Wednesday and Thursday passed with the same rhythm as the beginning of the week. I walked Ernie to school, keeping an eye on him, and away from Dom's influence. I studied with Claudia and Jono, and continued to procrastinate my Resource Management assignment. Best of all, I managed to avoid speaking with Mr Hydell at work for two whole shifts!
After today, it will be the weekend again, and only seven more weeks of school will remain, ever. The thought pulses through my mind with a strange mix of relief and dread. I remind myself to focus on now. I don’t need to think past that end just yet.
My main plan is to finish most of my final assignment and study with Claudia and Jono in the Sydney Sky Mall, stealing a few hours of escape. There’s the most beautiful library in the mall, a polished, sky-high sanctuary shaped like a wide halo that curves around the top of the building, far above the noise of the city. The upper tier is designed to be a tourist attraction for visitors, with open viewing decks, photo spots above the clouds, and a collection of library-themed cafes, restaurants, and bars that give the whole space a calm, curated feeling. On New Year’s Eve, fireworks are launched from the centre of the halo, lighting up the sky while crowds gather for organised events on the top tier to watch them.
The library’s transparent windows are made from UV-filtering glass that protects the books from sunlight while still offering clear, almost wonder-like views of the living city and glistening blue harbour. The middle tier is quieter, devoted to study and focus. There are videos sorted by topic that you can find through the library’s search-engine-based catalogue, and if you have Bluetooth headphones, you can watch them quietly on the screens. The rest of the space is made up of quiet zones and soundproof study rooms that line the inner walls like neatly arranged hives, each one designed for quiet concentration. Each room contains a table, comfortable chairs, a screen, and discreet cameras, and is commonly used for hot-desking, meetings, or study. They are free to use on weekends and outside traditional office hours, but bookings are still limited to one hour at a time.
The Sky Mall itself is massive, filled with retail floors, food courts, and entertainment, but the library feels like something else entirely. Once you are inside, it does not feel like a mall at all. It feels like somewhere you could stay for hours without saying a word. After studying in the library, we can wander through the retail stores and try on clothes that we will never be able to own, wear our favourite perfume samples, and simply escape the responsibilities of our families for part of a day.
Ernie will be fine at Marco’s house celebrating his fifteenth birthday. Alonzo behaves more responsibly when his wife Erica is around, and their parties are always big, so there are plenty of adults to supervise. Ernie is getting picked up directly from home, and I’ll still be able to walk him back afterward to make sure everything went smoothly.
Just one more day.
It’s Friday morning, and I’m sitting at the front of Mr Klein’s classroom again, planning tomorrow through daydreams. The air feels stiller than usual, heavy with the hum of idling conversation and dragging feet. Sometimes Mr Klein runs late, but he might as well be for the time it takes to get the class to settle down and somewhat listen. The only light filters in from the back window, leaving the front rows in shadow.
Claudia turns toward me and sweeps curls away from her forehead, her dark hair barely visible in the dimness. She wears a fitted black jumper layered over a deep purple undershirt; the collar slightly twisted like she got dressed in a hurry but still managed to make it look intentional. Pinned near her left shoulder is a small yellow badge with a smiley face that looks more unhinged than cheerful. Claudia always moves like she is catching up to time itself, yet nothing about her ever feels out of place.
“Who do you think will show up first, Mr Klein, or Dom?”
I hate these kinds of questions. I try to avoid any kind of gambling after seeing its darkness reflected in my Dad, and that it’s the main reason he takes my money each day. But this bet is an easy one.
“Mr Klein for sure,” I say. “I wouldn’t not be surprised if Dom doesn’t show up to the class at all.”
“You’re on!” Claudia grins, as if I just threw down a challenge. I let the topic fall into silence. I hadn’t meant it as a bet.
She moves on easily, filling the brief silence. “What time should we meet at the shops tomorrow?”
Marco’s party is during the day and starts early. He’s getting picked up at 9am to help set up, so I should be able to walk to Sydney Sky Mall by around 10am.
“Let’s meet at ten,” I say. “We can start off working in the library, relax over lunch, and then have a good idea how much more we need to study. It’ll give us a chance to wander and browse the shops too.”
