Half My Luck

by Samera Kamaleddine

  George doesn’t reckon he is. ‘Maddy is already enough of an outsider – and a risky one as well. I can hardly see the Cedars letting some total out-of-the-area stranger into their crew.’

  I’ve finally caught my breath, after running all the way to George’s house from the beach. ‘Yeah, I hope not.’

  George stares at me with intense concentration. ‘Because you’re scared he’ll get into trouble?’

  ‘No. Because then he’ll be just like everyone else. Full of disappointing secrets.’

  She frowns with an edge of sympathy, only the way George can. Because she knows it’s not just the Cedars who have kept me in the dark my whole entire life. She’s the only person I’ve ever told – well, and Imogen now – about my dad’s real recreational activities. Something he’ll never tell me himself.

  ‘He’s human, Layla,’ she says about Jordan now. ‘I’m sure there are some things you don’t know about him that you might not like.’

  I can’t imagine not liking anything about Jordan Michael. I also can’t imagine this place without him.

  ‘Anyway, I was going to call you.’ She reaches for a piece of paper sitting underneath her phone on the bedside table. ‘Guessing you haven’t got one of these in your mailbox yet?’

  She holds up a flyer. I recognise the Neighbourhood Watch font straightaway.

  ‘It’s tomorrow,’ George says, while my eyes follow the printed words: Community event.

  ‘At the beach,’ I say.

  Perfect.

  ‘You missed dinner.’ Mum is putting away freshly washed plates and cutlery. I look out the kitchen window. The sun hasn’t even started to think about setting. ‘And your father called.’

  All of this, not so perfect. ‘Oh, yeah, what did he say?’

  ‘We had a good chat, actually.’

  ‘What?!’ I was expecting her to say, ‘Ask your brother’ instead.

  ‘Your grandmother’s health is not as good as she’s telling you all,’ she says, stacking the last of the clean plates. ‘So, he’s coming back. Next week, in fact. I mean, so he should, really.’

  She can’t help herself with that last bit. ‘Anyway, chicken casserole’s in the fridge. I’m off to Pilates.’

  As she shimmies past me, I’m left to worry about Tayta. She must be pretty bad for Dad to be flying home from wherever he is in the world right now. But Tayta clearly doesn’t want any of us to feel bad, too.

  ‘Mum,’ I call out as I hear her fiddling with the front door. ‘Is Mr Hyman – I mean Gary – going to Pilates with you?’

  I’ve stepped out of the kitchen and I can see her making her exit from the house.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want to hear —’

  ‘Tell him I said hi.’

  Her face is equal parts confusion and oh-shit-I’m-late as she hastily closes the door behind her. I reach for another door, for the chicken casserole that’s calling. And facing me on the fridge is a flyer that could make or break this weekend.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘So far, so boring,’ says George.

  Our regular spot on the sand now has a beach volleyball court set up on it, so we’re watching said boring event from the jetty. In the distance, the grassy knoll is covered in white square tents. To promote local real-estate agents, kids’ face-painting and ‘tasty’ corn on the cob. No one has dared mess with the Cedar Army’s grass under the red gum, though. Sufia is bikini-clad and facedown on her towel like it’s just another beach day.

  ‘I can’t believe how many people she rounded up for this,’ I say. Every human we know must be here.

  ‘Yeah, well, imagine how much we would have been loving this like, five years ago,’ says George.

  Back when our only mission would be to have matching face paint.

  Back when it didn’t matter who sat where on this beach. When I wasn’t thinking about the evil eye every single day. And before this patch of sand represented fear, judgement, falsehood.

  That last one is exactly what I’m seeing ahead of me this minute. Imogen’s mum has lured everybody here today to fix a broken community. One that she’s had an epic hand in breaking. But at the core of all the falsehood is our friend Maddy. Sharing an oversized stick of pink fairy floss with Daniel Mason-Johnson as they sit on the sidelines of the volleyball court.

  ‘Surprise, surprise, Daniel and his mates are hogging the net,’ says George. ‘Show-offs.’

  I zoom in for a better look. Mostly, it’s the guys who spend lunch breaks at school acting like they’re pro basketballers or something. But there’s one non-smug face that doesn’t look like he belongs on the team: the innocent face of Jordan Michael.

