While we encourage you to take your time to consider your options, we do request confirmation of your intent to enrol within fourteen days.
In the meantime, if you have any queries, please don’t hesitate to contact us.
We look forward to welcoming you.
With very best wishes,
Margaret R. Wessen
Admissions Committee Director
Faculty of Medicine and Health
Zoë sinks back onto the grass, letting a feeling of calm spread over her.
Moments later, Luca sits down beside her. ‘I couldn’t get Mum off the phone. It was all “Luca, let me tell you about this potato soup I made”, and “Luca, which vacuum cleaner should I buy?” Do you ever draw breath, Elena?’
The others trade looks, trying not to grin.
‘It’s my hair, isn’t it? You bullies rushed me out the door and I didn’t get to put gel through it,’ Luca says, as they break into laughter. ‘What’s going on? What did I miss?’
Dahlia
Day 7: 8.35am
Dahlia catches up with Florence, who’s pretending to steal a look at the shuttle stop timetable.
‘Don’t you dare cheat!’ Dahlia says with a laugh, clamping her palms over Florence’s eyes. ‘We have to keep the destination a secret.’
Florence struggles to break free, giggling and breathless, as Kiko steers the girls away from the street.
‘Dahlia’s right, we need some mystery,’ Kiko says, swatting at Florence with a half-eaten pancake. ‘It’s what—’
‘Stevie would do,’ Florence adds with a cheeky grin, squealing with laughter as Kiko lunges at her. ‘Except the truth is if Stevie was here, she’d blow up at you two for killing my fun.’
‘Nah,’ Dahlia says, ‘she would’ve wrestled you onto the pavement in five seconds.’
She tries to catch her breath as she looks around. Instead, she gasps. There’s a girl with cat-eye glasses being piggybacked around on the grass by a guy with a familiar beaming white smile.
‘What’s up?’ Florence asks, escaping Kiko’s grip again.
‘Isn’t that the girl who fainted?’ Dahlia replies, pointing. ‘Zoë? It is, I know it is.’
She never thought she’d see Zoë again and wonders if crossing paths here, on this day, means something. She fights the urge to shy away and walks over.
Zoë grins when she recognises her. ‘This girl!’ she says, clambering off the boy’s back and waving at her confused-looking friends. Dahlia notices that Violet, the girl who was with Zoë when she collapsed, isn’t there. ‘This girl and her friends were amazing to me that night I fainted.’
‘It was nothing,’ Dahlia says, taking off the baseball cap and gripping it tightly between her palms. ‘I’m . . . I’m Dahlia, by the way.’
‘Hi. Love the hair.’
Dahlia blushes. ‘Thanks. So you’re okay now?’
The other girl in Zoë’s group steps closer. ‘Zo, what is she talking about?’
Zoë rolls her eyes. ‘Just a little fall, Greta. It’s nothing.’
‘Was that the same night you spent in jail?’ Greta asks. ‘Because it’s getting hard to keep up.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Florence asks. ‘You were in jail?’
‘Greta!’ Zoë laughs. ‘No, I . . . well, yes, for a little bit. I’m not proud of it.’
‘I think you are, Tiny Sloth,’ says another guy. ‘Admit it.’
‘Not as proud as we are of her getting into Medicine,’ says the guy with the bright smile. ‘She just found out.’
‘Prakash, quiet,’ Zoë murmurs, elbowing him in the side.
Dahlia shakes her head, impressed. ‘Congratulations!’
‘Zoë, I feel like we can add about three new things to our list after meeting you,’ Kiko says.
‘You don’t have a tattoo, do you?’ Florence asks. ‘Because that would be handy.’
‘I had a temporary one if that helps?’ Zoë replies with a shrug.
Kiko wrinkles her nose. ‘Not quite list-worthy.’
‘What is this list?’ Zoë asks.
‘It’s a long story, but we had a friend, a truly spectacular friend, and—’ Dahlia breaks off as she sees a shuttle bus headed in their direction. ‘Hey, look! It’s here!’
Everyone rushes into a messy winding line at the stop, but the shuttle drives past. A few people boo when the attendant explains it was full and there’ll be another one soon.
