Read Online The Yearbook Committee by Sarah Ayoub - Free Book Online Page A

truth. I’m sure they’ll be fine with it eventually.’
    â€˜OK,’ I say quietly.
    â€˜You’re upset,’ he says, sighing.
    â€˜Well, you know what I’m up against,’ I explain. ‘It wouldn’t hurt for you be there for me when I need you.’
    â€˜I’m always there for you,’ he says defensively. ‘But this plan just keeps getting more and more complicated. I’m telling you, they’ll come around.’
    â€˜So easy for you to say; your future’s not riding on this.’
    I hear him yawn and I look up at the sky, desperate. ‘So you’re not coming?’ I ask again, hopefully.
    â€˜I can’t now, I told you,’ he says. ‘Seriously, it’ll be OK.’
    â€˜Sure, I guess,’ I say, deflated.
    â€˜Hey — no harm done right?’
    â€˜Don’t be silly,’ I tell him. ‘I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.’
    I hang up and glance at the time again, wishing I had my driver’s licence. And a car for that matter. I figure I might as well run or walk home — sure, it will be more hassle, but at least I won’t have to sit next to the deadbeat at the bus stop who will probably rob me.
    I cut through the park and quicken my pace, scratching at the remnants of face paint around my ears and hairline, and dodging parents with prams, pensioners taking walks and dogs on leashes.
    I’m nearly on the other side when something smashes into the side of my head, knocking me over.
    As I struggle to untangle myself from the two bags I’m carrying, the contents of which have scattered all over the path, the offending object — a football — is picked up and thrown to a horde of boys standing metres away by a devastatingly good-looking guy in a raglan tee and shorts.
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘We boys lose our coordination when a girl walks past.’
    I blush a little and he laughs.
    â€˜I meant the blonde chick over there,’ he says, nodding his head in the direction of a tall woman running around the park in a crop top. ‘Fred’s got a thing for boobs.’
    â€˜Yeah, well, tell Fred he should try to get his fix at a time when he’s not kicking footballs around, for the safety of us women without big boobs.’
    He laughs again as I dust myself off.
    â€˜Here, let me help you,’ he says, reaching down to grab my jumpsuit, shoes and red nose. ‘Dress-up party?’ he asks.
    â€˜Yeah, except I was the only one in a costume,’ I tell him, taking my things and shoving them back into my canvas bag with ferocity. I’m ridiculously late now.
    He looks at me blankly.
    â€˜Hired help,’ I say, waving my bright-blue afro wig at him. ‘I’m Tatty the Clown. I do kids’ parties.’
    â€˜Your name is Tatty?’
    â€˜Tamara. But everyone calls me Tammi. Well, except the kids.’
    â€˜What, were you scared a bunch of six-year-olds would track you down if they knew your real name?’
    I grin. ‘You’d be surprised at what they’re capable of.’
    Something wet lands on my cheek and I look up. A raindrop. A second later, the clouds open up and it starts to pour, heavy and fast.
    â€˜I knew I should have taken the bus,’ I mutter. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’
    â€˜Wait —’ he starts.
    I quickly snatch my other bag off him. ‘No, really, I have to run now.’
    â€˜You’re walking? You have so much stuff, I can take it for you.’
    I give him a quizzical look.
    â€˜What I mean is, I can take you. If we ride, it’ll be much quicker.’
    â€˜Not allowed on motorbikes, sorry,’ I say, a little weirded out. ‘But thanks anyway.’
    â€˜Who said anything about a motor?’
    He smiles and I’m shocked once again by how good-looking he is.
    He points to a bike rack and I laugh. The rain has slowed slightly, but I’m already