Red Day Read online

  I don’t wait for him to answer or to follow me. My feet fly down the driveway, leaving him behind.

  It’s a short respite. I don’t even get out the gate before my conscience bites. If I don’t go back and tell Kenichi what he needs to know, this will never end.

  He looks up from his lotus position, obviously surprised to see me back again. I sit down opposite him and take a deep breath.

  “Have you heard of synaesthesia?” I ask.

  “Is it a disease?”

  His question makes me laugh and that helps me find the right words. “I hope not because I’ve got it. It’s rare and I don’t like talking about it much. It means I see colours in some odd places, like letters and days of the week. Even people have their own colour. That’s pretty common for a synth, but I can do other stuff that’s unusual. When someone plays a flute, the music feels wet. I see the notes as water. Sometimes I hear colours and I feel what objects are experiencing. Things that aren’t alive and shouldn’t even have emotions.” I pick at a grass blade, wondering if he believes me. “That’s how I know something is making the photo sadder than it was before.”

  Kenichi jumps up, waving his arms like an excited octopus.

  “That’s what we’re looking for. A reasonable explanation for what’s happening. We need to learn more about the photo and the breakout. Maybe we’ll find out why I’m being affected too.”

  He’s thinking along the same lines as I am, which makes me feel some sense of relief. When I couldn’t sleep last night, I’d looked up some books on the online library catalogue. “I’m already on to that. I checked out the online library catalogue last night. A couple of books looked useful. I asked Mum to borrow them today.”

  “I’ll help you go through them.” Kenichi sits down again. “What colour am I?”

  “Blue.” I watch his face to see if he thinks I’m odd.

  He looks pleased. “Blue is the world’s favourite colour.”

  “Who decided that?” Blue is my favourite colour, but that’s because of Eli.

  “Google did a survey. What does it mean if I’m blue?”

  “Not much. It’s not like a star sign. It’s just part of a bigger physical picture. The same way appearance isn’t just hair length and nose size.”

  “So what colour are you?”

  “Guess.”

  It won’t be easy to guess although the biggest clue is right in front of him. My hair is pumpkin orange and last weekend Lucy spiked it with blonde streaks. It’s gathered up in two bunches with a mass of multicoloured ribbon. My running shoes are tie-dyed, my shorts are striped and my T-shirt is silk-screened with a psychedelic pattern. I did the T-shirt and shoes myself.

  He looks me up and down, grinning. “You’re not pink.”

  “Definitely not.” I never wear pink. “I see other people as a single colour but myself as a rainbow.”

  “What colour is today?”

  “Green.”

  “What about the rest of the week?”

  “Tuesdays are purple; Wednesdays are yellow like Fridays. Thursdays are orange.”

  “Is the weekend red?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “You never want to see a red day.”

  “Why?”

  I ignore his question. That’s something I’ll never share. The sky was blood red the day Eli died.

  I don’t want to talk anymore.

  “Let’s run,” I say.

  We’re in this together now, whether I like it or not.

  I like school. It’s a safe, familiar place, like home. My senses don’t have to struggle with a constant wash of new smells, sights and sounds. Even though over seven hundred kids go there, the patterns repeat and the dark and light blue uniforms blend everyone together.

  On the school bus, Kenichi is quiet, staring out the window. Is he worried about school today? Or what we talked about this morning?

  It’s strange that I can tell how some objects feel, but that doesn’t help me at all with people. I’m always getting it wrong. Sometimes Lucy gets angry and says I don’t care. I do care, but it’s hard to know when she’s upset and needs someone to listen because she likes to talk all the time.

  That reminds me. I forgot to ring her again. She’s not going to be happy this morning.

  I shift uncomfortably. The bus is old and battle-scarred. It rattles and shakes and bumps through every pothole in the road. The seat stuffing pokes through the cracks in the vinyl to stick to the back of my legs. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to drive to school.