Greta groans. ‘The last two shuttles were crammed with people too.’
‘Looks like time’s on our side,’ says Zoë, turning to Dahlia. ‘Now, tell us about this list.’
Samira
Day 7: 8.59am
Samira’s handbag thumps against her hip as she strides towards the shuttle stop, suitcase in tow. The red wig flaps under one armpit, and she holds the plastic sword and shield under the other. She struggles under the weight of it all, trying to catch her breath without losing speed.
She arrives at the stop moments after the shuttle pulls away. She checks the board. There’s another in five minutes so she sits on the bench and pulls out her phone.
Tilly has messaged.
Miss you already! xx
There’s a group selfie of the Peachies blowing her kisses, standing on the front lawn where she left them. She snaps a quick photo of herself waving and sends it to Tilly, then slips her phone into her handbag.
The next shuttle is packed and loud.
‘Just you?’ the driver asks.
‘And a suitcase.’
He looks over his shoulder. ‘Get on,’ he grunts, then calls to the passengers. ‘Alright, you lot, move towards the back, we’ve got one more to fit.’
Samira’s shoulders hunch over as she shrinks in on herself. ‘I’ll wait.’
The driver mutters something unintelligible and gestures for her to hop onto the shuttle. Samira obeys, dragging her suitcase and dress-up gear with her, and slides onto the seat upfront that’s been cleared.
A girl sitting on the opposite side of the aisle looks over. Strands of butterscotch hair frame her face. ‘Nice sword and shield,’ she tells Samira without a hint of sarcasm.
‘Um, thanks.’
The girl edges closer. ‘I have at least eighty-nine questions about this situation.’
A girl in a baseball cap in the seat behind her groans. ‘Florence, leave her alone.’
‘It’s fine, really,’ Samira says. ‘I wore them to the Alotta Peach concert . . . you know, the singer? She’s probably not your thing.’
‘We know Alotta!’ Florence says. ‘Dahlia here is basically best friends with her.’
The girl in the baseball cap shakes her head. ‘As if.’
Another girl with a blunt black bob sniggers.
‘Facts are facts,’ Florence says. ‘Ooh, is that an Alotta Peach bangle too? I saw them everywhere last night.’ She points to Samira’s wrist. ‘What does yours say?’
‘How many questions are we up to now?’ Samira jokes, extending her arm. ‘It says Live your way, baby.’
The girls swap looks.
‘That’s very Stevie,’ Florence says to her friends. She turns back to Samira, her voice lowering to a whisper. ‘Hey, you seem cool . . . Do you . . . well, do you know where you’re going?’
‘In life? Not at all.’
Florence cracks up. ‘No, I mean . . . literally,’ she splutters.
Dahlia shoots Samira an apologetic smile.
Florence collects herself and adds, ‘As in, do you know where this shuttle goes?’
‘Oh.’ Samira blushes. ‘The next stop is one of the beaches, I think, and then it goes to—’
‘Florence!’ pipes up the girl with the bob. ‘We’re meant to keep it a secret.’
‘Sorry,’ Samira says. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s all good,’ Dahlia assures her. ‘Florence, we made a deal. Whatever will be . . .’
‘Fine!’ Florence moans, before leaning towards Samira again. ‘Back t
o my questions then. Easy one: what’s your name?’
‘Samira.’
‘I’m Florence.’ She gestures to the sword and shield. ‘So are you off to a fight?’
‘With a plastic sword? No.’ Samira giggles. ‘This is . . . it’s my everyday sword.’
Florence points to the red wig. ‘And that is magnificent.’ She gasps. ‘Wait! Are you one of those Alotta Peach super-fans?’
‘A Peachie? Not really. An honorary one maybe. But I know a few.’
Florence’s friends pinch her arm to catch her attention, but she wriggles out of their grasp and turns back to Samira. ‘You know, I hope you enjoy the place you’re going to on this shuttle that you’re not allowed to tell me about.’ She pauses, grinning. ‘And jog my memory — where might that place be?’
‘Stop asking!’ the girl in the baseball cap says. ‘It’s for Stevie, remember? She’d want the mystery.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Hope you enjoy wherever you end up,’ Samira tells Florence, pretending to zip up her lips.
