Keep going. Keep going until you get to that horrible sign.
Racing to the rhythm of my speed-beating heart, I finally come to a complete stop when I see it.
‘Do you not look at your phone or something?’ Sufia is shouting from my front doorstep. Layla is sitting next to her. ‘Let’s go, I know where your sister is.’
By ‘let’s go’, Sufia means into her boyfriend’s garish and loud – in colour and sound – car. It has a ridiculous number plate, like python or phantom, and I’m embarrassed to be sitting in the back of it. Layla looks just as mortified. When Sufia tells me where we’re headed, I must look shocked, confused.
I’m now seeing streets that don’t feel so familiar to me, corners I’ve never turned down, houses I didn’t eat birthday cake at. How can some roads be so close to mine yet so foreign to me?
‘Layla,’ I say quietly so Sufia and her boyfriend up front can’t hear, which they probably can’t over these throbbing subwoofers, anyway. Is it not a bit early for house music? ‘Daniel’s cheating on Maddy. I just thought you should know.’
She turns her head to me, staring for a moment. ‘Let’s deal with it later, hey.’ On a morning of delicate surprises, she looks somewhat unsurprised by the news. It’s almost like she’s been anticipating another strike.
We pull up outside a single-storey red-brick house, where there’s more than just one car parked on the front lawn. Unbuckling my racing car harness-style seatbelt, I let Sufia and her boyfriend lead the way, while Layla walks uncomfortably close behind me. There’s no door knock or ring of a bell, we let ourselves in through a screen door and a tall guy I don’t recognise with tight, dark curls gets up from a faded tan leather lounge to greet us.
‘Nass, bro, good to see you.’ Sufia’s boyfriend gets into a bro-brace with him. When I look past them, I see Shontel sitting in the corner of the lounge with her knees tucked up to her chin.
I want to grab her, hug her and also shake her. We’re not a touchy-feely kind of family, though. So, I stand in front of her and ask her why she didn’t tell me. Why couldn’t she confide in me? I’m not like Mum and Dad, I would never have judged, I wouldn’t have been angry.
‘Yeah, you would, you all would have,’ she says. ‘He’s an awesome guy, Ims. But I didn’t know how to say it, how to tell anyone.’
‘So, you thought running off and hiding out with him would make it easier?’ Mum might as well be here, I think when I hear myself shout it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, looking around and realising we’re the centre of attention. I hate being the centre of attention.
‘The police let him go last night, and I wanted to see him. As if Mum and Dad were going to let me go anywhere, let alone here.’
I take a seat next to her, on the edge of the lounge. It sounds like an army of people are fighting in Arabic in the kitchen. I don’t want to be fighting. ‘Thanks for looking after her last night.’ I look up at my sister’s boyfriend.
‘Nasser,’ he says with his hand out.
‘Imogen,’ I say, shaking it.
‘I swear I’m not trying to cause any trouble, I —’
‘I get it, don’t worry.’ Because I do. My little sister has a boyfriend. I don’t know how long she’s had a boyfriend for, how long she’s been keeping it a secret. But I know they’ve probably sat on opposite ends of the beach and desperately wished they were sitting together. Now I also know why she so badly wanted to run towards the bang that night.
‘So, you’re the guy who torched Daniel Mason-Johnson’s car?’
Nasser looks cautious. ‘You’re not mates with him, are you?’
I catch Layla’s gag face. ‘No way. He’s the last guy on Earth I’d ever be friends with.’ I turn to Shontel, who’s dropped her knees – her guard – a little. She’s wearing a T-shirt. I haven’t seen her without long sleeves in weeks. Or seen the blotchy redness that Daniel caused, ever.
‘Sweet, we’ve already got something in common, then, eh?’
A common enemy. I look to Layla again and hope she’s ready.
CHAPTER 12
‘What now?’ asks Layla as we get out of the electric-blue eyesore again, this time at the top of the beach.
