Read Miss Understood for Free Online Page B

pyjamas.’
    ‘Yes, your pyjamas. Lizzie, I really don’t appreciate it when you lie to me.’
    ‘Sorry, Mum.’
    ‘Thank you. Now, the truth, please. Where were you?’
    I took a deep breath. ‘I forgot the bins. I heard the truck, and I woke up and went, “Oh no, the bins! It’s the only job I have apart from unloading the dishwasher and matching up the socks, so I can’t mess this one up!” and I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs.’
    ‘So why the big story about jogging?’
    I looked at the floor, which I think makes parents feel sorry for you when you have to admit something. ‘Because Dad told me not to forget, and then I almost did.’
    ‘Did you get to the truck in time?’
    I hesitated. The bin was pretty much empty, but I hadn’t got to the truck in time. Then I realised that the way I’d hesitated would make it sound like I was lying again, so I had to pretend I’d been distracted and hadn’t heard her. That was why I started gazing out the window, as though something really exciting was happening in the backyard. But the whole time I was trying to think of the right answer to her question. Or if not the right answer, the best answer.
    ‘Lizzie?’
    ‘Huh? Sorry, I was thinking about something else.’
    ‘Did you get to the truck in time?’
    Then the best answer came to me, in a kind of rush. ‘Mum, I am happy to report that the bin was full when I took it out there, and it’s empty now.’
    Mum shrugged. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘Wash your hands and get your breakfast – you’ve got school in . . .’
    ‘An hour and a half,’ I said. ‘Can’t I go back to bed for a while?’
    ‘Sure, I guess so. I’ll wake you in a little while if you like.’
    ‘I like.’
    As I climbed the stairs, I met Dad coming down.
    ‘Hey, Dad,’ I said.
    ‘So, you forgot the bin, huh?’
    ‘Um . . .’
    ‘It’s okay – I heard what you told Mum,’ he said. Then he squeezed my shoulder. ‘Don’t stress about it, Lizzie. As long as the bin is empty, what do I care?’
    As I climbed back into bed and pulled my doona up to my chin, I thought again about Miss Huntley. Pizza and beer? She was free to eat and drink anything she wanted, but something about that combination felt wrong or weird or unusual. Yes, that was the best word I could think of – unusual .
    By the time Mum woke me up about an hour later, I’d forgotten all about it.
    For now.

CHAPTER 8
    T hat morning, after recess, Mum asked me if I’d thought any more about who I’d like to interview for my project.
    ‘Not really,’ I said.
    ‘That’s okay. What kind of person interests you?’
    ‘My friends, who I miss,’ I said, maybe sounding a bit crankier than I meant to.
    Mum ignored this. I think she probably thought that after a while I’d forget to be cross about the situation, but I had no plans to forget just yet.
    ‘Seriously, though, who would you like to do it on?’
    ‘What sort of things am I supposed to ask them?’ I opened my exercise book and picked up my pencil. ‘If you tell me, I’ll write them down.’
    ‘Well, it’s not really about reading out a whole list of questions. I think it’s more about getting to know them.’
    ‘So someone old?’
    ‘It doesn’t have to be someone old – that was just an idea. It could be anyone. So let’s think . . . How about the lady who runs the bakery? She’s Vietnamese.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So, her story might be a bit different. Or maybe the African man who works at the public library – he could have a really interesting story.’
    ‘Why, because his skin is a different colour?’
    Mum glared at me as if I’d just said a really disgusting word. ‘Excuse me, Lizzie, but I’m not as shallow as that. I just happen to know that Majok came here from Sudan a few years ago, and because of that he’d probably have a great story to tell. And I bet he’s overcome some obstacles.’
    ‘Yeah, maybe I could talk to him,’ I said, but I thought she might have forgotten