‘I usually do.’
Samira smiles at that.
She settles into the corner of her seat, energised after joking with the girls, and takes in the view. Stretches of blue water and sand flash past, strips of restaurants, cafes and nightclubs, the main first-aid tent, a skate park.
Her stomach flips with excitement. Enjoy the place you’re going.
The Johansen Nature Reserve. The original group ticket she booked isn’t until later in the week and the company doesn’t offer refunds. So after the Alotta Peach concert the previous night, Samira shuffled around her limited savings and bought herself a single pass to the reserve, followed by a buffet meal with the tour group.
A commotion erupts at the back of the shuttle. A girl with cat-eye glasses stands up, finger jammed on the buzzer, and calls out that she needs to get off. She looks vaguely familiar, but Samira can’t place her. She notices the girl’s group protesting, and Florence and her friends seem invested too.
‘I’ll pull up here on the left, but you better make it quick, kid,’ the driver calls out, glaring in the rear-view mirror. ‘This isn’t an official stop.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’
‘Zoë, stay with us,’ another girl, slightly older, says. ‘Please, Zo!’
It couldn’t be. Samira sneaks another glance. Zoë. The girl who fell down the slide at the foam party.
Samira shakes her head, trying not to laugh out loud at the coincidence. That was the day she saw Zain with the redhead. The day she met Tilly and the Peachies. The day everything changed.
‘Greta, stop worrying,’ Zoë says. ‘I’ve got to do something and it’s my only chance. I’ll meet you all at the markets.’
Florence celebrates the discovery of another one of the shuttle stops, while her friends roll their eyes in annoyance.
Greta stands and follows Zoë down the aisle. ‘Then I’m coming with you.’
‘Fine,’ Zoë says, reaching for the overhead rail as she struggles to keep her balance. ‘But I’m doing what I need to do, no matter what you say. No drama. Deal?’
‘What’s happening, Zo?’ a boy calls from the back seat. He looks familiar too and Samira wonders if he’s the friend from the foam party slide.
‘And how long will you be?’ another guy asks. ‘We’re meant to be celebrating your genius self.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ Zoë says as the shuttle pulls over to the side of the road. ‘We’ll get an express there afterwards.’
‘After what?’ Greta asks.
‘You’ll see.’ Zoë turns back to the others. ‘Love you, Luca! Back soon, P!’
Samira notices Zoë waves goodbye to Florence and her friends too. ‘This is me helping you finish your list for Stevie,’ she tells them, before jumping off the final step and onto the road.
‘What does that mean? For Stevie?’ Florence asks her friends, who both look a little stunned. She turns and waves through the window. ‘Bye, Zoë! Can’t wait ’til you’re our doctor one day!’
The bus pulls away again and Samira puts on her headphones and props herself against the window. Outside, the flickers of blue water are transforming into the green of the lush mountainside. She gets out her phone and scrolls through her playlists, pursing her lips as she realises how many of them are for other people.
Chilled Vibes (Mat’s Faves)
Rashida House Party
Zain Love Songs XOXO
Play This One Tonight — Claire
Other people’s interests. Other people’s requests. Other people’s favourite songs.
She scrolls on, then pauses and scrolls back. Her finger lingers over Zain Workout Jams. She deletes it and swipes again. Songs That Remind Me Of Us — gone. Zain Birthday Toonz — deleted.
She swipes until her music library is empty.
She sits with the feeling for a while, then creates a new playlist: My Favourite Songs.
Zoë
Day 7: 9.21am
The backs of Zoë’s thighs stick to the chair’s torn vinyl and she swipes at a droplet of sweat lingering on her brow. It’s impossible to ignore the buzzing sound so she dares to look around the room. An older man is getting song lyrics etched into his bicep.
‘Are you of age?’ asks the woman with the silver fringe from Zoë’s first visit.
She holds up her ID. ‘Yes.’
After reuniting with Greta, the early acceptance into Medicine, running into Dahlia again and learning about the Too Late List, and driving past the first-aid tent, it feels right to Zoë to be back here. Only the faintest outline of the temporary tattoo remains on her wrist and she misses its bold, jagged lines. She wants the heartbeat, a tiny reminder of what she wants more than anything in the world, to be permanent.
