To Touch A Star

Chapter One - Orion

Yelling is surprisingly good for studying. All the shrieking, barking and swearing blend together to create effective white noise. With everything going on in the background, information can be a saviour.

"Why can't you just listen to me?" my mother whines.

"But you never shut up. If I'm supposed to listen to you, when can I do anything else?"

At least my dad hasn't called her anything.

I sigh and At least there's a wall between us. It might be paper thin and close to swiss cheese because of all the holes, but at least it's a barrier between us. My parents have been fighting since I got home from school. Even if you listened into them, you'll have no idea what started the fight. I think it's something about losing a key.

I dig my pencil into the paper. The scratching shoves the yelling into the background. The page gets covered in numbers and symbols. There's no love. No hate. Just facts. Coulomb's Law will never do anything to hurt me. It just dictates the amount of force between two stationary electrically charged particles.

Something shatters against the wall. I wince and look over at the wall.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Good. There's no crying. No one is hurt. It hasn't reached the danger zone yet.

I glance over at the brochure to the University of Western Australia. I accidentally grabbed some the other day when there was a Uni fair at school. All the people in the photo look so happy, mocking me. I turn it over.

"I told the witch doctor I was in love with you..." an upbeat voice sings, breaking my concentration.

"Doo doo doo doo," I mumble as I grab the phone and turn off the alarm. Immediately, the yelling gets louder and harder to ignore. I take a deep breath.

I close my book. My fingers run over the squishy alien stickers that cover it. Some might think seventeen is too old for plush alien battle stickers. That's a lie. You're never too old for aliens.

The shouting steadies as I start my monstrous task of looking for clothes to get changed into. It would be so much easier if I didn't have piles of clothes covering every inch of my room. Finally, I find my clean pile shoved in the corner of the room. In just a minute, my shabby school uniform is replaced by leggings and a long bright blue shirt. I search through my cupboard and drag out a pair of small black tap shoes and shove them into my bag.

After a quick spray of deodorant, I leave my sanctuary and force my way pass the kitchen. My parents don't even stop their argument or look over at me – it's as if I were a spirit. No matter what goes on around them, their fighting is the most important thing in the world. It's kind of like a twisted form of romance.

Their voices fight through the walls. Even though there has never been an official complaint about our house, I know they can hear us. I'm not an idiot. One of our neighbours glances at me, forcing me to look down at the dying Summer grass.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a giant green and silver car. No. It's not a car. Damn. It's the bus.

A hint of green and silver passes by me. I start running, but it takes just a few seconds for my heart to beat hard against my chest. I can't miss it. There's no way I'm going back to the house right now, nor will I be late. I keep my murky green eyes on the bus and it slows down. When did I turn into Magneto's apprentice?

I run up to the bus and jump into it, taking a deep breath. A thin woman behind the steering wheel gives me a comforting smile.

"Cheers," I say to the driver with a nod. I fumble through my bag and find my Smartrider card, tag on and find a spot to sit by the window. Good. Today is not the day I die.

The bus travels out of the suburbs. Each house is replaced by office building and bushland. The pale blue-sky dims. I search through my bag of chaos – pushing aside the pens, lollies, glasses, loose money – finally. My hair lacky. I grab it and wrestle with my thick red hair, forcing it into a messy bun.

I get to my stop. I get out only to smell more of the Australian wild. Dull red (plant name here) hangs off bushes and I push through them to the small building. From the outside, it resembles a witches' den. The pristine white paint has turned a murky grey. The light flickers and I swear there are probably cobwebs lurking around. If you listen carefully, you can hear the meows of the Cat Haven just a few doors down. A few cars rest against the sidewalk.

I head inside only to emptiness. The wooden benches don't have anyone on them, nor does the cheap blue and grey carpet. The faint sound of tapping exudes from the class. No. No. No. I'm late. How can I be late? It's meant to start... five minutes ago.

I quickly change out of my runners and into my tap shoes before running into the studio.

I'm greeted by pale blue walls and a mirror completely covering the wall next to the stereo. Just as I expected; my hair is a mess and I have gained a lot of weight over the Summer. I suck in my gut, shake my head and glance over at the woman in black by the ipad.

Margaret Thatcher.