My First Lesson: Stories Inspired by Laurinda

By Alice Pung

“The stories in this anthology are special because they capture the school experience with rare authenticity. These are not adults writing about teenagers, but real young adult writers.” —Alice Pung

Award-winning author Alice Pung has selected 25 diverse stories written by high school students inspired by her bestselling YA novel, Laurinda. The collection features an impressive range of genres by exciting new voices, exploring themes as varied as intergenerational friendship, cultural identity, bullying and heartbreak. From epiphanies on an African safari to trying to cope with the death of a parent, from a prank gone wrong to finding love in unexpected places, the stories in My First Lesson are vivid and imaginative, funny and surprising, poetic and moving.

Alice Pung is the author of Unpolished Gem, Her Father’s Daughter and the editor of the anthology Growing Up Asian in Australia. Her first novel, Laurinda, won the Ethel Turner Prize at the 2016 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Inc. Books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925435252

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INTRODUCTION

When I was growing up, I never wrote stories about my own life. I felt that my routine of going to school and going home everyday – what millions of kids everywhere did – was too boring. I thought that real life, the life I was meant to live, would happen elsewhere, at another future time. Yet as a writer, I keep returning to the stories of my teenage years. I realise now that they were pivotal in shaping the adult I became.

I went to five different high schools, each one a unique microcosm filled with hundreds of distinct personalities. Even before I understood what the term politics meant, after a couple of weeks at each new high school, I instinctively knew where different groups belonged in the school’s unspoken hierarchy. At no other point in my life as a writer have I had access to such a diverse blend of characters. Kurt Vonnegut once remarked that True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.

We all remember our adolescent years vividly, perhaps because it was the first time we felt certain emotions at their strongest. When I wrote Laurinda, I’d finally become articulate enough to give voice to the thoughts of my fifteen-year-old self. I know that what is in our heads as teenagers is more expansive than what we are capable of expressing out loud. Yet the frustrating paradox is that although we expect teenagers in books (written by adults) to sound exactly the same as how they talk, we expect teenagers to write like precocious adults in essays and assignments. Is it any wonder then that teenagers writing to an audience of adults will not sound like themselves?

The stories in this anthology are special because they capture the school experience with rare authenticity. These are not adults writing about teenagers, but real young adult writers. I selected them purely for their voices, without knowing their names, ages, genders or schools.

The students in this anthology write with a scope of imagination that is incredible and yet unsurprising: all students, if given the support and freedom to find their voices, will test the boundaries of their internal universe. Ordinary everyday objects – graffiti, glasses, a paintbrush, a sanitary pad – become metaphors for philosophical musing. The social media and technology references – one of the hardest things to get right in the YA genre – are pitch perfect here, because this is the secret lingo of teenagers.

This book is not just stories about school. It is also about intergenerational friendship, heartbreak, loss of a parent, domestic violence, privilege and poverty, overseas epiphanies, mental illness and explorations of cultural identity and class. It includes diverse genres such as science fiction, horror, historical fiction, philosophy, literary fiction, unconventional romance, travel writing, memoir and comedy.

I didn’t only pick the most eloquent and lyrical writers, but also deliberately included students whose voices were the most raw and compelling: those reeling from the death of a loved one, facing social exclusion, speaking earnestly about their fears and anxieties. These voices are usually marginalised because these students often think that they are not real writers, as they can’t spell well, or structure a story or use thesaurus-type words. But writing about these things takes real guts, and to me, their voices are as real as it gets.

And the lessons learned? Charity, kindness, acceptance, compassion, love (of others and of oneself) – themes that carry a soft core of sentiment within them, so in the adult literary world must be coated by a hard shell of irony. Yet this is what I love about young adult writing – its earnestness, its uncompromising morals, its unabashed outpouring of emotion, its unapologetic insistence that the world can and should be a better place.

It is then fitting that proceeds of this book will go to Room to Read, an organisation that partners with local communities around Asia and Africa to help develop literacy skills and the habit of reading among primary-aged children and ensure girls can complete secondary school with the skills necessary to succeed in education and beyond.