  Lucy gets on at the stop after the bridge and squeezes into the seat across from us, next to Jenny. It looks like Jenny’s brought half the house with her to school today – her stuff’s taking up most of the seat. Lucy and Jenny are cousins. It seems everybody at school is related to at least one other person. Everyone except me, the girl whose brother died.

  “Hi Charlie.”

  It’s only two words but at the sound of Lucy’s voice Kenichi turns to look. How predictable is that. Just like every other boy. It’s the pink effect. You don’t have to be synth to notice it.

  “This is my best friend, Lucy.”

  She smiles and the air around her sparkles with rose-coloured sugar crystals.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Lucy,” Kenichi says.

  He has no trouble getting her name right.

  “Same.” She reaches across to shake his hand. “I guess you’re feeling nervous this morning.”

  “A little.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her fingers brush his arm. “Everyone is friendly. We might be in some of the same classes.”

  She pulls her diary out to check her timetable. It’s always the first thing she does on the bus. She never packs her bag the night before. I have a colour-coded folder for each subject but Lucy just writes in one book. “This morning, I’ve got Music first period.”

  “I have Music,” Kenichi says.

  “You can sit next to me, beginning now. Swap seats, Charlie, so Kenichi and I can talk. He doesn’t want to sit next to a stranger in Music.”

  Great. Now I’ve got to drag my bag across the aisle and scrunch into Lucy’s seat. At least Lucy has forgotten about the promised phone call.

  “Where were you at recess?” I ask Lucy at lunchtime.

  “Showing Kenichi where to go for Japanese.” She winks. “If you’re interested, I know where he is now.”

  I was dreading him trailing around after me all day, but I haven’t seen him since we got off the bus.

  “I should check on him.”

  Lucy points a pink nail-polished finger at me. “You like him. Admit it, Kenichi is cute.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I promised Mum I’d look after him. He’s not cute. I need to lend you my glasses.”

  I follow Lucy to the grass area behind the library where Kenichi is sitting in the middle of a group of girls, their auras a tangle of colour against the browning grass. Emma, Rachel, Jenny and Rhiannon buzz around him like queen bees. All that time spent psyching myself into babysitting him and he doesn’t need me. That’s a relief.

  “People are like insects except with bigger brains,” I say, watching. “Well, some of them have bigger brains.”

  Lucy giggles. “You sound like you’re jealous.”

  “Just telling it like it is.” I point. “There’s the beehive.”

  “What about me? If we’re all insects, what am I?” She holds her hands above her head and twirls.

  I sit down on one of the new striped benches Mum’s fundraising committee purchased. “You’re a butterfly.”

  “I should think so.” She drops her bag beside me to use as a cushion. “How are you feeling today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kenichi said you had food poisoning on Saturday.”

  “So, you’ve been talking about me?” I punch her playfully on the arm.

  “Just to kick off the conversation. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” She’s not amused because she doe
sn’t punch me back like she would any other time.

  “It wasn’t worth mentioning. Do you ring me every time you’ve got a stomach ache?”

  Lucy shrugs. “Of course not. You wouldn’t want to know.”

  Even if I wasn’t synth, I’d still sense the tension in the air.

  “Why are we arguing about this dumb stuff?” I ask.

  “You didn’t ring me, so I had to ask Kenichi how the weekend went.”

  Now I understand the problem.

  “Sorry, Luce. I was in a bad mood because of all the lame tourist stuff Mum was making me do.”

  “I get that now, but I was feeling a bit ignored. You’re really not interested in Kenichi?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then call that boy over so I can flutter my wings.” She pokes my shoulder. “You should get new glasses. He’s more than cute. He’s gorgeous.”

  I try to look at Kenichi with different eyes. I’m definitely not seeing what Lucy is. I don’t have to call out because he notices us first and jogs over.

  “Did you get lost without me?” Lucy asks.

  “Everyone is very kind, helping me find my way around.” He nods towards the girls. Lucy will have to amp up the wing flapping if she wants his attention.

