You Were Made For Me

by Jenna Guillaume

  She reached down and picked up Nat’s chocolate Moove. Looking me dead in the eyes, she took three big gulps of it, finishing it off and crushing the empty carton in her hand. She had a chocolate milk moustache and she ran her tongue along her top lip to remove it.

  ‘Aren’t you lactose intolerant?’ Emily whispered beside her.

  Mikayla was still staring at me. ‘Yeah. I am.’ She dropped the carton on the ground and walked towards the exit. Emily and Olivia looked at each other in confusion for a brief moment before composing themselves and rushing after her. My friends and I watched them go. As soon as they were out of sight, Jordan burst out laughing.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘She thinks she’s so tough.’

  ‘What was she even talking about?’

  Everyone was talking at once. Except Libby, who was quiet next to me, biting furiously at her thumbnail.

  ‘Katie? Are you going to tell us what that was about or what?’

  ‘It’s kind of a long story.’

  ‘Oooh,’ Jordan said. She leaned forward. ‘Spill.’

  I told them about seeing Declan Bell Jones at work in the aftermath of the soccer ball incident, and our little excursion to the optometrist the afternoon before. I was just getting to the part where he’d called me ‘cute’ when the bell rang.

  As we picked up our bags and headed towards F block, Jordan said, ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘For backing up your boyfriend story.’

  ‘Oh. I –’

  ‘Pfft,’ Nat cut in. ‘You made it even less believable. “He’s really hot!” Come on.’

  ‘Hey! Katie could have a really hot boyfriend. If she wanted to,’ said Amina, ever-loyal.

  Nat rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, Mina, and I could win prom queen.’

  ‘Don’t even get me started on that,’ Jordan said. ‘What are we, America?’

  ‘It’s so disgusting,’ Libby added. ‘Like our culture hasn’t been overtaken enough by that damn country.’

  As my friends launched into an argument for at least the sixty-seventh time since the formal committee had announced we were having awards at our Year 10 formal – Jordan and Libby were decidedly against them, Nat and Amina thought they were fun, and I kept changing my mind – I tried not to be offended that even the people who liked me most in the world didn’t buy the fact that I might have a boyfriend, let alone a hot one.

  That was the third noteworthy thing to happen that week.

  I told you there was too much for a montage.

  Okay, you may have had a point.

  The fourth thing was that . . . drumroll please . . .

  Badum badum badum badum badum . . .

  I was one of the students selected to paint a mural in the main quad!

  And the crowd goes wild! Woooo wooo wooooooooo!

  Thank you, thank you.

  Of course, when Miss Lui told me the news, I promptly had a meltdown.

  ‘I can’t do this. I can’t. I’ve got no ideas. No talent. Why did I think I could do this?’

  ‘Because you can,’ Libby said.

  ‘You’re so talented,’ Amina added, patting my hand.

  I bent over, groaning. ‘I’m gonna tell Miss Lui I can’t do it.’

  ‘No!’ at least three people said at once.

  ‘You’re doing it,’ Libby insisted. ‘You’ve got time to come up with something great. Don’t stress.’

  ‘Didn’t you have an idea when you put yourself forward for it?’ Nat asked.

  I shook my head, groaning again. ‘I guess I didn’t really think I’d be selected.’

  ‘Look, it’s not like it’s the Sistine Chapel or anything,’ Jordan added. ‘This place is a shithole. You can’t exactly make it look worse.’

  ‘Was that meant to make her feel better?’ Libby said.

  I just groaned some more.

  Later, when Libby and I were in the Year 10 girls’ toilets, she brought it up again.

  I could tell by the way your skin had turned a pale shade of green that you were still freaking out about it.

  ‘Why don’t you just put it out of your mind for a bit?’ she said from the cubicle next to me. ‘The best ideas come when you’re not looking for them, right?’

  ‘I guess,’ I said, staring into the toilet bowl and feeling like I might vomit. ‘I just want it to be perfect.’

