Samira
Day 3: 11.24am
Anoush flashes a smile at Samira and gestures to the sign at the mini-golf counter that says they can play nine, eighteen or twenty-seven holes.
‘How many should we do?’ she asks, her voice light and breathy. She’s on her best behaviour; usually she says what she wants. ‘You two pick. I’m happy with whatever.’
Samira nearly cracks up over that lie. Her brain ticks over the list of things she and Anoush had originally planned for their girls’ day today. Getting their nails done. Massages. Milkshakes. Checking out the markets. Hiring bicycles to cycle up to the lighthouse overlooking the ocean. Zero mention of mini-golf with a random guy from the foam party. So much for the girls’ day.
Samira and Dan trade uncomfortable glances. It seems neither knew the other would be here. They answer at the same time.
‘Just nine holes,’ Samira says, slightly louder than his, ‘Twenty-seven holes.’
‘You’re keen,’ she adds.
His cheeks redden a little. ‘Is it that obvious?’
Samira immediately softens at his palpable affection for her friend. ‘Meet in the middle and do eighteen?’
‘Great.’ Dan’s shoulders relax. ‘Sweet.’
Anoush cheers their compromise with so much enthusiasm it’s like she’s won the lottery. Samira can tell she likes Dan. A lot.
They walk to the start of the course. There’s a little wooden rainbow over the first hole and a sign that states they should be able to complete it in two strokes. The girls gesture for Dan to go first, so he places his golf ball down on the marker.
Anoush pulls Samira aside so sharply that her nails graze her skin. ‘He’s nice, right?’ she whispers.
‘Yeah,’ Samira says, grip tightening on her golf club. ‘He’s into you. So much for a pash and dash though.’
‘Samira, we made out for, like, hours. My lips still hurt, but, like, in the best way. I think I’m in love.’
‘It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,’ Samira points out.
‘Summer romances wait for no-one! And he’s got friends . . .’
‘Not interested,’ Samira says. ‘But do I need to, like, state the obvious here? I’m a total third wheel. You two are on a date and I’m, like, your chaperone.’
‘No, this is fab,’ Anoush says. ‘I feel terrible about the mix-up at the Capitol last night, so this way we can all be together.’
Samira rolls her eyes. ‘Throw in a pair of glasses and a snarky comment about what you’re wearing and I’m your mother right now.’
Anoush laughs. ‘Stop it.’
Dan strides back to them. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Just Samira being Samira,’ Anoush says.
‘The one and only,’ Samira says, taking her spot on the green. She hits the ball and it careens towards the rainbow. It slows to a stop next to the hole.
‘Nice one, Mum,’ Anoush whispers.
They swap positions on the green. Anoush swings her club but misses the ball, which leaves her and Samira in another fit of giggles.
‘You’ve got this, Anoush,’ Dan tells her in earnest. ‘We won’t count that one.’
She swings again, sending the ball bouncing down the green. It hits the side of the rainbow, then rolls into the hole.
Dan and Samira cheer, both leaning in to high-five her at the same time. Anoush’s palm claps with Dan’s, leaving Samira’s mid-air by itself. She shakes her head at the ridiculousness of it all.
The game passes in the way mini-golf usually does: laughter, swearing, balls dropping into holes, balls lost in bushes.
Dan lets Anoush cheat and flirt her way to a win, while Samira crawls on her knees in the hedge beside the ferris-wheel-themed eighteenth hole looking for her ball.
‘Got it!’ she declares as she gets to her feet. ‘I’ll hit it in the last hole then we can go and . . . Oh.’ Anoush and Dan are locked in a kiss.
Samira averts her gaze, not wanting to stare. ‘I might just . . .’ Her voice trails off and she dawdles back to the clubhouse by herself.
She buys a bottle of sparkling water to kill time.
‘Student?’ asks the woman behind the desk as Samira sips her drink. ‘Bet you’ll never forget this week, am I right?’
‘You could say that.’
When Anoush and Dan join her inside, they’re flushed and holding hands. Anoush is giddy with joy. Dan seems to be the same.
‘Drink, anyone?’ Anoush asks, gesturing to the vending machine.
