Yours, Juli Read online

  Yours, Juli

  Thalia Lark

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Yours, Juli

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright Information

  The Dead Bed

  Fight or Flight

  Alex Calvin

  Crossing Bridges

  The Dawn of Things to Come

  Harvey

  Only a Little Scared

  Girl Crushes

  Ride of My Life

  Catatonia

  Full Moon

  Tyranny’s Claim on My Fate

  Weekend Plans

  Two-Timer

  Interrogations

  Secrets

  Hospital Trip

  Crossing Lines

  Probation

  Relieved of Duty

  Emotional Sedation

  Holiday Weight

  Taking Control

  Reflections

  Human

  Weeping Beauty

  Busted

  Courage

  Allegations

  Rooftop

  Reunions and Reconciliations

  Loose Ends

  Christmas Surprises

  About the Author

  The author lives in rural Queensland, Australia, with her family, four dogs, three cats and Daisy the chicken. She enjoys writing, reading and playing the violin. She is currently studying psychology, and she absolutely adores Taylor Swift. She leads a quiet life – some may even call it boring – but it makes her happy and that is all that counts.

  About the Book

  The last thing Juli wants to do is leave the open spaces of the Australian outback and move to a suburban boarding school, but after her father moves to Melbourne and her mother’s health is left on shaky ground, she has no choice. Life at St Peter’s holds more than a few surprises; however, when Juli chances across Alexandra Calvin, she is suddenly forced to deal with new and unfamiliar feelings that she fears shouldn’t be there. While struggling to figure out how she feels, Juli is bombarded with an influx of sudden life events that leave her treading waters herself. Can she overcome the obstacles she is facing? Can she battle the fear that is holding her prisoner? If she can’t, she could lose everything that was ever important to her – and everything she has grown to love.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Nanna, who believed in this book and believed in me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © Thalia Lark (2019)

  The right of Thalia Lark to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788236935 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781788236942 (Hardback)

  ISBN 9781788236959 (E-Book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  A huge thank you to Mum and Dad, the most loving parents in the world. You guys have carried me through the hard parts, encouraged me through the easy and pushed me into the manageable when I didn’t have the guts. For that, I am eternally grateful. Thanks also to Charlotte, my one and only and most favourite baby sister, for teaching me how to be cool (even if your efforts weren’t entirely successful), and thanks to my incredible friend Millie for your brilliant teacher-in-the-making editing skills and unswerving loyalty. Thanks to Tia as well (my awesome fellow writer and friend) for your encouragement. Thank you Pete for inspiring and understanding me. Thanks to all my other friends and family members for your love and support. And thank you especially to Nanna, who was the first to read this book. You had faith in me and in the first draft, and that gave me faith in myself. Finally, thank you to the team at Austin Macauley for making my dream a reality.

  The Dead Bed

  The second I stepped out of our Ute, I knew St Peter’s Boarding School wasn’t for people like me. The perimeter of the school was fenced off with ten-foot-high iron railings. I half-expected to see coils of barbed wire lining the top. The buildings were grey stone and clustered closely together, interspersed by narrow concrete walkways, small courtyards of bristly short-cropped grass and empty garden beds. Evidently it was lunch time, because students in the same pressed grey uniform as mine were surging through the grounds.

  ‘I reckon you’ll like it here, Juli,’ Mum said, slamming the front driver’s door. A few girls just a couple of metres away behind the prison-fence looked up. ‘It has fantastic amenities. And it’s got one of the highest academic reputations in the state. They’ll likely be able to find some extra tuition for you.’

  I tried not to glare at my mother as I unhooked the dusty trailer cover and dragged out my duffel bag. I narrowed my eyes in the girls’ direction, daring them to point me out to the crowds, and they hastily looked away. I wanted so badly to load the Ute back up, climb in the front and start the four hour drive back home. More than that I wanted to shout at my mother and tell her just how much I hated her for sending me away. City boarding schools were for rich kids and snobs and high academic achievers and germophobes. They weren’t for undisciplined farm girls who rode horses bareback and swam naked in the dam and blew their nose in a leaf because they were too lazy to return to the house for a tissue. But after Dad left us, my mother had no choice. She said I was too difficult to handle at home on top of the stress of the divorce. She’d end up with a nervous breakdown.

  I slung my duffel strap over one shoulder and grabbed my shoulder pack. Mum locked the Ute and I glanced at it as we headed for the front gates, my frown deepening as I noticed just how dirty it looked amidst the polished hatchbacks scattered along the curb outside St Peter’s. Countless times had I stood in that trailer, hanging onto the rear of the cabin, as Dad careered through potholes down our drive after the January rains, splattering the vehicle and me with fresh mud.

  Mum smoothed back her hair and brushed the front of her shirt down as we pushed the gates open and headed towards the first building, which was signposted ADMINISTRATION. She didn’t look at me and didn’t speak again until we’d come to a halt before the steps. I was partly feeling uncomfortable at the silence between us, but mostly I was grateful. It was easier to be polite if I didn’t have to say anything.