Claudia leans back and smiles, as if the work is practically done already. “Jono’s mostly finished his assignments and studying. With his help, we could be done in a few hours.”
I don’t particularly want to copy Jono, and would rather stand out, but a little help won’t hurt. “Sounds like a plan,” I say. I consider looking over to see Jono’s reaction, but Claudia knows him well enough. I’m sure he’s happy to help.
Claudia turns back to talk to Jono and doesn’t notice when Mr Klein walks into the classroom wearily, only 10 minutes after it should have started. His dark blue jeans are slightly wrinkled, and his pale button-up shirt is tucked in properly except for a single corner that has come loose on the left side. The untidiness is rare for him. He heads straight to his desk without even glancing at the students, who are still talking over one another, indifferent to whether a teacher is present or not. His expression is flat, his movements sluggish, seeming drained from rushing in.
Instead of waiting for silence, he looks over the room with little interest. He then sets his tablet down, turns his attention to the screen and begins typing a message to send to the class:
Renewable Energy Distribution assignment due a week from Monday. Come to the front if you have questions.
There is no welcome speech, nor call for silence. He sits down, more to rest than without much conviction, staring ahead as if the wall beyond us might offer more meaning than we ever could. It looks like we have another teacher who has given up for the year.
He meets my eyes for a moment, then looks back past me as though I am not there. Something in me aches at his tired absence. I wonder what it would take to bring back the passion he used to have for teaching the subject. He could have the whole class hanging off his every word, if he really let himself care about what he’s teaching again!
“You picked the first one,” Claudia says, nudging me and interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I say, not quite ready to come back to the moment.
“The first bet. That Mr Klein comes before Dom,” she points out.
“Oh.” I murmur.
She carries on. “But I’ll still call it a win for me if he shows up at any time!”
I really don’t care, even if it would be nice not to have Dom’s group in this class. The easiest way to end the conversation is to just give her a quick “Ok,” hoping she’ll move on.
She catches my gaze lingering on Mr Klein, still not being approached, and jumps in. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I retort. “I’m just going to ask some questions about the assignment.”
She laughs in supposed realisation and smirks knowingly. “Oh yes. Enjoy your first date with your boyfriend.” I stand before she can say anything else, and walk away briskly to stop that kind of ridicule from continuing.
Mr Klein looks up with a polite but tired smile. Despite everything, there’s still a kind of youthful charm to his face, even if he never shows any awareness of it.
“Good morning, sir.” There’s something in his eyes, and just barely in his smile, that tells me he appreciates the respect.
“Good morning, Victoria,” he says, polite as always, though his voice carries the weight of fatigue.
I launch into my drawn-out question, “I am planning to email Dr. Mariana Montoya from United World to try and arrange an interview,” I begin, “and I am wondering if you have any suggestions on how to get her to agree to meet with me. She seems like a great primary source to reference, and there don’t seem to be many other strong options. She wrote our study textbook, has published scientific articles, and appears to be in charge of the whole renewable energy division.”
Mr Klein’s smile grows, and he seems to regain energy for the conversation. His posture straightens, and a spark returns to his eyes.
“I was wondering if anyone would pick up on that. Bill Collingwood or even Walter Reynolds could potentially be some good backups if Mariana doesn’t work out, but you have made a great choice.”
He stops to think. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Claudia making kissy faces in our direction while rubbing her index fingers together in the motion of making-out. Jono is turning red on my behalf, stuck sitting beside her and having to share the embarrassment. I ignore them both.
Mr Klein’s expression shifts with realisation. “I have an idea, but what do you have so far?”
I hand over my tablet, showing him the email I’ve drafted. He reads through it, and I can see his interest growing.
I show him the email I have drafted. He reads the draft and says, “That is very good, well done! I have never met someone with the word 'director' or 'president' in their title who is immune to flattery. And the 'doctor' title is a nice touch. In fact, the only thing I will suggest is to add some flattery of United World too. Promising to praise the name of United World, and to share great things about what they are doing with their distribution of renewable energy, will almost certainly make her want to meet with you.”
I give it some thought and agree with him. “You are right, I think that she would love that. Even the commentators during last night’s All Over Cricket game were saying what a great job she is doing.”