Dan nods and says, ‘Thanks,’ and she slips around the corner out of sight, leaving him and Samira alone.
Samira wonders if there’s enough small talk in the world to fill the quiet.
‘That was fun,’ Dan offers.
‘Yeah, for sure. Was great.’
‘If I’d known you were by yourself I would have brought along a mate,’ he adds.
She can tell he means it in a nice way, but the words ‘by yourself’ sting. She searches for a topic they have in common, but all she knows about him is that they attended the same foam party and he likes her friend.
‘So . . .’ she says.
‘So . . .’ He drums his fingers on the table.
‘Omigod, want to hear a funny story about the foam party?’ Samira offers up.
Dan seems relieved. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Well, and this is the funny part,’ she leans in closer, ‘I thought you were walking over because you liked me. How hysterical is that?’
His eyes widen, just a little. ‘Oh really?’
Samira realises, seconds too late, that her filter has failed her. This isn’t hilarious. It’s humiliating.
‘It’s nothing though, right?’ she stammers, wishing the floor would swallow her up. ‘Forget it. Not funny. It was confusing though.’
‘Right.’ He nods. ‘But was it?’
‘I mean, maybe a little, or even a lot. You approached me and for a second, like, literally a second, I thought you were coming to chat. To me, I mean,’ she rambles, her nerves getting the better of her. ‘Obviously you were coming over to chat, just not to me specifically. And now we know you were coming over to do more than chat, right? Although you did come up to me, I guess, which is probably why it was so confusing in the first place.’ She swallows. ‘But then you kissed Anoush so it, um, all became clear.’
By now Dan’s cheeks are a deep shade of red.
‘Isn’t that funny?’ Samira adds, forcing an upward inflection into her voice.
He fakes a laugh as Anoush barrels over to them.
‘Not telling Dan all my secrets, are you, Samira?’ she asks, passing him a bottle of water.
‘If only I’d thought of that,’ Samira says, gritting her teeth. Anything would be less awkward than the conversation they’d just endured.
‘What should we do next, itinerary queen?’ Anoush asks.
‘We could hire bikes?’ Samira notices Dan’s nose screw up at the suggestion. ‘Or hang at the little beach near our place?’
Dan’s hand finds Anoush’s. ‘The beach — that reminds me! My mates signed me up to a volleyball competition later this arvo down at the beach by Saldana Strip. The free shuttle goes right there. Want to come?’
‘Absolutely,’ says Anoush, before glancing at Samira. ‘I mean, what do you think, girl?’
‘Balls flying towards my face has never been my favourite way to pass the time,’ Samira says, still aching with embarrassment from her conversation with Dan. ‘You two go and I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘We can sunbake while they play?’ Anoush offers.
Dan scoffs. ‘Please! With that competitive streak I saw on the mini-golf course?’
‘Competitive? Me?’ Anoush tosses her hair over her shoulder. ‘Never.’
‘You have to come,’ Dan says with a grin.
Anoush flashes a smile. ‘Fine, I’m in.’ She turns to Samira. ‘You’re coming too. Girls’ day, remember?’
Samira remembers. But
she’s not sure if Anoush does.
* * *
Samira’s palms are clammy as she takes in the picture-postcard scene. Brilliant orange sun beaming down. Glistening waves rolling onto the sand. Dan’s friends in bikinis and board shorts, playing volleyball like they were born to do it.
‘It’ll be fun,’ Anoush whispers to Samira while Dan coats his bare chest in sunscreen. ‘We’ll just play a game or two.’
‘Are your resuscitation skills up to scratch?’ Samira asks. ‘I don’t want my tombstone to read Samira Makhlouf died doing what she hated: organised team sports in the burning sun.’
Anoush strips down to her bikini. ‘Look at all the hotties,’ she hisses. ‘There’ll be someone to give you mouth to mouth, guaranteed. Why should Zain get to have all the fun?’
Samira bristles at his name. ‘I’m so done with him,’ she says, thinking about the exorcism.
She pulls off her T-shirt, throws it onto the sand and follows Anoush onto the court. As she adjusts the straps of her bikini, a volleyball sails towards her head.
‘Yours, Samira!’ Dan shouts.
‘Kill me now,’ she mutters under her breath.
