Free End of the Alphabet by Fleur Beale Page B

collected an armful of prizes at the end of every year, I always clapped the hardest.
    I got to Davey’s school. He saw me and came running over. ‘Can I stay, Ruby? We’re playing.’
    I sat on a bench and watched. He was with a group of about six boys. I looked for Cat, but she must have gone already.
    I kept thinking about the social. I wanted a life. The old arguments started up in my head.
You can’t read. You can’t write. Stick to what you’re good at. You’ll fall flat on your face if you try new things.
    I shifted on the hard bench and watched Davey. They were playing four square. He was getting good.
    For the very first time ever, I argued with the voice in my head.
If I do fall flat on my face, at least I’ll know I’ve tried.
    It blabbed back,
It’s too scary. You can’t. You’re stupid, remember? They’ll all look at you.
    Shut up. Just shut up. I’m the girl who stood up for herself with Mr Vine. Remember?
    The social. I tried to picture it in my mind. Could I really walk up to a boy and ask him to dance? I swallowed. My gut tied itself in knots even thinking about it.
    But I wouldn’t have to ask a boy. I could dance with my friends. Well, not Tia because she would definitely ask a boy to dance — probably a Brazilian boy.
    By the time Davey and I went home, I’d made up my mind. I would go to the social. And I would try to have a good time.
    The next day, when we were waiting for Mr W, I said to the girls, ‘Okay. I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got my ticket money.’
    Megan cheered and hugged me. Carly said, ‘Good.’
    Tia said, ‘Excellent! Come to my house and we’ll get ready together.’
    I’d done it now. I would have to go.
    There was a whole week to get through first. Six days of getting up at stupid o’clock, but sixty more dollars to put in the bank. The floor of the superette was changing colour now that it was getting washed regularly. It wasn’t dirty grey, it was a light blue. I finished wiping all the shelves, so I started at the beginning again.
    Mr Vine never spoke to me, so I sang as I worked. Mick always said hello when we passed on the footpath. Sometimes we had time for a bit of a chat. He said his wife’s name was Sarah and they had two kids, a boy and a girl.
    Max made sure he didn’t talk to any of us more than he had to. I waited for Mum to crack.
    The girls and I stressed about what to wear to the social. I had a fight with Tia about the skirt she wanted to wear with the red top.
    The Brazil kids arrived on Thursday morning. Tia was out of class because the kapa haka group had to be at the powhiri to welcome them. The sound of singing floated on the warm air, in through the art room windows. The song the Brazilian kids sang to respond to the waiata had a catchy rhythm. I hoped they’d sing it again that night at the concert.
    They did, and they performed too. Some of them danced the salsa. Others did what their teacher said was capoeira. That was pretty freaky. Two of them did it together and it looked like they wanted to kick each other to death. But the flying feet never touched the other person. At the end they shook hands.
    ‘I sure hope I don’t have to learn that,’ Megan whispered. ‘I like the salsa though.’
    The kapa haka kids were brilliant. We leapt to our feet and cheered when they finished. Tia had the biggest grin on her face. Mr T would be proud of them.
    After the orchestra and the concert band and the choir, we had the speeches. I went into the daze I used for assemblies. Then a girl from Brazil stepped forward and took the microphone. She was gorgeous — long, dark hair and dark, snapping eyes. She wore the capoeira gear — white trousers and a white top. She smiled at us. We sat up. She demanded our attention and she hadn’t even said a word. How did you do that?
    When she spoke, I didn’t understand anything she said. The words flowed in a twisting, turning ribbon of sounds I couldn’t begin to understand.
    So much for the