She reached out, grabbed Taleb's doublet and pulled him towards her.

She kissed him on the mouth.

He slid his arms under her voluminous sleeves and around her.

_Ah, well_ , Velvet thought, as his tongue gently explored her mouth, _maybe some people don't need words_.

The audience members were all in their seats before Act II started. In contrast to his previous reluctance, Mr MacDonald decided to milk his death scene and staggered around the stage before dying to loud applause. They'd picked the smallest Year 7 boys they could find to be the little princes, and Miss Ryan had made sure they turned up. They came on wearing green tights and embroidered vests (borrowed from the Indian shop where Hailie's mum worked) and looked petrified, which was fine as they were about to be murdered. Velvet was watching from the wings. The routine with Richard admiring the crown was going well.

"Oh, no!" Velvet grabbed Taleb's sleeve.

"What now?"

She was pointing to the back of the hall, but Taleb couldn't see what was bothering her.

"It's Slinky."

Mr MacDonald had overheard. "It can't be."

"It is."

Mr Kislinski was standing at the back of the hall with his arms folded. Everyone panicked for a moment, but he didn't do anything to stop the performance. Peter's fans in the audience cheered when Buckingham pledged his loyalty to Richard, and then gasped in horror when he came back on stage with Hastings's head to prove it.

Then things started to get out of hand. Drago went into full overacting mode while Peter was convincing a crowd (the audience) that Richard should be king. He acted out exaggerated modesty and reluctance in the background.

When Drago left the stage, Mei was waiting in the wings with a jug of water, which she threw over him to sober him up. The sequence for the coronation song kept skipping and Hailie decided to do a solo dance and fell off the stage. Two parents picked her up and chairlifted her out of the hall with Miss Ryan running behind them.

Velvet was convinced that the show was about to grind to a halt. But Taleb got the Yamaha working again and they all (minus Hailie) sang the coronation song harmonies and did their choreographed movements around the stage. A rather damp King Richard re-entered and finally got to wear the crown.

Things settled down again in the next scene. Hailie came back. Miss Ryan told them her ankle was sprained, not broken. She joined the other girls on stage for the queens' song, and was only slightly hampered by the moon boot on her left foot. The audience clapped along, cheered and wolf-whistled. Lady Anne announced she wasn't well and died quite gracefully. Buckingham, who hadn't got his promised earldom and who was regretting helping Richard become king, played a sad flute melody. Everyone booed when Drago came back on and ordered Buckingham to be beheaded.

Paranoid King Richard sat worrying in his tent. Then came the scene with the ghosts, which Sofia somehow managed to make look genuinely spooky. Jesus had decided to make the most of his muscles and oil up his arms with some salad dressing he'd found in the staffroom fridge. The sword fight looked exciting with strobe lighting. Drago couldn't resist a final flourish by pretending that Jesus had stabbed him in the balls, staggering around holding his genitals and taking a full two minutes to die. Jesus found the crown behind a tree, put it on and declared himself the King of England. Drago crawled off the stage to put on his mauve ghost outfit (Velvet hadn't been able to find another white sheet) and came back to join the rest of the ghosts on stage. Velvet and Taleb played the backing music for the finale which, considering they'd only rehearsed it three times, sounded pretty good. Then they sang the finale song together.

Taleb stepped forwards and his soaring guitar solo filled the hall. He caught Velvet's eye and she flicked a switch on the Yamaha and joined him with an improvised organ solo, complete with the famous chords from _Phantom of the Opera_. Taleb smiled at her. On stage. In front of practically the whole school.

They all sang the chorus again.

" _Live, love, dream, strive_.

_Be proud of who you are_.

_Be brave, be true, be strong, be you_.

_Be yourself and you will star_."

Velvet wasn't the only cast member with tears in her eyes.

Everyone in the audience was on their feet clapping and cheering. Without anyone saying a word, the members of Stagefright all held hands. Even Drago. He grabbed Jesus's hand and they all bowed together as they took in the applause and the cheers and Eddy yelling "Drago, you loser". They did three curtain calls.

When they had taken off their costumes (except for Drago who refused to be parted from his doublet), parents and friends gathered round congratulating everybody. With all the excitement, they'd forgotten that the main reason for the performance was to raise the money they had to pay back to the school. Mrs Anagnostopoulos counted up the takings. They'd made over five hundred dollars.

Velvet and Taleb held hands. Even when Velvet's St Theresa friends came to congratulate her. Even when Taleb introduced Velvet to his parents.

Hailie's mum had sent out for pizza and she went around handing it out to everyone.

"Come on, Dimi," she said to Roula's uncle. "No time to be a sourpuss. We should be proud of these kids, all of them. They did a great job, didn't they Maria?"

Drago's grandma nodded. Within a few minutes, Hailie's mum had them both laughing and talking to each other.

"The music was wonderful, Taleb," said Velvet's mum. "Just like Andrew Lloyd Webber."

Taleb smiled graciously. Velvet's father offered to lend him his Bon Jovi CDs.

They nominated Drago to hand over the $150 to the principal. With everybody watching, Mr Kislinski was forced to shake Drago's hand. Then he had to say a few words himself and he announced rather bitterly that Mei's parents, who were there nodding and smiling as always, had been so impressed with the play that they'd decided to sponsor a new music and drama program instead of the electronic scoreboard. It was to be called the Golden Pigeon Electrical Products Arts Program after Mr Qian's company. Mr Kislinski smiled grimly and declined the offer of the last slice of capricciosa. Mr MacDonald did a little dance. He was the music teacher again.

Hailie had mistaken Peter's concern for her wellbeing for romantic interest and clung to his arm like she owned him. Her mum was busy flirting with Mr Axiotis.