‘Wait, I guess, until she’s called them. She’d better do it soon. I can’t – I don’t want to – stay here all day.’ The truth is, I’d rather be here. I’d most definitely rather be here than at home right now, listening to my parents throw not-so-subtle hints about my responsibility in Shontel’s disappearing act. Would it kill them to suffer just a little longer? I think not. I also think I don’t want to be there when Shon tells them the where and why of her disappearance. As much as I’d really like to see their faces.
The four of us stand at the top of the beach, and I thank them for their help, even though I feel like I could have said more. And we all walk our separate ways: Sufia and her boyfriend to the red gum, Layla down to Maddy and Georgia on the sand, and me, the furthest walk, to Carina and the Ultimate Tanners by the kiosk.
‘Um, did you just get out of Phantom1?’ Carina slides her sunnies off the end of her nose when I get close enough.
‘Yes, I got a lift.’
‘From your house? Down the street? And why are you wearing activewear?! It’s like, a million degrees today.’
It’s been a million degrees for what feels like as many days. I’ve become numb to the relentless rays.
‘It’s a long story, Carina.’ I can’t tell her. Not yet. I need my parents to find out before the whole school does. I promised Shontel I’d let her do it her way. ‘Can I just lie down here for a while?’
Carina scoots over and makes space on her beach towel for me.
‘Seriously though, I was like, am I seeing things? Is that Imogen getting out of Phantom1? What is going on? She’s not friends with them . . .’
I close my eyes so that hopefully Carina assumes I’ve tuned out, that I’m dozing off and not listening anymore. I hear, ‘She’s not friends with them’ on a loop inside my head. There are worse things in the world – worse things happening around us even – than being friends with them. Carina hasn’t even bothered to ask how the search for my missing sister is going. Yes, there are definitely worse people to be friends with, I think as I melt into the ground beneath the million-degree sun.
‘She’s done it,’ I say. Layla exchanges a five-dollar note and a meek smile with the redhead behind the counter. No Jordan this afternoon. ‘She told them, they know.’
Snacks in hand, Layla turns away from the kiosk window to face me. ‘And . . . is it a good situation or a bad situation?’
‘Somewhere in the middle. They’ve pulled the age card and said she’s too young for a boyfriend.’ She is only fifteen after all.
‘So, they didn’t have anything to say about who the guy is?’
‘No,’ I lie. I don’t know how to tell her, Layla of all people, that my dad flipped when he found out Shontel’s boyfriend is from the Cedar Army. One of ‘those wogs’. Would she even be surprised? ‘Anyway, I just thought I’d let you know. I’m heading home now, to check out the damage. Talk to you later.’
I rush away from the kiosk before she asks any more questions, before she can even respond. But I’m in less of a rush on the way home. It’s a painful walk. My knees are aching from this morning’s marathon, and my stomach is wriggling with vile nerves. And my head? It’s not quite prepared for what I might be walking into. All I know is, I’m going to confide in Shontel, I’m going to tell her the plan.
Creeping through the front door, I expect to hear shouting and fighting of Arabic proportions on the other side. Instead, there’s not a single sound. No dishwasher, no Triple J, no disapproving parents. Just a house full of silence, where I expect to see some kind of family meeting in motion.
What I do see down the hall is Shontel’s closed bedroom door. She has to be in there; I hope she’s in there. I rap on the door, softly this time, and wait a few seconds before I let myself in. She’s been crying for a differe
nt kind of pain, cuddled up with a pillow and facing her laptop that’s streaming a series at the end of her bed.
‘They told me I can’t see him anymore. It’ll be bad for Mum’s campaign or some crap.’
I flop down on the bed near her feet. ‘Typical. That’s the priority around here, isn’t it?’
She nods and sniffs in agreement.
‘That needs to change, Shon. And Daniel . . . his luck needs to change, too.’
She looks up at me now, with a generous dose of curiosity in her eyes. ‘What are you going to do, Ims?’
‘Something we should have done weeks ago.’
