by Em Bailey
‘She’s eavesdropping,’ I whispered.
Ami shook her head. ‘She’s not close enough, is she?’
When the bell rang, Katie stood up and moved off, still talking. Justine and Paige followed.
Ami turned. ‘We’d better go too.’
We started towards our next class. But after a few steps I steered the other way, pulling Ami with me. Ami looked at me curiously. ‘It’s a test,’ I said. ‘To see what Miranda does.’ A few seconds passed before I risked a look behind to see if Miranda was following us. I admit I was surprised when I turned and she wasn’t there, lurking in the distance. It took me a moment to spot her, trailing behind Katie.
When Katie reached the door she stopped. Miranda, a few metres behind, stopped too. Katie smoothed her hair and adjusted her skirt. Miranda stood still and watched. Two seconds passed. Three. Then slowly Miranda raised her hand to her head and smoothed her hair, just as Katie had done. Then she tugged at her skirt, making it perfectly straight. Just like Katie.
I turned to make some comment to Ami, but the look on her face silenced me. Ami, my ever-calm, logical friend, looked disconcerted.
‘What?’ I said.
‘There’s something –’ Ami broke off and I could see the rational part of her struggling to come to terms with what she was about to say. ‘There’s something not quite right about that girl.’
The pain in my head grew suddenly stronger.
By that afternoon, my headache was so bad that I let Ami convince me to go home. The idea of curling up in the darkness of my room for a couple of hours, maybe with Luxe playing very softly in the background, was too appealing to resist. I wobbled off home on my bike, the afternoon light playing weird tricks on my aching eyes.
When I’d come home from the clinic, I did some major redecorating. I stripped my bedroom of all the girly, princessy elements that Katie and I had loved, and I considered leaving it like that – bare and stark and ugly – but in the end it was too much like my room at the clinic. What I needed was something I could escape into. Once the idea of a fortune-teller’s tent struck, I became obsessed. I suppose it was something to think about other than my mess of a life. I sourced some lush red velvet curtains and nailed them to the ceiling and the walls so they made a basic tent shape. I moved my bed so that it was in the middle and arranged a whole lot of cushions around the room, as well as a Persian rug that I’d relocated from the hallway. I kept my Magic 8 Ball on top of the ancient – but still excellent – ottoman I found in the neighbours’ rubbish.
Riding home that afternoon, I focused on how good it would feel once I was in my room with the curtains down and it was that thought alone that kept my feet turning the pedals.
Dad used to describe our place as a weathered-board house, which is the kind of bad joke he was fond of making and that Mum laughed at every single time. Or used to. The thing was that neither of them meant it – the beaten-up-ness of our house was one of the things they loved best about it. Most of the damage had been caused by the wind blowing in off the bay and as far as Mum was concerned, the sea air was something magical. If it thought we needed fewer roof tiles, then so be it. The other thing Dad joked about was what he called our free-range garden, i.e. the weed paradise. I swear that things evicted from other people’s gardens would turn up in ours. Every time we wanted to have a barbecue, Dad had to mow down a path to it. He’d lift up the things he unearthed along the way – buckets, shoes – pretending they were treasures. When he moved out he took the gags with him, but left the mower and the barbecue set. The grass grew longer and longer anyway.
As I walked up our creaky steps the front door flung open and two hopeful faces greeted me.
‘You’re home!’ said Toby. He was grinning, but looked pale. Paler than usual, that is.
Mum stroked his hair. ‘Tobes came home at lunchtime,’ she said. Her voice was cheerful, but I heard the concern beneath it, flickering like a pilot light. Then a third face squeezed between Mum and Toby and began enthusiastically licking my hand.
‘Hi, Ralphy,’ I said, giving his head a scratch.
‘How about you three stay outside for a while?’ said Mum, eyeing me. ‘A bunch of orders came through at lunchtime. I’d love to get them out.’ She worked for a health-food company, selling vitamins over the internet.
I could see the door to my room from the hallway. Beyond that door was my fortune-teller’s tent and the promise of peace. Then I looked back at Toby and Mum. You owe them, I reminded myself. Big time.