  I stared mostly at the ground as we walked and tried not to think of all the eyes following our every move. Somehow I felt particularly unkempt, though I was wearing the same grey button-down shirt, woven pleated skirt, and woollen knee socks as all the other girls I could see. The boys wore trousers of course, a fact I acknowledged with great resentment.

  Mum raised her eyes to the russet portico above the staircase as we dwindled to a stop. My eyes fell instead on the two girls sitting on the steps and watching us guardedly. Either Mum didn’t notice them or chose not to greet them. Instead she rested her hands on her hips and nodded firmly, rotating her chin ever so slightly towards me as she voiced aloud her thoughts. ‘There’s a heap of different recreational clubs you can join outside your classes, you know.’

  ‘What, like chess?’

  I could tell she didn’t catch my sarcasm. ‘I
didn’t see chess listed there. There’s an outdoor recreation club though which I thought you might like. Apparently they go away on trips during vacations and stuff. There’s also a literary group, some sort of board game club in the library—’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’ I frowned as the two girls raised their eyebrows and smiled a little, watching us with interest. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder uncomfortably. I was hoping we could just hurry up and pass them before either they or my mother decided introductions were necessary, but fate just wasn’t working in my favour that day.

  The girl on the left stood up and wandered down the steps casually to meet us. I cast my eyes up and down her furtively. She was an inch shorter than me, thin and wiry, with shoulder-length black hair that looked dyed, a few freckles and piercing blue eyes framed with black eyeliner. Her expression was arrogant, even a little condescending, as she smiled towards first my mother then me.

  ‘New student?’ she asked.

  I nodded stiffly.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Julianne.’

  ‘That’s old-fashioned.’ She looked me over with one hand on her hip and smiled a little. ‘I’m Courtney, and this is Miranda,’ motioning with a thumb to the girl who’d followed her down quietly, a sturdy blonde with soft brown eyes and crooked front teeth. Miranda smiled at me and held out a hand, which I shook briefly as my mother watched our exchange in silence.

  ‘So,’ Courtney said suddenly, her forehead furrowing a little. ‘What grade are you in?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘Cool, same as us.’ She gestured between her and her friend nonchalantly. ‘It’s a real small grade, probably the smallest in the school. There’s only twenty-three of us.’ She shrugged a little, then turned her attention to my mum. ‘I can show her to the office and our dorm if you’d like. That way you don’t have to stick around.’

  Mum glanced at me and nodded slowly. ‘That sounds good,’ she said, seemingly ignorant of the dark glares I was shooting at her from the side. ‘Alright… Well, in that case I’ll push off then. Get home before feeding time for the animals.’ She pulled me into an awkward, one-armed hug and patted my back a few times, her eyes searching and not meeting mine properly. I couldn’t tell for sure whether she was distracted or repressing grief at leaving me, but the latter didn’t seem very likely. Boarding school had been her idea and hers alone. ‘I’ll leave you with your new friends then,’ she said, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she started retreating slowly back down the path. She glanced at me and held one hand to her ear. ‘Call me when you get settled. Or shoot me an email or something.’

  I nodded once before turning back towards Courtney and hitching my duffel bag a little higher towards my neck. Courtney smiled casually and looked me up and down again, her hands back on her narrow hips.

  ‘You don’t look like you’re from around here,’ she said. ‘Where are you from?’

  My voice was tight with discomfort as I replied. ‘Warrabeela.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’ Then suddenly she smiled, dropped onto the pavement beside me, and looped her arm through mine. ‘Come on then. We’ll take you to the office first so you can tell them you’ve arrived and get your timetable and everything, then we’ll go to the dorm so you can drop off your bags. We’ve got about half an hour left of break before third period – should give us plenty of time.’

  She led me up the steps and into the front office, which was air-conditioned and a pleasant relief from the humid warmth outside. There was a robust woman in a beige shirt with cropped brown hair and glasses behind the desk. Her name tag identified her as Irene Blake, and she looked up and smiled sagely as the three of us approached. ‘Courtney, Miranda,’ she said, nodding to each in turn with slightly narrowed eyes. Then her eyes fell on me. ‘Who have we got here?’

  ‘This is Julianne,’ Courtney said.

  Mrs Blake raised one eyebrow as she focused her attention on me and beckoned me forward with one hand. ‘Julianne,’ she said, her gaze falling to her computer screen as Courtney pushed me forward roughly. I frowned and regained my balance before resting my forearms lightly on the benchtop and waiting for Mrs Blake to speak again.

  ‘Julianne Page?’ she asked after a moment of silence.

  I nodded.