We’re sitting on the lounge with the air-con pumping and the TV blaring, when Mum walks through the door. She’s carrying enviro bags full of groceries and her heels click all the way to the kitchen without even stopping to glance in our direction. ‘I’ve got lamb cutlets for dinner. Your father will be home soon, so I’d better get them on now,’ she calls out when she gets there. ‘Can one of you clear the table?’
I tilt my head back to the dining room. The table has a pile of campaign flyers sprawled on it. Neither of us moves as we listen to her plonk item after item on the kitchen bench, before hurrying off to her room to get changed into her regular after-work wear. That’s how this feels right now: regular. Like the past twenty-four hours haven’t happened, like Shontel hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on their perfect existence.
Shon and I shoot each other a knowing look. We’re both thinking the same thing, because this isn’t the first time we’ve seen it – our parents acting like nothing is amiss, nothing has been disrupted, nothing needs fixing. They reckon it will go away because problems always do. Shontel will break up with Nasser, she’ll never dare talk to another Cedar boy again, and her wounds – all of them – will heal.
‘That’s how they were acting after they . . . well, after they ruined my life,’ whispers Shontel. ‘Just getting on with stuff. Dad went straight to work, Mum even went to the study and started printing off rubbish for her campaign!’
So those campaign flyers are brand new? I get up, suddenly inspired to do as Mum asked and clear the table. When I get there, though, I find that the flyers aren’t about the campaign after all . . . but invitations to join Mum’s new Neighbourhood Watch program.
‘What’s this?’ I call out in Mum’s direction, still reading my chosen one from the pile: The new community-based initiative will aim to reduce and prevent localised crime. If you, or your children, have been victim to acts of crime in the area, then this is your opportunity to help enact change.
She’s now standing, tongs in hand, at the stovetop.
‘Does this have anything to do with the Lebanese, by any chance? Or one Lebanese person in particular?’ I ask, edging towards the kitchen.
Mum pivots on her now sans-high-heel feet, while her well-rehearsed face barely moves a muscle. ‘I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, Imogen, but I’m only guilty of wanting to protect kids and families around here.’
‘But not from actual criminals, though?’ The heat from the grill pan is no competition for the heat rising through my veins and into my cheeks.
‘Enough,’ she says, holding the tongs out towards me. ‘Enough with the attitude. It’s my job to serve the community and that’s exactly what I’m going to do – now and when I get re-elected. So please, for God’s sake, let me do it without your constant cross-examination. It’s not on, Imogen.’
I stand still and staring as she continues to flip cutlets. What’s not on is how totally wrong she’s acting, I think when I finally remove myself from the kitchen. Shontel has been leaning over the couch, listening.
‘Is she for real?’ I throw the piece of paper onto Shontel’s lap.
She scans it quickly, but doesn’t look angry or shocked. ‘I guess this is why I was let off the hook so easily.’
‘Yep. Because she’s got her own plans to make sure you stay away from him.’
There are whispers of a party tonight at Daniel’s. His parents are away for the weekend, says Carina, in not much of a whisper. So, he’s spreading the word (well, Carina is doing a pretty good job of it for him) that anyone and everyone is welcome to his backyard as soon as the street lights come on. I doubt he really means everyone.
‘Are you going to come?’ Carina asks me, while we’re five-deep in the line at the kiosk. ‘I’m pretty sure Ethan Beresford broke up with what’s-her-face the other day, sooooo he’s totally free . . .’
I had a crush on Ethan Beresford in Year Nine. But then he called me a ‘stuck-up moll’ in English one day, and I decided I had better things to do than be in love with high-school boys. ‘Ah, not an incentive. And Daniel’s is literally the last place I would go for a party.’
‘Okay, whatever, just asking. The invitation’s there.’
When I’d told Layla about Mum’s own invites last night, I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Now, as Carina gets served at the counter, I look behind us – at the beachgoers, who will do anything to get through the gates of Daniel’s backyard tonight, at the Cedar Army, who are not really a part of everyone, and at Layla, who won’t even look in my direction today.