Mr Klein can't help but laugh at that. “Well, don’t go using them as a source. They are paid to talk for a living, and they do a pretty good job of promoting one of their main sponsors.”
I’m taken aback by his comment and stutter, “Oh, no, no. I’ll only use reliable, fact-driven sources. That’s why I’m hoping the interview can support the scientific research I’m referencing.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Of course,” he says simply. Then he adds with a dismissive edge, “Thank you for asking me about your email. I look forward to seeing if you manage to interview anyone directly for your project.”
I meet his eyes again. “Thank you too, sir,” I say, then turn and head back to my desk.
I continue to ignore Claudia’s face-pulling and inappropriate comments, and focus all my attention on writing this email while the wording is still clear in my mind.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dear Dr. Mariana,
Thank you for taking the time to read my email.
My name is Victoria, and I am a student at the Central Institute of Knowledge. I am currently working on an assignment about renewable energy resources in Australia and their impact on our daily lives and the economy.
I have greatly appreciated your article The Future of Resource Management and have been studying your textbook as well. Your insights have been incredibly valuable, and I would be truly honoured if I could interview you for my research.
This is more than just a project to me and with your approval, I would love to share all the great things that United World does for us on all of my social media accounts.
It would truly be an honour to meet you, and I am happy to make myself available at any time, even just for a few minutes, to be able to interview the best female role model a woman could have!
Please let me know either way, and thank you once again for taking the time to read my email.
Kind regards,
Victoria”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I edit the email and hit send before I have time to overthink it. Now to track down the email addresses and send backup interview requests to Bill Collingwood and Walter Reynolds. I’m hoping to ride the momentum and get two more emails out, just in case Mariana doesn’t respond.
…
I pace back and forth, my shoes squeaking on the polished floor of the open gallery hall above the main floor, just outside Mariana’s office. The thick green door in front of me looks more imposing than usual, a divide between her place in this world and mine.
She has been my boss for close to three years now, and this is the first time I’ve had a conversation like this. Now is not the time to think about that though. I replay my pitch over and over, mouthing the words softly to commit them to memory.
Realising I’ve been holding my breath, I slow my pace, place a hand on my chest, and inhale deeply. Composed confidence is essential.
With one more long breath, I knock on her door.
A woman’s voice calls out firmly, “You may enter.”
The door opens smoothly under my hand, and I step inside.
Mariana stands upright behind her raised desk, posture perfect, and eyes fixed on the curved monitor in front of her. She looks just as I remember, sharp, calculating, and somehow more imposing in person. She is of medium height, taller in her black heels, but she carries herself like someone better than all others.
She’s dressed in a fitted red blouse beneath a black blazer, paired with tailored slacks that echo the absoluteness of her manner. Her body is lean and disciplined, with a narrow waist that gives way to full curves she never draws attention to. Her short, dark brown hair is styled with precision, but the soft waves beneath it carry a quiet insistence, always ready to stir.
She looks up but does not smile. “Hi Theo. What do you want?”
I get straight to the point.
“I want to talk about my future here. You know better than anyone from our research that we can’t keep distributing power the way we do and still match the population growth.”
Mariana receives an email.
Just as I start to build momentum, her monitor draws her attention. She lifts a hand, palm out.
“Hold that thought, Theo.”
I cross my arms, silently watching her read what’s likely an email. The room feels smaller, and my nerves build with every second she stays silent. Her expression stays neutral, giving nothing away. When she finishes, she looks back at me.
“Ok, continue.”
I’ve forgotten all about breathing steadily and dive into my idea, still a little worked up from being told when to speak.
“Well, there are a lot of things we need to do in order for Australia to have a sustainable future, but I believe regardless of what decisions get made later, we need to take advantage of what we can do now. And that starts with buying more time by increasing renewable energy.”
Mariana’s voice is sharp, but not hostile. “We have already enforced solar panels on the roof of every building and vehicle, and installed plenty of wind turbines and hydro generators across all of the strongest rivers. What else can we do?”
