Give Me Four Reasons Read Free

classic sign of being a premmie baby, stare back at me.
    We run to our classroom. Mr Muir makes us check inside our desks one last time for any pens, rubbish, or forgotten Christmas cards. Then he hands out our Passports.
    ‘Save them until you get home,’he says, ‘or we’ll never get you lot off the premises. We need you to be gone so the teachers’ Christmas party can begin.’ He winks at us.
    Three bells ring. Rochelle, Elfi, Jed and I grab our bags and step off the verandah. ‘Ready, guys?’ says Rochelle.
    ‘Ready,’ Elfi says.
    ‘Ready!’ Jed yells.
    ‘Ready,’ I echo, but I have never been less ready for anything in my whole life.
    We walk to the assembly area, which is a basketball court on the northern edge of the school grounds. It is shaded by an enormous tin roof. There is a concrete dais on the top side, like a stage. A wooden lectern has been placed in the middle of the stage, with a microphone attached to it. The rest of the school is lined up in classes along the concrete court, with kindergarten sitting at the front. They all have their bags in their laps, ready to be dismissed from the assembly area. For the final time my classmates and I sit cross-legged in our lines at the back.
    Mr Tovety blows into the microphone and the kids hush. His speech begins. He talks about our year’s accomplishments and special moments. I listen to every word, remembering the camps and sporting achievements and fun times our class has had together. Lots of kids are mentioned by name, especially the debating squad and the netball team that won the state championships. My name is not mentioned. I have barely left a mark at Juniper Bay Primary School.
    And then it is time for the graduation certificates to be handed out. It all sounds a bit formal, as though we’re leaving high school or university, instead of just primary school, but our school has always done it like this. It makes it really special for us, but also a little scary. At least for me.
    We rise and walk up to the front, placing our bags on the ground on the left-hand side of the stage. We then line up in alphabetical order on the right-hand side of the stage. I am last in the line. Mr Muir announces each name and one by one, my classmates walk into the middle of the stage to accept their certificates. Then they shake hands with Mr Tovety and walk back down the other side.
    I watch as my friends slip their certificates inside their bags and stand together at the far end of the basketball court, holding hands and waiting for the rest of the class to join them.
    My hands are shaking and my knees are wobbling. I clap as each of my classmates receives their gilt-edged certificate. As I inch closer to the stage, I look down at the sea of kids below me. They are all staring at me, I think, but then I look over my shoulder at the large clock on the wall behind me. The minute hand is almost at the twelve and the hour hand is almost at the three. Jackson Prince, standing at the wooden post at the back of the assembly area, has his hand on the bell and his eyes on the clock.
    ‘And last, but not least, Paige Winfrey,’ announces Mr Muir.
    A whoop erupts through the assembly and I think it is for me. But it’s because the clock has struck three and Jackson Prince has struck the bell. As I walk up to accept my certificate, the polite clapping stops and the younger students stand and throw their bags onto their backs. They are waiting to be dismissed.
    ‘Congratulations, Felicity … er … Paige,’ Mr Tovety says.
    I don’t bother getting upset that he called me by my big sister’s name. Felicity used to be the school captain here, and she was the captain of the first school netball team to win the state championships. Sometimes I quite like it when people mistake me for her.
    Mr Tovety reminds everyone to be safe in the holidays and declares the school year over. The students whoop again and then, forgetting Mr Tovety’s words about safety, rush in all