Free The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera

keeps following me around. I said to him that he
     should try Linda. She likes boys. As for me, I’ve only got one boyfriend.
     No, two . No, three . Koro, Daddy and you . Did you miss me in
     Australia, Uncle? Did you like Papua New Guinea? Nanny Flowers thought you’d end
     up in a pot over a fire. She’s a hardcase, isn’t she! You
     didn’t forget me, Uncle, did you? You didn’t, eh? Well, thank you for
     the ride, Uncle Rawiri. See you tomorrow. Bye now.’ With an ill-aimed kiss and a
     hug, and a whirl of white dress, she would be gone.
    The end of the school year came, and the school break-up ceremony was
     to be held on a Friday evening. Kahu had sent invitations to the whole family and included
     the boys in the list. ‘You are cordially invited,’ the card read,
     ‘to the school prizegiving and I do hope you are able to attend. No RSVP is
     required. Love, Kahutia Te Rangi. P.S. No leather jackets please, as this is a formal
     occasion. P.P.S. Please park all motorbikes in the area provided and not in the Head-
     master’s parking space like last year. I do not wish to be embraced
     again.’
    On the night of the break-up ceremony, Nanny Flowers
     said to me, as she was getting dressed. ‘What’s this word
     “embraced”?’
    ‘I think she means
     “embarrassed”,’ I said.
    ‘Well, how do I look?’ Nanny asked.
    She was feeling very pleased with herself. She had let out the dress I
     had bought her and added lime-green panels to the sides. Nanny was colour blind and thought
     they were red. I gulped hard. ‘You look like a duchess,’ I lied.
    ‘Not like a queen?’ Nanny asked, offended.
     ‘Well, I’ll soon fix that.’ Oh no, not the hat . It must have looked wonderful in the 1930s but that was
     ages ago. Ever since, she had added a bit of this and a bit of that until it looked just
     like something out of her vegetable garden.
    ‘Oh,’ I swallowed, ‘you look out of this
     world.’
    She giggled coyly. We made our way out to Porourangi’s car.
     Kahu’s face gleamed out at us.
    ‘Oh you look lovely,’ she said to Nanny,
     ‘but there’s something wrong with your hat.’ She made a space
     for Nanny and said to her, ‘Come and sit by me, darling, and I’ll fix it
     for you.’
    Porourangi whispered to me, ‘Couldn’t you stop the
     old lady? Her and her blinking hat.’
    I was having hysterics. In the back seat Kahu was adding some feathers
     and flowers and what looked like weeds. The strange thing was that in fact the additions
     made the hat just right.
    The school hall was crowded. Kahu took us to our places and sat us
     down. There was an empty seat beside Nanny with ‘Reserved’ on it.
    ‘That’s for Koro when he comes,’ she
     said. ‘And don’t the boys look neat ?’ At the back of the hall the boys were trying to hide behind
     their suit jackets.
    Nanny Flowers jabbed Porourangi in the ribs.
     ‘Didn’t you tell that kid?’ she asked.
    ‘I didn’t have the heart,’ he whispered.
    For the rest of that evening the seat beside Nanny Flowers remained
     empty, like a gap in a row of teeth. Kahu seemed to be in everything: the school choir, the
     skits and the gymnastics, and after every item she would skip back to us and say,
     ‘Isn’t Koro here yet? He’s missing the best part.’
    Then the second half of the programme began. There was Kahu in her
     skirt and bodice, standing so proudly in front of the school cultural group.
     ‘Hands on hips!’ she yelled. ‘Let’s
     begin!’ she ordered. And as she sang, she smiled a brilliant smile at all of us.
     Her voice rang out with pride.
    ‘That young girl’s a cracker,’ I
     overheard someone say. But my heart was aching for her and I wanted to leave. Nanny Flowers
     gripped me hard and said, ‘No, we all have to sit here, like it or not.’
     Her lips were quivering.
    The action songs continued, one after another, and I could see that
     Kahu had realised that Koro Apirana was not going to arrive.