Green Valentine, page 4
I farewelled Dev and Paige, and returned to the seedling beds. Hiro had fled to the far corner of the garden, but he crept back after they were out of sight. He fiddled with a bag of potting mix.
‘Is that true?’ he said. ‘About you not being able to give any of the food you grow to the canteen or Home Ec classes?’
I frowned. ‘Of course it’s true. Why wouldn’t it be true?’
Hiro didn’t say anything for a moment, just trailed his fingers along the side of one of the raised beds. He had long, thin fingers. I wondered if he played piano, in the days before he became too cool to make an effort with anything.
‘So is that it?’ he said at last. ‘You’re giving up?’
My anger, which had been lying like a lump in the pit of my stomach, suddenly boiled over into white-hot rage. ‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘If the school thinks that they can pump our students full of additive numbers and imported, processed rubbish, then they can think again. We’ll sell our produce – there’s no rule against having bake sales for fundraising, so we can sell fruit at recess and lunch for some totally token amount. And … and we’ll hold a little farmer’s market, once a month, so parents can pick up some fresh vegies to take home. I am going to make this garden work.’
Hiro had taken a step back away from me, as if he were slightly frightened by my outburst.
‘And anyway, maybe things will be different with the new mayor. Maybe she’ll listen.’
Hiro snorted.
‘Do you think I’m crazy?’ I asked, calming down a little.
Hiro shrugged. ‘I don’t know why you bother,’ he said, and pulled up his hood, stumping out of the garden and out of my sight.
*
* Although I totally should have. I know that one of the biggest problems with our food industry is the way supermarkets import out-of-season fruit and vegies. We think it’s possible to grow oranges all year round, but it isn’t. Not in the same place, anyway. In winter, most of our fruit is imported from China, and then dosed with toxic fungicides in supermarket warehouses.
* Rule one of being a Missolini: take all snide comments as compliments. It throws everyone off balance.
* It is possible that one time Paige forced me to watch an episode of Dance Senator, and it was actually kind of awesome. Who would have thought our publicly elected officials had such a diverse range of talents? It’s just a shame none of those talents are ever employed to do anything useful like, oh, I don’t know, saving the Southern Corroboree Frog from extinction, or cutting our greenhouse gas emissions by eighty per cent.
At seven on Saturday morning, I double-checked the email I’d composed the night before to the new mayor about our kitchen garden program. It was still looking good, so I hit send. After a quick shower and a bowl of muesli*, I pulled on my lobster costume.
‘Really?’ said Mum, looking up from the kitchen table where she was reading the newspaper. ‘You’re going back?’
‘The Margaret River Hairy Marron isn’t going to save itself,’ I said. ‘Someone’s got to step up.’
Mum looked dubious. ‘And you think the lobster costume helps?’
‘At least people notice me,’ I said. ‘And if they come up looking for a free sample, then maybe they’ll stay and listen to what I have to say, and sign my petition. Also, I hired it from the costume place for a fortnight.’
‘Well,’ said Mum, taking a sip of tea. ‘It’s an impressive effort, if nothing else. I hope the Hairy Marron is grateful.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
What I could barely admit to myself was that I wanted to see Hiro again. I wasn’t sure if I’d totally misread him on our first meeting. Maybe he was always sullen and slouchy. Or maybe there was more to him. I had to know. He was intriguing, so different to all the handsome, high-achieving boys I’d hung out with before. He was darker, and seemed kind of dangerous in an exciting way.
‘Do you want a lift?’ asked Mum.
I raised my eyebrows at her. I’d made a pledge in January that I wouldn’t get in a car for a whole year. I’d catch public transport, walk and cycle everywhere, to demonstrate how overly reliant we are on cars.*
‘Sorry I asked,’ said Mum, holding up her hands with a smile.
It was good to see her smile. It had been a while.
‘Hey, Lobstergirl.’
Hiro put down his comic and grinned at me. His face was warm and open, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled. He looked so genuinely chuffed to see me that I totally forgot about his awful grouchy attitude at school, and his terrible reputation as a troublemaker. I hadn’t expected to be so pleased to see him, or feel so happy that he was pleased to see me.
