Then Vandal got his mouth working. ‘I want to … walk you home,’ he said. ‘Here, I’ll carry your bag.’ This was in deference to the bandaged wrist he knew he was responsible for. But when he reached for the satchel slung over her shoulder, Petra backed away, raising her eyes only long enough to glare at him before setting off across the netball court towards the school gate. Bitumen crunched beneath her sports shoes, punctuating the ominous silence behind them.
Vandal had just set off after her when one of the girls she’d been hiding behind said, ‘Talk about Adonis and the dweeb. So, is she giving head?’
‘What else could he see in her?’ her friend replied.
‘You know she looks after orphaned bats? Well, maybe when they’re fattened up she lets him eat them.’
‘Kinky.’
Laughter broke out behind Vandal and he stalled. He was just about to turn back when he felt Petra’s hand on his arm. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispered, and tugged him along beside her, not saying another word until they were both through the gate. Then she unhanded him as though he was diseased and set off down the footpath towards the nice end of town.
Her parents must be wealthy, and if Vandal wanted to lie to himself he could pretend that was why she didn’t want to be seen with him. Only Vandal was sick of lying, especially to himself.
It was a scorching hot day and he was tempted to stop and get his drink bottle out, but Petra set a cracking pace. His long stride covered two of her steps but she was power walking as though the legendary Serpent of Haddash himself was after her.
They crossed the street and on the next block it was cooler. The jacaranda trees were in bloom and the footpath was awash with tiny purple flowers the latest storm had shredded off. In this part of town the houses were all old Queenslanders with wide verandahs and pretty flowerbeds, carefully covered against the storms, unlike Vandal’s mum’s. Once upon a time she’d grown snapdragons and petunias and happy little pansies because his dad had loved the colours. Just dirt now.
Petra began to walk faster and he loped to catch up. ‘Look, I’m sorry about that,’ he said, realising that if he didn’t start talking they’d arrive at her place and she’d simply march inside and leave him stranded on the footpath. ‘The year ten girls are bitches.’
‘Just leave me alone.’ Her voice wobbled and he figured she was angrier than he’d thought.
‘But I didn’t say thank you properly at the lake.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Actually, I don’t think I said it at all.’ No reply. ‘So … thanks.’ She just kept power walking so he continued to stride alongside, not sure how he could salvage the situation. ‘You saved my life.’
‘Twice,’ she snapped, then frowned as though begrudging the word.
Vandal smiled. He’d never tell her because it was such a cliché, but she looked kinda cute when she was angry. Like a bitey little mouse. ‘So I owe you two.’
Petra stopped at the corner and turned on him. ‘And what exactly does that mean?’ She was positively glaring at him, as though he’d ruined her life. And her hands were shaking. She was really worked up. His smile faded. ‘Will you follow me around until you’ve saved my life twice?’ she demanded. ‘Or are you going to bestow some wonderful favour? The pleasure of your company? Is that it? You’re going to walk me home from school twice? I suppose you think I’ve got a crush on you b-b-because I just happened to be at the lake.’ He’d never heard her stutter before. ‘I wasn’t following you.’
‘I believe you. Hey …’ Vandal felt battered. ‘… I’m trying to be friendly. Cut me some slack.’
She kept glaring. ‘I wish I’d never …’ then faltered.
‘Saved my life? Am I such a waste of space?’ Vandal knew he was thought of as antisocial, and he’d probably made a complete mess of linking up with her just now. No doubt she’d be teased mercilessly, but you could ignore that. He’d done it for years, growing up with Glimmer as his older sister, ‘brother of the autistic girl’, weird by association. But if you ignored the jibes, they eventually stopped.
‘How could Adonis be a waste of space?’ she spat back at him, but instead of jumping in to defend himself, Vandal studied her, wondering what the hell was going on. The little he’d noticed about Petra was that she was quiet. At the lake she’d shown him she was also kind. It didn’t seem like her to act so … cornered? Was that it? A little cornered mouse fighting for its life? But he wasn’t threatening her. Was he?
