by J. C. Burke
‘Yeah. She’s great.’
Evie rolls her eyes.
‘You’d really like her,’ Alex tells her. ‘I reckon there might be a bit of chemistry between her and Seb, you know.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, she seemed pretty hot for Seb.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Would you believe she asked if you and Seb were an item?’ Alex chuckles. ‘I said you’d die if people thought you were going out with him.’
‘No I wouldn’t,’ Evie says a bit too quickly. ‘I mean … I mean, Seb’s a great guy. There’s nothing wrong with him.’
‘Well, don’t worry. I assured Roxy there was absolutely nothing going on with you and Seb.’ Alex crunches away at something as she speaks. ‘Don’t you think Roxy and Seb would make a cute couple? I do. Hey, Zac and I could go on double dates with them! We’ve just got to find someone for you, Evie.’
‘I’ll … be okay. Thanks anyway.’ Evie picks up the pencil on her father’s bedside table and starts doodling on some paper. ‘So, what are you up to today, Al?’
‘I’m going to see Zac and Seb play soccer at one o’clock.’ Alex is talking with her mouth full. Evie holds the phone away with each crunch.
‘What are you eating?’
‘A carrot,’ Alex mumbles. ‘I’m on a diet. Zac said I was a little bit too cuddly.’
‘That’s a bit harsh!’
‘Oh, he didn’t mean it like that,’ Alex says in defence. ‘He said I was just a bit too cuddly, not fat! Anyway, you want to come and watch the game?’
‘I’ve still got a bit of a headache.’ This time it is a lie. Evie actually feels quite peaceful. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘Whatever,’ Alex sighs. ‘Roxy’s coming, so at least I’ll have someone to talk to. Zac gets so serious before a game.’
Evie draws a square within a square, then joins the lines together, making it a cube. ‘He’s psyching up, I guess.’
‘You should see him in his soccer shorts. He looks so hot. God, I want to run on the field and … and rip his clothes off.’
‘That’d go down well.’ Evie draws cube after cube, each one the same as the last. ‘I’m sure Zac’d appreciate it – not.’
‘I think afterwards we’ll go to that new gelato bar for coffee. It’s just across from the Penis Abuser.’
Evie swallows. ‘Really?’
‘Luckily it’s a Sunday. That means …’
Evie presses hard on the pencil as Alex prattles on.
‘… the Penis College is closed so Zac can’t be distracted by the babes walking in and out. He’ll only be able to look at me …’
Evie begins to slash vertical lines through each cube.
‘… only that weird-looking skinny chick hangs out there on a Sunday; she is a complete case …’
Line after line after line, each one darker than the last. Evie can’t stop it.
‘… I mean she’s hardly going to …’
‘Ouch!’ Evie yelps.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Evie shakes her hand. ‘I just broke my dad’s pencil.’
‘Is that all?’ Alex scoffs. ‘The thing about Zac is that …’
Evie doesn’t want this conversation. Usually it’d be fine. Usually she’d be able to tell Alex what was going on in her other life. Now she can’t. Alex is caught up in a different life. A new life. A life Evie hoped she could have. A life she has had to put on hold – again.
‘Roxy,’ Alex prattles on, ‘you know how their family is really old friends with Zac’s. Well, Roxy was telling me the cutest story about Zac when he was little –’
‘Alex, my mum needs to use the phone.’ Another lie. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Hang on! Have we got art first? I’m just too scrambled in the head at the moment. Blame it on love.’
Evie ignores her. ‘Art’s second period,’ she replies.
‘Okay. Hope your headache gets better.’
‘Oh? Yeah, yeah, thanks. Bye.’
Evie lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling horrible. Alex has been her lifeline. Alex has been the one Evie could tell anything too. Alex accepting her was something she had always been sure of. Once, they’d been bound together – two misfits happy to have found one another. But now Alex wants more. Evie wants it too, but for her it’s not as simple.
‘How’s Alex?’ Robin wanders in with a pile of clean washing. ‘Help me fold this, will you?’
‘All right.’ Evie sighs, searching for a sock’s other half.
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, she’s just, you know, got a boyfriend, all that stuff. And … I guess I couldn’t be further from that.’
‘Give it time, love.’
‘It’s more than that.’ Evie picks up the undies and bras. ‘Where’s this sock’s mate? I can’t find it.’
