Maddie in the Middle Page 11

  In front of me, to the right, a man in a suit and a boy in jeans are sitting at a desk. The man is leaning forward in his seat; the boy is slumped in his. The magistrate is reading something on her screen.

  Eventually the magistrate starts speaking, and the man hurries to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Tan,’ she says. ‘But I don’t have enough in front of me to be convinced that the bail conditions you suggest will protect the community sufficiently.’

  ‘I understand that, your honour,’ the man says. ‘But –’

  ‘It would be a different matter if he hadn’t absconded on bail previously, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘So I have no choice but to remand your client in custody until the trial.’

  The slumped boy leaps to his feet. ‘No!’ he says. ‘I’ll be right this time, I promise!’

  The man tries to shush the boy, but he calls out again.

  ‘Please, miss!’

  The magistrate says, ‘I gave you three chances, Jonathan. You’ve left me no option. The matter is adjourned.’

  She taps a wooden hammer, and guards emerge from a door to the side of the courtroom, and usher the boy away. ‘Oh no, oh no!’ he is saying. Mr Tan returns to the back of the courtroom, his whole face frowning.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ I whisper to Dad.

  ‘To jail,’ Dad says. ‘Juvenile detention.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. I know what Jay said, but maybe I’ll get thrown in jail too? Maybe Jay is only being hopeful. I think of all the things I’ve stolen over the last couple of months. I wonder if that amounts to what the boy has done, and sincerely hope it doesn’t.

  I swallow, hard.

  A young man, who is sitting at a desk in front of the magistrate, stands and reads, ‘Matter number 1415.’

  ‘Maddie,’ Jay turns around. ‘Are you ready?’

  I look at Dad. He doesn’t look exactly sympathetic, but he nods. I have to step over the legs of the snake-boy, and almost trip. I make my way to the place where the boy who had been taken to jail had just been standing. I feel light-headed, as if I am going to faint. I’ve never fainted before, but I am pretty sure that this is what it would feel like. My head swims and I feel sick.

  Jay motions for me to sit.

  ‘If it please the court, I’m Ms Alzgren representing Madeleine Lee on one count of stealing,’ Jay says, standing up and straightening her jacket.

  ‘Thank you, Ms Alzgren,’ the magistrate says. ‘Madeleine, please stand up.’

  I stand up. Straight.

  ‘On Friday 12 April at two in the afternoon, at the Independent Grocers Supermarket in Lakelands, you were charged with stealing things capable of being stolen, namely about fifty dollars worth of assorted gourmet confectionery items. The police have stated that this is an indicative charge. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Guilty,’ I whisper.

  ‘You’ll have to speak up,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘Guilty,’ I repeat in a louder voice.

  ‘Ms Alzgren, submissions?’

  Jay shoots to her feet. I lower myself onto my chair.

  ‘Your honour, my client is a twelve-year-old girl who attends Eastlake Primary School. Her mother lives in Port Hedland. She resides alone with her father. There is no other family support.’

  I turn and see Dad, who looks like he wants to get up and say something. It sounds as if Jay is saying, somehow, that it is Dad’s fault that I am in trouble.

  ‘My client reports that she has never been in trouble at school, and that the current course of action is out of character for her,’ Jay continues. ‘While she was not alone at the time of the criminal activity, she maintains that she acted alone, both at this time and on other occasions. She is remorseful for her actions, your honour, and for these reasons I would ask the court –’

  ‘Wait a minute, counsel,’ the magistrate says. ‘She wasn’t alone, yet it was her idea? Do you have reports from the school verifying that she hasn’t been in any trouble?’

  ‘She has no record, your honour,’ Jay says. ‘With respect, I haven’t had the opportunity to seek references at this time.’

  ‘It is my experience, and is no doubt yours, counsel, that first-time juvenile offenders rarely act alone,’ the magistrate frowns. ‘I’m afraid I will need to adjourn this matter until reports are gathered regarding your client and whether her account is reliable.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Jay says.