‘Do I scare you or something?’ he asked. She blinked, then looked away and after a second started walking again, fast. He hurried to catch up. ‘I do scare you.’ But they’d never spoken before yesterday. ‘What have I done? Is it because I hurt your arm?’
She tucked the bandaged wrist against her waist and shook her head. Was she lying?
‘Petra?’
Nothing.
‘I swear to you, I don’t take drugs or go in for necrophilia or any of the other things they say I do.’
‘Leave me alone.’
He almost stopped, wondering why he was persisting. If the girl wanted to be left alone … But she hadn’t told anyone. He was sure of it. And that meant he could trust her.
‘I’m a dweeb,’ she said clearly, although her voice was wobbling again. ‘Just the sort of dweeb people will imagine has a stupid crush on you. And I don’t.’
‘I believe you.’ It was screamingly obvious.
‘And anyway, people like you have no business —’
‘I’m not like other people,’ he said, and risked grabbing her good arm again. He pulled her to a stop under a beer-gut bottle tree that stood on the corner of the street. ‘And I’m not fucking Adonis either,’ he said quite clearly.
Petra simply stared at him, shocked into silence. Vandal had shocked himself. He didn’t normally swear. But he’d wanted to get her attention. It had worked. ‘I didn’t know you could fuck Greek Gods,’ she said calmly, and the obscenity sounded even funnier coming out of her mouth.
Despite how anxious he’d been, he had to grin. ‘I like you, Petra.’ It was the first thing that came into his head.
She gazed up at him through her owlish glasses, looking so very serious with her hair tucked behind her ears. He wondered what she’d look like with a ponytail and no glasses. Not that he was interested in her that way.
Seconds ticked over and she made no reply so he figured she was making it clear she didn’t think of him that way either. His mother used to tell him he had his father’s big puppy feet. Was that how Petra saw him, as a big puppy she’d dragged out of a puddle? He should probably feel insulted when he knew there were plenty of girls who thought he was good-looking. But strangely, Petra’s reaction was another relief.
His smile widened. ‘Friends?’ he asked, wondering what it would be like to have a friend, someone you could share things with. Scary probably. But meeting Petra had changed him. His fear of being discovered had become overshadowed by the need to stop being alone. The burden of trying to get his powers to work, knowing he had to travel to another world to bring his father back, not knowing what the dangers there might be — it was suddenly all too much for him.
He needed someone to talk to. Wanted that someone to be Petra.
She nodded her acceptance, as though she didn’t trust herself to speak. Maybe she was still angry.
Vandal figured he’d pushed her far enough for one day, but there was one last matter he wanted resolved before his conscience ate him up. ‘About your wrist,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘I can make it better.’
‘So you do other people as well?’ She had seen him healing himself. Vandal tried to still his momentary panic. He could trust Petra. He’d already decided that.
‘In theory. I’ve only tried it on animals, but I’m sure —’ He reached out to touch her arm and she pulled away, eyes widening.
‘What? Now? Here?’ The anxiety was back and she looked as though she was about to run off.
‘Somewhere private would be better,’ he
said calmly, reminding himself that he was used to his powers, it was only natural that they’d freak Petra out. ‘But I can do it here if you want me to.’
‘No.’ She held her arm firmly against herself, frowning at him, then she turned away to look up the street. He was wondering if this was a brush-off when she turned back to him and said, ‘It’s Monday. Mum’s visiting her aunty. There’s no one home at my place.’
‘Great …’ Vandal had his heart set on fixing her arm but he knew this was dangerous ground, going to a girl’s house when her parents were out. The innocence of his mission didn’t matter. If they were caught, it would look bad. ‘When does she get back?’
‘Five-thirty.’
Two hours. ‘What do you think?’ he said, and waited to hear her reply — testing her to see if she was as keen for this friendship as he was. Two loners pairing up.
Pairing up? Wait a minute, that’s not what he’d meant. But the imaginative part of his mind instantly put Petra in a swimsuit and a ponytail, lying in his arms. Whoa! He looked away, trying to get a grip on himself. This was Petra, not … one of the grade ten girls who’d been sniping her, the ones who paraded around the poolside as though it was a catwalk.