  ‘I have your timetable here.’ She scrolled through her computer screen, and then busied herself with filling the paper tray of the grey printer beside her computer, leaving me to exhale slowly and glance around the white office. There were a few potted plants besides the padded chairs where Courtney and Miranda had retreated to, but other than that very little by way of interior decoration. I looked back around again at the sound of the printer jolting into life. Mrs Blake handed me several documents and I scanned over the timetable in silence, my eyes searching but absorbing little.

  ‘Miss Wheaton’s your form teacher this year. She’ll be preparing for her next class at the moment, but you’ll be able to meet her later on when school finishes. If you have any questions or concerns she’ll be your first port of call. Can you two show Julianne to the dormitories?’ Mrs Blake looked over at Courtney and Miranda, who both stood up and nodded. ‘Alright. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Julianne. You’ve got English next period with Mr Warner – just stick with the girls until then and they’ll show you where to go. You can go and get your textbooks at afternoon tea. Courtney, make sure to show her where the library is.’

  I smiled a little in thanks, turning towards the door as Courtney took my arm again and started leading me out, Miranda following closely behind.

  Courtney guided me through the school grounds too rapidly for me to absorb much more than the fact that everything seemed to be built from concrete. The pathways and buildings merged together in such a blur of grey stone I started to worry how I was ever going to find my way around. To distract myself I focused my thoughts on keeping my balance as Courtney jostled me with her brisk pace.

  ‘There’s only one girls’ dormitory for the tenth grade,’ she said. ‘It’s a little cramped with twelve girls in it but it has a nice view of the grounds. Sucks to be you though because you get the Dead Bed.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Dead Bed.’ She smiled a little, her eyes lighting up with wicked amusement. ‘One of the bunks in the dorm is a shit-hole to sleep in. It wobbles and the mattress is hard and there’s mildew inside the drawers, so everybody avoids it. All the others are taken now though, so unless you want to sleep on the floor you’re stuck with it.’

  I frowned. ‘Why do you call it the Dead Bed?’

  She smirked and glanced at Miranda, who cleared her throat and replied. ‘There’s an old rumour that one year back in the seventies a girl died in her sleep in that bed.’ She looked at me and shook her head, her brown eyes warm but slightly nervous. ‘It’s just a story, of course. You don’t need to be worried about it.’

  Courtney grinned at me. ‘One girl even pissed in that bed she was so frightened the dead girl’s ghost would appear.’

  ‘Oh, stop trying to scare her.’

  ‘Loosen up, Miranda. Just because you’re afraid of everything, doesn’t mean everyone else is.’

  I frowned. Courtney’s manner had not exactly appealed to me so far, but this was the first time I’d heard actual callousness in her voice; it was subtle, but it was definitely there. I allowed my thoughts to trail to home after that, trying to distract myself from the uncomfortable tension blossoming within our little group. Courtney interrupted my daydreaming moments later as she led us down a sheltered walkway towards a large sign that said GIRLS DORMITORIES, pointing it out as we passed. I was getting a little uncomfortable with the heat radiating from her body at this point, so I pulled my arm from hers awkwardly and stepped sideways to create a little distance between us. She looked affronted and folded her arms across her chest, lapsing into grudging silence.

  We entered the three-storey grey stone building suddenly looming ab
ove us through a small glass door on the right. Courtney strode on ahead of Miranda and me, ascending a narrow wooden staircase to the right of a long hallway. She gestured towards the hall as we passed. ‘Eighth and ninth graders’ dorms down there.’ Her voice was stiff and unfriendly. ‘Tenth and eleventh graders on the second floor. Seniors on the third.’

  I followed a short distance behind Miranda, my eyes raking the rough white walls as Courtney led us to the top of the staircase and then down a carpeted corridor. She stopped suddenly and turned left through an open doorway at the end of the hall. ‘This is our room,’ she said, glancing at us over her shoulder. She strode to the end of the room, climbed one of the bunk ladders and fell back across the bed, the doona puffing up around her before settling back down on the mattress. She gestured lazily to the other side of the room without looking. ‘That’s the Dead Bed.’

  The room was long and lined with six bunks on either side, each comprising a raised bed with a small desk and set of drawers underneath. At the end was a long window that spanned the width of the room. The football oval, swimming pool and gym were all visible, but the “view” was far too much concrete and far too little shrubbery and grazing cattle for my taste. Each bunk was dressed with crisp white sheets and different coloured doonas except the third to the end on the right. The mattress was bare on this bed, one of the drawers slightly ajar, and the wooden frame distinctly shabby in contrast to the newness of the two bunks flanking it.

  I walked towards it slowly, taking a deep breath to allow everything so far to sink in: the greyness and sameness of this alien school, the documents and map still clenched in my clammy hand, the unfamiliar characters of Courtney and her friend. I lowered my duffel bag onto the floor in front of the Dead Bed’s desk, my eyes raking over the bunk. Miranda appeared at my left suddenly and knelt down to crank open the bottom drawer. She waved a hand in front of her face as a faint mouldy odour rose to meet us.

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ she said, her wrinkled nose suggesting otherwise.