  ‘The matter is adjourned to this time in four weeks,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘Four weeks!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Shh!’ Jay says to me. To the magistrate, she says, ‘Thank you, your honour.’

  ‘Dismissed,’ the magistrate says.

  ‘But –’ I say.

  ‘Shh!’ Jay hisses. ‘You’ll be charged with contempt if you keep this up!’

  I stand and head for the door. The guard indicates for me to turn around and bow to the magistrate. I do, then try to swing the door open, but it is very heavy. Dad’s hand appears and pulls it open for me.

  ‘Okay,’ says Jay. ‘We’re going to need to arrange character references from your school. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’m sure we can,’ Dad says.

  ‘And she’ll need to see a psychologist,’ Jay goes on. ‘To get an opinion on Maddie’s ability to see right and wrong. On her general state of mind, too.’

  ‘That would be useful,’ Dad says, looking at me as if I am a problem to solve, not his daughter.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Jay and Dad shake hands.

  I am too miserable to respond to Jay’s goodbye until Dad prompts me. I walk out into the waiting room and pause there, trying to swallow the panic that is fluttering in my throat. Four weeks. Four weeks of getting people’s opinions about me. Seeing a psychologist. And after that I will have to see some official person for three months – if I am lucky. All I want is for this to be over. But it isn’t going to be. It doesn’t feel like it will ever be over. And even when it is, nothing will be the same again.

  On the way home, the only thing Dad says is, ‘I’ve tried to be a good parent, Maddie. I know I’m not your mum, but I’ve done everything I can. And now this. I don’t know what else I could have done.’

  It sounds as if he is talking to himself instead of me. I say, ‘Dad, it’s not your fault. You’re the best dad ever.’

  But he keeps driving, his eyes on the road.

  I feel so guilty. I want to tell him everything, to make him feel better. But there is no point now, not after having been to court and everything. It probably won’t make any difference even if I do tell him. He’ll just say, ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

  There is only one good thing I can think of: at least I can go to Samara, now, and tell her: I stood up in court and I said I was guilty. I didn’t mention your name. I kept our deal. We’re still friends, aren’t we?

  When I arrive at school the next day, I am sure that everyone knows where I’ve been.

  Last night, I watched the news over Dad’s shoulder, worried that the cameras following the boy into court also caught Dad and me in their lenses. But there was only a brief mention of the boy. Now I knew what he’d done: he’d stolen a car and crashed it. The boy was fine, but his cousin was dead. I’d felt sorry for him at court: his miserable face, his little sisters crowding around him, his mum saying he was punished on the inside. But now I knew it was not an accident, exactly, but an accident that happened because he’d done something bad, I felt confused. Just because it was his fault didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel bad about what he’d done. It probably made him feel worse. But other people might not feel that way. Other people might feel he deserved to feel bad.

  I’d taken my shop-bought spinach quiche and salad to my room. It didn’t taste very nice, and even Wolfie turned up his nose at it when I gave him a chunk. I knew I should feel relieved that I wasn’t on the news. But I was sure people would be abl
e to tell where I’d been anyway.

  When Dad drops me off at school, I ask in a small voice, ‘So what should I say if anyone asks where I was yesterday?’

  ‘It’s up to you,’ Dad responds. ‘I’ve sent a message to the principal excusing your absence.’

  I hate the way that he isn’t angry with me anymore. It is almost like he can’t be bothered feeling anything. There is no way for me to fix this.

  When I walk into school, I brace myself, ready to say, ‘I had an appointment’ if anyone wants to know.

  I feel as if everyone is secretly staring at me, but when I turn quickly, to see if I can catch them, nobody seems to be looking at me at all.

  I hang up my bag and am waiting when Mrs L unlocks the classroom. Before Brooke, Max and Leo arrive I am at my desk, with my tablet out and everything organised.

  When Brooke comes in, she says, ‘You okay?’

