by Emily Gale
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she says, widening her eyes to warn me off.
‘Oh my God, there was a fire there.’ Christian looks up from his phone. ‘Not even kidding. It’s on news.com.’
The others lose it. I bend to exit the cubbyhouse and look it up for myself. Bloody hell, there really was a fire. That’s weird.
‘Look, it barely caused any damage,’ I say. ‘And there’s no mention of the painting. Someone could have bought it days before this happened. You could prove anything if you only looked at it a certain way. And even if you actually believe the paintings brought bad luck – which is stupid enough – how can you blame the subject? Adie was just the one being painted. She didn’t do anything. This whole thing is as ludicrous as having a dream that someone’s out to get you, and then waking up the next morning blaming them instead of your own messed-up psyche.’
‘I always do that,’ says Scarlet.
This is a losing battle.
‘You know what we should do?’ Christian says with one of his filthy smiles. ‘We should get a portrait of Adie and put it in the school. Hopefully, it’ll burn the place down.’
Over the sound of everyone laughing, I hear Hari’s voice. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ She unplugs her music and joins me outside the cubby, followed by my sister. ‘Wren, think about it. It’ll prove this is all a load of crap. Who’s up for a camp-out? We’ll hang a picture of Adie in the Performance Hall – I know how to get through the back way.’
‘The school would kill us – can you imagine Carole, for a start?’
‘We wouldn’t ask permission,’ says Hari. ‘We’d go at night when it’s all closed up. And keep it strictly between us lot.’
They seem to like this idea. But I don’t know. I wonder what Adie would think.
‘Wren, we could show that this whole rumour is ridiculous. Then Adie can come back to school.’
‘Maybe. But we have to ask her. I’d hate it if people were talking about me like this.’
‘You ask her. I know where she lives.’
‘Er, call her?’ Poppy says with a screwed-up face.
‘She doesn’t have a phone,’ Hari replies.
‘Who doesn’t have a phone?’ says Christian. ‘That proves it; she’s definitely a freak.’
I let that one go, too caught up in Hari’s idea. This feels like back-to-front logic, but I agree to find Adie and ask her what she thinks.
As we leave the park, Summer nudges me and says quietly, ‘So now we need a portrait. I wonder where we can find one of those.’
I get close to the address Hari gave me. It’s a shabby place and there are people hanging around outside. I reckon they’re journalists and photographers; I hadn’t thought of that. So I cross the street and sit on someone’s wall.
While I wait, the people outside Adie’s house take turns to knock on her door. A couple of them rap their knuckles on the front window. There’s no way of knowing if anyone’s home. I get out my phone and message Hari to let her know what’s going on. Then Milo to ask him how he’s doing. Then Summer to ask her to tell Mum and Dad that I’m studying with a friend and will be home later. When I look up, one of the journos has given up and walked away. But this could take hours.
I open Instagram. Some of my old friends in London have posted stories on their way to school. London looks freezing and blue, like a made-up place. I’ve got a few random follow requests from the kinds of boys who don’t usually look at me except to scowl – private-school boys with tidy haircuts and perfect teeth. I delete them all. There’s some good new art that I double-tap, and then I come to that photo of Milo’s sister from weeks ago – Sophie midair on the trampoline. I click on Julie’s profile. Weird … She hasn’t posted anything since that day.
A motorbike tears past and makes me look up. There’s only one woman outside Adie’s now. She’s in a blue suit and looks sharper than the other people that were hanging around. She knocks on the door and gets no answer. Then a tall red-haired guy, holding hands with a little girl, walks past me on the other side of the road and goes through the small gate next door to Adie’s. The woman asks him something, but I’m not close enough to hear exactly what it is, or his reply, but then the little girl says, very loudly, ‘Leave Adie alone. My mum says you’re bastards.’
I laugh into my hand as the guy hurries the little girl into their house. The woman hangs there for a few seconds and then gets on her phone as she finally walks away. She looks upset; I thought journalists had thicker skin. I watch her put her phone in her handbag, which she shoves into the front basket of a bicycle. She wheels it onto the road and pedals away. I never pictured journalists riding bicycles, but I guess they have to get around somehow.