  ‘Perfection is boring.’ She flushed the toilet. ‘And remember, you created Guy. You are more than capable of making something good.’

  Could I really take credit for Guy, though? For his beauty? I mean . . . I knew I’d sculpted him. But what I had created wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as Guy himself. He was so aesthetically pleasing. I’d tried sketching him a few times this week, as he sat there chatting to Theo or playing PS4 or napping on the beach beside me, Max curled up next to him. But everything I did felt so . . . inadequate. So small.

  ‘Wait,’ I said, suddenly struck with an idea. I opened the cubicle door. ‘Libby, you’re a genius!’

  ‘I know.’ She looked at me in the mirror. ‘Wait, why am I a genius?’

  ‘I’ll paint Guy!’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘For the mural. I’ll paint Guy.’

  Libby raised an eyebrow. ‘What, like one of your French girls?’

  ‘I should never have forced you to watch Titanic.’

  ‘I still think Jack could have fitted on that door.’

  ‘Think about it,’ I said, leaning forward to wash my hands. ‘Guy is perfect. In every way.’ I smiled. ‘Seeing his face every day sure would make school more bearable.’

  ‘Okay, but it’s a mural, right? What are you gonna do, paint his face a hundred times?’ Libby balled up the paper towel she was drying her hands with and threw it towards the bin like a basketball. It missed.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ I said, trying to smooth down the frizzy flyaways in my hair with my wet hands. ‘But what if it’s, like, a day in the life of a student? A blend of different scenes . . .’ I moved closer to the mirror to squeeze the giant pimple that had sprouted on my chin.

  Libby leaned against the sink, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm. It could be cool. There’s just one problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Guy doesn’t go to this school.’

  I shrugged, switching to using my knuckles to squeeze the zit, which was a stubborn sucker. ‘I can just say he’s a product of my imagination. The perfect student, brought to life by me. I mean, it’s basically the truth, right?’

  I straightened up and turned to Libby, but froze when I spotted Mikayla Fitzsimmons over her shoulder, standing in the doorway. She was smiling a smile that reminded me of a Disney villain right before they lure the princess into a trap.

  ‘I knew you were making that shit up.’

  I opened my mouth to say something but Mikayla had already spun around and left. Olivia, who had entered behind her, stepped aside and watched her go, confusion written on her face. She looked my way warily before following after her master.

  Suddenly the feeling that I might vomit was back.

  ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time at Theo’s lately,’ Mum said, uncapping her favourite red lipstick and swiping it across her lips. Her friend Ves’s love-life crisis had apparently escalated and she needed a night of wine and karaoke, stat. (This happened at least once every three weeks. Like they needed an excuse to drink wine and sing Shania Twain songs from the ’90s.)

  I stretched out on Mum’s bed, using Max’s big body as a pillow.

  ‘No more than usual,’ I said.

  Mum raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes more than usual. You’ve been there every day this week.’

  ‘How would you know? You’ve been at work.’

  She shrugged. ‘I have my ways.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Are you spying on me?’

  ‘Yes. Mother is always watching. That’s why you’ve gotta behave.’ She laughed – or cackl
ed, I should say – but I tensed up. I somehow didn’t think it was far from the truth. If there was a way to get intel on me, my mother would do it.

  It was honestly a miracle we’d managed to conceal Guy from her for a whole week.

  Unless – no, we would know if she knew.

  I relaxed a little at the thought. She was just bluffing.

  ‘You sure there’s nothing going on between you two?’ She started applying mascara, her mouth wide open, because it was apparently physically impossible for her to keep it shut in the process.

  ‘Mum. No.’ I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Your eyes are going to freeze that way.’ She was using a cotton bud to fix up a splotch of mascara she’d gotten on her cheek. ‘Remember you’re not allowed to have a boyfriend until you’re thirty-five.’

  I decided not to bother trying to argue the unfairness of that particular rule right now. I mean, she wasn’t serious . . . much. The thirty-five part was definitely an exaggeration, but I still wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend yet.

