Proud of you, doc!!!
I think I need a physical
ew!!
you’re my hero
OK BUT ZO DIDN’T DENY BEING IN JAIL
she’s def in jail
totally
what did you do this time???!
The banter continues in a flurry of messages that pile up faster than Zoë can read them.
Greta walks over holding two pairs of earrings. One set is silver and plain, the other is sparkly and bright. ‘Thoughts?’ she asks.
‘They’re pretty, but you don’t even have your ears pierced.’
Greta inspects the sparkly set. ‘But what if I did?’
Zoë’s jaw drops. ‘As in, get them pierced right now? You?’
‘I was always too chicken, but what am I waiting for?’
‘Then you should.’ Zoë extends her hand. ‘Got a spare one of these for you.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Zo, this week has turned out to be . . .’
‘I know.’ Zoë smiles. ‘To think I almost missed it. Having you here has been . . . Well . . .’
‘Annoying?’ Greta asks.
‘Incredible.’
Greta blushes. ‘Blair didn’t inject you with something, did she?’
‘I’m as surprised as you. Turns out I really like hanging with you, big sis.’
‘The feeling’s mutual. Obviously.’ Greta wraps her arm around Zoë’s shoulders. ‘Now call Blair over to pierce my ears before I talk myself out of it,’ she adds, already gripping Zoë’s hand so hard her nails dig in.
‘Does Mrs Pepper’s lemon tree need pruning?’ Zoë whispers. ‘I can whisk you out of here no questions asked and at least my hand will still be in one piece.’
Greta softens her grip. ‘No Mrs Pepper needed,’ she says. ‘I’m ready. I want this.’
‘So, just quickly, I realised something good about my Number Two preference,’ Zoë says as Blair comes towards them. ‘It’s only a forty-five-minute drive away from you. We can catch up some weekends, if you want.’
‘That’s the best news ever,’ Greta says with a smile.
‘And by the way, everyone thinks I’m in jail so let’s maybe go along with that? It’ll give the cousins something to talk about.’
Greta breaks into a fit of giggles, setting Zoë off, and they double over with laughter that rings through the tattoo parlour.
Dahlia
Day 7: 10.07am
Dahlia glances across the aisle at Samira. She’s still settled against the window with her headphones in and her wig, sword and shield propped next to her. She doesn’t budge when most of the passengers pile off at the markets; her fingers continue tapping her thigh to a rhythm only she can hear.
Florence waves at Zoë’s friends through the window as the shuttle pulls away. ‘I can’t believe we’ll never know what Zoë did for Stevie,’ she groans. ‘We should have swapped numbers.’
‘It’s life though, right?’ Kiko replies. ‘We can’t know everything.’
‘And you rarely get closure,’ Dahlia adds.
Florence rolls her eyes. ‘Stuff that! I want to know where Zoë went. What did she do? I can’t live like this.’
The shuttle hums along the road. They’ve left the beaches behind; instead they’re surrounded by towering green trees.
‘My guess is Zoë’s confessing her love to someone she’s known for a day,’ Kiko says with a grin. ‘Her one true love.’
‘No way,’ Dahlia says, then laughs. ‘Oh! Imagine if she’s gone all vigilante and is tracking down the Hostel Bandit for us.’
‘Or losing her virginity,’ whispers Florence. ‘Can you imagine?’
‘Florence,’ Kiko says with a groan.
‘I’m kidding! We all know it wasn’t on Stevie’s Too Late List.’ She winks. ‘I’d wonder if Zoë’s gone jelly-wrestling, but someone on this shuttle’s already covered that.’
‘Don’t forget hot-dog-eating and podium-dancing,’ Kiko chimes in.
Dahlia snorts. ‘Are you two ever going to let me live that down?’
‘All signs point to no, Bubblegum,’ Florence says.
‘Omigod, are you talking about the dance comp at the beach the other night?’ It’s Samira. Her headphones hang around her neck.
Dahlia blushes. ‘Why?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but was that you up there?’
‘Ah yeah, it was!’ Florence cheers, whipping off the baseball cap and ruffling Dahlia’s hair. ‘Our tiny dancer.’
‘Guilty,’ Dahlia says.
‘As charged,’ Kiko adds.