‘Oh, hey, everything cool with your sis?’ asks Jordan, when Carina vacates the counter and I’m next to be served. I’ve forgotten he was there that night while I was kayaking in the dark like a weirdo.
‘Yes, it will be,’ I say. Although I’m no longer sure how keen Layla is to be my partner in stopping crime, especially now that Mum is the captain for the other team.
Jordan’s waiting for my order and I’ve totally forgotten what I came here for. I don’t think there’s anything behind this counter that’s going to satisfy any cravings. ‘Uh, you know what, I’m actually good. Sorry. Thanks.’
I scurry off back towards the sand looking, yet again, like the weirdest person around.
I hear the rev first and Layla’s voice second. ‘We should go.’
‘Go?’
‘To Daniel’s party.’ She’s coming towards me as I’m stepping off the grassy knoll and onto the footpath. Layla, on the other hand, has just stepped out of Phantom1. We meet on the kerb.
‘Why would we want to do that?’
‘Because he’ll be smashed and he’ll say something stupid.’
‘He’s always saying something stupid,’ I remind her. ‘What’s your point?’
‘My point is,’ she says, ‘he might actually talk about what he did that night. You know, like a confession. Or bragging most likely, about what he had planned to do. And anyway, his parents are away, so there’s no point going to the police now. They can’t do anything to him without an adult present, surely.’
Valid point. ‘You really want to do this? Like, be at his house, watching him be everyone’s hero?’
Layla nods. Sufia starts shouting from her throne in the front passenger seat. ‘Hurry up, Layla, let’s go!’
‘They’re not planning to do anything, are they? At the party, I mean,’ I say, looking over at Phantom1.
‘Not that I know of.’ Hardly a reassuring statement.
I hesitate for a few more seconds before I give in. ‘Fine. Meet you there at nine? Or . . . you’re probably going with Maddy and Georgia . . .’
‘Nah, Maddy will already be there, I’m sure. But I’ll walk around there with George. She’s cool, don’t worry.’
That’s not what I’m worried about, I think as I watch Layla climb into the back of Phantom1, and then it zooms off down the road at approximately three times the speed limit. There are loads of other things to worry about, like will Maddy make sure I feel unwelcome? What if I’m the one who can’t control what I say when I see Daniel on his throne? By the time I’ve reached my front door, my head is full of too many what-ifs and all I want to do is empty it onto a pile on my bedroom floor.
I turn the corner and stop, because my legs don’t want to move any further. I can see the lights at Daniel’s house from here; the street has
turned into a carpark. It was only thirty-six hours ago that I was puffing my way around this corner, not even realising where I was headed. This time, it’s a more purposeful stride. I spot Layla and Georgia loitering on the footpath in front of Daniel’s house, unaccompanied by Phantom1 or any Cedars, and I know I have to push on.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ I didn’t know what to wear, but I’m not telling either of them that. It’s not like I’m at house parties every weekend. What does everyone wear to a house party? I’m about to find out as we head down the driveway and through the open gates. No mates manning them, they really are open to all. Daniel is almost asking for trouble. For some reason, Layla and Georgia let me lead the way, as though they think I have a place here.
It’s Maddy who looks like she belongs in this yard. She’s the first person I see, standing barefoot on a plastic chair reaching up for a goon bag pegged to the Hills Hoist. She’s wearing a black knee-length body-con dress with spaghetti straps. Not what I thought anyone would be wearing to a house party.
Daniel and his mates are standing underneath the otherwise empty clothesline, egging her on, telling her to ‘Do it, do it!’ over the music. The host doesn’t rush our way to greet his new guests. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even notice us walk in.
‘Sooooo, this is exactly what I pictured it to be,’ says Georgia, scanning the party. Plastic chairs are scattered around, as are groups of people we know from the beach. Already there’s a heap of empty beer bottles and chip packets littered on the grass. ‘What now?’
Half My Luck Page 10