‘Um,’ I said. ‘Hi.’
‘I was hoping I’d see you here again,’ he said. ‘How’s your week been?’
He didn’t recognise me. We’d hung out in the garden every afternoon that week, and he’d been so disaffected that he hadn’t noticed that I, Astrid Katy Smythe, the Missiest of the Missolinis, was also Lobstergirl. How could he not even recognise my voice?
I knew I should tell him. I should tell him and then he’d laugh and realise how judgemental he’d been at school, and we could hang out in the garden and talk and it’d be awesome.
Or, he’d never speak to me again.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
I blinked. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. My week was busy, you know. School.’
Hiro made a face. ‘Six hundred and eighty-four days,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Of school. Six hundred and eighty-four more days I have to go to school. Unless I can get suspended, or contract some sort of disease.’ He looked hopeful.
‘You must really hate school,’ I said.
‘Don’t you?’
I shrugged and felt awkward. I loved school. School was where I was in charge. I couldn’t get anyone to take a flyer or sign a petition in this stupid shopping centre, but at school I could talk about the danger of desalination schemes at assembly when everyone had to listen. ‘Um. School’s okay, I guess.’
Hiro screwed up his nose. ‘It’s just a way of keeping us docile.’ He waved his X-Men comic at me. ‘It’s all in here. I mean, think about it. We’re locked up every day. We work for no pay, but we legally have to go. We wear uniforms and listen to adults filling our heads with propaganda about how they think the world should be. And all our movements are controlled by the ringing of bells.’ He dropped the comic onto the table and thumped his fist on it for emphasis. ‘We’re living in a dystopia, I’m telling you.’
A bit dramatic, perhaps, but I suppose he had a point. ‘I’d never thought of it like that,’ I said.
‘You would if you went to my school,’ he said darkly. ‘It’s like a cross between 1984 and The Hunger Games.’
I busied myself with rinsing out a glass, desperately trying to think of a way to either a) come clean, or b) change the subject.
Hiro cocked his head to the side. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Do we go to the same school? I don’t think I’ve seen you there. I’m sure I would have noticed a giant lobster in Humanities, or lining up at the canteen.’ He made a snapping motion with his hands.
This would have been the perfect opportunity to come clean. Explain who I was. Laugh about it. Maybe make a joke about the seaweed fertiliser and being a lobster. But Hiro’s mention of the school canteen had sent up a flash of rage, which threw me off-target. So instead I did something completely and utterly insane.
‘Er,’ I said. ‘No. I go to St Catherine’s.’
What was I saying? Why was I lying to him? Where could this possibly go?
Hiro looked slightly ill. ‘Really? My dad’s a science teacher there.’
Uh-oh. What if Hiro asked his dad about me?
‘I hate it,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s awful. Everyone’s so stuck-up. I just try to keep a low profile.’*
Hiro appeared to be satisfied by my disdain for a school I didn’t go to, and he smiled. ‘I didn’t ask you your name, the other day.’
I didn’t even hesitate. ‘Katy,’ I said, amazed at how easily the lie rolled off my tongue. ‘It’s Katy.’
He smiled that lazy, cocky smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Katy. I’m Hiro.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Cool name.’
‘It’s Japanese,’ he said. ‘It means generous. My mum’s Japanese. Dad’s Italian.’
Well, that explained why he was so freaking cute. When he wasn’t sulking, anyway.
‘Do you speak Japanese or Italian?’ I asked. ‘When you’re at home?’
Hiro scratched his nose. ‘I only know a few Japanese words,’ he said. ‘But my Italian’s pretty good. My nonna’s English is terrible, and she used to look after me and my sister after school, when we were little.’
I was drinking in this information like a dying person in the desert. All of the questions he wouldn’t answer at school, and now he was volunteering information about himself! He had a sister! And a nonna!
‘You must be close,’ I said. ‘If you spent so much time with her.’
‘I guess,’ he said. ‘She’s your standard nonna. Does all the usual Italian cliché nonna things. Gardening. Cooking. Cheek-pinching.’