‘I think …’ She frowned and Vandal dragged his attention back. ‘My neighbours might tell Mum.’
‘I could sneak in the back. You go in the front.’
What was he doing? Trying to talk her into it? She was being polite about no. He should leave it at that. Was he worried that she’d change her mind, wake up in the morning and realise she didn’t want to be his friend after all? What could he do this afternoon to stop that? Pestering her would only help her realise he was trouble. He should back off. Shouldn’t he?
Vandal really didn’t recognise himself amid all this desperation. A week ago he’d barely acknowledged Petra Mabindi’s existence on the planet. Now he was making a fool of himself to get an hour of her time.
She turned away from him and he was thinking, That’s it, she’s walking, when she said, ‘What’s that noise?’
Vandal hadn’t noticed the clouds coming in because he and Petra had been sheltered under the wide branches of the bottle tree. But now that he followed her out and looked up he could see a storm was approaching. Fast. Thunder vibrated the ground beneath them and the bulkhead of clouds racing towards them had a definite green underbelly.
They looked at each other in alarm and Vandal said, ‘I’ll never make it.’ Storms like this hit in minutes and Guardian power wouldn’t save him if he was sucked into a tornado.
‘Quick. My house,’ Petra said. ‘It’s your closest bolthole.’
So it was settled. They ran up the street and Vandal felt relief wash through him, so much relief that it was scary. He should have been thinking about the storm, about his mother being home alone, but Petra was like a fabulous new game he’d discovered and couldn’t stop playing. Addictive. Her company was addictive.
I’ve been starved of friendship, that’s all it is, he told himself, and glanced at her again. Same profile, big owly glasses that magnified her eyes, tiny nose and mouth, little pointy chin, hair like bats’ wings. Yet every time he looked away he saw something different. The potential Petra. The Petra he wanted to transform her into. Pocket Goddess.
Which was serious trouble. Friends. They were supposed to be friends. Better to leave her the way she was so he didn’t get ideas. He was going to Ennae. He didn’t want a girlfriend.
‘Ring your mum,’ she said when they’d dodged the reinforcing cable, run up the stairs and slammed the front door behind them. The first hot gusts rattled the tin roof above them as she led him through the entry into a dark lounge room and pointed at a phone on the side table. ‘Tell her you’re safe.’
She kept walking, throwing her bag into what must be her bedroom, before moving out of his line of sight. Probably checking that all the windows were secured. Vandal picked up the receiver and dialled his house. His mother was inside and safe so he told her he was holing up at a friend’s house and left it at that.
She didn’t ask any more questions and he wondered if she’d even thought of him while she’d been methodically closing windows and doors. It hurt, but he told himself it was just the madness, and once his dad was back it would all be different.
‘Was she home?’ Petra asked, handing him a cold glass of cola. The reinforced windows beside them rattled as the storm drew closer.
‘Thanks. Yeah, she’s fine,’ he said and took a sip. Pepsi. Good. He hated Coke. ‘Nice place,’ he said politely, nodding at the decor, Aboriginal artwork and ochre-coloured walls jostled with chrome crucifixes and modern paintings of the Madonna and child.
Petra winced. ‘No need to be polite. It’s weird. That’s what happens when you mix cultures. And we have three generations living together.’
‘Three?’ Vandal practically had to shout over a sudden gust of wind. Making conversation, trying to keep things flowing now that they were alone together.
‘My grandparents are on walkabout at the moment.’
‘Your grandparents live here too? That must be …’
Petra simply looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
‘Interesting?’
She shook her head. ‘Crazy-making. I want to be a graphic artist and live in New Orleans, so my grandma teaches me how to cure kangaroo hides.’ She pointed at the plush specimen draped over a stainless steel sideboard.
‘Ugly,’ he commiserated.
She nodded and that appeared to be the end of the conversation. They looked at each other and awkwardness jumped into the gap. Vandal thought it might be best to get down to business. ‘Would you like to sit somewhere comfortable while I fix your wrist?’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged casually but her gaze darted around. Nervous. ‘The lounge?’ She went to the apple-green three-seater and sat up one end, holding her arm out over the middle cushion so he couldn’t sit close beside her. Not that he was thinking of it, but it hurt his pride that she was pushing him away when he hadn’t even tried to get close.