‘No problem,’ I said, slinging my bag down on the porch. It was probably best if Mum didn’t know about the headache. It felt a little better now I was home, anyway.
‘Mum bought a watermelon,’ Toby said. ‘Want to help me kill it?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking. Go and grab the smashing sticks. I’ll meet you down the back.’
‘Awesome!’ yelled Toby, running off. Ralph ran behind him, doing a crazy dog dance of joy.
I shook my head. ‘Is it possible to die from overexcitement?’
Mum laughed. ‘You were exactly the same at seven,’ she said. ‘Maybe worse. I used to hide on the couch whimpering and praying that we’d both survive until your dad came home.’
She gave one of those fragile smiles. The sort I hated because it meant she was remembering the life we’d had before. The life I’d wrecked. Her eyes glistened. I hugged her – fierce and tight. Trying to squeeze the sadness and worry out of her. Or the guilt out of myself.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘Ami says it gets easier.’
Instantly Mum stiffened.
I usually avoided mentioning Ami to Mum. Talking about her always seemed to lead to more worry and hassle. For some reason, though, I didn’t feel like hiding our friendship today.
‘Jeez, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s not like she’ll give away any family secrets.’
Mum made a weird noise – a snorting sort of laugh. ‘Well, I know that,’ she said.
I pulled away, feeling the old irritation rise. ‘I need someone to talk to about it with. A friend,’ I added quickly, before Mum inevitably said that I could talk to her. Then immediately, I felt bad. I had no right to get cross. Not after what I’d done.
I buried my face into her shoulder like I used to. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mum stroked my hair. ‘Oh, Liv,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t be.’
‘Olive!’ Toby’s voice rang up from somewhere down the back of our yard. ‘Come on.’
I gulped in some air. Counted to three. ‘Coming!’ Then I put my hands on Mum’s shoulders and swivelled her around so she was facing the house.
‘Go and work,’ I commanded. ‘The vitamin-deficient citizens of the world need you.’
‘You’re a love,’ said my mum. She stooped and picked up a shopping bag that was tucked behind the front door. Inside the bag was a large watermelon. Mum gave it a pat as she handed it over. ‘May your death be swift, brave fruit,’ she intoned. ‘And your suffering short.’
Kill-the-watermelon was my idea. I invented it shortly after I’d finished constructing the fortune-teller’s tent. Around the time I first met Ami. I wasn’t feeling great myself, but Toby was in total shut-down mode. He used to spend hours on his own in the backyard, just sitting there in a chair like an old man. And I guess I felt responsible – because he was upset about Dad, and Dad would never have left if it hadn’t been for me. So one day I went to our fridge and took out the biggest thing I could find. A watermelon. Then we took it down to the back fence and smashed it to a pulp with sticks. Not the most complicated game. And yeah, totally wasteful.
Mum had freaked when she’d seen what we were doing. Had we lost our minds? Did we have any idea how much organic watermelons cost? So many people in the world were starving! But Toby suddenly burst out laughing and it was, I swear, like the sound of the sun shining. I remember how Mum stood there, staring at him like she was mesmerised. Then, without saying a word, she jumped in the car and dr
ove off, returning shortly with four more watermelons. Non-organic ones this time.
We hadn’t played kill-the-watermelon for a while, but after Toby’s recent bad night Mum must’ve figured it was time to place another melon on the sacrificial altar.
When I got down the back, Toby was waiting with the two smashing sticks in his hands. He held one out to me. I took it, and we tapped the sticks together three times. Then a bow.
‘Let the smashing begin,’ I said. ‘You first.’
Everyone knew that I no longer did the monthly Friday swim, but I was still expected to turn up at the pool. I suspected that Dr Richter had something to do with that arrangement, but I didn’t complain. Being near the pool didn’t bother me half as much as being near the ocean did. I was happy to be in the complex, hanging out up the back of the seats, listening to music or talking with Ami.
Generally no-one bothered me. But that particular Friday, Miss Falippi waved me over as I walked into the swim centre.
‘You’re a timer today,’ she said, looping a stopwatch around my neck. I considered arguing, but Miss Falippi had her determined face on. ‘The other timers are already at the end of the pool,’ she said. ‘Go and join them, please.’
