Cry Me a River: Big Issues Require Big Knickers!

By Sonya O’Neill

Remember the lyrics to an old Bee Gees tune called Tragedy? How about rearranging them slightly to When your pants fall down, flashing all of the town, its a tragedy!

It is a tragic incident for Stella OBrien, who is new to town. Losing your trou down the catwalk wasnt part of her vision, if you know what Im saying. And speaking of visions, she didnt exactly visualise herself having to visit her mother in the local psychiatric hospital, Sunny Haven. Sunny Haven for the Stark Ravin is what her family jokingly called it. This is no joke; in fact, jokes and fun hadnt really been a big feature in Stellas life for a while now.


Stellas mum gets diagnosed with the big D word, depression. But Stella thinks she knows what the real D word is: disappointment. Stella is into fashion and design (hence the trouser incident) and her mums into nature and saving the world. Stella sees the conflict, and she sets out to make her mum proud. The thing is, Stella doesnt do things by halves. What Stella has planned not only involves her and her best buddies but the whole community!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781452585147

Book preview

Chapter 1

FLASH! WHAT A HASH!

What do you do when your designer pants fall down in front of hundreds of people, revealing your undies? (Oh, and not just any ordinary pair of undies but an old ‘comfy’ pair of your mother’s ever-so-elegantly named ‘GASBAGZ’). You smile through the blinding lights, step out of the bundle whilst executing your sharpest turn (work it … work it), and walk supermodel-style back up the catwalk. That’s what I did anyway. Oh, and I should add that I told ‘Toe Jam Tony’ (how unfortunate it was a shorts and sandals night) and ‘Dairy Farmer Dom’ to ‘suck eggs’ as I walked past them. I’m not sure that they’d said anything, but I thought I would get in first with the sarcastic remarks.

This confidence lasted all of two minutes of course, and soon I was a blubbering, bogie-blowing heap backstage in the wearable art section. Squashed between a giant packet of candy and a Sponge Bob made of … well … sponge.

I had spent so much time creating my outfit. Other kids hadn’t taken it that seriously and had done some last-minute naff stuff. But not me: I truly live, eat and breathe fashion. Okay, so I don’t really wrap my chops around a pair of strappy shoes or inhale the latest summer line. But what I’m trying to say is that I love it! Okay? I luuurve fashion. So when I heard the council was putting on an outdoor community fashion show for ‘Arty Farty’ week, I was so excited.

I had got to work straight away making a glitzy silver-sequined top. I’d cut out the pattern and hand-stitched it together all by myself. I even turned up the edges, creating a hem by using this iron-on double-sided sticky tape stuff. It’s way cool – once you iron it, it turns hot and sticks the material together. I adore it so much I made up a wee ditty about it. It goes a little something like ‘Quicky sticky … yeah … No pricky pricky.’ Imagine, if you will, the pricky pricky bit being sung in a high-pitched tone with a few zoowips of the old scratch-the-record thingy. It’s a number-one hit for sure! Perhaps I should do the honourable thing and donate it to Sir Bob Geldof? All proceeds going to the needy of course. You know, the poor sods that have to wear hand-me-down or homemade clothes. Hang on … that’s me anyway – hands off BOB! Sorry, I got a little distracted by the ditty. Anyway, the outfit was starting to look yeah-baby-yeah, but I needed to concentrate on the bottom half. Well, luckily I found this lovely cotton fabric that was an aubergine colour and I got to work on my design.

‘You’re gonna be the next big thing in fashion, my girl,’ my Gran would say proudly. ‘Stella McCartney step aside, because Stella O’Brien is gonna be a star.’ Well Stella does mean star, so I guess it could come true.

My Gran used to love wearing long hippie wrap-around skirts and that gave me the idea. I made these big flared pants called fisherman pants. They are so funky. You wrap them around your waist and fold the top over. I popped them on and was looking ‘Love it darling. Oh, you do darling? Oh, yes darling darling!’ when I realised I needed a bit of help with some final adjustments. They’ve got super-long ties. The ties are long enough to criss-cross heaps of times around the hips and tie up at the back. ‘Yes … ahem … excuse me, dear Frances. TIE UP AT THE BACK!’

