Mum works several jobs to keep the money coming in. It always seems unfair to me that she works such long hours for so little, when La-a's father works half the year and is practically rolling in money.
To him that hath, shall be given and from him that hath not, shall be taken even that which he hath. I read that in a book once. I think it's from the bible. Whoever wrote it understood what it was like to have nothing.
I've learned to fend for myself, once spending all my paper delivery money buying a rusty old rabbit trap at a market. I took it into the bush near our house and caught a feral rabbit. I brought it home and skinned it. It was nearly cooked by the time Mum arrived home. The smell was mouth-watering, but Mum was so upset I never did it again. I think she had visions of me turning into a serial killer. She didn't even let me keep the pelt.
I tried to talk to Mum once, about my dream being real. She said I had an over-active imagination and I should bring friends over more often instead of being on my own all the time. She made it sound like it was my choice to be alone, like she didn't remember my eleventh birthday.
Our battered old car sits in the driveway when I arrive home from school. It's a rare surprise to find Mum at the house midweek and even stranger to see her in the kitchen preparing dinner.
"There you are, darling." She dries her hands on a tea towel as she leans over to kiss my cheek. "How was your day?"
"Fine," I say lifting the lid of the saucepan on the stove and eyeing the contents suspiciously.
"I brought you home a present." She beams at me as I abandon my investigation of dinner.
I look at her in surprise as she squeezes past to rummage in her handbag left on the kitchen table. She pulls out a long thin item wrapped in a sheet of newspaper and taped together.
"Open," she says, holding it out.
I pick carefully at the tape, peeling away the paper to find three new pencils lying inside.
"2B or not 2B, that is the pencil, is it not?" She smiles at me.
"Thanks Mum." I throw my arms around her in a brief hug.
"The boss went home early, so I had free range with the stationary cupboard," she whispers conspiratorially to me. "By the way, Maree from work is having a birthday on Friday. Now you have new pencils, do you think you can spare a sheet of sketch paper and draw me a card for her?"
I miss Will the most when I wake, but sometimes life is okay when it's just Mum and me.
We receive our history assignment at the beginning of the week. There's an automatic groan from the class, but Ms Miller has recovered from her cold and we don't have the substitute. I'm quietly intrigued by the project.
We have to choose a time in history and imagine we live there. The assignment requires us to describe our surroundings, what we are doing and eating. We are to write a story to tell people about this time, starting with the words "I open my eyes and see..."
I'm unusually excited for school the day the assignment is due. Standing outside the classroom being ignored as we wait for our teacher to appear, I feel I've captured my chosen time period perfectly. Two of the boys discuss the credibility of their fictional excuses for not being able to submit their work on time. I keep my head down, so no one sees me smile, and hug my books to my chest.
La-a shoves me into the wall, recalling me back to my surroundings and removing the expression from my face. Ms Miller arrives and I quickly slip through the door and take my seat.
"Place your assignment on the table in front of you," Ms Miller instructs. I lay my stapled, hand-written pages carefully upside down in front of me. I glance around, I've written far more than anyone else.
Ms Miller wanders the room glancing at everyone's submission. The two boys discussing excuses outside the classroom are given detentions. When they protest that they have good reasons, she informs them they can tell her all about it during lunch. No one argues with Ms Miller. She heads back to the front of the class and studies us.
"James." She singles out a student from the back of the class. "Come to the front and read what you've written."
James leaps out of his chair and swaggers to the front of the classroom. The other boys cheer him on. He shakes out his single typed page, rolls his neck, flicks his dark hair off his face and clears his throat. The class is silent, waiting for his story.
"I open my eyes and see the super cool paint job on the side of my time machine. A noise makes me spin around. It is a tyrannosaurus..." he pauses the story to add a loud roar, "... and he is about to eat me. I grab my laser gun and commando roll out of his way." James includes some actions to highlight the story, narrowly missing the teacher.
"Thank you, James," Ms Miller interrupts as James picks himself off the floor. "I don't think you quite understood the point of the assignment. How about we try someone else?"
La-a raises her hand. Ms Miller waves her up to the front of the class as her friends cheer her on. She repeats James' actions, waiting for the applause before starting her story.
"I open my eyes and see a naked cave man standing over me. He is very well hung and I am concerned for my safety, but he is more interested in the road kill behind me." La-a pauses to let the laughter die down.
"I think we need someone who may have actually done some research." Ms Miller brings the story to a halt amid groans from the class.
Ms Miller scans the room, her eyes coming to rest on my pile of pages. I pull them towards me as though that will prevent her from calling my name to read my words to the class.
"Lucy?"
I drag myself out of my seat and study the floor as I walk to the front of the class. No one cheers for me. I look at my handwriting on the first page and take a deep breath. Someone makes a rude noise and the class snickers. The teacher shushes them. I try again.
"I open my eyes and see the grey, cloudy sky above me framed by grape vines to either side of my vision. The vineyard is not like the modern ones with rows stretching on uninterrupted. These rows are short with various trees interspersed between them. I recognise olives, figs and some type of nut.
I stand and brush the dark, fertile soil from my dress. Behind me a mountain looms as though guarding the countryside. It looks out of place and for some reason I feel nervous. I drag my eyes away. Laid out before me is a town set inside stone walls. I make my way on foot in that direction as the first drops of rain fall from the sky.
I'm following the dirt road to the town when I trip over an object lying on the ground. I retrieve the small bronze statue of a woman. She holds a ship's rudder in one hand as though directing me to my destination. I hold onto her as I continue walking in the rain.
The muddy road becomes lined with monuments to the dead. They are impressive stone structures, some displaying the urns holding the ashes of their owners. I recognise roman numerals on some of the plaques as well as a scattering of symbols like the ones we use in maths classes when we don't know an angle of a triangle. In some places there is graffiti.
Inside the town's gate, I step up onto the raised stone sidewalk to avoid the rain water washing the filth from the streets. The stone buildings encroach on the narrow sidewalk. Many of the walls are painted in bright reds and yellows.
When I reach an intersection, I pause to see if my bronze goddess will direct me. The mountain towers behind me and the water flows away from me. There are large stepping stones crossing the street leaving enough room for the wheels of a cart to pass between them.
The goddess appears to be looking left so that is the way I head. I pass two more side streets, but I stay with my direction. I am looking at my statue, when I slip on the wet stones..."
Something lands on the page, making me jump. The eraser has the name 'Tayla' inked onto the sides. I glance up to see Bianca and Tayla struggling over Tayla's pink pencil case. Bianca grabs for another item to throw, while Tayla tries to protect the contents.
While I was reading, I was lost in the story. Now I am thrust back into the present where there are no interested classmates. Tears form in my eyes and I give up reading my story. I hurry back to my seat and put my head down so no one can see my face.
"Lucy, we'd like to hear the rest of your story," Ms Miller says.
I shake my hung head and refuse to look up. A single tear falls onto my desk.
"Would anyone like to guess where or when Lucy was in her story?" Ms Miller asks the class.
"Loser land," someone coughs into their hand.
"La-a, you can join the boys in lunchtime detention," Ms Miller replies.
"What did I do?" La-a exclaims.
Ms Miller ignores her and moves on to the next topic.