Out of habit, she checks her emails to see if there’s any news about her university acceptances. Nothing.
‘Zo. You’re doing life admin at a party?’
‘Fine.’ She raises her phone to take a photo of Prakash grinning at her. But before she can, it buzzes in her hand.
Hey, how’s your week? I’m home for a few days and wanted to check you’re okay too? Greta x
‘Look who’s keeping tabs,’ Zoë says, rolling her eyes. ‘She’s rushed home to be by their side! This text translates to: You’re a terrible daughter, now tell me every naughty thing you’re doing so I can rat you out. PS: I’m their favourite.’
Prakash smirks. ‘Projecting much?’
‘No! Perfect daughter Greta is on a mission to torture me. Wasn’t it enough for her that she blitzed school and got into the Gifted and Talented Program and made Mum and Dad happier than they’ve ever been?’
‘More is more. She’s trying to out-Greta herself.’
Zoë sighs and scrolls through her latest messages from her dad. They range from furious, to guilt-inducing, to playing it cool. She wants to tell him that she’s tired and burnt-out and this week is hopefully going to help rebuild her before studying begins again. But instead she sends this:
I only ever wanted to stick to the plan we agreed on. I’m ok. Promise. But I need this. Love you x
She pauses, then adds:
Tell Mum I’m sorry again.
She turns off her phone before any replies arrive to spin things upside down.
‘Prakash?’ she says.
‘Yeah, Zo?’
‘Do you think your parents are proud of you?’
He exhales. ‘Big question. Maybe . . . sometimes.’ He breaks into a grin. ‘At least until they find out I actually want to be an actor. Then I’ll be disowned.’
‘No way. You’re their precious baby boy!’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, gently shoving her shoulder. ‘But I’m no academic whiz, unlike someone on this balcony.’
‘You got top marks all year in English.’
‘Almost top. You beat me half the time. And there’s no medical degree in my future. Now that would have made them proud. I bet your parents are so proud of you. Well, until you ran away and ruined everything,’ he adds with a smirk.
‘Shut up!’ She elbows him in the side and he pretends to wince. ‘I don’t know, P. My parents are hard to read, especially Mum. Nothing feels good enough. It’s exhausting.’
Behind her, the glass door slides open. It’s a guy wearing a camouflage-green shirt that strains against his tattooed arms.
‘That’s him,’ Prakash whispers.
The enigmatic Darius. He steps out onto the balcony, shutting out the party raging behind him. Zoë waits for him to join the boys playing cards but he saunters in their direction. He stops a few metres away and leans against the balcony.
‘Cigarette?’ he asks, holding out a packet.
‘All good, thanks, man,’ Prakash says.
Zoë wrinkles her nose.
‘Bad habit,’ he mutters but lights up anyway.
‘Darius, right?’ Prakash says. ‘We’re Akito’s mates. This is Zoë, I’m Prakash.’
‘He said you might be out here.’ Darius swivels his head towards Zoë. ‘So what does purple mean?’
Zoë winces as smoke trails in her direction. ‘Ah, historically it’s regal, I think, but it can also be seen as romantic. Plus, scientists now know it’s the most powerful visible wavelength of electromagnetic energy.’
‘Huh?’ Darius cocks his head to one side. ‘You’re at a traffic light party so I meant that purple.’ He gestures to her off-the-shoulder top.
‘Oh, right. I guess it means I got a last-minute invite and red isn’t my colour.’ She flashes the ruby ring on her middle finger. ‘But I did my best.’
‘Red, got it,’ he says, inhaling another breath of the cigarette. ‘You two been together long?’
Zoë’s eyes widen. ‘We’re friends.’
‘And barely that,’ Prakash adds with a cheeky grin. ‘She checks emails at parties.’
Darius nods. ‘You’re that bored, huh?’
Zoë waves away the smoke. ‘No, it’s fine,’ she splutters. ‘I . . . I better find the others. I’ll see you later.’
She hurries inside and spots Luca and Violet dancing in a corner of the lounge room.
‘Where have you been?’ asks Luca, leaning in closer. ‘You reek of cigarettes.’
‘Can we leave soon?’ Zoë asks.
Violet gestures around. ‘It’s the penthouse. What’s wrong with you?’