‘It’s hiding there somewhere,’ her mum replies, stacking her husband’s T-shirts onto a shelf. ‘I don’t know what it is with socks. Where do they go?’
Evie gives up. She lies back on the pillows, wishing for what she can’t have. A photo of her dad and grandma sits on the bedside table. She holds it up and studies her grandmother’s face. How she wishes she was alive. Alive to guide her through the uncertainties and protect her from the things that frighten her. But the one person Evie longs to speak to is silent.
The paper she was scribbling on hangs off the edge of the table. She puts the photo back and picks it up. Cubes, lots of them, stacked on top of each other and covered in dark vertical lines. Evie studies them, trying to work out what they remind her of. The cubes stare back, almost like they’re trying to speak.
Cages – that’s it. The pictures of the circus bears locked in cages. That’s what her drawing reminds her of. Things that are kept for someone else’s pleasure. Trapped, scared, powerless with no voice. If they were freed, unlocked from their prison, think of the things they could tell you.
Then another thought hits her. A more sobering one. Again, Evie looks at it. ‘No!’ She crumples the sketch in her hand. It couldn’t mean anything. It’s just a drawing. ‘No! No way!’
A breeze drifts through Evie’s bedroom. It lifts the blind, then gently lets it go. With each fall, the wooden slats brush the ledge. Tap, tap, tap. The breeze carries a perfume, too. Clean and sweet, fresh like a florist’s in the morning. Evie’s nostrils start to twitch as the fragrance fills the room, stirring her from her slumber.
With eyes wide open, she stares into the darkness. The breeze has settled, leaving only its perfume behind. She sniffs the air. There’s no mistaking it. Evie understands. Caz’s presence is imminent. That means it’s time.
She turns on the lamp and carries her chair to the cupboard. Her hand digs around in the top shelf until it touches the wood, cold and smooth against her palm. Carefully, she slides it to the edge – her grandmother’s ouija board.
The hinges moan as she lifts the board out of its box. The painted Egyptian figures stand poised upon the honey-coloured timber. They are ready, always. Evie rubs the planchette on her pyjama sleeve and places it in the centre of the board.
On her desk, she searches for a pencil and some paper. It’s then she sees them sitting on the window ledge – two white candles. She swallows hard and her fingers tremble as she picks them up.
There’s a lighter in the drawer, left over from one of Alex’s visits. The sulphur sizzles as the gas springs to life and the flame stands tall. Evie tries to steady her hand, as one by one she lights the candles. Then, turning off the lamp, she sits quietly on the floor, the paper and pencil resting in her lap.
In – out, in – out, she focuses on her breath while, for the first time ever, she consciously calls to the self that makes her special.
‘I … I ask for good will – for all at this calling.’ Her voice shakes as she chooses each word. ‘I ask for protection and guidance. Please … keep me safe.’
Evie places her index finger on the planchette. ‘I r
equest to speak to those in the … spirit world.’ She swallows. ‘Um, I make this request with the greatest respect.’
‘Please, I ask Caz to join me. If she can. I will keep her messages safe. I promise.’ The window pane rattles as the breeze re-enters the room, this time lifting the blind to its full height. It bellows then falls, hitting the window ledge with a crack.
‘Okay,’ Evie squeaks. ‘Um, um. Caz? Um, are –’ Evie takes a deep breath. ‘Caz, you’re here?’
Under her finger, the planchette slides to the word ‘YES’.
‘Thank you. Thank you.’ Evie’s other hand touches her throat. ‘Is there something you need to tell me? You can talk to me. You can trust me.’
The pointer circumnavigates the letters as if searching for the right one.
A to M sit along the top row of the board. For a second, it settles there before moving to the L, then O, O. Evie spells ‘L-O-O-K-T-H-E-D-O-O-R’.
‘Lock the door, you mean.’ Evie corrects.
The planchette turns anti-clockwise, spinning over to the ‘NO’.
‘No?’
It then moves downwards, circling around the S, sliding back and pointing directly to it.
‘S,’ Evie whispers. The word continues. ‘S-C-A-R-E-D. Scared?’ Evie repeats. ‘What are you scared of, Caz?’
It skirts over to the P and begins a new word.
‘P-A-R-I-S-T-A-L-K.’ Evie copies the letters with her left hand. They squiggle down the page.