  I nod, but I can feel a blush creeping up my cheekbones.

  When Katy comes in, I keep my head down. I feel Katy come closer – Katy hasn’t seen me since Monday outside the principal’s office. I know she is going to ask something. But the siren goes before she can.

  I breathe out.

  As class begins, I try to concentrate on science, and then S&E. Everytime I look up, Katy is staring at me. I have to do everything I can to avoid her. As soon as the siren rings for recess, I bolt outside.

  And straight into Samara, who is waiting for me.

  ‘I’ve got to move,’ I say to Samara. ‘Katy.’

  I dart away from the classroom, bending slightly forward so Katy won’t be able to spot me as I weave through the tide of kids rushing toward the canteen, turning once or twice to make sure Samara is still following me. I keep going until I turn into the empty corridor heading for the girls’ toilets. When I get there, I rest my back against the cool wall and get my breath back.

  ‘She wants to talk to me,’ I puff. ‘She’s been staring at me all morning.’

  ‘I want to talk to you, too,’ Samara says in a stern voice.

  I turn to look at Samara in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And I want to talk to you. It’s been awful.’

  Samara, the person who normally looks calm no matter what, looks agitated, upset. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ I say. ‘I stuck to what we agreed.’

  I wait for Samara to look happy, or grateful, but she seems to be glaring at me.

  ‘You look like you don’t believe me,’ I say. ‘I swear, Samara. I did it the way I said I would. I went to court yesterday. I pleaded guilty. The lawyer even asked about you –’

  Samara’s eyes narrow. ‘He asked about me?’

  ‘She,’ I say. ‘She asked me directly whether there was someone else involved, and I still kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘You can’t have been convincing,’ she says. ‘I must have made a mistake, trusting you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tears sting my eyes. ‘Samara, you can’t imagine how bad it’s been –’

  ‘No, I don’t know anything about bad things,’ Samara says.

  ‘I took the blame for everything,’ I say. ‘I might even get a criminal record. But nobody knows about you.’

  ‘Yes they do,’ Samara says.

  ‘What? How?’ I say. ‘I can guarantee it wasn’t me! Whatever you want me to swear on, I’ll swear on it. I haven’t said a word, not to anyone!’

  ‘Then why was I questioned by the principal on Monday?’ she says.

  ‘Please Samara,’ I say. ‘I don’t know why he questioned you. It wasn’t because of anything that I said.’

  ‘Well if really you didn’t say anything,’ Samara says, ‘why did the child protection people come to our house yesterday?’

  ‘Oh Samara.’ I stare. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes,’ Samara says. ‘And now Mum is in hospital, and Tom and Dayna and I are being split up to live with different people and we’re probably going to have to change schools again – and it’s all your fault.’

  ‘But I didn’t say a word,’ I say. ‘Cross my heart, I didn’t. What’s happening to you isn’t my fault.’

  ‘You were the one who got caught, who was so stupid she didn’t realise the security guard was watching us,’ Samara says. ‘So it is your fault, actually.’

  ‘But –’ The shock of what she is saying makes it hard for me to put together the right words – ‘but Samara, I was stealing for you. It was all for you.’

  Samara looks at me coldly. Before I can say another word, she turns and walks outside, leaving me standing there, my legs weak, my skin numb to the chill autumn wind that is whistling down the corridor, frozen to the spot with the unfairness of it all.

  When I have recovered the use of my legs, I stumble back to my classroom. I’ve lost sense of what time it is, or how much of recess is left. The room is quiet, and I wish more than anything I could just be left here, alone. Other people are too much, too hard. I consider walking out, walking home, and spending the rest of the day in my room with Wolfie. But I know if I do that they will call Dad the minute they notice I am missing, and I’ll be in more trouble than I already am. If that is even possible.