  Or maybe he’s not that innocent after all, I think as I make my way down to the sand with a faster pace than I had planned. I pass the closed kiosk, the first time I’ve ever seen it shut during summer. I pass groups of little kids building sandcastles. Then I get to the first line in the sand just as Jordan clasps his hands, looks to the sky and dives, smashing the ball straight in my direction.

  When I open my eyes, I meet his blue ones.

  ‘I’m sooooo sorry, mate. Are you alright?’

  He stops waving his hand across my face, and I can see that the kiosk counter is much closer than it should be. Did he carry me here? And did everyone see him carry me here? I remember that every human we know must be here. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

  ‘Don’t sit up if you feel dizzy,’ he says, grabbing my shoulder as I’m lifting it off the ground.

  ‘What was in that volleyball? Seriously, kill me next time.’

  Jordan laughs. ‘Aaaaand she’s back!’ He leans against the kiosk wall, under the counter.

  I join him when I can refocus my eyes. ‘So, I guess I’m the embarrassment of the community event?’

  ‘You and I both know those boys don’t pay attention to anything but themselves.’

  I look back at the volleyball court and it’s play on. Of course. ‘Why were you even over there?’

  ‘What, playing volleyball? Your mate Maddy, she came to the boatshed, said they needed an extra guy. I was like, sure, why not.’

  ‘Wait, Maddy invited you?’

  Jordan nods with a ‘yeah, that’s what I said’ look on his face. He probably thinks I have a concussion. But the ball didn’t hit my head that hard. I can still tell when my mate Madeline Symons is up to something.

  Imogen is on the jetty now, too. I can see George trying to fill the awkward air with convo – any convo – while Imogen’s focus is on the bustling beach. I’m desperate to get to them, to tell them Maddy is in full-scheme mode. But I’m almost slammed to the ground. Again.

  ‘You alright, cuz? That was a proper stack at the volleyball court,’ says Sufia, coming up behind me and forcing me off the sandbank. I almost ram into the boatshed. The rusty, old boatshed that’s holding one super-important puzzle piece.

  ‘Yeah, I’m alright. I guess.’

  Sufia lingers. ‘Okay good.’

  How can she stand here, right next to the boatshed, and not say anything about what’s inside?

  ‘You know I only ever want to keep you out of trouble, right? I don’t want you caught up in any shit. Ever. You’re my little cousin.’ She taps my arm.

  ‘By three hours,’ I remind her.

  She laughs while also dishing out an eyeroll. She’s a multi-tasker like that. ‘Yeah, whatever. I’m always going to protect you, though.’

  ‘You can’t protect me from everything, you know.’

  Sufia pauses and stares at me with eyes that everyone says are so much like mine. I don’t know how that can be true when they see the world so differently. ‘Try to stop me.’

  ‘Any goss? What’s she planning?’ George asks when I finally make it back to Imogen and her sitting cross-legged on the jetty.

  ‘I don’t think she’s actually planning anything, to be honest.’ And I even believe what I’m saying.

  ‘Useless, then,’ Imogen mumbles.

  George and I
look at each other. She shakes her head, and I can tell I’ve walked into a cloud of hostility. ‘You’re in a serious mood today, Imogen. I know this is lame, and your mum is like, the devil or something, but for everyone’s sake, shake it off.’

  Imogen must have really pissed George off to make her go on like that. I’m scared to know what I’ve missed.

  ‘She’s getting ready to make her big speech of the day.’ Imogen ignores George’s little outburst and motions to the beach.

  We all look over at Mrs Meyer grabbing a microphone Bluetoothed to a nearby PA system. I trace the cords from the speaker back to the boatshed. From outside her promotional tent, she starts grabbing the attention of the crowd with a drawn-out ‘Hello’ into the mic. Heads turn from other tents, the sand, the volleyball court. One head, however, is coming our way instead. An angry-looking head with angry-moving legs. Otherwise known as The March of Maddy. When she gets within close range of the jetty, her voice is booming at us: ‘The phone. Which one of you has it?’