This is where things had really started to go wrong. Mum had been busy talking to ‘The Mayor with all the Hair’ (about something mind-numbingly boring I imagine), so I had asked ‘Four-Eyes Frances’ to tie me up. Hey … don’t get me wrong, I would never actually call her Four-Eyes Frances out loud to her face. I am not that mean. It’s just that I am new here. Well newish, I’ve been here at Riverside for a few months now and you see, I had to develop a system to remember who’s who. So, for instance, there is Skinny as a Rake Mr Blake, Train Track Tracey, Nostril Hair Blair (ya wanna see it!), Take a Pill and Chill Jill the Principal (I know, long but good) and Bart … well come on, that’s a give away.

Four-Eyes Frances is a really nice girl. She is really sweet and super intelligent. But I think she is one of those people like Granddad was … can do a crossword in five minutes, knows a heap of trivial facts, but you know … can’t boil an egg, or as Gran would say, ‘Would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on.’ So what to many would be a simple straight-forward task, tying a knot was an extremely difficult exercise for Frances. She was all thumbs and muttering something about Girl Guide knots. I could hear her voice going all wobbly-slash-yodel-like, so I was really trying to reassure her, I really was, believe me. Anyway, let’s just say the knot was NOT a success and there I was sobbing backstage. Waiting, yes waiting for my mum to come along and tell me that it was alright, give me a cuddle and we’d have a wee laugh about it. Well, I waited a long time and Mum never came. I got out of my outfit, dressed all by myself and decided to head for the car. Of course I avoided eye contact with anybody looking or heading my way.

I could see Mum still talking to The Mayor with all the Hair and my little brother was looking cranky. He was pulling at Mum’s arm, tired and wanting a change of scene probably. Come to think of it the mayor was looking a bit worn out too. I caught Mum’s eye and pointed toward the car and she gave me the nod. Walking backwards up the shingle road I looked down on the event below. It did look fab. They had put an outdoor catwalk on the grass in front of the Grassy Banks River. People were seated on outdoor fold-up chairs, and there were even people at the back and up the hill sitting on blankets. The spotlights were reflecting off the river and it was really pity – oh no, I mean pretty. ‘Pity’ is what it is to drop your drawers on a beautiful night like this. I popped into the car waiting for Mum and my wee brother Fitz.

Finally Mum came to the car and Fitzyboy had lost the plot. He went as stiff as an ironing board when Mum tried to get him into the car seat. He does that sometimes and you can usually distract him by pulling a silly face or tickling his tummy. I don’t know why Mum didn’t just do that! It would have been over with in no time. No, she kept on trying to force him, not saying a word. Then finally she absolutely screams, ‘Get into your seat, you naughty little boy!’ And then she goes and smacks him one on the leg. Well hells bells, that took me by surprise cause Mum never smacks. She always says there are other ways and uses time out and stuff. She says other people can do as they please but she would try her best not to smack her kids. Well hello, but what just happened there, Juliet! Hmmmm? Well, as you can imagine (I’m sure you can), the situation just escalated. Fitzy’s face went bright red making his white curls appear almost fluorescent. His beautiful blue eyes were absolutely bulging with tears and pure shock, and I tell you, determined as ever not to get in that ruddy car seat. So then Mum yells, ‘Fine then, don’t sit in the bloody thing!’ (yes bloody) and slams the door. Well as soon as you could say ‘Chill Pill Jill’s frills could kill,’ (remember less is more Jill … less is more) she was in the driver’s seat reversing out of the park and down the shingle road!

‘What are you doing?’ I shrieked. Mum didn’t reply and Fitz was screaming his head off with fear, clambering around in the back seat. I quickly leant over and encouraged him to sit in his seat. ‘Come on buddy, if you sit in your seat Stella will give you a lolly’

‘A wolly?’

‘Yes, a wolly.’ He jumped into his seat and I managed to fasten up the buckle. He was quick to snuffle up my last lolly and I heard him trying to recover as I was buckling myself back up. Chew, chew, sob, sob.

I let it be quiet for a few minutes, and then I thought I would try and have a nice chat with Mum. I thought it might make her feel a bit better. Well, me a bit better, really. ‘Did you see what happened to me on the catwalk, Mum?’ There was no reply. ‘Mum? Mum!’