  I sit at my desk. The plastic of the chair is cold on the backs of my legs. I look over at Brooke’s drawings, covering her S&E book, her creative writing notebook, her pencil case. I follow the lines and swirls with my eyes, until the swirling in my veins slows down.

  Somebody comes into the classroom.

  I keep staring at Brooke’s things. What would it be like, to be able to do something so beautiful, something that makes people feel happy in their hearts just from looking at it?

  The person stands on the other side of the desk from me.

  I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

  ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ Katy says.

  ‘Here I am,’ I say, surprised at how normal my voice sounds.

  ‘Maddie, what is going on?’ Katy says. ‘I know you’re in some kind of trouble, and I know it’s something to do with Samara, and I wish you’d talk to me.’

  I want to ask how she knows it is something to do with Samara, but I don’t. I look up at Katy. Katy seems the same as she ever has. My old friend with her kind face. I suddenly realise how much I’ve missed Katy. Katy, who is easy to be around. Katy, who doesn’t ask anything difficult of me. Katy, who has her own life, her own special life. Who doesn’t need someone ordinary like me.

  ‘You were angry at me,’ I say.

  ‘Of course I was!’ Katy says. ‘You just – went off with Samara. Like you didn’t even care about me anymore.’

  ‘You’re off doing all your important things,’ I say.

  ‘Oh Maddie,’ Katy says. ‘You’re still my best friend. The Rule of Two, since year two, you and me –’

  ‘Me and you,’ I smile.

  ‘I know you, Maddie,’ Katy says. ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything bad.’

  ‘Oh Katy.’ I want to cry. ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘So when I saw you outside the principal’s on Monday, I had to go and tell him that,’ Katy says. ‘I think he was glad. He couldn’t tell me what was going on, of course, but –’

  ‘Wait, what?’ I say. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him that I could say categorically –’ Katy probably did use the word categorically – ‘that you wouldn’t have done anything wrong by yourself. And he asked who else you were friends with. So I had to tell him. Brooke, Dan, Simone. Samara. Not to get any of them in trouble, but to make sure you weren’t blamed unfairly for whatever it is that’s happened.’

  I feel queasy. ‘Oh no,’ I whisper.

  ‘What?’ Katy says. ‘I was looking out for you. What’s wrong with that?’

  I stand up.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you what. You have ruined everything! You have no idea what you’ve done! You just can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business, can you?
Katy, you are the worst friend who ever lived!’

  Katy looks like she’s been slapped. I grab my bag and walk out of the school, wrapping my arms around myself against the cold wind. I am going to get in trouble but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. I am already in trouble, and now, because of Katy, it is all wasted.

  It is too late for everything.

  Topic: music

  By itself, a flute sounds good. It sounds like breathing made into music.

  By itself, a clarinet sounds good. It sounds like singing made into music.

  By itself, a piano sounds good. It sounds like your best imaginings made into music.

  But when you put a flute, a clarinet and a piano together, something happens.

  It doesn’t sound like a flute, a clarinet and a piano.

  It sounds like something else, something more, something bigger. Like everybody in the world had a dream, and the dream was the same, and the dream made the world better.

  And if the instruments don’t play together anymore, the silence is like the silence after something terrible, like a war or a car crash. Or when someone leaves your life and is never coming back. It’s a sound sadder than all the sadness in the world.

  ‘So, Maddie,’ says the psychologist, ‘do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say dully. ‘Because I stole stuff.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she says. ‘You know that psychologists normally help people with their problems, right?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I say.

  ‘But that’s not what I do,’ she says.

  ‘You’re not going to help me?’ I say. ‘I can add you to the list of people who aren’t helping me at the moment.’

  ‘I’m here to write a report about you for the court,’ she says. ‘I’m going to ask you some questions, and when you talk, I’m going to take notes. After this session I will write my opinion about you, but I’m not here to give you advice.’

  ‘I don’t really have a choice, so okay,’ I say.

  ‘So, Maddie,’ she says. ‘Let’s start with something easy. Can you tell me about school?’