Taleb told Eddy he was leaving Toxic Shock to start a jazz trio. Eddy asked Mei if she would be the band's singer, and she said yes. The greasy singer sulked until they decided he could be the new guitarist, even though he didn't own a guitar yet.

After Slinky had slunk off and all the parents and admirers had left, Stagefright gathered by the Hawker Hardware swimming pool. Predictably, everybody got thrown in, except for Hailie who was spared because of her delicate condition. They all signed each other's programs. Velvet sat between Taleb's knees on the steps while they dried off and finished the pizza. Sometimes it seemed as if it had been the longest night of her life, then a few minutes later it seemed like it had all happened in a flash.

Mr MacDonald and Miss Ryan went to make coffee. Drago's crown ended up at the bottom of the pool and Jesus stripped down to his undies to dive for it.

"Where's Peter?" asked Hailie, looking around for the one missing member of Stagefright.

"He left already."

"Without saying goodbye?"

Hailie sulked. Peter's sexuality was as big a mystery as it had ever been.

Velvet was thinking that Roula had gone home as well, until she appeared, beaming. "I finally found someone who's my type!"

She was holding hands with Sofia Ritano.

"You did an amazing job with the lights and the sound, Sofia," Velvet said, and she meant it.

Sofia shrugged. "I work for a sound equipment place on weekends. I want to be a sound engineer when I leave school."

They all had coffee and cake and turned their thoughts to the future.

"We could do another production next year," Hailie said.

"Yeah," Roula said. "We've already got over three hundred bucks for costumes."

"What will we do?"

"Something with more songs," Taleb suggested. "A big musical."

"We should write our own story," Hailie said.

"But half of us won't be here. Drago's expelled, this is Jesus's last year and Velvet's going to Endeavour."

The mood changed as they realised they couldn't recreate the same experience, and that next year would be different.

"Maybe I'll fail and have to repeat Year 12," Jesus said hopefully.

Velvet thought it was entirely possible, as he had sat his Year 12 exams among all the rehearsal and performance mayhem.

"I'll get my social worker to grovel to Slinky." Drago draped an arm over Mei's shoulder. "And my foster mother to bawl in his office. I'll be back."

They all looked at Velvet.

"What about you, Corduroy?" Drago asked.

"Oh, I decided to stay anyway. Endeavour is too far away. I'd have to catch two trams and a bus to get there."

Drago winked at Taleb. "Very sensible."

At midnight parents came back to collect the performers. They all hugged each other, not just the girls, even though they'd all be back at school the next day. Taleb kissed Velvet goodnight in front of everybody, including her parents.

"I hope you haven't given up your plans to go to university, darling," Velvet's mother said.

"Don't worry, Mum, I'm not going to fail. I finished most of my assignments during the holidays. I've just got a Mandarin test, and Miss Ryan's given me an extension for my humanities assignment."

Miss Ryan had also told them they would be getting grades on their reports for cultural studies, instead of the "pass" that students had got in previous years. She said they would all get As – even Drago.

As they drove out of the car park, the school looked better in the dark, with the orange streetlights reflecting in the windows. Taleb rode past them on his bike with his guitar slung across his back. Velvet clutched her autographed program and the plectrum he had given her for luck. It hadn't been such a bad year after all.

**C AROLE WILKINSON** is the author of the internationally bestselling and award-winning Dragonkeeper series as well as over thirty other much-loved books. Carole embarked on her writing career at the age of 40, happily leaving behind her previous employment as a laboratory technician in jobs involving blood and brains. She has been making up for lost time ever since. Carole is married and has a daughter, and she lives in inner-city Melbourne.

Carole's website is carolewilkinson.com.au

# ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Not many authors get the chance to rewrite their very first novel. I did with this book.

It was Maryann Ballantyne who gave me my "big break" by commissioning _Stagefright_ for the Rave series, published for the educational market back in 1996.

Fast forward fifteen years to 2011 and Maryann, now my publisher, was cleaning out her office and came across a copy of the original _Stagefright_ and reread it. "I think you should update it, Carole," she said, the next time she saw me.

I didn't need asking twice. And I had a lot of fun revisiting Yarrabank High and its least favourite students.

So firstly, I want to thank Maryann for starting my writing career, for commissioning both editions of this book, and for everything in between.

My daughter Lili hasn't quite forgiven me for stealing this story idea from her teenage life (how was I to know she'd end up being a YA author?). Nevertheless, she did read an early draft and made many insightful comments. I'd also like to thank Anna-Grace Hopkins for sharing her vast knowledge of musical theatre with me, and Miles Kelly for helping me out with slang.

I should probably also thank Miss Ellis, my fourth-year high-school English teacher. She was fresh out of teachers college and the boys gave her hell, but she managed to make Shakespeare's _Richard the Third_ stick in my mind.

When I discovered that Mary Verney had seen the recent production of _Richard the Third_ starring Kevin Spacey (twice), I knew I was in good hands. Thanks to Mary for her editing skills and also to Amy Daoud for her lovely design.
This edition first published in 2013
by Black Dog Books
an imprint of Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd
Locked Bag 22, Newtown
NSW 2042 Australia
www.walkerbooks.com.au

First published in 1996 by Addison Wesley Longman Australia Pty Ltd

This ebook edition published in 2013
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Text © 1996, 2013 Carole Wilkinson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in 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.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Wilkinson, Carole, 1950–
Stagefright [electronic resource] / Carole Wilkinson.
2nd ed.
For young adults.
A823.3
ISBN: 978-1-922179-47-0 (ePub)
ISBN: 978-1-922179-48-7 (e-PDF)
ISBN: 978-1-922179-49-4 (.PRC)

Cover image © andrea michele piacquadio/Shutterstock.com

**T O JOHN AND LILI**

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook