by Tiffiny Hall
He laughs. ‘Open it.’
Please don’t go invisible again, Rox, I tell myself. Jackson doesn’t want a girl who will disappear on him whenever she feels excited.
I slowly open the box. Inside is a tiny ninja star made of rose gold. In the centre is the stamp of a tiny animal. I pick up the pendant and a gold chain threads out from behind it. I hold the star closer to my face and squint. It’s a tiny tiger made of silver with yellow eyes.
I see Cinnamon giving Jackson a thumbs up. I bet she helped him pick it.
‘You could defend yourself against a fairy with this, but that’s about it,’ Jackson jokes.
‘It’s the most beautiful necklace in the world,’ I say. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.
‘The tiger matches your birthmark,’ he adds.
I turn around in front of him and hold up my hair. Finally, recognition that it’s a tiger, not a silly cat. Jackson drapes the necklace onto my chest and fastens the clasp. I feel an electric spark as soon as the pendant touches my skin. This is already the best birthday I have ever had.
‘Partay has arrived!’ Elecktra swans into the room wearing a Bounce Buddy yellow T-shirt and carrying a box and a black leather studded tote bag. ‘Soz, sis, your present is the fact that I have to wear this nightmare and babysit,’ she says, tugging at her T-shirt. She dumps the box on the table. ‘Hey!’ She leans in to my necklace, then turns to Jackson and grins. ‘Noooice,’ she says, then turns back to me. ‘He’s a keeper!’
‘What’s in there?’ Cinnamon asks.
Elecktra nods at me and I walk over and open the box. The smell of icing hits me like a hammer fist to the face. Inside are twelve red velvet cupcakes with tiny white ninjas on top.
‘You can eat the ninjas,’ she says. ‘And they are absolutely not gluten free.’
‘Where’d you find ninja cupcakes?’ I ask.
She shrugs. ‘It’s Lanternwood. You can get ninja anything.’
I hug Elecktra and she lets me.
‘Wait!’ she says, pulling away.
Jackson bites into a cupcake and holds it up. ‘Cheers,’ he says.
Elecktra hunts in her tote and pulls out a present. It is wrapped in brown hessian with an acid-yellow bow. ‘Happy birthday, White Warrior,’ she says.
There is a message written on the parcel in Texta: Samurai are red, ninjas are black, but we’re sisters forever, and that’s a pact. No more anxiety attacks. I think back to the anxiety attacks I used to have at the letterbox on the way to school. Elecktra would always talk me out of them.
I smile at her. You can just make out her bald patch. She has returned to the middle part. I knew Lecky would have the confidence to put it out there. I catch Jackson looking at it.
‘You’re great at rhymes,’ I say, remembering her magic show in the school talent quest and her bikinis and teapots with genies.
Cinnamon giggles. Jackson bites into a second cupcake.
‘Open it,’ Elecktra prompts. I raise my eyebrows at the hessian bag. ‘It’s organic,’ she says. Elecktra likes everything to be organic. Her bedroom Christmas tree is plastic, but it came in a hessian sack, so she says it’s organic. Yeah, she’s a real earth warrior. Recycling to her is wearing the same winter coat two years running, or changing the tyres on her bike.
I tear open the wrapping.
‘What happened to ya head?’ Jackson asks with a mouthful of cake.
I glare at him and Elecktra huffs.
‘Had a cyst removed,’ she says.
‘Cool.’ Jackson shrugs and with that, Elecktra stops fiddling with her hair and lets it sit comfortably around the basin of skin.
Inside the present is a glasses case. I open it and find a pair of black-framed 3-D glasses. On the arms is written ‘Channel’.
‘Designer,’ Elecktra says. ‘Timeless Chanel.’
I put the glasses on and look at Jackson. Half his face is red, the other half blue. He laughs.
‘I know how much you love the movies,’ Elecktra says. ‘Darkness is no excuse to look bad.’ I blink at her. ‘3-D glasses are the new aviators. Wear them everywhere, to the beach, mall, events. They are totally about to hit. Don’t be threatened by any of this 1-D stuff. Coloured lenses are here to stay.’
I hug her again.
‘Lap it up,’ she says. ‘Every girl should have a pair of Chanel glasses.’
Maybe Elecktra needs glasses. She missed the added ‘n’.
She leans in and whispers in my ear, ‘Careful out there. You don’t want to bounce too much — you’ll get blush-dysmorphia. Very red cheeks look too try-hard in front of the boy.’ She pinches me playfully and gives me one of her megawatt smiles. ‘Time to bounce,’ she announces and leaves the party room to go on the trampolines.
I dip my finger into the icing of a cupcake, then suck on it. The sugar explodes on my tongue. ‘It’s been a weird week. The disappearances, the samurai attacks, the explosion at school,’ I say.
‘And those markings on the ground,’ Jackson adds. ‘The ones your mum was trying to hide.’
‘She still won’t talk about it?’ Cinnamon asks, offering Jackson a spelt cracker with beetroot dip. He opts for another cupcake.
I shake my head.