“I want to run a project installing turbines beneath the ocean. Specifically, I want to begin in the Bass Strait. It has strong underwater currents, and King Island proved years ago that wave energy was viable. Since then, tidal strength has only increased due to gravitational shifts, and ocean temperatures have risen. That gives us a chance to draw thermal energy as well. It would double the efficiency of the infrastructure.”
She narrows her eyes, less skeptical than calculating.
“And you think this can be done?”
I was ready for this part. “I would like to lead a project to install turbines beneath the ocean along the Australian coast, starting with Bass Strait. The kinetic energy in that region is intense, with strong wave swirls and consistently rough conditions. Years ago, wave energy trials off King Island showed that the underwater currents there could be harnessed effectively.
Since then, ocean waves have grown stronger due to increased gravitational pull from the sun and moon affecting our tides. And with global ocean temperatures rising, we could also extract thermal energy as a secondary power source, giving us dual output from the same infrastructure.”
Mariana’s expression shifts, the superiority fading as she considers my idea. She leans forward a fraction, fingers tapping once against the desk before going still. For a moment she is not dictating authority.
I go on, taking advantage of the fact that she is still listening. “Of course, we have worked together for many years now and have become closer, so I wanted to come to you first before seeking funding and approval to start.”
For a moment, she says nothing. Then the glint of authority returns to her voice.
“How is everything going with Victoria? Do you still have to watch her closely?”
I blink. This is not where I expected the conversation to go, and the shift throws off my focus.
“She is doing fine, and I am keeping my eye on her when I need to,” I say.
“And the others?” she retorts.
“Yes, I am handling them too,” I reply evenly.
Mariana exhales through her nose. Her expression settles back into that polished, guarded calm that carries authority.
She finishes, “Personally, I think that the hydropower project, despite being a good idea, doesn’t need to be rushed into. It can be one of the many things raised at our next planning meeting, and I think that you still need to prove your responsibility by first taking care of Victoria and the others.”
I get worked up, angry at the logic behind her words, my thoughts flaring even as I force my body to stay still. I will always know what they’re up to, whether I’m here or not! She would rather they didn’t exist, just so we could get on with the job. But it’s not like I’m going to kill them. I knew it was a mistake coming to Mariana first!
Before I say something I can’t take back, I give my boss one last look of contempt and storm out, slamming the office door shut behind me. As the vibration rings out from the mezzanine, my thoughts finally catch up to my behaviour.
Ok, that might not have been the best idea, but at least she can feel the mood I’m in now.
I’m going to walk over to the café and grab a coffee. The kind that burns on the first sip and pulls you back into yourself. I’m sure I’ll find someone there to vent to.
Or maybe I should focus on taking care of Victoria, the best way I know how.
Lunch today is an overripe pear, my attempt to vary my nutrient intake with a different fruit than usual. No matter what I bring, it will never compare to Jono’s cold broccoli and chicken stir-fry or Claudia’s vibrant Greek salad, dotted with plump black olives and crumbled feta. That is nothing new though.
There will be others like me today, quietly enduring their meagre meals after their forced donations to the overflowing feast set before Dom and Sam. Dom rests back in his seat like he owns the table, wearing a tight black T-shirt that hugs his arms and shoulders, clearly chosen to show off the results of his training. His dark hair is still damp from a rushed rinse, and the self-absorption he wears looks permanent. Sam sits beside him, turning pasta over in a container with slow indifference. Sam sits beside him, turning pasta over in a container with slow indifference. His blue sleeveless T-shirt has a small tomato sauce stain near the hem and bold yellow writing that reads Check Out My Thunder Guns, stretched across a cartoon Zeus flexing his biceps, lightning bolts clutched in each hand. The print is loud, but he wears it like it is just another shirt.
It is strange to see Erin, Marco, and Ramona sitting with them after Tuesday’s football team selections. Erin wears denim shorts and a faded Rabbitohs rugby league T-shirt, the fabric worn soft from years of washing. Her sneakers are spotless, almost like someone else picked them for her. Her straight blonde hair hangs loose to her shoulders, framing dark eyes that flick between speakers. There is a quiet uncertainty to her, but she watches the others closely and mirrors what she can. She is slightly out of place, but clearly trying to fit in. Marco fits the image effortlessly, dressed in a crisp white collared shirt with the top buttons undone and dark jeans tailored just enough to suggest he cares. There is a polished ease to how he carries himself, a natural rhythm in the way he joins the conversation. Ramona sits across from him in hoop earrings and polished black boots, her cargo pants tucked neatly and a dark-green tank top that sets her apart without trying too hard. Both of them join in the conversation with the confidence that comes from having been placed in new circumstances before.