Zoë shrugs. ‘I got a text from Greta. Guilt’s kicking in.’
Luca sighs. ‘Aren’t you tired of trying to please everyone?’
‘I’m drained watching you do it,’ Violet adds.
‘You don’t know what it’s like to have her as a sister.’
‘True, but I don’t see Greta, or anyone, here judging you. You’re doing it to yourself.’
Darius suddenly appears with a tray of colourful drinks topped with cream and paper umbrellas. Violet adjusts her dress and leans forward, plucking a pina colada off the tray.
‘Why thank you,’ she says, batting her thick eyelashes. ‘This is your party, right?’
‘You know it,’ he says with a grin. ‘Just dropping off a special delivery for my new pal Zoë.’
‘What the . . .’ Luca mutters. ‘Zo, what is happening?’
‘Nothing,’ she says.
Luca takes a sip of his cocktail and gasps. ‘How much alcohol is in this? Not that I’m complaining.’
Darius shrugs. ‘Lost track.’
‘So, are you going to the foam party too?’ Violet asks him, eyeing off the tattoos lining his arms.
‘Maybe.’
‘You should,’ Luca adds. ‘Zoë will be there.’
‘We’ll all be there,’ Zoë corrects him, swirling her drink with the cocktail umbrella.
‘Shut up and think of the free drinks,’ Luca mutters under his breath.
Violet takes a big slurp of her cocktail and holds up the empty glass. ‘Zoë never knows how to have fun. This is wasted on her. Here, give me that.’ She takes Darius’s phone and presses a few buttons. ‘That’s my number. Message us if you come.’
While the others fall into conversation, Zoë looks around, spinning the red ring on her finger. She spots Prakash playing strip poker in the corner with Akito and a group of strangers. Prakash’s shirt is wrapped around his waist and he looks as uncomfortable as she feels. His gaze meets hers and they poke their tongues out at each other.
Dahlia
Day 2: 1.59pm
There’s only half a metre separating Dahlia and Kiko but there may as well be oceans. They drag their sneakers along the cobbled footpath at WonderWorld in silence, passing friends licking dreamy clouds of fairy floss, parents wrangling their toddlers into a double pram, and a young couple walking hand in hand.
Kiko pulls out a map of the theme park. ‘Ferris wheel?’ She unfolds it and squints at the crumpled paper. ‘I don’t think it’s too far away.’
‘Trapped in a tiny cage perfumed with puke?’ Dahlia crinkles her nose. ‘Nah.’
‘Dodgem cars?’
‘Whiplash in the making. Plus the puke thing again.’
‘We could meet up with Florence and the boys at the water slides?’
‘I’m okay. You go though.’
Kiko shrugs. ‘I don’t want to cramp her style. So what then?’
‘Not sure.’
They dawdle along, falling quiet again. Dahlia hasn’t brought up the Too Late List yet, but she can’t get it out of her head. Everything seems like a possible new entry for something Stevie didn’t get to do. Did she ever come to WonderWorld with her family? Dahlia hates that she can’t remember.
They walk by the screaming thrills of the tilt-a-whirl, before turning the corner to see long queues for the river rapids and log rides. A red tourist choo-choo train
steams past, filled with waving kids and exhausted-looking parents.
Dahlia sighs. A deep, slow sigh.
Kiko stops abruptly in front of a flickering kiosk sign. ‘That’s it!’
‘What?’ asks Dahlia, wincing at the blinking lights. ‘Do you want a WonderWorld showbag?’
Kiko dismisses the kiosk with a dramatic flick of her hand. ‘You know, Dahlia, if you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be.’
Dahlia’s jaw drops. ‘Excuse me?’
‘The blunt comments, the sighing, the mood . . . You’re acting like you’re spending time with your worst enemy.’
‘I’m . . . I’m good,’ Dahlia says. ‘We’re having fun.’
Kiko raises an eyebrow. ‘Are we?’
‘Fine.’ She pulls out the list from her denim cut-offs and thrusts it in Kiko’s face. ‘I found this.’
‘And?’
‘It was crumpled in these shorts in your luggage. Like it’s nothing.’
‘That’s unfair. I’m keeping it safe.’
Dahlia’s bottom lip quivers. ‘How could you not tell me you had it?’