Adie’s house has a Medusa doorknocker. That’s fitting, since the portrait of Adie has been staring me down for weeks and turned me not to stone but completely pathetic.
I put my lips to the door – ‘Adie, it’s Wren’ – and wait, straining to hear. ‘Everyone’s gone. It’s just me.’
The door opens, as if she was standing right there all along.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘You weren’t at school, so –’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come with an idea. To help. And baklava.’ I hold up a tub: Hari’s leftovers. That was her idea too. Adie opens the door wider.
The house is gloomy and unloved. I follow her into the kitchen and look out the back while she fills two glasses with water from the tap.
‘Is that your dad’s studio?’
‘Mm.’
‘No one else home?’
‘Nup.’ She faces me with the glasses, then heads back to her room. I can’t tell if she wants me here. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Adie’s room is the only nice space in the house. Over by her window is the chair I sat in with Milo a few weeks ago. I can’t believe it’s here.
‘Did you find this on the corner of Mitcham and Turner?’
‘No,’ she snaps. ‘My dad bought it on eBay.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Her body seems to deflate. ‘No, I’m sorry – you’re right, I did find it there.’
In an even smaller voice, I say, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
We eat a baklava each, chewing the sweetness off the ends of our fingers. I tell her about the plan to take a portrait to school and camp there for the night. I call it Hari’s plan in case Adie hates it, because I’m pretty awful like that. I don’t mention that Christian first came up with it as a joke.
‘Who’s going to be there?’ she asks.
‘People you know – Hari, Matt, Billy – and maybe some of the jerks from English because, if they don’t see it with their own eyes, this witch-hunt is only going to continue. But we’ll have your back. Me, obviously, and maybe Milo, although he’s … got the flu at the moment, I think. Are you up for it?’
‘Maybe. If Juliet comes.’
‘Sure. Do you want me to call her?’
‘I’ll email her. What I don’t get is why you’re all doing this.’ Adie’s gaze peels away a layer of me. I’m nowhere near brave enough to tell her how much I’ve been thinking about her, that my limbs feel like jelly if she’s near, that I can’t stop looking at her lips.
‘We all just think it’s unfair. I’ve got a nose for injustice. You can tell your dad you’re staying over at mine that night, if you like.’
‘Dad’s not around at the moment.’
‘Oh, right.’ I can’t believe he left Adie here while all this is going on. ‘We were thinking tomorrow night. What will you do till then?’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got the radio. TV. Friends next door who look out for me. And my cat.’
I follow where she’s looking. There’s a tabby fast asleep in the corner. I wonder if she called him Malachite like she said, but I don’t ask.
I leave Adie’s house with the impression that she needs this camp-out for herself as much as to make the rumours stop. It’s as if Adie half-beli
eves she could be an unlucky charm.
Back on my own street, Milo’s front door opens and Juliet comes out. She looks at me, unsmiling, unlatches Milo’s gate and walks off in the other direction. I don’t know what to think. Milo’s my best friend, but I feel detached from him; it’s happened so quickly.
The door opens again and it’s him.
‘Hey, stranger!’ he says. He jumps the three steps from the porch to the path and bounces his basketball twice as he comes towards me. Then he looks over his shoulder and, one-handed, lands it straight through the hoop. ‘Whhhhoooo!’
‘Great shot.’ I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look that happy. I think of Juliet leaving just now. What’s happening?
He opens the gate between us and chucks me the ball. ‘Your turn.’
I roll my eyes and, without moving any closer, lob the ball as hard and high as I can. It flies through the net. ‘Oh my God! Did you see that?’ I yell.
He pushes my arm playfully, his face as astonished as mine must look. I push him back. The dipping sun is behind him as he smiles at me and I feel this rush. I don’t know what it is, but I get a huge surge of something and I find myself wrapping my arms around Milo’s neck and pulling him down to me.
As soon as he’s in my arms, it feels like a mistake.
