It''s almost summer. I''m almost fourteen. Last week, Mum caught me playing with Barbies . And if you think I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, you are right . THEN, I had a dream I needed the toilet. It felt so real. I wet the bed. Woke up.
Warm, wet puddle. Cheeks burning. Heart beating through my skin. Balled up the sheets; tiptoed to the laundry; shoved them in the machine. Mum didn''t ask why I changed my linen at six a.m. She just said, "Good job tidying up, Billie." I didn''t volunteer the information.
But she definitely knows. This summer I''ll grow up. * For as long as I can remember, Summer has meant one thing. Pearl Beach . Dad''s ancient aunty has a house there. She doesn''t ever use it anymore, just stays in her mansion in Vaucluse. So, when the final school bell rings, we pack everything but the kitchen sink and head off. Pearl is everything to me.
I learnt how to swim in that ocean pool, Dad taught me to boogie board on those waves. Pearl is French-toast breakfasts and lazy mornings on the porch swing. It''s late-night paddling down by the creek. It''s greasy sausages and burnt onions wrapped into the softest, whitest bread. It''s Andy. Andy started coming when she was six. She drives down with her family all the way from Melbourne. They stay at the caravan park in a tent.
Her parents are free range. Mine are more hovercraft. Andy and I met on the beach down by the rock pools. She was collecting shells, I was looking for crabs. She spotted a starfish, and squealed with delight. We examined it together and the rest is history. We don''t talk much during the year. We used to send letters when we were younger with smelly stickers and glitter stuffed into the envelopes.
But usually, we just wait for the summers. Sometimes Andy gets sick of camping and comes to sleep on the trundle under my bed. We talk about what we''re really afraid of like someone we love going missing and climate change destroying the world. But we also sing in stupid voices and watch dumb clips on YouTube. Sometimes I get sick of my parents and come sleep at the campsite with her. We take sleeping bags onto the beach to look at the stars and talk about all the things we will do when we grow up. Mum isn''t always so happy about me sleeping at the campsite. "Does Louisa actually keep track of you girls?" she asks.
Louisa does not keep track at all. She sits on her camping chair and reads and sometimes has a beer. I do not say this to Mum. I''m excited to see Andy. It''s not like I don''t have friends at school, I do. But there is something special about summer friends. She knows all my secrets. (Not that I have many.
) We have breakfast most days at mine then change into our swimmers and run down the path to the beach. We spend the mornings swimming and sometimes I read. I love to read and write. And Andy loves to daydream. Sometimes my brother Sam hangs out with us. He''s eleven. Most girls I know hate their brothers but Sam''s okay. But maybe this year, now that we''re thirteen, we''ll be too old for that.
After all, I''m not a little kid anymore and this is the summer I''ll grow up. * It''s the last day of school. And already, it''s a hot summer. My legs stick to the plastic classroom chair. 3.14 p.m. Sixteen minutes till freedom.
I like school. Well, that''s not strictly true. I like English and history. I don''t have a maths brain. "You just need to apply yourself," Mum says. But she has a maths brain so she doesn''t get it. Dad has a maths brain too. He has such a maths brain, that he became an accountant.
Not sure where I came from. 3.21 p.m. Ms Allen is talking about our summer homework. Everyone is groaning. No one would have groaned at Ms Allen at the beginning of Year Seven. I think our summer homework is cool (though I would die before admitting it).
We have to find someone interesting over the summer and interview them. "It doesn''t have to be a famous person or anything like that. Could be your grandparent or the postie or your cousin''s best friend. It doesn''t matter who it is," Ms Allen says, "But find out what gives their life meaning." Obviously, I''ll interview Andy. 3.30 p.m.
The shrill of the bell the shriek of the class boys fist pumping girls hugging even though it''s way too hot for hugs. Year Seven is over. Now the summer can begin. * I say goodbye to Chloe and Mimi. They are my school best friends. We hug (even though it''s too hot) and promise to text over the summer. Mimi and I met in Drama Club. She introduced me to Chloe who she knew from her primary school.
Most of the girls in Year Seven wear eyeliner and foundation even though we aren''t supposed to. Mimi and Chloe aren''t into make-up yet. That suits me. But maybe now that I''m almost fourteen I''ll start liking make-up? In term four most of the girls wore bikinis for surf lifesaving even though it said on the form we weren''t allowed. Chloe, Mimi and I wore our Speedo one pieces. But maybe now that I''m almost fourteen, I should buy a bikini? "We''ll miss you, Billie!" they say. I''ve told them about Pearl so they know I''ll be away most of the break. We give each other one last goodbye And I run to make my bus.
Mum wants to leave for Pearl tonight. The bus takes half an hour. It''s full of after-school kids ready to take on the summer. A strong waft of body odour fills my nostrils. I discretely sniff my pits To make sure it''s not me. (It isn''t.) The kids on the bus are either shouting or singing or sitting quietly on their phones. Chloe and Mimi aren''t on my bus so I''m staring out the window sweating behind my knees and daydreaming about Pearl.
Mum has packed the car when I get home. She''s sitting in the driver''s seat honking her horn. Sam sits in the back, ready to go. His knees are nearly up to his chin and he has a stack of stuff squished under him. The car is always chockers on the way to Pearl. Mum waves madly. She''s the ''enthusiastic sort''. I used to love it but lately, it''s been a bit cringe.
"Come on, Bill, get changed and let''s get going." I run inside and dash to the bathroom. My undies feel sweaty from the bus my school dress is stuck to my skin I have to peel it off my shoulders. I sit down on the toilet. It isn''t sweat on my undies. It''s a smear of blood. My stomach does a little flip And my heart beats a little faster. I only got my period for the first time in June I don''t use tampons or moon cups yet.
This little smear means no swimming for the next few days. Heat rises into my face. "Billie! Hurry Up!" Mum calls. I rip a pad out of its wrapper with such anger you''d think it was responsible for the blood. I change into my shorts and T-shirt And run back out to the car, the bitumen burning the soles of my feet. I try to forget about the smear of blood stick my headphones deep into my ears and let the music pump through my body. Summer has begun.