  CHAPTER 22

  George takes the most offence to Maddy’s accusation. Judging by the look on her face, she wouldn’t know how to break a lock even if she had a YouTube tutorial in front of her.

  ‘Well, come on, then. Who took it?’ Maddy is standing over us, hands on hips. Learning from the best. ‘Because no one else – outside the Cedars and me – knows it was there. Except you guys. And now it’s gone.’

  Maddy looks to me first. ‘Did your boyfriend Jordan let you in? Well, did he?’

  I don’t know what to say. I turn to George, who shrugs slightly. But not too much of a shrug that it’ll set Maddy off even more. Imogen’s face is, as usual, hard to read.

  ‘I’m not leaving until one of you confesses.’

  ‘Guessing you’ve checked with Sufia, then?’ asks George. I look over to the red gum, where none of the Cedar Army have bothered looking up for Mrs Meyer’s speech.

  ‘Yes, George, of course I have.’ Her eyes wander to Imogen. ‘Do you not have anything to say?’

  Imogen is fixated. On the beach and her mum’s voice. She puts a finger to her mouth, signalling us to shush as she continues to stare blankly ahead, her other hand gripping her phone so tightly that her fingers have a purplish tinge.

  Maddy is about to do anything but shush, until Mrs Meyer’s voice changes. Into a voice that sounds a lot like Daniel Mason-Johnson’s. ‘What . . . ?’

  All three of us turn to Imogen. Her smile could fit the width of this river.

  The recording coming through the speaker has captured the attention of the Cedar Army. On their feet, but not moving, they listen as Daniel calls them ‘dirty terrorists’. He wishes the bungers had got them, he says. He’s sorry he hurt ‘one of us’ – Imogen flinches – but not sorry that he tried.

  Sufia has run halfway down to the sandbank. Partly out of surprise, partly to get a better look at Daniel’s face as everyone on the beach stands still in time, stunned.

  Mrs Meyer is the most stunned. She’s frantically switching the microphone on and off, as if that’s going to stop the truth from pouring out of the speakers.

  My heart is doing burpees out of my chest, faster than Daniel talking, faster than his legs as they run towards the speaker. When he gets to it, it’s too late. The recording has finished playing. It’s over.

  No one knows what to do next. The Cedars aren’t cheering like I assumed they would, like I would expect them to after their name has just been cleared. Sufia is looking our way, without any obvious emotion. The beach crowd is mumbling. Mrs Meyer has gone into damage control, apologising into the mic for the technical difficulty.

  Her daughter, on the other hand, is not apologetic. Imogen looks relaxed, not remorseful. Content, not uptight. It’s a look she should wear more often, really.

  Maddy wants to look happy, but something is holding her back. She was defied, and that doesn’t ever go down well with Maddy. Imogen looks up at her and smiles. ‘How good was that?’

  ‘I thought you’d be a little more . . . happy,’ I say to Sufia, who had made her way back to the Cedars as I was trailing her.

  ‘Happy? Who do you think they’re going to blame for this?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It looks like we did this,’ she says, pointing her arm at the sandbank. Over her shoulder, her crew look dumbfounded as they listen in.

  ‘The truth is out, Sufia. Everyone knows it was Daniel now, so what does it matter?’

  ‘It always matters, Layla.’ She turns away, one hand on her forehead, the other gripping her hip. ‘Who was it?’ she asks, facing me again.

  ‘Imogen.’ No point hiding it now.

  Sufia looks pleasantly surprised. ‘Really? Interesting.’ She swings her head back into the Cedar crowd, at a person I hadn’t noticed when I first got here. I wasn’t looking for her, hadn’t expected her. Shontel Meyer is standing quietly beside the red gum, tucked into Nasser’s side. ‘Guess your mum isn’t going to be too happy.’

  Shontel looks past Sufia and we lock eyes. Hers say she’s found where she belongs. And that she doesn’t care what it’s cost her to get there.

  ‘What if he thinks it’s Maddy who played it?’ I blurt out, reclaiming Sufia’s attention. ‘Have you not thought of that?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly the plan for her to get busted, was it? There was a plan, you know. Anyway, we’ve got her back, don’t worry about that.’