Gardening. That was how he knew so much about gardening. I imagined little Hiro toddling down a windy garden path with a rosy-cheeked Italian nonna with her hair in a bun. They’d pick tomatoes and basil and zucchini, and he’d learn the Italian words for everything.
‘What are you smiling about?’
Hiro was staring at me, a soft smile on his face mirroring my own. I felt my cheeks get hot, and once again was grateful for the lobster costume. I was having feelings. Unfamiliar, squirmy feelings. Feelings about Hiro.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘So, you like comics.’*
Hiro nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Do you read manga?’
Hiro frowned. ‘Why do you ask? Because I’m half Japanese?’
‘Because everyone I know reads manga.’
‘Fair point. No, I don’t read manga. The big eyes creep me out. I’m a traditional Western comics kind of guy. With a name like mine, you grow up thinking about superheroes a lot.’
‘So what kind of a superhero am I?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re a superhero?’
I gestured at myself. ‘I’m wearing a disguise, aren’t I?’**
‘So you are,’ said Hiro with a smile. ‘And from what I can tell, you are trying to save the world.’
‘Precisely. So what’s my superhero name?’
‘Lobstergirl, of course.’
I sighed. ‘You know I’m supposed to be the Margaret River Hairy Marron.’
‘Yes, but Margaret River Hairy Marrongirl doesn’t sound as good as Lobstergirl.’
I scowled at him. ‘Fine, if I’m Lobstergirl, you have to be Shopping Trolley Guy.’
‘I’ve been called worse,’ said Hiro with a shrug. ‘Now, what are your superpowers?’
‘Well, impenetrable armour for one.’ I rapped on the foam suit.
‘Maybe,’ he said, the soft smile still on his face. ‘I think it’s something better, though. Like, once you grab hold of something with one of your lobster claws, you never let it go, no matter what.’
I felt a bit taken aback. That was … surprisingly accurate. Hiro had seen me, in a way that I wasn’t sure anyone else ever had. Even though I was wearing a giant foam lobster outfit.
‘Er,’ I said, feeling flustered. ‘So what’s your superpower?’
Hiro sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve spent sixteen years trying to figure it out.’
‘What’s the one thing you wish you could do?’
‘Fly, maybe. That seems so generic. Do you have one? A superpower you always wished you had?’
‘Easy,’ I said. I had actually given this plenty of thought.
‘The one that Mary Poppins has, where she clicks her fingers and everything gets tidied up.’
Hiro raised an eyebrow again. ‘Seriously? That seems a little … boring. You don’t want to fly? Have X-ray vision? Telepathy?’
‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘You never have to wash dishes again. Clean your room. Mow the lawn.’
‘You have surprised me, Lobstergirl,’ said Hiro. ‘I thought you’d have a more worthy superpower. Something more planet-saving.’
‘Ah!’ I wagged a finger. ‘That’s the genius of the cleaning finger-click. Why should it only apply to domestic mess? Surely I could also use it to clean up oil spills or accidents at nuclear power plants.’
‘Huh. Now I’m imagining you clicking your lobster claws at hundreds of oil-soaked penguins.’
‘And don’t those penguins look grateful? Best superpower ever.’
Hiro smiled again and nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Fair enough. It’s a cool superpower.’
‘Except, to be honest, I prefer my superheroes without superpowers.’
‘Really?’
‘Definitely.’ I said. ‘Like Hawkeye and Black Widow. And Batman. And DangerMouse.’
‘DangerMouse is a multilingual, secret agent rodent. I think that’s a superpower.’
‘Okay, fine, not DangerMouse. But the others.’
Hiro cocked his head. ‘Am I mistaken, or does the black heart of a nerd beat underneath that crustaceous exterior?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘This is the twenty-first century,’ I said. ‘Everyone’s a nerd. And liking Batman and the Avengers—’
‘And DangerMouse.’
‘—and DangerMouse, doesn’t exactly make me a mouth-breathing geek. Everyone likes that stuff. I haven’t read any comics, so I can’t claim to inhabit the upper echelons of nerdery like you do.’
