1989 School Magazine

CREATIVE SECTION

WTNNER OF THE 1988 QATIS LITERARY COMPETITION (Short Story - Years 1l/12) THE MUSO AND THE MASSES

Then there was the other extreme: the dags. In a corner oJ the bus shelter right now some ot' these girls were clumped Iike gluggy macoroni. Theg appeared awkward ond ungainly in their uniforms, and looked the type about to button up their blazers, something no-one did. Each girl wore hair ribbons exactly the regulation colour - there was nothing wrong with that in itselJ, but he wondered why theg bothered to put a ribbon in their hair at all. Most of them had eminently forgettable hair with no particular style or colour... he thought most ot' them would look better bald. They all seemed completely characterless and uninteresting. He knew grouping girls os slufs or dags in- uolued gross generalizations, but eueryone did it, either conscious/y or subconsciouslg. "She's not like either of those types," he noted. She was the sort who could subtly break some school rules, and get away with it. By doing this she did not appear a "straight" sociolly, but still looked stylish, neat and respectable, so roos still "a credit to the school". He looked at her through the crowd of boys. Her badge was not halt'way down her tie, as was the rule, but neither was it right down the bottom, which bespoke a real rebel. Her hair clip was not the regulotion colour, but it was tortoise- shell, so barely noticeable against her swirls of tot't'ee-coloured hair. Her personolity was not obliterated by the unit'orm and he liked ihis. "Whot is she? Vege, slut, muso, stroight, dag, tart, swampie?" He couldn't classit'y her. He knew what he was: a muso. And proud ot' it. Apart t'rom genuinely louing music he also liked the type ot' bogs who haunted the music department. Quiet, unobtrusiue and non-abusiue. He looked again at her flute. Was it possible...? The next day while wedged uncomt'ortably between other students on the bus to school, he idly listened to the group of girls near him talking. "Are you going to the Ekka this year?" "Dunno. Can't really at'ford it," answered a blonde, trging to recline gracet'ullg against the bus pole. The pole looked rather like her, he thought. A uoice came lrom under a pile oJ schoolbogs on a nearby seot-"lt's cheaper than Expo..." "That's not what I meant," said the blonde. She rubbed her hair-spray filled Jringe round till it looked like o steel wool pot-scourer. "Had a party on Friday nighL Gross pig-out! Ate so many chips... I must'ue put on ten kilos. I just know I'd buy so much junk at the Ekka and I'm t'ot enough as it ts__. "Oh no you're not!" came the uoice under the schoolbags. "Gosh, if I had your figure I wouldn't complain! I can't euen eot a biscuit without t'eeling guilty..." "But you don't look at all fat!" burst in another. "I'ue got to lose ot /eosf six kilos before the dance next Fridoy..."

He sow her at the bus sfop. Euen in school uniform she ap- peared as dainty and bright as a rainbow finch. The sun glinted on her t'eathered Jringe, and her curls turned the colour of the new two dollar coin. He knew who she was - eueryone did - but he had only euer glimpsed her at a distance before. She olways seemed to be in the centre ot' a group ot' girls or boys, always smiling. Wheneuer he thought of her face he sou if os liuely and laughing. Gazing at his own face in the mirror he thought how hopeless he ruos in comporison. "Not that I'm dumb," he mused, "but she folks so easily to the others. Oh why is if so easy to moke friends with the other guys, and make them laugh..." With girls he always wound up in an awkward silence which neither person dared t'ill. His friends thought that he didn't like girls porticularly and that he preferred orchestra reheorsals. "But that's just not true!" he thought. "It' I knew someone who seemed to haoe similar interests, and didn't laugh at what I like..." Then he saw her at the bus stop. It was later than usual ' he'd been to Senior Orchestra. He noticed she carried a flute case. She looked at his uiola and they both smiled. But a group of sixth-formers orriued and immediately she was surrounded. He turned round to listen to another group of sixth-t'ormers behind him... the 'bross' section of the orchestra. "Who was that chick you Luere with ot Expo on Saturday?" Ieered one. "Which one? Geez, I'ue had three in the lost week." "She hod blonde hoir - looked pretty yukko." "Oh, Sandy - - thot slut! Yeah, don't worrg about her; that's all ouer... she's o real jerk. Did ya see her legs? Talk obout chunky..." He loughed with them (a pert'ected technique), but inwardly sighed. That was all they euer talked about. He wondered if the girls knew they were obused by their so-called boyfriends all the time. hobobly they wouldn't care. He knew the type. Just a t'ew metres aLuay he saw a typicol example sitting spread-legged on the curb. Her rib sfockings were laddered and in holes, ond her dyed, streaked and once-permed hair straggled euerywhere. Another strolled sexily behind her, wearing a non'regulotion ouersized jumper and swinging her hips prouocatiuely. Some of these girls were quite nice he knew, but in general he steered clear of them.

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