‘You were amazing!’ Samira says with a warm smile. ‘I saw it on the news. You were, like, so carefree.’
‘It wasn’t my most dignified night.’
‘She’s a legend,’ Florence says, pinching Dahlia’s cheek. ‘Famous now!’
Dahlia rolls her eyes. ‘Not this again.’
‘I’ve had a weird week, like a total rollercoaster, and seeing you dance . . .’ Samira pauses as she presses the buzzer to stop. ‘Well, my friend Tilly and I loved it. I saw it on my birthday and—’
‘Hey, happy birthday!’ says Kiko.
‘Thanks.’ The shuttle pulls over and Samira slides her suitcase and gear along the seat, then stands and slings her handbag over her shoulder. She gestures out the window to a sign: Johansen Nature Reserve. ‘Anyway, this is my stop. Guess the secret’s out. Horse-riding and ziplining.’
‘That’s bad-ass.’ Florence turns to Kiko. ‘Can we?’
Kiko laughs. ‘We have twelve dollars! No chance. But it’s definitely list-worthy.’
Samira cocks her head to one side. ‘What list?’
The driver clears his throat. ‘Are you getting off or staying on? We’re already running behind schedule.’
‘Getting off!’ Samira turns to the others. ‘Enjoy wherever you end up.’
‘Thank you for adding to the list!’ Florence says.
‘Happy to help.’ She gives them a confused smile, then slips on her headphones and gets off the bus, giving the girls a salute through the glass.
Dahlia’s foot hits something in the aisle. ‘Samira dropped her wig!’
The shuttle door is already shut so she presses her nose to the window and waves the wig around.
‘Careful with that thing,’ Kiko says, ducking out of the way.
Samira glances up and spots Dahlia with the wig. Her mouth opens in surprise, before she collects herself. ‘You keep it!’ they hear her shout. ‘It’s yours!’
Florence stands up in her seat and punches the air. ‘Yesssss!’ The shuttle driver glares at her in the rear-view mirror. She takes the wig from Dahlia and slips it on. ‘I wish she’d left that sword and shield behind too.’
She takes out her phone and snaps a few selfies of herself wearing the wig.
The three of them fall into comfortable silence as the shuttle drives on, stopping at empty stop after empty stop.
‘Now what should we do?’ Kiko eventually asks. ‘Any ideas?’
‘This is our last full day here,’ Dahlia says. ‘Shouldn’t it be something incredible?’
‘It kind of is already, right?’
As Florence draws swirls with her finger on the window, something catches her eye outside. She kneels on the seat and looks closer.
‘What’s up?’ Dahlia asks.
‘You know how earlier in the week I was into those two guys Matt and Seiji—’
‘Mitch and Seiji?’
‘Whatever,’ she says, twirling strands of the red wig around her finger. ‘Yes, them. They were cute, huh? Although Steve from the mixer was gorgeous and so funny, which made him even hotter. I wonder what he’s doing today?’
‘Focus, Florence!’ Kiko says. ‘What’s up? Did you see Mitch and Seiji out the window?’
‘No, but I think we’re almost at that theme park.’
‘WonderWorld?’ Dahlia swears. ‘This shuttle must do a full loop. We’ve been on it for over an hour and we haven’t do
ne anything!’
‘Well, we did see that girl Zoë,’ Kiko offers. ‘And thanks to our list for Stevie she’s now doing something amazing.’
‘Something we’ll never find out about,’ Florence complains, but then gestures to the wig. ‘And we got this beauty from Samira, the mysterious girl with the headphones. And Dahlia, you inspired her! Plus, I think we can cross horse-riding and ziplining off our list in her honour.’
‘Agree, but what do we do now?’ Dahlia asks, leaning back in her seat. ‘Jump another shuttle? Investigate if there’s any last-minute free activities? A beach party?’
‘I don’t know about you two, but I need a break,’ Florence admits, throwing her hands up. ‘Living your best life is gruelling. I’m not cut out for it!’
Kiko gives a sheepish smile. ‘I could use some downtime. We’ve done so much.’
Dahlia claps. ‘Yes! Yes! Let the record state I was the last one standing. Me!’
‘I’ll deny it to my death,’ Florence says with a smirk, but she takes off the red wig and places it on Dahlia’s head. ‘For you, oh worthy one, in lieu of a crown.’