Jade and Lavinia were deep in conversation, their backs to me as I came over. The third timer was Miranda. It wasn’t surprising. She didn’t exactly seem the athletic sort and I couldn’t picture her in bathers. It was hard to imagine that she had any body at all inside that baggy uniform. She was surely just bones.
Miranda was standing not far from the edge of the pool, apparently absorbed in watching the reflections on the surface. But as I came closer her eyes lifted. They still made me shiver, just a little, those pale pupils – even though they didn’t have that mirrored effect I’d seen on the first day.
‘Is your friend here today?’ she asked. Her voice wasn’t so flat and boring this time. She sounded curious.
‘What friend?’ I said.
‘You know,’ said Miranda. ‘The one you’re always talking to. What’s her name again?’
It was none of her business, of course, but I found myself answering anyway. Maybe I was thrown by her speaking to me directly.
‘Ami.’
Miranda nodded, like she’d already known. ‘So,’ she said, finger on her chin. ‘These days you’re friends with Ami. But you used to be friends with Katie Clarke.’
‘Who told you that?’ I said sharply.
‘No-one. It’s obvious if you pay attention,’ said Miranda. ‘You hate each other now though, that’s pretty clear. But you don’t seem to care. Funny. I’m not sure if that makes you strong or pathetic.’
I felt a sudden flare of annoyance – bright and hot. Who the hell did she think she was, asking such personal questions? Passing judgement like that? Then I imagined Dr Richter waggling her finger at me. Control that temper, Olive.
So – a deep breath, and a quick change of topic. ‘Not swimming today?’
For a moment I thought she might ignore the question. But eventually her lips parted. ‘I suffer from dermatitis.’
I had a flash of how strange her skin had looked flecked with rain the other night. Like she’d slathered it all with a heavy foundation. Today she was wearing her jumper, even though the swim centre was stiflingly hot. But I could see her hands. They looked papery and dry. Flaky.
As I was looking, Miranda tugged up her jumper sleeve and I saw that she’d tied a thread around her wrist – just like the one Katie wore. Katie and I had started wearing them years ago, when we were little, and I could hardly believe Katie still had hers. Why Miranda would want to copy Katie was beyond me, but I knew it was a thin, pink death sentence.
‘You’d better get rid of that,’ I said.
Miranda shook her wrist, making the thread even more visible. ‘Why?’ she said. Her voice sounded different. Like someone who wanted to be heard.
‘Because,’ I explained, ‘if Katie sees you wearing it, she’ll probably remove both the thread and your throat with her teeth.’
Miranda shook her hair. It had a shine to it that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘Do I look like I care?’ she said scornfully. ‘I mean, seriously!’
I shrugged. Turned away. Miranda could make her own mistakes.
The first race was called – boys’ 100-metres freestyle – and the competitors began shedding tracksuits and lining up at the end of the pool. We timers stood at the end of a lane each. Miranda was in front of lane one. I was next to her. People up in the stands started calling out. Cheering. Whistling.
Ami had turned up by then. ‘So who’s going to win?’ she said. ‘Or don’t you do that anymore?’
‘I still do it,’ I said, turning slightly so that Miranda wouldn’t see me talking. She already knew too much about me. I scanned the row of swimmers, stretching and wind-milling their arms on the blocks. ‘Well, Joshua Bauer won’t win,’ I said. ‘Obviously. And not Aaron either.’
‘How about Cameron?’ asked Ami. ‘He’s pretty fast.’
‘True. But he has no focus,’ I said. ‘Look at him. He’s way too busy showing off his hot bod to Katie to win. And Tyler is always slow off the blocks. So that just leaves the guy in my lane.’
‘That’s Lachlan Ford,’ said Ami. ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed him.’
I summoned up the haughtiness of a queen. ‘What does that freakin well mean?’ The haughtiness of a queen, but maybe not the vocabulary.
Ami’s eyeballs did an exaggerated loop. ‘Come off it. Every girl at school has noticed him.’