  This is despite the fact that Luke was fifteen when he started dating. Mum’s attitude when I talked about the unfairness of it all was ‘Tough!’ and ‘It’s different for boys,’ and, worst of all, ‘It’s not my daughter coming home pregnant.’

  It was weird; my mum was so progressive in some ways but still living in the 1860s in others. Like, she still wouldn’t let me wear makeup to school even though pretty much everyone did these days and she loved wearing it herself.

  I watched as she examined her now finished face in the mirror before getting up from her vanity. ‘Don’t pout,’ she said. I didn’t realise I had been. She sat down next to me on the bed, smoothing hair away from my face. ‘You know, when you and Theo were kids, you used to say you would marry each other one day. Don’t you remember?’

  I scrunched up my nose. Vague memories were stirring. ‘I remember playing house and telling Theo he had to do all the cleaning and forcing him to go through every room with that toy vacuum that had the colourful balls in it.’

  Mum laughed. ‘You were so bossy with him. And you said you were going to grow up and live together in a pink house with a black picket fence.’

  ‘I don’t remember that at all.’

  ‘Well, you would’ve only been about four, I suppose.’ Her voice was soft now. ‘Ella and I used to talk about being grandmothers together. It was only a joke, but somehow I always thought . . .’ Mum trailed off and looked away. She cleared her throat. I felt my own get tight. ‘Anyway, I best be off before I ruin my makeup and have to start all over again.’ She stood up, shaking her shoulders like she was throwing off the emotions she’d just been feeling.

  ‘Right, I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. Dad’s working late again, and Luke is studying at the uni library so you’re on your own. Behave.’ She looked at me sternly. ‘There’s some pastizzis in the freezer, just put them in the oven for thirty minutes and –’

  ‘Don’t burn the house down, I know.’

  ‘Smart-arse. Don’t open the door for anyone either.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  She gave me a kiss on the forehead, then wiped the spot where she’d no doubt left a lipstick mark.

  ‘You’re a good girl. Did I mention I’m proud of you?’

  ‘You might have, once or twice.’ It’d been more like twelve times when I’d told her about the mural earlier.

  ‘Text me when you’ve turned the oven off,’ she called as she walked out the door.

  Oh my god. I just realised what happened next. You were right. It’s too much for a montage.

  I told you.

  The fifth, sixth and seventh things.

  The fifth being much more fun than the sixth and seventh.

  Oh, I don’t know. If the sixth and seventh things are what I’m thinking, they’re actually a lot of fun.

  You’re only saying that because you have a secret evil streak.

  Love you too!!!

  Twelve

  ‘Can’t get enough of us?’ Theo said when I walked into his room for the second time that afternoon.

  Guy leaped up from the beanbag he was on and enveloped me in a hug. He smelled so good. It made the nervousness bubbling in my tummy feel even more intense.

  ‘Wanna play?’ Guy said, gesturing to the screen where a digital basketball game was frozen in place.

  ‘Um, actually . . .’ I looked at Theo, feeling awkward.

  ‘What? You wanna watch a movie or something?’ He messed with the controller in his hand, closing the game screen and opening Netflix.

  ‘No. Actually, I was thinking I’d . . . take Guy off your hands tonight.’

  Theo’s eyebrows shot up.

  Guy said, ‘But we already took Max for a walk today.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But . . . no one is home. At my house. And they won’t be all night. So. I was thinking . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ Guy said softly.

  I could feel my face heating up. I didn’t dare look at Theo.

  ‘I mean – um, see, there’s this mural thing I’m doing at school. And I was – I was thinking of painting, um, you? If you don’t mind? So I need to sketch you and –’

  Guy had hold of my hands and he pulled them up to his chest. ‘You want to paint me?’ His eyes were shining with delight.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ Theo said. ‘Haven’t you been sketching him?’

  I looked at him sharply. ‘Yes. But that was just messing around. This is important. I need to focus.’

  ‘Ah I see. You need to focus.’ He smirked. ‘Well, at least I’ll finally get some peace and quiet.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Oh, yeah. Which you’ll immediately destroy with your saxophone.’