‘Any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?’ asks the tattoo artist.
‘None.’
The woman raises an eyebrow. ‘In this week?’
Zoë shrugs. ‘It’s true. I went too hard too early.’
Greta stifles a laugh. ‘That’s putting it lightly.’
‘What about skin sensitivities?’ asks the tattoo artist. ‘I’ll need to disinfect the area.’
‘All good. I’m good. Let’s do this,’ Zoë says, but she can’t help wincing as the woman disinfects the skin on the inside of her left wrist. ‘That’s cold.’ She swallows. ‘Wait!’
The tattoo artist pulls back.
‘This will sound bizarre but I think I need to know your name. This moment feels important and I like details.’
‘It’s Blair,’ the woman says with a grin.
‘Okay.’ Zoë exhales. ‘Blair. One heartbeat, please.’
Blair turns to Greta. ‘Sure you don’t want the two-for-one deal? We can fit you in.’
‘Not a chance,’ Greta says, hopping off the chair to look at the designs on the wall.
‘Hey Greta,’ Zoë murmurs, holding out her right hand, ‘can you come back?’
Her older sister returns to the seat and takes Zoë’s hand. ‘Of course.’
‘My hand’s so sweaty.’
Blair places the tiny tattoo stencil on Zoë’s left wrist. ‘Happy with it?’
Zoë wrinkles her nose. ‘Maybe a little closer to my hand?’
Blair shifts it.
‘Perfect,’ Zoë says. The heartbeat is just for her, and this way it’ll be hidden beneath her bangles, cuffs and watches. ‘Thanks.’
‘Your design is small so this won’t take long,’ Blair says, ‘but you’re going to feel some sensations. Anything from slight stinging, burning, even annoying vibrations to the dragging of a needle across the skin.’
Zoë’s stuck on the word burning. ‘Okay.’
‘Some people find it hell on earth, others find it peaceful. But mostly it’ll feel like an odd scratching pain.’ Blair leans in. ‘You ready?’
Zoë squeezes Greta’s hand again. She squeezes it back.
‘Yep,’ she says.
>
The buzzing and sting of the needle hit simultaneously. Zoë grips Greta’s hand tightly, too tightly, as she adjusts to the feeling. The sharp, scratching sting soon settles into a repetitive warm sensation and Zoë relaxes a little. She’s too nervous to look down, so she keeps her gaze fixed on Blair.
‘And done!’ Blair announces just as Zoë’s getting used to it.
‘Already?’ she asks, taking a peek. The skin is reddened, but the tattoo is flawless.
‘Aftercare is easy with a tattoo of this size, but it’s still important.’ Blair passes her a pamphlet. ‘It’s all in there. Follow the advice and you’ll be sweet.’
‘Thanks,’ Zoë says, watching as Blair wipes down the tattoo with something that stings her nostrils, then places a small bandage over it. ‘This is it, right?’
Blair grins. ‘Forever and ever. Hang out as long as you want, otherwise you’re free to go.’
‘Thanks, Blair.’
‘You did it, Zo, I can’t believe it,’ Greta says, stunned.
Zoë leans back in the chair, fingers outlining the bandage. She’s traced the heartbeat pattern for days and now it’s hers.
While Greta combs through a jewellery stand, Zoë checks her phone. The screen is lit up with notifications from their group chat.
where are you???
Hey losers, anyone seen Zoë and Greta?
Who’s Greta??
omg, Akito, keep up
Come soon! P and I have run out of things to talk about
lmao!!
are you back in jail, Zoë?
bet she’s in jail again
hahaha
Zoë glances at the bandage on her wrist, then types:
Got a tattoo!
There’s a pause. Then the messages flood in.
Yeahhhh and I’m second in line to the throne
did you get it while IN jail?
Violet, where’s your tattoo? lol
Akito!
no way this is true
Show us then
Did you really get one?
as if
Ohhhhh and congrats Zo! Luca told us!
Congrats, Dr Russo
Can't Say it Went to Plan Page 23