‘Paris talk?’ Evie frowns. ‘Paris is your sister, right? You want me to go and see your sister? You want her to talk? Talk to me?’
It points to the ‘YES’, three times before making a circle around the entire board. It stops and then, for a second, hovers as though unsure of its direction. Evie watches her finger, wondering where it will follow.
The planchette points to the C then, gathering up speed, continues the message. Frantically, Evie writes the letters. Randomly, they land on the paper as each one is delivered. ‘C-A-R-E-F-U-L-I-N-E-E-D-A-S-’ Evie watches the jumble appearing before her, ‘S-I-S-T-A-N-C-E-A-N-DH-E-L-P.’ Her finger runs along the letters, linking them together and forming the words, ‘Careful I need assistance and help.’
‘Okay,’ she says in reply. Evie places her finger back on the needle. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything?’
‘H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P …’ The pointer swings around the board. ‘H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P …’ Faster and faster. It won’t stop. ‘H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P …’ Evie feels like her arm is about to dislodge from its socket. Around and around it whizzes as the air becomes trapped in her throat. ‘H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-P-H-E-L-PH-E …’ Evie can hardly breathe. The wheeze is barking from her mouth. She has to stop it. She pushes against the energy, forcing the planchette to the word ‘GOODBYE’. She holds it there, puffing and panting.
‘Goodbye,’ Evie chokes. ‘Goodbye.’ Caz starts to back away. ‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’ As she does, Evie’s lungs begin to soften and relax. ‘Goodbye,’ she whispers. ‘Goodbye.’
Suddenly, everything is still. In the dark, Evie sits, trying to gather her thoughts. In – out, in – out, she steadies her breath and wipes the sweat from her forehead. The paper is lying crumpled on the floor. The words are scribbled, almost unrecognisable as Evie’s writing.
‘Look the door. Scared. Paris talk. Careful. I Need Assistance And Help. Help Help …’
Evie blows out the candles.
‘What has happened to you, Caz?’ she whispers. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Evie, Seb and Poppy are squeezed into the one seat on the bus. Seb is showing Poppy how to crack the anagram puzzles in the newspaper. Evie isn’t paying attention. Instead, she stares down the aisle of the bus. Every now and then, she feels Seb’s eyes on her, scanning her, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Today she hasn’t the energy to cover it up. Last night dried her up, and now all she can think about is Caz.
‘See, this one’s “sports injury”.’ Seb shows Poppy.
‘Oh yeah. Wow!’ Poppy holds the newspaper up. Evie glances at the randomly placed letters. PTSSRO NJUIYR.
‘That one was dead easy,’ Seb says. ‘See if you can get this one.’
Poppy’s head is down as she works on the puzzle. Seb watches Evie through the gap. Evie pretends not to notice.
He finally says something to her. ‘So you didn’t come on Saturday night?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Where were you on Saturday night? I thought you were coming.’
‘I had a headache.’ Evie keeps staring ahead. ‘I just couldn’t get rid of it.’
‘Well, being stuck with Alex and Roxy would’ve made it worse, that’s for sure,’ Seb grumbles. ‘They were shockers.’
Poppy groans in agreement. ‘Shockers.’
‘Yeah, I heard Roxy went,’ Evie adds.
Poppy groans again.
Seb laughs. ‘Roxy rocket mouth,’ he says. ‘She can talk almost as much as Alex.’
‘Yeah,’ Poppy nods. ‘She did not shut up.’
‘Oh.’ Evie feigns disinterest. ‘I thought, um, you and Roxy got on really well.’
‘Huh?’ Poppy looks up from the newspaper.
‘Not you. I’m talking about you, Seb. You and Roxy.’
‘Man, I get cauliflower ears after two minutes with that chick.’ He looks at Evie. ‘I prefer the quiet, distant types. The ones that don’t talk – enough.’
Evie’s cheeks burn.
‘Got it!’ Poppy calls. ‘It’s “tendonitis”. These are fun, Seb. Let’s do this one.’
‘Seb, you know Zac Arcos?’ Evie begins.
‘Duh.’ He doesn’t look up from the anagram he’s working on.
‘I mean, I know you know him, but Arcos is a Romanian name, right?’
‘S’pose.’
‘Are they, like, really traditional? Do they speak Romanian at home and stuff?’
‘A bit.’ He looks up frowning. ‘Why? You thinking of taking lessons?’