‘What are you going to do about the samurai attacks?’ she asks.
Jackson looks at me.
‘It doesn’t feel samurai,’ I say. ‘And why would they kidnap their own?’
‘To distract us,’ Jackson says.
I move my ninja star pendant around in my hand. I don’t know what to do about Lanternwood. The tension between ninjas and samurai is palpable. Everyone is blaming each other.
‘Mum’s outside,’ Cinnamon says, holding up her mobile. ‘I’m just going to duck out and tell her what time to come and pick us up.’
Jackson pushes my 3-D glasses back up my nose. His hand brushes my skin and butterflies attack my stomach. He holds out his elbow. ‘Shall we bounce?’ he asks.
I giggle. ‘What a gentleman.’
‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,’ Cinnamon says. Jackson and I don’t take our eyes off each other.
‘Thanks again for my necklace, I love it,’ I say.
We walk out to the Bounceatorium. There are adults bouncing on the tramps closest to us with T-shirts that say ‘Levitate success’. The adults are chanting something about leadership and teamwork.
‘Dorks,’ Jackson says. ‘Must be some kind of corporate group.’
We climb onto the trampolines and bounce over to the runway tramps that lead to a pool of plastic balls.
‘Race ya?’ I say to him.
‘Ready, steady, go-rilla!’ he yells.
I jump as fast as I can. Three bounds and I land in the sea of plastic balls. I emerge and Jackson is still at the other end of the runway.
‘I didn’t say “go” yet,’ he calls, then bounces twice and lands next to me. He tackles me under the wave of coloured balls and for a moment we are submerged in a world of rainbow bubbles. I feel his cheek spark next to mine as his hair flops into my face. His hand presses down on my stomach, then his nose finds mine. His breath brushes my chin, then we kiss. This time it’s a ten-seconder and I allow myself to drift into it, without thinking. Time stops. The colour swallows us up. Suddenly Jackson is yanked away from me.
‘Outta there!’ An older kid in a Bounce Buddy uniform pulls Jackson up by the scruff of his polo shirt. ‘Kids’ll bounce into ya. Do that somewhere else.’ The teenager is wearing an eye patch with a butterfly sticker on it. I recall Elecktra’s fondness for eye patches and how she made me wear one once. The trend must be catching on.
‘Cool it, pirate,’ Jackson says.
‘It’s medical!’ the kid shouts. ‘Off my tramp!’
In the distance I see a yellow T-shirt whirling like a golden fan, bouncing in figure-eights and jumping as high as the ceiling. The adults have stopped ‘levitating success’ to witness the girl with a mop of blonde hair fizz in the air like champagne b
ubbles.
‘Oh no!’ I say to Jackson.
Elecktra spins four times, bounces once, then spins and extends her legs to the ceiling in the vertical splits. She levitates for a moment to reach full extension and to wave to the crowd, then floats back to the trampoline and bows.
I bounce over to her. ‘Lecky, stop showing off. You can’t use your powers like that, I’ve told you before.’
‘It’s dangerous,’ Jackson adds, bounding up behind me.
‘Show us your best bounce then,’ Elecktra retorts.
I look to Jackson. I touch my necklace. I hand him my 3-D glasses, then push the two of them back to make room and begin to bounce. I gain momentum, stomping my feet into the mats harder and harder, then finally I launch myself as high as I can. I smash my head against the ceiling and scream, then plunge to the ground with such force my feet tear through the trampoline and I hit something cold. I look up at Jackson peering through the ripped hole in the trampoline. I begin laughing. I forget I’m stronger than I used to be.
‘Isn’t she incredible?’ he says to Elecktra. She sniffs.
The Bounce Buddy with the pirate patch appears over the edge of the hole. He goggles down at me with his bulging eye. ‘You bounced through the tramp! That’s an infringement of the Bounce Code!’ he yells.
‘Okay, okay, don’t go all crazy-eye on us,’ Jackson tells him.
The boy turns to Jackson and shoves him.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Jackson says calmly.
I reach up and hoist myself out of the hole. Jackson shoves the boy back. I hurry between them and put my arms up to Jackson. ‘Not worth it,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘Move away. Back off!’ the boy yells to the other kids. ‘Be careful of the hole. I’ll be back in a second.’ He jumps away to alert another Bounce Buddy of the need to close that section of trampoline.
Elecktra bounces off to entertain another crowd with her tricks. I look around for Cinnamon. She should be back by now.
‘Let’s go and find Cim,’ I tell Jackson. He hands me my 3-D glasses and I put them back on. We bounce over to the entrance, jump off the tramps and go outside. It’s a quarter to five and already a misty darkness has set in.
‘Roxy!’ A hand spins me around. In my 3-D glasses, Cinnamon’s mum looks like something out of a horror movie. She stares at me with one gorging red eye, tears streaking her half-blue face. I lift the glasses on top of my head.
‘She was taken!’ Mrs Evans squeaks, shaking my shoulders. Her same vibrant orangey hair has frizzed out of her usually product-slick ballet bun. ‘A giant monster swooped down and took her, as I was getting out of the car. I couldn’t stop it!’
