Free Kalpana's Dream by Judith Clarke

can’t figure out how to entertain her.’
    Kate frowned. ‘Entertain her? How do you mean?’
    ‘Oh, you know – keeping her company, finding things to do.’
    ‘What?’ Kate’s voice sounded almost cross. ‘But Nani’s not a baby! It’s only babies who have to be entertained! She’s really . . .’
    ‘Clever’ Kate had been about to say, only ‘clever’ didn’t seem quite the right word. Jessaline O’Harris was clever, lots of people were, but Kate had glimpsed something more than cleverness in Neema’s great-grandmother’s eyes, a quality for which she couldn’t find the word. ‘She’s special, she’s got . . .’ Kate paused again.
    ‘Imagination, ’ supplied Neema. Only last night her dad had told her this was the meaning of Kalpana, Nani’s name.
    ‘Yes, ’ agreed Kate. ‘Like she’d be really interesting to talk to, if you only could. How come you don’t know any Hindi? How come you didn’t learn it from your mum?’
    ‘Mum always speaks English at home, and when she wanted me to learn, well, I–’ Neema was saved from further uncomfortable explanation because Kate wasn’t listening any more; she was waving to someone on the other side of the road.
    Neema turned to look. And then to stare. She could feel her eyes grow big and round, and her mouth dropping open, just a tiny bit.
    It couldn’t be!
    But it was: the boy on the skateboard, the flying boy, her flying boy.
    ‘Hi!’ Kate was calling, and ‘Hi!’ the boy called back. And for a second, before he sailed away, Neema thought he smiled at her . But why should he? Of course the smile had been for Kate.
    ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, trying to keep a tremble from her voice.
    ‘Gull Oliver, ’ replied Kate coolly. ‘He lives down the bottom of our street. You know him.’
    ‘Me?’ Neema felt her face grow hot. ‘No I don’t. I didn’t even know his name.’
    ‘You’ve forgotten, ’ said Kate. ‘Though I suppose he looked different back then.’
    ‘Back then?’
    ‘At Short Street, when we were in Prep. Gull was in Grade One, then his dad got this job in Germany and they all went overseas. They only came back this year. Don’t you remember him a little bit, though? You should .’
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘Remember Mrs Flannery? The infants’ headmistress up at Short Street? And how she used to call the kids in Prep “new lambs”?’
    ‘New lambs!’
    ‘Soppy, eh? But she was nice, Mrs Flannery. And remember how she had this programme for the first week where every kid in Prep had a special friend from Grade One, to show them round, and stuff?’
    ‘And they were called shepherds !’
    ‘That’s right. Well, I had that awful Rosie Turner, but you–’
    ‘Had Gull Oliver!’
    ‘That’s right. He was your shepherd.’ Kate grinned. ‘And you were his little new lamb.’

14
Knobbly Knees
    Of course! Gull Oliver had been her ‘shepherd’ when she started primary school! Neema had been one of those weepy little kids who cried on their first day. She’d been standing at the window, all red and hot and teary, watching Mum walk away – down the path, through the gate and round the corner, out of sight, away – when a voice said cheerfully, ‘Don’t worry, she’ll come back.’ She’d turned and found a bigger boy with curly hair, whose eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
    ‘When it’s your first day you think they won’t come back, but they do , ’ he’d gone on calmly, handing her a crumpled tissue to dry her eyes. ‘I cried too, when I was new.’
    She remembered the cool dry touch of his hand as he steered her along the corridors, pointing out the places she should know. ‘That’s the art room, see? And the library. And the girls’ – well, you know what – are over there. People say they’re heaps cleaner than the boys’ ones, but l wouldn’t know ’cause I’ve never been in there.’
    He’d found Kate for her. ‘See that girl over there? The one with the frizzy hair?