The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie Read Online Free Page A

of laughter, and continued on my way.
    Emily Thompson is next.
    As for the weekend? My first weekend in Year 11? I think it went well. At Kmart, I was on the changing room door and had to give out the plastic numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5. (It is forbidden to try on more than five items at a time.)
    I like to imagine that I am the Gatekeeper to the Kingdom of Changing Rooms. The plastic number is my gift to shoppers. A magic key that will reveal its purpose at an unexpected moment. Perhaps it will slay a dragon or open a secret door?
    I have noticed that shoppers do not see the plastic number in this way.
    Anyway, I survived Kmart, and I ticked off everything on Saturday’s list. But I encountered my downfall again:
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    reverie
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    This is what happened.
    When I arrived at the Brentwoods to babysit on Saturday night, Maureen Brentwood gave me TWO BOOKS.
    She runs a second-hand bookshop called Maureen’s Magic, and she has been promising to set aside a book that I might like. I have never believed her promise. Why give away books when you could sell them?
    Seriously, it’s just not the secret to success. There is flaking paint on her front door and mould spots on her bathroom ceiling: I believe she could use some success.
    Yet, she gave me two books as she ran out the door, her husband waving from the car.
    Now, I was planning to spend the evening reciting John Donne poems to Rebecca (aged three) and Sam (aged one), to help me memorise the poems (and for the good of the children’s vocabulary), but instead, I watched them play with their fingerpaints.
    And as I watched, I thought to myself: what a lovely person Mrs Brentwood is, and what a rare thing it is, to meet a thoughtful person in this cruel world, and also: how did she know that I love history? (The books are about etiquette in the nineteenth century.)
    Next thing I was caught up in reverie about books, history, clothes, rules, manners, kindness and so on, and all the time I was so happy that Mrs Brentwood had thought of me, I wanted to cry.
    After I put the children to bed I played Mr Brentwood’s PlayStation™ all night.
    I don’t know.
    So much for the night of John Donne!
    Last night there was babysitting for Eleanora—no chance of working there, of course! (She knows of my fondness for history, but I cannot imagine her giving me books.)
    How do I expect to maintain my position (first) in all my classes if I don’t use every moment? People say that Year 12is important because that’s when you do the HSC, but it’s in Year 11 that your rank is set in stone. If I slip down a rank or two this year, I doubt I will be able to climb back up and I will end up living on the streets with a cardboard sign:
    $1 for a smile
    Now, it is my belief that character flaws should be imprisoned to stop them from spreading. But I’m tired of writing the word ‘reverie’ and putting it into a box.
    reverie
    I must think about Emily Thompson.
    It’s lucky I don’t need much sleep.
reverie
    reverie
reverie
    I believe that Emily Thompson is a vampire.
    Also, I believe that Emily Thompson wrote the following on my Name Game:
    Well, what can you say about Bindy. Hmm. Did someone say the word ‘SMART’???? Bindy! You have words in your head that would be too long to fit in anyone else’s head! Because you have SUCH A HUGE HEAD!! Just kidding!! (kind of)
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    Let me explain why I think that.
    Emily Thompson is a walking exclamation mark.
    She is always opening her mouth and her eyes in astonishment. She reminds me of the face at Luna Park, or a set of swinging double doors. Life bursts out of Emily’s face just as people burst through swinging double doors.
    She adores, nay she devours! (sucks the blood) of the people she likes. (Such as her two best friends—who, along with Emily, spent the summer with my mother, by the way. Did I spend the summer with my mother? Why, no, actually. Thanks for asking. She was