‘Her mum left you three messages,’ Kiko says. ‘You never gave her an answer and she couldn’t look at it any more. I thought you knew.’ She pauses. ‘Stevie’s mum needed it gone, Dahlia, and it means something to me too.’
‘I wasn’t in a good place then,’ Dahlia says.
‘Me either. We all lost Stevie.’
‘I know that.’
‘Sometimes, and I don’t think it’s deliberate, but I think you forget.’ Kiko juts her chin out a little. ‘And while we’re being honest, I’m working my way through that list. Checking things off.’
‘Why? It’s hers.’
‘It’s for her now. She’d want that, like she wanted us to take this trip.’
‘How do you know?’
Kiko shrugs. ‘Gut feeling. Guess I don’t know for sure. But I’m positive about one thing: she wouldn’t want to see you like this. Scared. Angry. Hiding.’
‘I’m not!’
‘This isn’t you. I don’t get why Stevie dying means you have to stop living? You’re suffering twice.’
Dahlia’s cheeks burn red as she folds the list up into a tiny square and stuffs it into her pocket. ‘I don’t need any more therapists in my life.’
Kiko locks eyes with her. ‘Fine. I’m sorry. But you brought it up.’ She exhales. ‘So where to now? You’ve vetoed half the park.’
Dahlia looks away, hands trembling so much she loops her fingers together. Over Kiko’s shoulder looms the WonderWorld Spooky House of Horrors, an old-looking building covered with spider webs, rusty chains and fake blood dripping down the walls. Dahlia’s heart races. Stevie had a haunted house on her Too Late List.
‘You want to tick something off?’ she suggests, pointing.
Kiko’s jaw drops when she turns around to see the haunted house. ‘I didn’t think that was your speed. Angry vampires and decapitated mummies and corpses and all that.’
‘You want me to face scary stuff,’ Dahlia says, then nudges Kiko to soften the mood. ‘Besides, all those sombre ghouls — I’ll fit right in, huh? Oh, and wait.’ She pulls out the folded list and passes it to Kiko. ‘It’s yours. Thanks for taking good care of it for her.’
‘My pleasure,’ Kiko says, slipping the list into her pocket. ‘Now let’s find us a werewolf.’
As they walk closer to the entrance, they can hear shrieking and rattling coming from inside.
‘Maybe we should go to the ferris wheel,’ Dahlia murmurs.
Loud screaming echoes from deep within the house. An Enter if you dare sign hangs on the wall next to the ticket counter.
‘Dare you,’ whispers Kiko.
‘Dare you back.’
They step inside. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling and a deep creaking noise reverberates in the distance. Faded portraits of wizened old men and women line the entrance, their dusty frames lined with a thick red substance.
‘Is that blood?’ hisses Kiko, linking her arm through Dahlia’s.
‘It’s fake, all for effect,’ Dahlia whispers. ‘Keep moving.’
They turn a corner and enter a long shadowy hallway lined with spindly glow-in-the-dark skeletons. They edge past peeling wallpaper and long jagged scratch marks on the wall. The air smells dank with a hint of wet wood.
A large vampire mannequin stands in one corner. As they pass, it hisses and bares its fangs.
Kiko clings tighter to Dahlia. ‘That hunk of plastic scared the hell out of me!’
A shiver goes down Dahlia’s spine. She feels a cold breath on the back of her neck.
‘Stop breathing on me, Kiko.’
‘I’m not! My hand is over my mouth — I’ve nearly chewed my nails off!’
Dahlia stops. ‘Seriously? You’re not doing it?’ Her hand flies to the back of her neck. ‘Then what was . . . Shit, let’s keep going.’
The sound of wailing fills the room behind them as they approach a door. As they argue about who should open it, the wailing gets louder.
‘It’s getting closer,’ Kiko whimpers.
Dahlia swings open the door and links her fingers through Kiko’s. ‘Come on.’
Rubber snakes drop from the ceiling at their feet. They scream and surge forward into a thick fog, spluttering as they swipe at cobwebs all around them.
‘I can’t do this!’ Kiko says. ‘Where’s the exit? I think I’m having a heart attack. I can’t, I can’t—’
‘You can,’ Dahlia says, holding up their interlinked fingers. ‘I’m here. It’s just a fog machine — we’re nearly done.’