The memory of his smile flashed into my mind. A beautiful smile, even though I’d sensed the cruelty behind it. ‘He’s going to win,’ I said. ‘He’s got winner hands.’
‘Which are …?’
‘The sort that like to hold up trophies and punch the air.’
We watched as Lachlan casually bent his arms behind his head, interlocking his fingers and stretching. Next he pressed each leg, one by one, up to his chest. A streak of light fell across his shoulders, making his hair and face glow.
‘He’s lush,’ murmured Ami. ‘Admit it.’
But I wasn’t admitting to anything. Especially not the fluttering in my stomach. ‘He looks like someone who likes winking,’ I said. ‘And you know how I feel about winkers.’
Ami studied my face for a moment. Then she smiled with just one corner of her mouth.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I’ve just realised,’ said Ami. ‘You’re scared of guys.’
I laughed loudly. ‘Ah … I have a brother, remember?’
‘That’s different,’ said Ami. ‘You find something wrong with every boy I’ve ever pointed out to you.’
‘That’s not because I’m scared,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s because your taste is so shtinky.’
Ami folded her arms. ‘OK then, oh Glorious Princess of the Alternative. You tell me who you think is lush.’
Easy. I’d worked on this list a lot. ‘Dallas from Luxe. Kurt Cobain, Jeff Buckley, Holden Caulfield.’
I stopped when I saw the look on Ami’s face. Oh yeah. Two of my crushes were dead. One was fictitious. And the only guy who was both alive and real was someone I realistically had no chance of meeting, no matter what I secretly, desperately hoped. Because why would Luxe ever come to a dump like Jubilee Park?
‘On your marks …’
I clicked my stopwatch just as the starter pistol fired. As the swimmers began churning their way down the pool, the yelling and cheering ramped up. By the time they were shooting towards the timers on their last lap, the screaming had reached deafening levels.
I stood there with my thumb poised over the stopwatch. Lachlan won easily. As he climbed out and reached for his towel, I had an idea. A way of proving Ami wrong. I glanced meaningfully at her before marching over to Lachlan and sticking out my hand.
‘Nice work,’ I said.
He looked surprised, but he took my hand. Shook it.
‘Best time so far,’ I co
ntinued.
‘Thanks. But that was the first trial.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘But still. I get the feeling you’ve done this before.’
Lachlan laughed. I’d expected him to have one of those meaty, fake laughs that boys like Lachlan usually have. But his laugh wasn’t too bad. For a sports-crazed dummkopf. Then he went and spoke.
‘Once or twice,’ he said. ‘I’m a lifesaver.’
I opened my eyes wide. ‘Really?’ I said. ‘How very not predictable.’
By then I figured I’d proven my point to Ami, and turned to walk off. But Lachlan kept talking. ‘I don’t think we’ve met yet,’ he said. ‘Not properly at least. I mean, I know who you are. You’re Olive Corbett.’ He was speaking quickly – tripping a bit on his words – and his face had gone a little red.
He’s probably on steroids or something, I thought. ‘Well, now we’ve met,’ I said. ‘Properly. So. I’ve got to go.’ I showed him my stopwatch. ‘Official timing duties to perform.’
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘There’s a few minutes before the next race. I just want to know a bit about you. About who you are.’
Of course I instantly knew what was going on. He’d been put up to this. Dared – probably by Cameron Glover, who obviously still hadn’t forgiven me.
‘Why don’t you ask someone, then?’ I said. ‘I’m sure anyone at Jubilee Park High would be more than happy to tell you everything you’d like to know about me.’ I said it loudly, hoping it would reach the ears of whoever was hiding nearby, listening and laughing.
Lachlan shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear someone else’s version of you,’ he said. ‘I want to hear yours.’
The funny thing was, it seemed like he meant it. I wasn’t fooled though, no matter how genuine he managed to sound. I crossed my arms. ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why the hell would you want to know about me?’ I stood there, waiting for the whole stupid charade to fall apart.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lachlan, shrugging. ‘You’re so … mysterious. Different. To everyone else here, I mean.’
I snorted. Talk about stating the obvious. ‘So, you’re a detective as well as a lifesaver then?’