A few seats away, Sabina watches Sam, eyes narrowed, her expression calm but watchful. A ham sandwich sits on her tray, untouched except for a single careful bite. Everything she wears is black, from her fitted turtleneck to her sharp-creased trousers and polished boots. A thin silver chain rests at her collarbone, and small stud earrings catch the light when she turns. Roselyn sits beside her, one foot hooked under the table, wearing a fitted black tank top and a red crop jacket left unbuttoned. Her curls are tied high and slightly off center, and her jeans are cuffed above black sneakers, worn but holding up. Nothing she wears looks new, but it suits her. Neither of them says a word, but there is a sense they notice everything going on.
Mrs Pryor is sitting near their table today. To just say that she is our principal wouldn’t do her justice. Around seventy years old and medium-short in height, she sits upright in her usual long skirt and faded blazer, her grey hair neatly curled like always. She looks like she’s waiting for someone, or maybe just forgot why she sat down. The students avoid sitting at her table but otherwise act like she doesn’t exist. Her eyes drift across the room without settling, and would not be surprised if the dementia rumours were true.
Ernie walks into the lunchroom and, without a word, slides into the seat next to me. That is unusual, as this is not even his floor to eat on. He opens his tablet and starts playing a quiet game, eyes fixed on the screen, ears tuning out Claudia as she talks at me and Jono without expecting us to contribute.
Ernie glances over at the table where Marco sits with the rest of the football team. Ah, so that is his agenda. Dom catches the glance and, still in the middle of a conversation with Sam, rises from his seat and struts toward our table. His movements are lazy but deliberate, all swagger and smug intent. He unwelcomely drops into the seat beside Ernie and swivels slightly, so he is facing him directly, with me visible only in the background.
The students at the surrounding tables pause their conversations and twist in our direction, hoping for some lunch break entertainment.
“Why don’t you come over and join the rest of the team?” he asks Ernie, completely ignoring me. “Marco tells me that your father is happy for you to play. It would also be rude to distance yourself from your friend the day before his birthday. He’s sitting just over there with us… and eating a lot better than this," he says, eyeing Ernie’s sad little pear that matches mine.
I cannot see Ernie’s face from this angle, but his voice carries the weight of someone caught between our two worlds, balanced somewhere between guilt and resolve. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I will be with Marco all day tomorrow for his birthday though. He is still my best friend.”
Dom straightens up and gives a mock-patient smile. “You can join us now, but you’re also welcome anytime you want to be with the team. Rosy and I can protect you from this one.”
That ignites something in me. “You? Protect him from me? That is laughable!”
A smirk creeps onto Dom’s face and slowly widens. His eyes flick up to meet mine, full of arrogant amusement. “Yes, you are not quite the saviour you think you are.”
I push back my chair so fast it scrapes against the floor. Stepping around Ernie, I move to Dom’s side of the table and lean over him, my face hovering just above his. I shout down the words, my voice full of heat. “Stop trying to corrupt my family! You already have one, why are you targeting us?”
His grin stretches wider, full of smug victory, and as if daring me to react even further, he puckers his lips and blows me a mocking kiss. I recoil instinctively, my hands clenched, fury pulsing behind my eyes.
Ernie’s small hand wraps around my arm. The contact anchors me, pulling me back from doing something stupid. Claudia, without looking up from her food, says coolly, “Walk away, Dom.”
Satisfied with the stir he has caused, Dom rises with slow, exaggerated flair. “See you again soon,” he says to Ernie, then turns and strolls back to his table. He catches Sam’s eye and performs a theatrical bow, sending half the floor into laughter.
Mrs Pryor, of all people, beams a delighted smile at him, clearly enjoying the performance.
Urgh, when can this year be over?