Gritting her teeth, she dives forward and, with clenched fists pressed together, blasts the volleyball up and over the net before face-planting into the sand.
Zoë
Day 3: 5.57pm
It’s when Darius stuffs a lipgloss, some batteries and two packets of lollies into his pockets at a convenience store that Zoë realises the game-playing has escalated.
‘Are you shoplifting?’ she hisses, elbowing Violet in the side to draw her attention to what’s going on. The three of them are supposed to be on a snack mission for the group. ‘That wasn’t the dare. Put it all back.’
Darius turns and gives Zoë a ghoulish clown grin. Earlier in the day, Violet was dared to decorate his face with cheap facepaints from a two-dollar shop, and he’s completed the look with a red plastic nose and curly green wig.
‘Just clowning around,’ he says, but doesn’t empty his pockets. ‘Hey, where’s your red ring?’
‘My what?’ Zoë asks, looking at her bare fingers. ‘Oh, from the traffic light party? I gave it back to Violet.’
‘Nice. I like your green top too,’ he says. ‘Does that symbolise what I think it does?’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Just checking,’ he adds with a smirk. ‘I guess not.’
‘The party was yesterday,’ she says, moving away from him to eye off the colourful packets of chips lining the shelves. ‘My green top means nothing.’ Her stomach grumbles. They haven’t eaten since brunch.
Darius slides up beside her again, sending a chill down the back of her spine. ‘Dare you to take a packet and run,’ he whispers in her ear. ‘Something to add to your naughty list.’
Zoë’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘No,’ she hisses back. ‘What is wrong with you?’
He laughs. ‘I’m kidding.’
Violet appears behind them holding two bottles of soft drink. ‘Chill, Zo, he’s messing around.’
‘Check his pockets then.’
‘Who’s this hurting?’ Darius asks.
Zoë dares to look at the young man standing behind the counter. ‘That guy, probably — you could get him fired. I’m out. Violet, you’re coming with me. Now.’
The girls leave without buying any snacks or drinks.
Outside, Violet rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve seriously overreacted. Can’t you play it cool for one second?’
‘There’s something off about him,’ Zoë says. ‘You get that, right?’ Her stomach growls again and she swears. ‘I need food. My stomach is eating itself with hunger but we’re not going back in there.’
‘Fine,’ Violet grumbles as they walk along the footpath. ‘But I don’t think he’s that bad.’
‘I figured that when your tongue was halfway down his throat yesterday,’ Zoë says, peeking through the windows of a stretch of restaurants.
‘Hunger makes you sassy, Zo.’
‘I need a burger and then I’ll be happy again.’ Zoë bites her lip. ‘You know he’s kissing other people, right?’
‘Duh. Of course I know. It’s not like I want to marry the guy.’
‘I’d object.’
‘You’d hurl a bowl of Aunty Rosette’s puttanesca in his face, for sure,’ Violet says with a snigger.
‘With extra olives and anchovies. I don’t know how to say this, but I swear he was hitting on me in there.’
‘You wish,’ Violet says, laughing again as they walk along. Then she comes to a sudden halt. ‘Look.’
They’re in front of a tattoo parlour. Zoë takes in the neon red piping on the signage, the window displays and the walls overloaded with designs. A sign saying We accept walk-ins hangs next to the door. A loud high-pitched buzzing echoes from inside.
‘Burgers will have to wait,’ Violet announces. ‘I need you to dare me to do something first.’
‘Get a tattoo? No way.’
‘Just say it.’
‘The game’s over.’
‘Fine.’ Violet fires off a message into the group chat: Someone dare me to get a tattoo
Her screen floods with messages.
I DARE YOU TO GET A TATTOO RIGHT NOW!!!!!!
Do it!
Double dare you
TRIPLE DARE YOU WITH A CHERRY ON TOP
Do it, Violet!
Violet grins at Zoë. ‘They accept walk-ins.’
‘But Aunty Caro will—’
‘Never know it exists based on where I’m planning on getting it.’
‘I’m not doing your eulogy,’ Zoë says, opening the door and ushering her cousin in.
Zoë watches the tattoo artists wielding the needles with ease and precision, while Violet sits down on a metal bench and flips through a folder of designs.
