Still Waving Read Online Free Page A

Aunt Jean gave me a queer look.
    â€˜You know, girl surfer, don’t be so yesterday. That’s what I am. A girl curl. A waxhead.’
    Aunt Jean looked concerned. ‘I hope you’re a bit more than that, Julie.’
    Why was Aunt Jean so serious, why didn’t she just chill out and get a life!
    I know my school results were on her mind and that she was dying to ask if they’d come with today’s mail. My mental vomit zone was thinking what those results were going to say. It had been a bad year and I didn’t feel I could possibly have done very well. I prayed every day for a mail strike.
    I went to the fridge to get some chilled water.
    â€˜Do you want a slice of lemon with that?’
    Aunt Jean already had a tumbler filled with icecubes and lemon.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Let’s go up to the roof where you can tell me all about this, um, girl curl you’ve met.’
    The air became thicker as I climbed the stairs. I stepped out on to the roof and the heat closed in all around me. It was hard to breathe and my throat burnt slightly. ‘Gee it’s bloody hot.’ I remember the first time I’d said ‘bloody’, when I was about seven, I got belted. It didn’t seem fair because I’d learnt the bloody word off Mum and Dad. It didn’t stop me saying it then, and now I say it when I bloody well feel like it, whenever I bloody can.
    We walked to the roof’s edge.
    â€˜I’ve never seen it like this before. So much smoke, so close and even burning embers falling in some parts of the city,’ Aunt Jean said. ‘They believe most of the fires were deliberately lit.’
    I shuddered. My father deliberately lit a deadly fire.
    Aunt Jean looked at me and put her hand on my arm. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up that subject.’
    â€˜I’ve got to get over words like, you know, murder, arson, domestic violence, child abuse.’ I looked at Aunt Jean defiantly.
    â€˜Oh Julie.’
    â€˜It’s okay.’ I turned away, tears stinging my eyes. I took deep breaths, tried to think about nothing and not spin out. ‘It’s not your fault.’
    â€˜Remember, it’s not yours either.’
    I shook her hand off my arm. ‘I didn’t say it was.’
    â€˜Julie, a lot of children …’
    â€˜I’m not a child!’
    I was that close to just getting up and running down to my room and slamming the door, but something held me back. Maybe my age, I wasn’t fourteen anymore. I felt my mother around me, calming me. I wanted Mum in person, not just this feeling. I wanted her to hug me, like she used to when I was upset. I’d never have my mother’s hug again, ever. Its absence made me ache all over. I wanted to roll up into a little ball and roll away.
    Aunt Jean’s voice interrupted my impending despair.
    â€˜Jules, I didn’t mean to offend you and say you’re a child. I was saying a lot of young people …’
    I shot daggers and was about to say something angry.
    Aunt Jean put her hand up. ‘Please don’t interrupt. Children, young people, even adults feel responsible for their parents’ or partner’s bad behaviour.’
    â€˜I’ve heard this a thousand times.’ I crossed my arms.
    If Aunt Jean was going to lecture me, I was going to jump off the roof. I could see the headline in the paper. ‘Potential World Champion Girl Curl Final Fall Total Wipe-out!’ I almost smiled at the way my brain interrupted a dramatic moment with a stupid thought.
    â€˜Julie, let’s have a truce. It’s too hot and airless to waste energy fighting. I know you know all about it.’ Aunt Jean put her hand on my arm and I let her. ‘Tell me about this girl you’ve met.’
    I was glad Aunt Jean had changed the subject. The unhappy part of me wanted to say she drinks and takes drugs.
    â€˜She’s cool.’
    What’s the point of me