‘Just wondering.’
Seb raises his eyebrows. ‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I was.’
Seb stands up. ‘Shove over; my stop.’ He squeezes out of the seat. ‘You on the bus this arvo, Evie?’
‘I’ve got a late art tute.’
Seb files down the aisle with the other Wolsley boys. He stands the tallest. Evie notices the broadness of his shoulders and his long square fingers gripping the strap of his bag. He turns around and sees she’s watching him. He smiles, and for the second time that morning Evie feels her skin burn.
‘Yahoo,’ Poppy squeals. ‘I am the greatest.’
Evie peers down at the newspaper. ‘You got it?’
‘Yep.’ Poppy points to the letters. ‘WOEBL NSNTIE. Tennis elbow. See?’
‘Did you think Roxy was trying it on with Seb the other night?’ Evie asks.
‘She may have been but Seb sure wasn’t interested. Why? Did Alex tell you that?’
‘Kind of.’
‘That girl has completely lost it.’ Poppy shakes her head. ‘Roxy and Seb? I don’t think so.’
Evie shrugs.
‘He’s only ever had eyes for you, Evie. I mean, Roxy – please!’ Poppy pretends to stick her finger down her throat. ‘Her older sister, Dana, is the receptionist at – wait for it – the Penis Abuser. Can you believe it?’
Evie sits up straight. She can’t believe it.
‘I mean, how long have we taken the piss out of that place?’ Poppy keeps talking. ‘And here’s Al on Saturday night acting all serious and interested as Roxy crapped on and on about how fantastic it is and how she’s thinking of enrolling to do a deportment course.’ Again, Poppy pretends to gag on her fingers. ‘God, I wished you’d been there. I nearly wet my pants. I mean, who seriously would even …’
Evie’s hand grips at her fingers, tight, till they are almost purple. Roxy, Dana, the Penis Abuser? How is she supposed to read this? Is it all just a coincidence? What’s real, what�
�s true, what’s not? Evie doesn’t know.
‘I’m off to the Glebe markets,’ Evie lies to her parents on Saturday morning. ‘I haven’t been there since … Adelaide.’
‘So …’ Her father’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. Her mother busies herself with the dishwasher. ‘So, who are you going with, darling?’ he asks.
‘No one.’
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Just checking.’
Evie wears a straight-legged pair of jeans with a short diagonal striped dress belted at the hips with a leather sash. All new. She doesn’t need further complications in her life.
‘It’ll get cold later this arvo,’ Robin tells her. ‘You got something to keep you warm?’
Evie throws a black woollen scarf around her neck. ‘I’ll be home before then, unless I can be squeezed in at the hairdressers. I badly need a trim. I’ve definitely got a mullet happening.’
‘Do you want me to ring them?’ Robin offers.
‘No, don’t worry.’ Evie’s not sure how long this’ll take. But the hair excuse will buy her more time – if she needs it. ‘I’ll just drop in there on my way home. See what happens.’
‘Well, let us know if you’re going to be later than you think.’
‘Okay, Mum.’ She pecks her mother on the cheek. The open display of affection still makes her feel awkward. ‘Bye, Dad.’
‘Where’s mine?’ Nick points to his cheek. Kissing her father has always been easy. She blows him a kiss and sets off.
Off to the Venus Cuza Ladies’ College of Modelling and Deportment.
At least Evie knows exactly where she’s going. She sits on the bus wondering what on earth she’ll say to Paris. Evie is certain Paris knows something. What, Evie can’t begin to wonder, but, whatever it is, she senses it’s worse than she could ever imagine.
A multitude of thoughts swim round her brain. Evie can almost hear them swishing and colliding.
How will I start the conversation with Paris? I hope Mum didn’t suspect. What will I do if Nora’s there? Will I be able to run in these slippers? I shouldn’t have worn them. Bad move. I wonder if Victoria’s called the oldies again – no, she wouldn’t without telling me first. Would she? Three more stops. Just say Paris isn’t there. Just say she tells me to piss off. I hate lying to Mum and Dad but they’ll freak out if they know. Is this always going to happen? I wish I was someone else. Ooh, nice jacket that guy’s wearing. How embarrassing, he just saw me checking him out. I like your jacket, not you, mate. Oh my god, we’re almost there. Shit, what’ll I say, what’ll I say?