Hiro looked unconvinced, but he was still smiling. I liked his smile. I liked it a lot. I liked that I could make him smile. There was a warm, fizzing energy between us, as if we were feeding off each other. I could tell he was feeling it too. He made eye contact a lot – long, gazing eye contact that made me feel all shivery inside. He hadn’t met my eyes once in the garden. Now he couldn’t seem to look away.
‘Anyway,’ I continued. ‘My point is, Superman is boring because he has superpowers. He’s obliged to do good, and doing good is easy for him. But if you actually have to train to be a superhero, if it takes courage and willpower and obsession, then that’s an interesting character.’
‘And you think we can all be superheroes.’
‘Sure. I mean, not spandex-wearing crime-fighting ones. Unless that kind of thing floats your boat. But we should all be working hard to make the world a better place.’
‘Sounds a little cheesy.’
I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make it wrong.’
Hiro raised an eyebrow in a slightly patronising, cynical way that made me itch with irritation.
‘What,’ I said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Hiro tipped his head to one side. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I don’t see the point. I mean, look at you. How many signatures did you get today?’
I looked down at my clipboard. ‘Three,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And two of them thought they were signing up to some cheap seafood newsletter.’
‘See?’ Hiro said. ‘What can you do with three signatures? People don’t care, so I don’t see why I should waste my time.’
‘I don’t see it as wasting my time. And even if those three people change their minds, then I’ve made a difference.’
Hiro shook his head. ‘I wish that was true. But those three people are going to go home and eat their awful rubbery supermarket tomatoes and watch TV and forget all about the Margaret River Hairy Marron. People don’t change. Trust me.’ His face grew dark, and he turned back to his comic.
I felt like the sun had gone behind a cloud. Hiro had shut me out, just like he did at school. I suddenly felt enormous and ridiculous in my big red lobster suit.
‘Er,’ I said, and glanced at my watch. ‘I should go.’ I was supposed to meet Dev and Paige for lunch, and it’d take me forever to scrub off this stupid red face-paint.
‘Really?’ He looked up, his face suddenly disappointed. ‘We were just getting started.’
He gave me a twinkly, decidedly flirty smile. Flirty! Hiro! How could this possibly be the same guy as the one from my kitchen garden who grunted in response to any question?
‘Can I have your number?’
He wanted my number. Hiro Silvestri, Shopping Trolley Guy and Sulky Gardening Companion, wanted my number.
My number.
I couldn’t give it to him, of course. Even though he was cute and interesting and funny and cared about things. Even though he gave me feelings. Because sooner or later he’d recognise my voice, and realise who I really was, and then he’d hate me. And even if he didn’t, it wasn’t like we could date or anything. I didn’t need Dev’s dating model to tell me that Hiro and I were not suited. We came from completely different worlds, and not in a romantic way like Romeo and Juliet.* No, I’d just politely tell him I couldn’t give him my number, and then I’d leave, and he’d never see me again. I was sick of spending my Saturdays dressed up as a lobster anyway.
‘Sure,’ I said.
What.
It was like an out-of-body experience. I watched myself grab a pen and paper from the break-room table and scribble my number on it.
‘Text is better,’ I heard myself tell Hiro. ‘My parents are pretty strict.’
This was in no way true, but it might help with the voice-recognition issue. It seemed like my giant lobster head was enough to keep Hiro from connecting Astrid to Katy, but I suspected that without any crustaceous distractions, he might join the dots.
This wasn’t good. I was getting myself into deep, deep trouble. But I couldn’t stop. I liked him. I liked Hiro, and even though I knew the whole thing was doomed before it had even started, I wanted more.
*
* I make my own muesli because the shop-bought stuff is so full of sugar. Did you know that many of the so-called healthy commercial breakfast cereals contain more sugar than ice-cream or soft drink?
* There’s a guy in the US called John Francis who is a planetwalker – he hasn’t got into a motorised vehicle for twenty-two years. He’s walked all over America raising awareness about sustainability and respecting the planet, and now he’s a UN Ambassador. He didn’t speak for seventeen years – and got three degrees including a PhD, all while never saying a word. Obviously this could never be an option for me. I really like talking.