Dahlia straightens it and sticks out her tongue. ‘I accept! But I hear your cries for mercy. From now on, nothing but naps and pool time.’
‘Keep talking, that’s the stuff,’ Kiko says, hiding a yawn behind her palm.
Florence nods. ‘Our girl Stevie’s going to have to be proud of us doing sweet nothing.’
Dahlia laughs. ‘Florence, Stevie is so proud of you. And Kiko too. I know it.’
Florence murmurs, ‘Hope so,’ as she straightens the lightning bolt brooch on her tote.
* * *
The girls leave the shuttle back where they started, and wander up a hilltop overlooking the ocean. Trees tower over a park bench with a perfect view.
Florence flops back onto the grass behind the bench and gazes up at the moody grey clouds, while Kiko kicks off her sandals and stretches into downward-dog position beside her.
Dahlia takes the bench and watches the sea, choppy and inky blue. Out of habit, she reaches for her phone. Her fingers trace their usual path and she finds herself looking at an old photo from two and a half years ago, one nobody else has seen.
Stevie is wedged into her childhood cubbyhouse because she wanted a hiding place to try smoking a cigarette. Her knees are bent up to her chin and her head is ducked low to avoid touching the ceiling. She’d convinced her older cousin to hook her up with a packet, and kept it hidden for months until this day. In the photo, there’s a stubbed-out, barely touched cigarette on the cubbyhouse floor. Stevie and Dahlia had both hated it, and had walked to the shops immediately afterwards to buy ice-creams to get rid of the taste. Stevie dared Dahlia to take the cigarette home with her as a souvenir, but she’d declined.
Dahlia puts her phone down and stares out at the open sea, lost in its expanse. She suddenly feels like the smallest being in the world.
Moments later, a whale breaks the ocean’s surface, its glistening charcoal body seeming suspended as its spout releases a spray of water, air and vapour. As it thunders down into the big deep blue, Dahlia is frozen, too captivated to make a sound.
The whale’s mammoth tail resurfaces, fanning out momentarily, before crashing back into the ocean’s depths. It doesn’t resurface.
Dahlia turns to the others, jaw dropped.
Florence is spread-eagled on the grass, earphones in, humming an Alotta Peach song.
Kiko is in tree pose, eyes closed.
They didn’t see it.
Dahlia shakes her head in disbelief. No photo, no evidence, no witnesses. She knows that eventually the memory’s edges will fade and she’ll wonder if it ever happened at all.
Samira
Day 7: 12.23pm
The horse veers to the right again, ignoring Samira’s protests. When she attempts to bring it back to the middle of the track, it stops to chew on some overgrown bushes. Samira digs in her left heel and pulls on the reins. The horse grunts.
Samira swears under her breath; she doesn’t remember horse-riding being this frustrating.
She tries again, but the horse lurches deeper into the bushes.
‘Help, please!’ she shouts. The rest of the tour group have plodded ahead, unaware she’s left behind. ‘Someone!’
The leader of the group, Peta, hears her call and trots back to Samira’s side.
‘She’s stubborn, our Dot,’ Peta says. ‘But she’s got a heart of gold.’ She clicks her tongue and steers Dot onto the path, unfazed when the horse snorts and attempts to pull away. She looks over at Samira. ‘Ready to keep moving?’
‘Sure,’ Samira fibs. ‘How much longer until we’re at the zipline base?’
‘Just around this trail and across the grassland until we’re higher up the mountain.’
Samira exhales, imagining her and Dot galloping through a lush green pasture. ‘Walk,’ she commands the horse and they start along the steep trail.
A few metres in, Dot surges sideways again, burying her face in another bush.
‘Peta . . .’
‘Don’t give up, honey.’
Samira uses her heels to steer Dot back to the path. ‘We’ve got this, girl,’ she mutters, jaw hardening with determination. ‘We’re finishing this.’
Once they hit the grassland, Dot picks up the pace. Samira’s knuckles whiten on the reins as they pass rows of trees that are dwarfed by the looming mountains. The wind whistles through her long hair as she takes in the sweeping views. Everything feels clearer here. The air. The stretch of cloudy sky. Even her mind. There’s a peacefulness. A freedom. She draws in a deep breath, wishing she could bottle the feeling and take it home.
