Repeat After Me

Chapter 16

My mother's eyes were red and puffy when I came down for breakfast at lunchtime.

'Where were you last night?' she asked through gritted teeth.

'What?' I was taken aback, I'd never expected they'd check my room after midnight.

'Where were you?'

'Maybe she's got a boyfriend,' Josh called out from the lounge room.

I switched the kettle on and popped some white bread in the toaster. Still my mother stood there, her arms crossed against her chest, looking at me. I couldn't bring myself to tell her where I'd been and I didn't want to lie.

'What do we do about you?' she asked.

'Nothing,' I said.

'When your father gets home we both need to speak to you.'

I finished making my breakfast and took it up to my room to eat. Dread crowdfunded within me. Soon, there was a knock on my door. 'Come in,' I croaked. Both my parents walked in and closed the door behind them. Dad was holding a cardboard box and he slowly unpacked six spray cans onto my desk.

'Last night we went through your room when we found you missing,' he began. 'We found these. Can you explain yourself?'

'They're spray cans.'

'We know they're spray cans. Don't get smart with us, miss. What are they doing in your room?' dad asked.

'Are you chroming?' mum asked, her voice shaking.

'I'm not chroming! Why do you always think the worst of me?'

'What is it, Ivy?' dad asked.

'I go spray painting. It's street art. I like to paint on the streets.' Mum collapsed in my desk chair, like it was worse than she even could have imagined.

'You go to one of Melbourne's top girl schools and this is how you behave? What is wrong with you?' my father shouted.

'What has my school got to do with it? This is art. I can make a career out of it. I met a lady last night who travels the world doing projects in developing countries.'

'This is not art. This is graffiti,' dad said. 'It's illegal.'

'We're absolutely disgusted,' mum said. 'We feel sick. And what were you doing out last night? It's illegal to go out. What were you doing last night?'

'I went to a party with some friends.'

'How dare you, when you know how much pressure your dad is under at the moment. This is not the time to be acting up Ivy. Who were these friends?'

'Just some other artists I know.'

'How many?'

'I don't know. Maybe twenty people there.'

'You exposed yourself to twenty people last night? And then you've come back here. If you've caught something and you pass it on to your father and he has to go back to work and passes it onto the team, he'll get sacked. You're completely selfish and irresponsible. I can't even look at you,' mum walked out the door.

Dad looked at me, a prescription of exhaustion and disappointment written across his face. 'I wish you didn't do that,' he said. 'This is the last thing I need.'

My heart felt as though it was breaking into twenty million places. 'I'm sorry dad, really, I'm sorry. I didn't think ...'

'No you didn't. I can't even deal with this right now.' He backed out of my room.

All those terms I'd heard a million times before appeared now in black ink branded on my wrist. I'm no good, easily led, friendless, hopeless, a dreamer, I think only of myself. Tears came out from backstage and danced across my cheeks in pointe shoes. I was hopeless and selfish. What was I even doing kissing some guy who had a girlfriend? What was I doing sneaking out of home and going to a party in a pandemic? I was slowly losing grip with every virtue I held dear.