I let him go and step back, and it’s awkward. I should tell Milo about how much I like Adie, but I can’t. Because between us it’s always been … an almost thing. A close call. I don’t think he’d be happy about it. And what’s there to be happy about, anyway? Congratulations, Wren! You like someone who has so far shown absolutely no sign of liking you back!
‘Where’ve you been?’ he says.
‘Detention again.’
Milo looks up the street, the way Juliet walked.
‘So you were hanging out with your friend Juliet.’
‘Yes. Wait, you said “friend” the way you told me my mum says it. That means it’s a put-down.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. She’s your friend. Whatever.’ I can’t stop the jealousy seeping out in my tone. This is so stupid. I know that I don’t like Milo the way I like Adie. He was my first friend in Australia. I love him like a brother, and I’ve already lost one of those.
‘Come to the school tomorrow tonight,’ I say. ‘We’re having a camp-out.’
‘I heard about it.’
‘Already? Wow, word got out quickly. It’s just a few of us. Adie’s having a rough time with all of this weird attention. Please come. I honestly didn’t mean anything before when I said “friend”.’
He nods, inspecting the basketball carefully. ‘So, you’re trying to help Adie.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Because you like her.’
I swallow. ‘Yes.’
‘What kind of like?’
I have to tell him. ‘The big kind.’
Without taking his eyes off the ball, Milo turns his back on me and takes a shot at the basketball hoop. He misses, and walks back into his house as the ball bounces onto the fake grass and rolls to a stop.
Sunset is due at 7.54 pm.
Mum likes to keep the house quiet on the Sabbath; tonight I don’t feel quiet inside. The silence around me makes the minutes crawl. I want to get to school when Wren and everyone else does so I don’t miss anything. It’s partly because I feel responsible for what happens, seeing as I convinced Wren to do it. But there’s another reason. If Wren and Adie are going to get together, I have to face it. I can’t keep pretending it’s going to go my way. I’ve tried to find out if Adie likes her – or even likes girls – but she’s as evasive as they come. But it’s obvious how Wren feels. I’m not going to spend the rest of high school waiting for her to notice that I’m the one she should be with.
The alarm goes off on my phone. The sun’s gone down at last. I give it another few minutes and then head downstairs with my pillow and a backpack.
‘Who’s this friend you’re going to study with?’ says Dad. ‘Not a boy, I hope.’
Mum answers for me. ‘Of course not a boy. She knows the rules. And she only just broke up with Luca.’ Mum hugs me for the hundredth time since I told her. ‘Maybe she will get back together with him one day?’
‘Maybe, Mama.’
She holds me at arm’s length. ‘Why so many earrings, Hari? Black lipstick. This hair. Why do you want to look like this? God did not intend you to mess up his beautiful work in this way.’
‘Leave her,’ Dad says. ‘Get out of here, Harika, before your mother puts you in a flower dress. Take the cookies I made earlier. In the tin. Still warm, for you and your friend.’
‘Thanks, Dad. Bye, Mama.’
When the front door closes behind me, I let out a long breath, like I always do.
Wren’s in the middle of the footy field. For a moment I wonder if no one else is coming, but then two small crowds arrive from different directions. I make it to her first, though. She gets up off the ground and hugs me. Her head fits neatly under my chin.
‘What are you doing here?’ she says, pulling away, but the question isn’t for me. Her sister, Summer, and some kids I don’t know have arrived. A tall guy with short dreads. A short stocky guy with a full-sleeve tattoo. And a hot girl with Asian looks, a textbook perfect smile and the cutest blunt fringe since, well, mine.
‘You said we could come,’ says Summer.
‘I doubt it,’ says Wren.
‘Great to see you too, Wren.’ The tall guy smiles at her and then nods at me.
Wren rolls her eyes, but anyone who knows her can tell she likes these people. ‘This is Hari, everyone. Hari, this is Gabe, Ajay and that’s Becky. They’re all in a band, hence the funny-shaped cases they’re carrying. Becky’s cool – you’ll like her.’
The boys make pretend-hurt faces as if they’re used to Wren’s sense of humour.
‘We brought guitars and bongos,’ says Summer.