‘Just looking?’ calls a woman with a blunt silver fringe and full-sleeve arm tattoos, pausing her work on a back tattoo of a lion. ‘Or do you want ink? I’m nearly done here.’
‘Just looking,’ Zoë stammers at the same time Violet says, ‘Want ink.’
‘There’s a two-for-one deal if you’re interested,’ the woman says. ‘Applies to piercings too.’
Violet looks at Zoë, whose hand is shoved in a jar of free lollies on the countertop. ‘We could do it together, Zo. Wouldn’t that be unbelievable?’
‘If “unbelievable” means “unlikely” and “improbable”, then yes,’ Zoë says through a mouthful of lollies.
She joins Violet on the bench and they flip through the pages of designs.
‘Which one do you like?’ Zoë asks.
‘A butterfly maybe, but now I’m not so sure,’ Violet says. Her jaw tightens as she watches the woman with silver hair finish the tattoo. ‘It looks like it hurts,’ she whispers. ‘Do you think it hurts?’
‘Affirmative. Ooh, I like this one.’ Zoë holds up a page displaying a small and dainty heartbeat design.
‘A heartbeat? I know you’re not in love so tell me that’s not related to doctor stuff, Zo.’
Zoë shrugs. ‘So what if it is?’ She walks over to stuff her hand back in the lolly jar. ‘Are you getting a tattoo or not?’
‘I don’t know now!’ Violet says. ‘I’m confused.’
‘Want to think about it over a burger? That way you’re taking longer than a minute to decide on something that will last a lifetime.’
Violet groans. ‘Making decisions is so overwhelming. You’re going to be a doctor, Luca’s signed up to a business diploma, and I still don’t even know which courses to register in at fashion college!’ She sighs. ‘How am I meant to commit to something forever?’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Zoë says, taking her hand. ‘Food time.’
‘But everyone’s hyped for me to do it.’
‘You’re allowed to change your mind. They’ll get over it, and I don’t see them volunteering to get tattoos on their bums.’
They hurry towards t
he exit. Violet keeps her head low.
‘No ink tonight?’ the silver-haired woman calls out.
‘No ink,’ Zoë says. ‘But beautiful work . . . ah, keep it up.’
‘Move it,’ hisses Violet, her cheeks flushed red.
She drags Zoë out the door back onto Saldana Strip. In one direction, people lounge around on the grass in front of an ambulance and first-aid tent. In the other, rows of bars pulsate with lights and music even though the evening is young.
‘Burgers, burgers . . . Ooh! I see something up ahead,’ Violet says, lurching towards a line of food trucks parked further along the Strip.
Zoë steps forward to follow and feels blood rush to her head. She holds out her hands, trying to steady herself against the dizziness, but her vision goes blurry and she collapses on the concrete.
Dahlia
Day 3: 6.29pm
The girls stand on Saldana Strip and watch the glowing orb of the sun edge its way towards the ocean. A brilliant sunset paints the sky with smoky oranges and pinks.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ whispers Dahlia.
‘Selfie?’ asks Florence.
‘Let’s try to enjoy it,’ Kiko says. ‘Be in the moment.’ She pauses, taking in the technicolour night again. ‘Yeah, quick selfie!’
They huddle together, squashing in close for the photo.
‘Turn more,’ directs Florence, waving her phone. ‘Keep turning, keep turning.’ She whistles. ‘Dahlia, may I say, my jumpsuit looks fierce on you.’
Dahlia grins. ‘The one benefit of my luggage disappearing into an unknown vortex.’
‘Now get ready,’ Florence says as they all pose. ‘Keep smiling — I’m taking a hundred. We can show these photos to your kids one day, lovers!’
Kiko scrambles for the phone but Florence waves it around, still snapping photos.
Dahlia laughs, straining on her tippy-toes. ‘Let us see, lady. We need approval!’
Over Kiko’s shoulder, she spots a girl who’s frantically crouching, then standing, then crouching again and screaming for help. She’s a blur of colour and movement and it takes Dahlia’s eyes a while to focus and realise there’s another girl lying on the concrete at the first girl’s feet. She looks limp, lifeless.
Can't Say it Went to Plan Page 10
