Jellicoe Road
Melina Marchetta
For Daniel
and
for Max
Contents
Prologue
My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
Chapter 1
Im dreaming of the boy in the tree and at
Chapter 2
When it is over, when Im the last person sitting
Chapter 3
The territory wars have been part of the Jellicoe Schools
Chapter 4
Jonah Griggs.
Chapter 5
He went missing on one of the prettiest days Narnie
Chapter 6
The boy in the tree in my dreams comes calling
Chapter 7
The next afternoon I walk to Clarence House to find
Chapter 8
She stood at Webbs door: Tate, with the wild hair
Chapter 9
Im riding as fast as I can. The faster the
Chapter 10
Im dreaming. I know Im dreaming because Im in a
Chapter 11
It is dark, surreally dark, and Im hanging upside down
Chapter 12
Over the weekend Ben gets word through Raffaela that the
Chapter 13
Three things happen in the next week that keep us
Chapter 14
The look on the constables face said it all to
Chapter 15
Its peaceful like this, on my back. A loving sun
Chapter 16
By the second day of the holidays everyone has left
Chapter 17
On one of those days during the holidays when they
Chapter 18
On the last day of the holidays, Santangelo sends word
Chapter 19
I go to see Santangelos dad at the police station.
Chapter 20
Finally we came to an agreement about the Club House
Chapter 21
One day Tate was there, a ghost of Tate, sitting
Chapter 22
Somewhere on the highway to Sydney I begin to cry
Chapter 23
Taylor Markham?
Chapter 24
During this time I start to get to know my
Chapter 25
There is a sick feeling in my stomach when we
Chapter 26
Aftermath. Everyone uses it all the time so I get
Chapter 27
And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and
Epilogue
He sat in the tree, his mind overwhelmed by the
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Melina Marchetta
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
I counted.
It happened on the Jellicoe Road. The prettiest road Id ever seen, where trees made breezy canopies like a tunnel to Shangri-la. We were going to the ocean, hundreds of miles away, because I wanted to see the ocean and my father said that it was about time the four of us made that journey. I remember asking, Whats the difference between a trip and a journey? and my father said, Narnie, my love, when we get there, youll understand, and that was the last thing he ever said.
We heard her almost straightaway. In the other car, wedged into ours so deep that you couldnt tell where one began and the other ended. She told us her name was Tate and then she squeezed through the glass and the steel and climbed over her own deadjust to be with Webb and me; to give us her hand so we could clutch it with all our might. And then a kid called Fitz came riding by on a stolen bike and saved our lives.
Someone asked us later, Didnt you wonder why no one came across you sooner?
Did I wonder?
When you see your parents zipped up in black body bags on the Jellicoe Road like theyre some kind of garbage, dont you know?
Wonder dies.
Chapter 1
TWENTY-TWO YEARS LATER
Im dreaming of the boy in the tree and at the exact moment Im about to hear the answer that Ive been waiting for, the flashlights yank me out of what could have been one of those perfect moments of clarity people talk about for the rest of their lives. If I was prone to dramatics, I could imagine my sighs would have been heard from the boundaries of the school to the town down below.
The question begs to be asked, Why the flashlights? Turning on the light next to my bed would have been much less conspicuous and dramatic. But if there is something I have learned in the past five years, its that melodrama plays a special part in the lives of those at the Jellicoe School. So while the mouths of the year twelves move and their hands threaten, I think back to my dream of the boy, because in it I find solace. I like that word. Im going to make it my word of the year. There is just something about that boy that makes me feel like I belong. Belong . Long to be . Weird word, but semantics aside, it is up there with solace .
Somewhere in that hazy world of neither here nor there, Ill be hanging off that tree, legs hooked over the branch, hands splayed, grabbing at air that is intoxicating and perfumed with the sweet smell of oak. Next to me, always, is that boy. I dont know his name, and I dont know why he comes calling, but he is there every time, playing the same music on one of those Discmans for tapes from the eighties, a song about flame trees and long-time feelings of friends left behind. The boy lets me join in and I sing the same line each time. His eyes are always watery at that point and it stirs a nostalgia in me that I have no reason to own, but it makes me ache all the same. We never quite get to the end of the song and each time I wake, I remind myself to ask him about those last few bars. But somehow I always forget.