The temperature drops as they round another corner. Fake blood is splattered on the floor and ceiling and four mummies wrapped in thick bandages line the wall.
‘I see you!’ Kiko yells at the first mummy. ‘I know you’re up to something!’
‘Keep walking,’ Dahlia says. ‘Remember the vampire? Fake, fake, fake.’
They pass the mummies and walk towards a glowing light.
‘The exit,’ Kiko cheers.
‘See! That wasn’t so bad,’ Dahlia says. ‘A few more steps then we’re—’
An icy hand grazes her shoulder. She gasps, causing Kiko to shriek, and they jolt around to see the four mummies lurching at them, arms out, heads locked at disturbing angles.
The girls stumble backwards, their cries lost beneath the mummies’ howling. Kiko almost snaps Dahlia’s wrist as they cling to each other’s hands. A cloud of wispy cobwebs wraps around them as, flailing and shrieking, they dash towards the exit.
Still holding hands, they sprint into the sunlight. Panting, Kiko leans over, trying to slow her breathing. Dahlia is laughing, still in shock.
‘Did you see them?’ Kiko asks, breathless. ‘We could have died!’
Suddenly one of the mummies charges out of the exit behind them, arms out, lurching in their direction. It expels a deep roar, and Dahlia and Kiko leap together and scream.
‘Nope!’ yells Kiko, half-giggling, half-terrified, as she pulls at Dahlia’s hand. ‘Nope, nope, nope!’
They laugh as they run down twisting alleyways and pathways, past a merry-go-round and fairy-floss stalls.
‘That was . . .’ Kiko’s face is as pink as Dahlia’s hair. ‘Amazing.’
‘It was, hey?’ Dahlia wonders if her cheeks are as rosy as Kiko’s. ‘Should we go again?’
‘Absolutely, positively, definitely a thousand times no way! Once for Stevie is enough for me.’
‘How do the actors playing the mummies not get punched in the face fifty times a day?’ Dahlia asks. ‘I was about to clock them!’
‘You were my hero in there,’ Kiko says. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
Dahlia blushes. ‘You did the same for me on the plane.’
They swap little smiles before breaking eye contact.
Kiko skips ahead, passing food trucks and stalls, and pauses in front of a van to order a blueberry slushie.
&
nbsp; She slurps the drink and passes it to Dahlia. ‘Your turn,’ she says, her lips stained as blue as the sea. ‘I know you’ll like it.’
‘Confident.’
‘Well, I know you.’ Kiko pauses. ‘I think I do.’
Dahlia takes a sip. ‘You do,’ she admits. ‘And I really am sorry. I’ve been unbearable.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. Grief. It goes on and on, and swells and fades, and even disappears sometimes, only to come roaring back when you least expect it.’ Kiko tilts her head. ‘Stevie wrote a big list — she dreamt big. I’d get through the things on it quicker if I had someone to do them with.’
‘Interesting.’ Dahlia’s lips slide into a smirk. ‘Are you taking applications for the position?’
‘Know anyone?’
‘I have someone in mind.’
They walk in silence for a few steps before Kiko jolts in excitement. ‘Photo booth! We have to do it!’
They squeeze inside the tiny booth, thighs pressing together, and fumble at the buttons. As the timer counts down, they laugh hysterically and debate how to pose. Then the light flashes, locking in the moment.
The photos spit out of the machine and the girls huddle in close for a look. Dahlia’s breath catches.
In the first shot, Kiko is winking with a crooked grin, while Dahlia flashes a smile so luminous it’s like she’s remembered how good things can feel if you let go.
Samira
Day 2: 3.22pm
The foam party has escalated. An inflatable slide bounce house is rigged up in the centre of the area, with a ball pit below it surging with rainbow plastic balls. Two organisers in fluoro T-shirts stand on a high platform to manage the growing crowd hurling themselves down the soapy slide. It’s already sagging in the middle, weakened by the river of foamy bubbles rushing along it.
‘Oh yeah, Saldana Strip! Who else wants to have the slide of their life?’ a cheesy voice booms over the loudspeaker. Another surge of people race to line up.
Samira’s mouth cracks into a smile. ‘Hey, should we go on the—’
Can't Say it Went to Plan Page 6