Wren looks at me. ‘What’s this turning into? A bloody festival?’
I shrug and smile. ‘There’s no harm, is there?’
‘We’ll entertain you,’ says Summer.
Wren curls her lip. ‘We don’t want any of your cheesy love ballads. This is a serious thing. Someone’s reputation.’
‘Who are you calling cheesy?’ says Becky. Her bandmates look at her. ‘Ha! That’s loyalty. Fine, I’ll be dairy-free.’
‘Where’s Milo? I thought he was coming,’ Summer says to Wren.
‘I don’t bloody know. I’m not his keeper,’ she snaps.
I make a mental note to ask her about that later.
Summer and her friends unpack food from their bags. Christian, Billy, Poppy and Scarlet arrive and get settled. Matt shows up on his own and bear-hugs me.
‘Do you think Adie will come?’ I ask Wren discreetly.
‘No idea.’
‘What about a portrait? We can do this without her, but not without that.’
She hesitates. ‘I did a quick sketch of her last night, just in case.’ Wren reaches under her rucksack and pillow; she’s holding a large sketchpad and pulls out a loose piece. It’s stunning. Wren is so talented. But she’s made Adie look forceful and cool, which isn’t the way I think of her.
‘Is this the girl?’ says Ajay, pointing at the drawing. The others gather around.
‘That’s amazing, Wren,’ says Gabe. ‘Pure talent.’
‘Okay, enough,’ says Wren, breaking out of the group, heading for the building.
‘Yep, sorry for complimenting you,’ Gabe says drily, as we all slope after her.
Wren uses art tape to fix the portrait of Adie to the wall in the Performance Hall. Luca walks in, trailed by a boy I haven’t met before, but I think I know who it is. They come straight over.
‘Hari, this is Niall.’
The boy Luca likes. He’s over six feet with dark brown hair and pale skin, and his cheeks pink up when I look at him. Luca’s told me a little about him. He’s in the year above. He looks shy and sweet and I’m relie
ved he seems decent – I’m not sharing Luca with a tool. They’re both at The Hall, which isn’t a queer-friendly place. I doubt they’ll be slow dancing at the formal any time soon.
Matt joins us. Maybe he knows that you need an ally even if it’s only your fake relationship that’s ended. Matt has done the most amazing acting job since Luca and I fake-split, calling it a crime against romance. As Luca introduces him to Niall, Matt puts his arm around me, and that’s all he needs to say.
‘So now what?’ says Christian, after Wren’s finished taping up her portrait.
‘Let’s go back outside,’ says Poppy. ‘There are some others coming.’
‘What others?’ I say, and spot her guilty look. ‘Who, Poppy?’
‘Just … people.’
There’s a lot of noise suddenly and we leave the Performance Hall. At the back of the footy field, a pack of boys are giving a circus display of ramming into each other, running in circles, leaping on each other’s backs, pushing each other over. It’s like watching massive toddlers … or dogs. Poppy walks towards them as if she were expecting them. It’s a crowd of boys from The Hall. I look at Luca.
‘It’ll be okay,’ he says. ‘That’s Marcus; he’s all right.’
‘That’s one out of ten.’
‘Where’s Ben?’ I hear Poppy say.
A tall blond boy answers. ‘Couldn’t get hold of him. Hang on, I’ll try again.’
‘You mean Ben Brearley?’ says Wren. ‘That prick isn’t welcome here.’
‘Don’t be a bitch,’ says Poppy.
‘This is a Fairfield thing, Poppy. It’s got nothing to do with them, and Ben Brearley is a scumbag.’
‘He’s my boyfriend. You don’t know him.’
‘I know enough.’
Poppy shoves Wren in the shoulder.
‘Hey, stop, you two!’ I put myself between them. ‘Wren, don’t.’ I catch her eye, and she nods almost imperceptibly.
Poppy seems relieved. ‘But they can stay, right?’
Wren’s reply warps the moment like a deep scratch on vinyl. ‘Look, it’s Adie.’
The night shifts up a gear as soon as Adie shows up on the footy field. Juliet’s with her. I guess they’ve become friends.