  Before she can make a move, Emma screams as a magpie swoops above Rhiannon.

  She’s not getting any sympathy from me. If she had her school cap on it wouldn’t be a problem. Her head would be protected. Even Lucy doesn’t wear a hat because it’s not a good look. I don’t care about stuff like that. I care about making sure I don’t die of skin cancer. Being dead is not a good look either. There’s not enough colour for me in zombie fashion.

  “Here it comes again,” I say.

  At the far end of the quadrangle, the magpie is turning for a second dive-bomb attack.

  My hands form a megaphone as I shout a warning. Kenichi is already running, really fast, like a sprinter off the blocks. He launches himself between Rhiannon and the magpie, batting it away with his hands.

  The girls hurry over to where we’re sitting, away from the trees where the magpies are nesting. Kenichi arrives last, a sheepdog protecting his flock.

  Lucy’s eyes flutter. “That was amazing.”

  I elbow her hard.

  A couple of guys wander over from the basketball court.

  “I saw that. You were pretty quick off the mark.”

  Luke Howard should know. Athletics Champion, every year. He’s a bull ant, big and strong.

  “Ken saved me,” Rhiannon gushes. “I was scared, but you were so brave.”

  Kenichi tucks his hands in his pockets, embarrassed.

  I look away. I’m embarrassed too.

  “Good one, Ken.” Rod Blythe pumps Kenichi’s hand. “Tight reflexes.”

  That’s all it takes. Kenichi doesn’t realise it yet, but his new name is a stamp of acceptance.

  “Cricket practice is this afternoon,” Luke says. “You should come down for a bat, Ken. The team’s meeting at the bottom gate after school.”

  Kenichi looks at me.

  “I’m not sure if Mum can come in to pick him up,” I say.

  And we’ve arranged more important things to do.

  “My brother will drop him home. No problem.”

  He’s forgotten all about the library books. It might be our problem but I’m on my own again.

  I know Mum will be okay if he goes. Constable Howard is a local policeman and often on duty at the Police Youth Club where Mum volunteers in the office.

  “I’d like to play cricket,” Kenichi decides as the end of lunch hooter sounds.

  “Fine. You do that.”

  He doesn’t seem to realise I’m annoyed. Too busy thinking about himself.

  “I’ll show you where the gate is on the way to Maths,” says Lucy. “Come on, Ken. See you later, Charlie.”

  “See you later, Shallot.”

  “I love how he says your name.” Rhiannon watches Lucy and Kenichi walk away.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. No one wants to sound like something that gets picked out of potato salad.”

  “Where’s Kenichi?” Mum asks, but her expression says “What have you done with him?” Maybe she thinks I ditched him on the first day.

  “Don’t panic, Mum.” I drop my bag beside the kitchen table and put my arm around her. “He went to play cricket. Luke Howard’s brother is dropping him home.”

  “That’s good. Not much is more Australian than cricket. How was your day? Any more stomach aches?”

  “Not even a twinge.”

  “That’s good. I’ve been baking today.”

  She takes a tray of Anzac biscuits from the oven and the room is awash with warm, sticky memories. Nana Ruth’s kitchen. Eli and me making a mess.

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” I grump.

  Mum holds the tray under my nose. “Do you want a biscuit or not?”

  “Definitely.”

  She puts the tray on a placemat and we sit at the table, like we always do when she’s home in the afternoon.

  The biscuits are warm, sweet and chewy, stuccoing my teeth. I gather the crumbs with my tongue.

  “He’s not Kenichi anymore.” I wipe biscuit bits from my mouth and help myself to another one. “Everyone is calling him Ken. He saved Rhiannon from a magpie and now he’s a schoolyard hero.”

  Mum whacks my hand away from a third Anzac. “You won’t eat your dinner. Sounds like Kenichi’s fitting in and doesn’t need you much after all. How did your day go? Not as tough as you thought it would be?”

  “I hardly saw him. Did you get those library books?”