When they arrive at the ziplining base, the others are sitting around waiting, already wearing their harnesses and helmets.
Samira climbs down from Dot, thighs aching, and strokes the horse’s face. ‘Good girl, Dot,’ she whispers. ‘You did great.’
Samira drags on her harness and clips on her helmet, wincing as the strap pinches her skin. Her palms are sore from gripping the reins.
She and Peta join the group at the first line of the ziplining course. The cable seems to stretch forever. She squints, trying to glimpse the landing platform at the other end, but it’s a speck in the distance.
Her stomach churns as she imagines holding onto the bar, stepping off the platform, flying through the air high above everything. She tells herself to enjoy the sweeping views and don’t look down.
She looks down.
Far below she sees trees, grass, dirt and boulders. She never liked the flying fox at the playground, so she wonders why she was so keen to sign up to ziplining. Like everything earlier in the year, it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.
‘This is an easy line to get everyone started,’ Peta says without a hint of sarcasm. ‘A warm-up.’
Samira swallows and pulls her harness, like the others are doing, to check it’s tight enough. In this moment, it seems like the flimsiest safety equipment in the world.
Peta walks over and tugs on Samira’s harness, giving her a sharp nod of approval. ‘You’re good.’
While the others chat, Samira steps closer to the railing. She forces herself to look up and out instead of down. This time, she focuses on the swollen clouds straining across the ashy sky. Her fingers find her bangle and she imagines Tilly and the Peachies hanging out in their courtyard in full costume, Alotta Peach blaring as they reminisce about meeting their hero. She thinks of her mum and Teta waiting for her at home. She wonders what Anoush and Zain are doing, before realising that she doesn’t need to know. She pictures her future, an empty slate, ready to be filled with whatever she wants.
‘Who’s up first?’ Peta’s voice cuts through the daydream.
There’s a long silence, then Samira’s volunteering before she’s even grasped the words coming out of her mouth. Yet her feet remain cemented to the platform.
Peta calls her over to test the harness again. ‘I
t’s perfectly safe, honey,’ she says, one hand on Samira’s shoulder. ‘There’s no way you can fall, so technically you don’t even need to hold on.’
‘I can’t let go!’ Samira says. ‘Not a chance.’
‘It’s an option.’ Peta winks. ‘Enjoy being on top of the world. There’s nothing like it. Now, it’s time.’
Samira’s stomach churns. She keeps her chin up and shuffles forward to the edge of the platform. Her fingers fold around the bar, knuckles whitening.
The rest of the group cheer and clap, urging her on.
Samira takes in the sweeping green mountainside and hint of ocean far away in the distance. Her grip tightens on the bar, then, fighting her natural instincts, she leaps from the platform. A shriek of joy erupts from the depths of her stomach.
Time freezes as she glides above the treetops, her ponytail whipping behind her and her feet dangling below. She leans back, palms burning, mouth stretching into a grin so wide her cheeks hurt.
As she sinks into the harness and flies towards the landing platform, an overpowering pull to do the unthinkable returns. She doesn’t fight it.
She takes a deep breath, lets go of the bar and hollers into the wind.
Dahlia
Day 7: 4.21pm
Kiko’s and Dahlia’s wet skin glistens as they stretch out on their towels by the pool. Kiko sits up, then pulls a small purse from her tote. She places it in front of Dahlia, who’s on her stomach, pulling at a loose thread at the corner of her towel.
‘What’s this?’ Dahlia asks, turning the purse over.
‘Just look.’
Inside, there’s a handful of Polaroid photos.
‘From Stevie’s camera?’ Dahlia asks, heart racing.
Kiko nods. ‘My pictures though.’
‘I haven’t seen you take any. I didn’t even realise you’d brought it.’
‘I don’t like wasting the film, so I save it for special moments. Otherwise it’s tucked under my pillow.’
Dahlia holds up the top photo. Florence is sitting on Dahlia’s shoulders in the pool. The sun beams brightly in the corner of the picture, the water shimmers, their arms stretch out wide and they’re laughing so hard their eyes are clamped shut.
Can't Say it Went to Plan Page 24
