Laurinda by Alice Pung Page A

held her sacred object in the same reverence.
    “My father will get it valued for you by his friend Gregory Mitchell,” Amber offered, handing it back.
    “No thanks, Amber. I’m never going to sell this!” Gina hugged the blue notebook to her chest.
    “Come on, Gina. I mean, I know you think it’s priceless and all, but Gregory can tell you how much it will be worth in ten years’ time,” said Chelsea. “Gregory valued a Neighbours swap card I’ve had since 1987, and you wouldn’t believe how much it’s worth today.”
    “I don’t care how much it’s worth to others,” said Gina. “It can’t mean more to anyone else than it does to me.”
    I saw Chelsea rolling her eyes at Brodie.
    “Well, he can at least tell you how to mount and frame it properly for your room,” said Brodie gently. “Come on. We’d like to do this for you.”
    Week after week, Gina asked about her notebook. Week after week, Amber told her it was with Gregory, getting valued . . . until one morning. A crowd milled around Amber, who sat slumped at her desk. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her huge eyes filling with tears when Gina arrived. “I feel so guilty. Gregory lost it. He said he would look into it, and must have left it around somewhere . . . He thinks his wife put it out in the recycling.”
    “On the bright side, I suppose it must not have been worth as much as we thought,” Chelsea said, patting Amber on the back. Because Amber was crying so much, Gina could not. But I watched her as she tried to keep her chin under control. This school sure taught you stoicism.
    *
    Another time, the Cabinet turned on Katie. “What are you doing your oral assignment on?” Brodie asked Katie, who considered herself a Russian history expert.
    “Tsar Nicholas’s family, and the mystery of Anastasia. Lucy and I are thinking of re-enacting the murder of the royal family, but from a modern-day forensic scientist’s perspective.” For two days, this project had been all Katie would talk about at lunchtime.
    “I don’t think it’s a group assignment, Katie.”
    “Ms Vanderwerp said that we could work together.”
    “Well, Ms Vanderwerp told me that it was an oral presentation, to assess our speaking skills. That’s what she said to me . But if you want to make a song and dance about Tsar Nicholas and his family, by all means go ahead.”
    “I’ll go and ask Ms Vanderwerp.”
    “Sure, and of course she’ll say yes to you , Katie – if you really want to torture us with fifteen minutes of your version of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure .”
    Katie made no move to see Ms Vanderwerp.
    “But we could totally do it,” I told her at recess. She was sitting glumly, the quietest she had ever been. “Come on, Katie, it’ll be fun.”
    “Nah.”
    “But you said you’ve already started writing the script.”
    “Nah,” Katie said sadly. “Don’t want to look like a fool.”
    When the week of the presentations arrived, Katie stood up and read from two pages of notes. “Nikolay Alexandrovich Romanov was the last Emperor of Russia and Grand Duke of Finland, known as Bloody Nicholas to his enemies because of his approval of anti-Jewish massacres and pogroms, and his execution of political rivals.”
    Katie’s sentences were far too long and left her breathless; she’d forgotten that words typed on a page were different to spoken words. In the middle of her talk, the Cabinet stood up and left the room. Katie noticed and looked up, losing her place. She looked back down at her notes and finished her talk, but when she walked back to her desk I could see that she was shaking.
    Suddenly, the Cabinet reappeared, in full costume – Brodie in a fake beard and a greatcoat with epaulettes, Amber in a long gown and tiara. Chelsea was a younger girl with a frock that fell beneath her knees and a yellow ribbon in her hair. They had created a slideshow of images, which, when projected onto the wall behind them, served as historical