Posse Read Online Free Page A

babyish, I know, but there it is. She’s a beautiful person, truly considerate and sincere. And there aren’t many people I would say that about. In fact, I can’t think of any. I think she’s a closet Christian, but she’s not a neat-and-sneaky. She’s big and messy like me, with back fat, thick legs and pigeon toes. Her clothes always show sweat patches under her arms and in the small of her back. Sometimes when she has her period, you can smell it. She can be a little bit gross, but I’d take gross over a neat, sneaky little sap any day of the week.
    We walk across the paddock to the row of huts, look both ways and enter our own. It’s just ashot in the hut as it is outside. Patricia unzips her bag, fossicks around and throws me a packet of Twisties. It’s a full-size, fifty-gram pack. Exactly what I need.
    â€˜Do you want a Coke as well?’
    â€˜You brought Coke?’
    â€˜I get a headache if I don’t drink it.’
    â€˜Sure. No wonder your bag was so heavy.’
    We sit cross-legged on the cement floor, eating our chips and sharing the can of drink. Patricia takes big, thirsty gulps, spilling some on her cossie. She burps and her nostrils flare heartily.
    â€˜It hurt when you had that operation on your jaw, didn’t it?’ she asks.
    This question is a little surprising. I rub my jaw self-consciously.
    â€˜Not during the operation. I was unconscious. But it hurt like hell afterwards.’
    â€˜For how long?’
    â€˜Well, for weeks. You saw me all patched up.’
    â€˜But you had painkillers?’
    â€˜I did, but they made me sick, so I still felt like crap. I looked like crap too. Remember? Ugly as a hatful for ages.’
    â€˜No, you weren’t.’
    In Year Eight during a hockey game someone – I never knew who – smashed a hockey ball into the side of my face. It broke my jaw and I had to have an operation and get it all wired up. It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m back to normal now, but at the time I thought my life would never be the same. On top of the pain of the injury and the surgery, I had to get braces, which I wouldn’t have needed if I hadn’t broken my jaw. I had a real vanity crisis, which only ended last year when the braces came off. I didn’t smile in photographs for two years. And, to add insult to injury, Mum tried to stop me playing hockey. That was the first time I ever really stood up to her. It was around that time, while I was stuck at home after the operation, that I came across her diaries. I think what I read in those diaries gave methe ammunition I needed to stand up to her.
    â€˜I’m only asking because Mum wants me to have some operation on my jaw,’ says Patricia.
    â€˜To fix your bottom teeth?’
    She nods.
    â€˜Won’t braces do the trick?’ I ask.
    â€˜I’ll need braces as well.’
    â€˜You know, you don’t have to do everything your mother says,’ I say, thinking about Nanna’s grip on Mum.
    â€˜She says why look ugly when I could look beautiful.’
    â€˜Really? My mother says why look beautiful when I could look ugly. Ugliness is a virtue in my family.’
    â€˜Maybe we should swap families.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, your teeth are fine.’ This is, of course, a lie. Patricia’s teeth are a train wreck. Her bottom teeth and jaw protrude ridiculously, pushing out her bottom lip and making her look like a frog. But straight teeth are not going to makeher beautiful. Someone should break this to her, but I’m not going to. I love her. It’d be water off a duck’s back for someone like Clare. Beauty is a strange, brutal thing.
    We finish off the Twisties thoroughly, splitting open the bags and licking out the corners, sucking each of our fingers. Patricia squashes the empty can with her foot and throws it in a pile of Clare’s clothes, which are spread across