Vandal told himself to focus on the job as he sat down on the other side of the velvet lounge, but his gaze kept straying to the room where she’d thrown her bag, wondering what it was like. There was a bed in there. Stupid that he kept thinking that, but he did. Petra’s bed. There was nothing sexual in the thought. Not consciously anyway. But he wondered if it was a white frilly room with stuffed toys on the pillow, or whether she had animal rights posters on the walls and a heavy metal CD collection.
‘So how do you do it?’ she asked loudly as another gust of wind pulled on the tin roof and it creaked in complaint. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘It tingles inside and feels warm when I do it to myself.’
Petra looked away quickly and smiled, then struggled to keep the smile from turning into a laugh.
Vandal was unwinding the bandage from her tiny wrist and he stopped to watch her. His own smile was puzzled. ‘What?’
‘When you said that,’ she replied, not looking at him. ‘It reminded me of what my aunty caught my cousin doing once. “Feels warm when I do it to myself”,’ she repeated back to him.
Vandal laughed, and some of the awkwardness dissolved. He went back to unwrapping her arm. ‘Actually, it’s not at all like that,’ he said, then was stunned at what he’d just admitted.
She turned back to look at him, blushing, but with her voice firm. ‘So it’s true what they say about teenage boys.’
Stupid, stupid, but Vandal was blushing himself now. ‘You’re the one who’s nearly blind.’ And before he forgot, he added, ‘And I can fix that too if you like,’ as the bandage fell away. He tried not to wince at the bruises, telling himself they’d be gone in a minute.
Her smile faded. ‘Fix my sight?’
‘Twenty-twenty,’ he assured her. ‘Or better if you want.’
Petra slowly withdrew her hand. Her face, which had been alive with mischief, completely shut down. Scared? Vandal wasn’t sure. But it was e
nough for him to realise he was rushing her. For all he knew she might have been going along with this to humour him. Once he’d healed her arm she’d have to accept it. But until then he should take it slow. Careful.
‘If you can really do this stuff,’ she said. ‘Why haven’t you? You could cure people of diseases. Or —’
‘Not,’ he cut in. ‘I only discovered this when my dad left. I need to concentrate on getting my mum better. If I start healing lepers, I’ll get distracted.’
‘From what?’
He looked at her a moment then said, ‘It’s complicated.’
She looked right back. ‘Everything about you is.’
‘Can I have your arm?’ he said and held out his hands.
She slowly offered her wrist and he took it in one large hand, placing the palm of his other hand over the tender inner skin.
‘Can I watch?’ she said. ‘Or should I close my eyes?’ He was sure he heard scepticism in her voice. That or fear.
Vandal shrugged to relax her and tried to sound nonchalant, ‘Either,’ he said. Then he forced himself to concentrate, but the howling of the wind outside was stirring him up, as if it was an echo of some emotion he was experiencing. The room was so dark now he could barely see Petra’s face, and the cloying scent of the sweetpeas in the vase beside him was making him dizzy. He kept thinking about that bed. Kept thinking he should stop thinking about that bed.
‘Are you doing it?’ she asked. ‘I can’t feel a thing.’
‘I can.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She misunderstood, thank God. ‘So is it me? Am I not a good subject?’
‘I don’t know.’ Liar.
The howling died away, as though they’d moved into the eye of the storm. Petra’s voice also lowered. ‘Maybe it’s like hypnosis,’ she said. ‘Some people can’t be hypnotised.’ Definitely patronising him now.
Actually, I just need to stop thinking about your bed. ‘It’s so dark in here,’ he complained. The sudden eerie silence crackled with electricity.
‘You can’t do it in the dark?’
Vandal’s mind slipped further into the gutter. He tried to drag it back. ‘I can’t focus. Maybe if I could see the bruises.’ Petra’s skin under his hand was so soft, so smooth. For a horrible second he thought he was going to raise her wrist to his lips and kiss it, then it disappeared from his grasp.
Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 Page 8
