Finding Sloane Winters Crazy

Eliza Bess Osztreicher
My education and dreams of becoming a medicine student have perished along with that building!

"Bessie, love! I've got the letter!"

I scramble to get up, nearly tripping over Sarah's outstretched arm. She doesn't notice though, she's too engrossed with Heath Ledger's face smiling on the screen.

"He's gay?" she yells, throwing a pillow at the screen.

Sloane snorts beside her, legs crossed and hugging her pillow to her chest. "Homosexual cowboys are the best thing that ever happened since carbonated soft drinks."

My mother comes in, wearing her old fleece pajamas and looking half dead. She was a doctor, her patients were supposed to be half death while she was the image of healthy perfection.

"A recap, Doc?" says Sloane absently, chucking Brokeback Mountain into its case and putting on Mean Girls.

"To the parents of Glastonbury, this letter is to inform you that on the thirteenth of February, two thousand and eight, Glastonbury College for Girls' VCE building was taken by flames after a fatal accident caused by a Chemistry experiment... blah blah blah... been discussed, and we are can inform you that the students been affected will be learning at our sister school Xavier College for Boys located at blah blah blah. Arrangments for a new VCE building are now being discussed and we can expect them to commence construction late March and finish late in the year. blah blah," Mum chucks the letter away, and frowns.

"It's an all boys' school, girls," she says gravely.

"Actually," I correct, because it's my duty to do so whenever one has received the wrong knowledge of such matters. "They're got girls until grade six."

"What does that matter?" huffs Mum. "I'm sure the eighteen year old boys there won't go after ten year old girls. You girls are now at least seventeen," --'Sixteen, actually,' I had muttered under my breath--"and I'm pretty sure that they'll be tempted by you girls, and vice versa!"

"Xavier College?" pipes in Sarah for the first time, tearing her eyes away from Cady and her big mammary glands. "There are plenty of good looking guys there! Are we seriously staying there until they rebuild?!”

Yes, Sarah. No shit, Sarah. Whatever, Sarah.

“I reckon Headmistress Lawrence fancies Xavier’s Headmaster,” says Sloane.

I have no doubt in believing in her. She hardly lies.

“I don’t think some parents are happy about this,” Mum says after a while. It’s half-hearted though, she reckons I should meet some boys like normal girls and fall for their little smiles and let them get into my skirt. She’s trying to act all motherly because of Sloane.

She doesn’t have a mother, you see.

“Okay, Doc,” is what Sloane mumbles as she gets up to grab a cookie from the coffee table. “Parents not happy, legal boys trying to take advantage of girls, teenagers not responsible, good looking guys according to Sarah. That’s nice, when do we start?”

“Wednesday,” Mum calls behind her back, dragging herself up the stairs. “I’ll drive you. Tell your dad that, eh, Sloane? I’ll talk to your mum, Sarah. We can carpool again.”

Two days until ‘good looking’ boys who’ll try to get into our pants.

Why can’t parents have more faith in their children?

Kayla Cecilia Mac Robertson
Loves to annoy her older brother
Is obsessed with her hair

My sewing teacher told me today that ‘gypsy’ is, and I quote, ‘So not in style anymore, babe! It’s like, uh, totally la-may now! It’s like, uhm… so fifty years ago!’

Shall I tell you that ‘la-may’ is apparently the new way of saying lame?

And shall I also tell you that the skirt I am making isn’t gypsy styled? It’s called bohemian?
How did this woman ever get a degree in whatever you have to major in to teach a sewing class?

And psh, for the record, gypsy is so very in style right now.

She, for the record her name is Libby, her name is just as ‘la-may’ as her hair, I mean, scarlet hair with white blonde highlights?

Someone please kill me.

Anyway, Libby dumped a whole heap of materials, some patterned with dolphins, sequins, textures, other confusing patterns, and told me, “Remember the lady who made this school for fashion students?”

Oh, the old lady who actually did have fashion sense, even for an eighty year old?

“Apparently she’s left us a whole fortune, because sadly she passed away just a few days ago, and we spent a teensy bit of her money on these new materials!” Libby squealed, clapping her arms, and I winced at the colour of her nail polish.

I glanced at the massive pile of materials, only a teensy bit of money? Wow, that lady must have been loaded. Loaded with a HUGE FORTUNE.

A fortune that would've been more fit to hand over to my bank account. But oh no, she just had to give it the sewing school, to Libby who had no idea of real fashion at all. The lady made this school for fashionable students, and it was so clear that I was the only fashionably one here.

I mean my chiffon blouse, jeans with pretty embellishments; flat slouchy boots and awesome cape coat were totally vintage!

Something more interesting?

I come back from a two week holiday on the Gold Coast, to find out that my school burned down, and received the news from a very hormonal and excited Sarah that we will be attending Xavier College for the meantime.

Xavier College?

Xavier College for Boys?

And then I knew why Sarah was so horny.