  Words I never expected to hear out of Sufia’s mouth about anyone outside the Cedar Army. Before she can say anything to change how I feel about her in this moment – a little bit proud, a little bit nervous – I nod and stride off down the grass.

  I’m halfway to the sand, in the exact spot Sufia was standing not so long ago, when I hear her booming voice: ‘Layla!’

  I stop and look over my shoulder.

  ‘We always look after our own!’ she shouts from the top.

  I smile at my cousin, then keep walking. I want to cheer, cry, laugh . . . but mostly, I just want to close my eyes and go to sleep for a day or three.

  CHAPTER 23

  Tayta shakes me awake. It’s dark behind the blinds of her lounge room and I feel like I really have been asleep for three days.

  ‘Habibi, soup?’ She’s crouched down, holding a steaming bowl under my nose. Brown lentils with bits of onion floating near the top. It smells the way it looks.

  ‘Ah, no . . . thank you. Um, what time is it?’ I refocus my eyes, pick up my phone off the ground and answer my own question. It turns out, thankfully, I have not been sleeping for seventy-two hours. I’ve only missed the afternoon.

  I don’t remember getting here, but I remember leaving the beach. The crowds had disappeared, the noise had simmered and Daniel was nowhere to be seen. Imogen had spotted her sister, and decided to step over the invisible line and join her under the red gum. George had gone home with her parents, who were super disappointed that the rest of the day’s activities had been cancelled.

  The only friendly face left on the beach then was Jordan’s.

  ‘So that was an eventful event,’ he’d called out as I was approaching the boatshed. He’d been repairing the broken padlock. Satisfied he’d secured it tightly, he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned up against the shed, watching me practically run towards him. ‘That Daniel bloke got out of here fast.’

  ‘Probably rushing home to spin a different version of the story to his parents.’

  ‘You must be pretty stoked about it, though, right? This is what you wanted, yeah? Their names out of the mud and all that.’

  I had given him a nod. But my feelings were more mixed than my race. It’s like when you’re hungry for ages and you finally get to eat . . . but it makes you feel a bit sick because the hunger has gone on for so long.

  But now, as Tayta leaves the room with the watery brownness and disappointment at my refusal to eat it, I wonder if maybe my hunger has finally been satisfied after all.

  Maddy is waiting on my lo
unge when I get home. Patiently, no psycho look on her face. Relieved, I slump down next to her. A handful of seconds pass before one of us speaks.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Nope. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Maybe you won’t. At all,’ I say, to try to reassure her. Because maybe he won’t blame her and seek some kind of horrible revenge. Maybe he has enough to deal with as he finally stands before his parental judges.

  Maddy looks up from the cushion she’s hugging to her chest. ‘Why do I feel like shit?’

  The hunger pains are on my mind again. ‘I don’t know, because it’s scary to be brave? You’ve been braver than any of us, Mads. You should be proud of that.’

  ‘It’s just not how I wanted it to happen. I mean, if I hadn’t been the one who recorded him, I would have been loving that show. And like, what a show, right?’

  Nodding in agreeance feels inappropriate. It feels safer not to have any reaction at all.

  ‘And I know you know it’s not how Sufia wanted it to play out, either,’ she goes on, trying to catch my eyes. But I can’t budge them. ‘The Cedars’ plan definitely wasn’t as dramatic as Imogen’s impromptu one. Nothing like what you might imagine.’

  It’s the first time I’m wondering what the real show was supposed to be. And as if Maddy can sense it now, she tells me.

  Getting the evidence to Daniel’s parents was the only real way. But Sufia knew it would take a stepping-stone path of Cedar outsiders to get to them.

  The first to step on a stone would be Shontel. No arm twisting required. She volunteered . . . to go to Mr Gary Hyman. Who would then listen to the recording and tell the Mason-Johnsons the evidence he’d heard, without blow-back on Maddy. Because they would listen to a teacher.

  I’m surprised Sufia would ever trust a teacher. But she had trusted Maddy, and she now had to keep her out of harm’s (Daniel’s) way.

  I’m also surprised Sufia’s plan didn’t have as much spice as I expected. Because of course that’s what I expected of her. Of them.