‘What? Yes Stella, what?’

‘Did you see what happened to me on the catwalk? The undies!’

‘What? Oh yes your pants. Oh never mind, you tried your best and that’s all you can do is try. There a worse things that can happen.’

What? Excuse me, did you just say ‘There are worse things that can happen?’ Hello, but what could really be a WORSE night? No seriously Mum, what? Hmmm? You’re a 13-year-old girl, new in the area, and here is your opportunity to impress and you end up flashing your nicky-noos (don’t ask) to the whole town! Actually, your mum’s heinous old nicky-noos, which I might add you wouldn’t be wearing if SOMEBODY was organised and actually did a bit of laundry. Hello, my socks look like they’re competing in a game of stiff candle right now. Oh and hey, let’s not forget the nutty scene in the car park for all to see, just to top the night off. Of course you understand I am just thinking this, for if I actually said this out loud, the look from my mother alone would ignite me into a poof of flames. Well, I thought, what will be people think of me here? I was soon to find out.

Chapter 2

WE JUST CALLED TO SAY ….

As soon as we walked through the door, the phone started ringing. Mum carried Fitz upstairs to read him his bedtime stories and pop him into bed. I grabbed the phone. ‘Hello, Stella here.’

‘Oh hi Stella, it’s Victoria here.’

‘Oh hi,’ I replied, surprised that she should phone me as I didn’t really know her that well. She was pretty tight with ‘Greer with the Sneer’ so I hadn’t really talked to her that much. They both wore the latest fashions (no second-hand stuff). Even their uniforms were perfect, you know … glow-in-the-dark white socks, ironed shirts and never a last-minute wet sponge-mark down the pinafore to be seen. No, these girls were perfect, perfect, perfect. Victoria was forever whispering into Greer’s ear, so ‘Victoria Secret’ was an obvious name for her.

‘Listen, I just wanted to phone to say I thought your design was fab and sorry about your wee … incident.’

‘Oh, well thanks Victoria s-s-s-sanks! That’s really nice of you. Did you really like it?’

‘Oh sure, it was really … um … original.’ I thought I heard a laugh, but it could have been a cough. ‘I’m not sure what Greer would have thought of it, though. I’m not sure about her taste in clothes.’

‘Oh really!’ I said in surprise, ‘How come, aren’t you two best friends?’

‘Us? Noooo … Haven’t you heard what they say about her at school?’

‘Oh well, yeah, I s’pose.’

‘Really, do you agree?’

‘I s’pose,’ I said tentatively.

‘Really, what do you think of her?’

‘Well … I don’t know … (no, Stella, no!) … I suppose she is a little snobby. (Shut it now Stella!) Yeah, she is, she is really snobby (no going back now!) and she seems quite scatty the way she rolls her eyes at people, like she disapproves of the way they dress or the cars their parents drive.’ Now I was on a roll and ready for a good old natter with my new pal. I was feeling quite revved up and righteous ‘And what about …’

‘Really, Stella?’ interrupted a different voice.

‘Ah hello, who’s … um … who’s this … ha?’ I heard my voice semi-yodel, was I turning a little country?

‘Ever heard of speaker phone, Stella O’Brien?’

‘Grrrrrreeeeeeeerrrr?’

‘Yes, Grrrreeeeeeerr, you know, the snobby one! My goodness, aren’t you a real wee chatter box. Or should I say Gasbag! How dare you, who do you think you are?’ The rest is all a long muffle to me. I had felt the heat burn from my toes prickling all the way up to my ears. My heart was beating overtime and I started to jog on the spot. I slammed down the phone and continued my jog but added going around in circles and flapping my hands. I mean, why not mix it up? I couldn’t catch my breath, it was like I had just been winded or something.

‘Mum!’ I screamed. ‘Mum, help me!’ Mum came racing down the stairs and she looked as panicked as I was. ‘Mum!’ I said breathlessly and flopped to the floor.

‘Stella honey, what is it? Is it bad news, who is it?’ Mum was as white as a sheet and her hands were trembling.

‘It’s ‘Greer with the Sneer’ … sniff sniff