I am very proud of these stories. I thank all our contributors for their insight, courage and skill, and I hope you will find their voices as captivating as I do.

Alice Pung

A NEW TYPE OF EDUCATION

Keely Brown

"Have you got your lunch?"

Yep.

Have you got all your books?

Yes, Mum.

Is your phone on? I might need to call you.

Yes, Mum.

Are you sure? I’ll call it. Mum leaned over and started groping through her handbag, one hand still on the steering wheel.

Mum! Traffic! I lunged at the steering wheel, fighting to keep it straight. A car horn blared beside us.

Mum sat up slowly, her eyes on her phone. I said, Do you even realise that we’re in a moving vehicle?

My phone started vibrating in my blazer pocket.

Is it ringing? she asked.

Yes. Now please focus or I won’t need a phone for too much longer.

Sorry, hun. She grabbed the wheel again.

Thankfully, Mum was silent for a minute as she remembered the route to get to my new school. But it didn’t last.

Let’s put on the radio. She pressed a button and Billy Joel slammed out of the stereo. As Mum started singing, her voice like a cat’s yowl, I leaned my head back against the headrest and stared out the window.

Moving schools wasn’t easy, but I was feeling quietly confident. I was doing everything right – pristine uniform, neat hair, plus I was running wonderfully early. Mum was more nervous than me; she had spent all morning bent over my bag, pulling things out, and putting things in that she thought I might need.

It wasn’t long before we pulled up in front of College High. Mum killed the engine and turned to me, her bottom lip trembling.

Don’t you dare cry, I said.

She looked down.

Grinning, I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and climbed out of the car, my school-regulation bag slung over one shoulder.

The first thing I noticed, as I climbed the infinite steps, was that none of the students, hunched over their laptops, were wearing the uniform. I frowned. They were just asking for a detention. The second thing I noticed was how big the campus was. Buildings soared like mountains on all sides of an enormous open space littered with wooden tables. A metal bridge stretched from one building to another.

I sat down, opened my bag and pulled out a science textbook. I had science first, so I wanted to prepare. I flipped through the perfect pages, savouring that sanitary smell of printer ink.

When the bell rang half an hour later, I placed the book back in my bag and stood up. The quadrangle was now teeming with students. I paused. None of them were wearing the uniform; I looked like a unicorn among horses. Maybe I should have worn my hair out. I was knocked and jostled as kids streamed past on all sides. A wave of longing washed over me, making me feel small and overwhelmed. I was stuck in a place where I didn’t want to be and where I didn’t know anyone. What were my friends doing? They were probably already in classes, maybe maths. I wished I was with them.

Navigating the maze of corridors was a lot easier on paper than it was in real life. The second bell had rung well before I located my classroom. I opened the door gingerly, an apology ready on my lips.

I’m really sorry I’m late, I— My words were drowned out by a torrent of laughter emanating from the students. A man in a T-shirt and shorts stood behind the lab bench that served as a teacher’s desk, scribbling lazily on a piece of paper. He looked up when he saw me enter the room, cocking his head to one side.

I think you have the wrong school, he said. City Girls Grammar is about two k’s that-a-way. He pointed a finger out the window then looked back down at his paper.

"I don’t think you understand. I’m the new student. Charlotte Georgiana Underwood." I smiled, but he didn’t look up. I stood there for a moment longer, waiting for some acknowledgement that he had heard me, but he didn’t react.

I sighed and moved past him to sit down at the only empty seat, in the dead centre of the front row. Getting to the chair was hard enough, sitting in it harder still. A girl with long blue hair and thick eyeliner glared at me as she swung her feet off my chair.

Thanks, I said stiffly, sitting down.

The teacher still hadn’t moved. I raised a hand. Excuse me, sir?

Yes, Charlotte?

You realise the second bell has gone, don’t you?

I do, actually.

The girl sitting next to me piped up. "What’re you, stupid? Do you