  “They’re in your room. Which reminds me. You remember Miss Beadle, president of the Historical Society? She works part-time at the library and saw me borrowing the books. When I explained we had a Japanese student staying with us, she said you should both come in and see her tomorrow afternoon. The library has a lot of local historical information stored away. Diaries and other donated things.”

  “Great. She gave a talk at my primary school last year. I was going to ask if you could pick up Kenichi and me from the library tomorrow. So we’ll see her then.”

  “Your interest in local history is very sudden.” Mum’s suspicion antennae is wiggling.

  “Mostly it’s Kenichi. He’s keen to learn as much as he can about Cowra – Japan history before he leaves. I’m a bit interested in the family connection.”

  It’s hard not to be interested when history punches you in the gut and performs a drum solo inside your head.

  “I’m pleased to hear you’re even a little bit interested. I’ll do some grocery shopping while you and Kenichi are at the library. We’ll have takeaway for dinner. Maybe fish and chips.”

  “Okay. I’m going to look through the books now.”

  The door to Eli’s room is ajar. Kenichi’s journal is sitting in the middle of the desk, a pen right-angled beside it. I would definitely need an app on my iPad. Longhand takes too much time and my writing is all lopsided and squiggly. I like straight lines. Preferably green ones.

  I’m not snooping if I don’t open his journal. It’s in Japanese, anyway. I just want to touch it and find out a bit more about him. Sometimes inanimate objects affect me, like Shin’s photo does. There’s already a connection between Kenichi and me that I didn’t choose. I hold my hand flat against the washi paper cover.

  He’s smart, confident and clever. I already knew that. He likes science, maths and everything in order. I like things in order too.

  I keep my hand still, listening deeper. He’s a little sad about something. I’ll try harder to make him feel welcome. He thinks I’m strange and a bit prickly, but he likes me anyway. I snatch my hand back, feeling guilty, as if I did read a page or two.

  The library books are on my bed. I sit on the bed and pull the first one on to my lap. It’s heavy and dusty. I don’t know what I’m looking for, flipping randomly, hoping to find something useful. The
book falls open with a familiar map spread across both pages. I recognise it from the wall in the Year 7 history classroom.

  My stomach tightens. I hold my breath. The drum is loud but, this time, there’s no pain. I’m not sitting on my bed anymore. Inside my head I’m walking the Broadway Road, heading towards the middle of the Camp where the road is broken by the narrower forbidden strip of No Man’s Land. The air is cold and unsettled.

  A replica tower has been built on the old site, but the one I’m looking at is the original structure from decades ago. The scratched heart is close enough this time for me to read its inscription. Minnie and James.

  I count three separate fences strafed with barbed wire. A thick snarl of more wire fills the gaps between them. Behind the wire is a playing field, next to a row of garden boxes where the first foliage of vegetables pokes through. A slash of colour catches my eye. Someone has planted a camellia among the practical plots.

  A guard watches from the tower, a rifle slung over his shoulder. I imagine it’s James. He’s older than I expected, but his greyness is not about age. There’s no real war for him, only the tedious monotony of Camp Number 12. I wish I could warn him it’s all going to change too soon.

  The Camp dissolves and the grey guard is asleep in a faded brocade chair. He looks up and smiles, as if he can see me, too.

  “Here’s your tea, love.” A woman in a floral dress hands him a cup.

  “You always make it just right,” he says, still smiling.

  A chill creeps across my neck and I’m afraid for him. Three guards will die. I slam the book shut. The second book is all words, with no pictures or maps to grasp at me.

  Kenichi talks all through dinner about cricket and how different it is to baseball. I’m so bored I tune out until the pavlova. Mum is making a big effort in the kitchen. That’s one big plus about having Kenichi here.

  “I don’t need help.” Mum waves us away when we try to clear the table.

  We sit on the verandah. Kenichi stretches his legs and leans against the roof support pole. “I like Australia. I had an excellent first day at school.”