  ‘I’ll be the bigger person and choose not to take offence at that comment.’

  ‘I enjoy your saxophone playing,’ Guy said to Theo.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ Theo said. He stood and picked up the instrument. ‘Don’t worry. So does Katie. She’s just being a jerk.’

  ‘Kate would never –’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, she’s perfect.’ He looked at us. ‘You better get going. Don’t want to waste any precious sketch time.’

  We had nearly made it out the door when he called, ‘Oh, KC!’ I turned back. He grinned. ‘Hope you’ve got plenty of rubbers.’ I stared at him. ‘You know, wouldn’t want any mistakes.’ And then he winked.

  I responded with my middle finger. ‘Now who’s the jerk,’ I muttered.

  ‘You know,’ Guy said as I ducked through the broken fence and he followed after me. ‘He really does like you.’

  I tilted my head, amused. ‘I know.’

  Guy grinned. ‘Oh, good. I was just making sure. Sometimes I worry that you two don’t get on. But actually, when you’re not around, he’s really rather sweet.’

  Max came bounding towards us then, flopping on his back for belly rubs at Guy’s feet.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked as Max groaned under Guy’s ministrations.

  ‘Oh, well, he says such nice things about you when it’s just me and him.’ He stood up, straightening his shirt. I was momentarily distracted by the way it brushed against his chest. ‘Like last night. He was telling me about when his mother died. And how you were there for him. He said he couldn’t have got through it without you.’

  ‘He talked about all that?’ I headed inside, trying to keep my voice even.

  Guy was behind me, Max right by his side. ‘Yeah. It must’ve been really hard on you, too.’

  I felt tears in my eyes. I blinked rapidly. ‘It was. But it was worse for Theo. I mean, obviously.’ I laughed nervously. ‘Um, do you want something to eat?’

  ‘Always,’ Guy said with a small smile.

  ‘You know,’ he said a little later as he blew on a pastizzi to cool it down, the way I’d shown him, ‘I’m a really good listener.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I said, picking apart my pastizzi and watching the contents ooze
out onto the plate. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘You can ask me anything.’

  ‘Does it really seem like Theo and I . . . don’t get on?’

  Guy frowned. ‘Well. You seem to argue a lot.’

  ‘Yeah, but not seriously. We’re just old friends, you know. It comes with the territory.’

  Guy licked his lips and nodded. ‘I see. I’m glad. I want you to be good friends. Then the three of us can always be together. Well, the four of us, with Libby too. Oh! And Max. That’s five of us.’

  I laughed. ‘You like us that much, huh?’

  ‘I love you,’ he said. He was pushing pastry flakes around his plate, all casual and chill. Like he hadn’t just dropped an L bomb.

  ‘You love . . . us?’

  He looked up at me then, and something in my face made his own go serious. The effect was tainted by a bit of pastry that was stuck to his lip.

  ‘I love you all,’ he said. He took my hands. ‘But . . . it’s you I’m in love with.’

  Have you ever had that feeling where it’s like, you’re thinking and feeling everything at once, and so you end up thinking and feeling nothing at all?

  Like the definition of that meme, No thoughts, head empty.

  That was me in that moment.

  Something exploded inside of me. A feelings bomb.

  Joy. Excitement. Fear. Uncertainty.

  I was overwhelmed.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I stared at him. Stared at that pastry flake.

  And for once in my life, I acted on instinct.

  I stood on my tiptoes, closed my eyes, and I kissed that pastry flake right off his lips.

  It was a gentle kiss, close-mouthed but warm.

  It took about three seconds before my brain finally kicked in.

  What the hell am I doing – what is happening – oh god am I doing this right – oh my god I’m actually kissing him – oh my god his hand is on my waist – oh wow his lips are so soft – what do my lips feel like – oh shit what does my breath taste like – am I doing this right – am I –

  I pulled away.

  Guy slowly opened his eyes. He had a smile on his lips. The lips I had just been kissing.