Blood freezes in my veins.
‘Monster,’ Jackson says, deadpan, then spins his finger around his temple in a wheel.
‘I’m not crazy. Look!’ she shouts and shoves a clump of Cinnamon’s gorgeous red hair into my hand. I stare at it. Jackson snatches it out of my fingers to inspect it. We look at each other. He rolls his eyes and we exchange our first couple glance.
‘She’s lost it,’ Jackson whispers into my ear. ‘The only monsters in Lanternwood are samurai. They’re trying to get to you by kidnapping your best friend.’
Mrs Evans is slumped on the asphalt, sobbing into her phone. ‘The police don’t believe me,’ she tells us. ‘My baby.’
I crouch down and hug Mrs Evans and she clutches me like a child. Jackson pumps his fists. I can tell he’s getting angry.
‘Time to slay some samurai,’ he says.
‘Wait, I don’t think it’s them,’ I say. ‘You’ll start something. And cause more trouble.’
‘Why are you protecting them?’ There is a sting in his voice that cuts me in the throat. ‘They have your best friend.’
Mrs Evans cries into my jumper. I try to console her.
‘What’s going on?’ Elecktra finds us outside.
‘Cinnamon is missing,’ I say. She must have gone somewhere. There’s no way she’s been taken.
‘The party planner has ditched the party, has she? Should have stuck with a professional,’ Elecktra says.
Mrs Evans grips my arms and peers wildly into my eyes with the same oceanic blues as Cinnamon. ‘It has my daughter. I know you can help me.’
TEN
This, I think, is why I dread dating. Standing in my underwear in front of my closet, I can’t decide what to wear. I don’t want to involve Lecky. She’d run me straight to the Fab Lab at Royal Central Mall, then cover me in ‘glamouflage’. I want to look like myself on this date. I wish I knew where we were going. ‘Dinner’ is not enough information. Dinner could mean anything from a little dress to jeans and top to blouse and blazer. Do I even own a blouse? Jackson didn’t give me enough notice or enough time to change, let alone time to despair over what to wear.
There’s a knock at the door.
‘What?’
Art pokes his head into my room.
‘It’s not a date!’ I tell him. ‘Just a casual Sunday evening hang-out.’
He smiles. His hair has paint in it, despite wearing one of Elecktra’s hair clips in the front to keep his fringe out of his work. ‘You’ll look cute as a button no matter what you wear,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to find your sister?’
‘No way! And I’ve never seen a cute button,’ I say, pushing him out the door.
Jackson and I spent hours today searching for Cinnamon. We looked all over Lanternwood, Samurai Falls, FunEscape Park, with no success. My stomach prickles. It’s unusual for Cinnamon to leave my side in the playground let alone abandon my party.
I settle on a turquoise T-shirt and jeans with the black ballet flats Elecktra bought me for Christmas. Elecktra says you can’t go wrong with a ballet flat, it’s the Little Black Dress of footwear. I put on the ninja star pendant Jackson gave me for my birthday and twist my hair into a loose bun, pulling out some fluff to frame my face. Then I dab a bit of pawpaw cream onto my lips for a subtle sheen and pinch my cheeks full of colour.
I sit down at my desk to wait. After a few minutes of folding paperclips into baby coat hangers, the doorbell rings. My heart misfires — it seems wrong to be going out when Cinnamon is missing. But this is my first date with Jackson Axe. The Jackson Axe.
I jog downstairs to find Art standing at the front door, legs spread, with Mum’s black belt dangling between them. ‘You driving yet, buddy?’ he asks.
Jackson shakes his head. ‘We’re walking to dinner.’
‘Have money?’
‘Enough,’ Jackson says, politely keeping his eyeline above Art’s shoulders and pretending not to notice his hip wear.
I yank on Art’s elbow and pull him down to kiss him on the cheek. ‘He’ll look after me. Trust,’ I say.
Jackson shakes Art’s hand goodbye. Art tries to eyeball him, but he’s not very good at it. As we turn to leave, I whisper over my shoulder with a cupped hand, ‘Jackson has one of those too,’ and I point to Mum’s black belt.
‘Okay, okay,’ Art says, smiling. ‘Get outta here. Have fun.’
I dribble the strings of cheese into my mouth and grin at Jackson.
‘Pizza in a box, milady,’ he says in a posh accent.
I laugh in hiccups. He must have remembered I’ve only ever had Mum’s home-made pizza and yearned to try the real deal that comes sweaty and drippy in a cardboard box.
Uno’s is an Italian restaurant in town painted with the colours of the Italian flag on the outside, with walls of Ferrari memorabilia on the inside, and little private dens of table and chairs squeezed into a cosy space dominated by enormous pizza ovens. Wheeling pizza bases are flung in the air, filling the room with the smell of parmesan cheese and hot crusts. Bites of laughter bounce between the chairs.
I smooth my hand across the white linen tablecloth. ‘Fancy,’ I say, then sip a soft drink. The sugar surges into my veins like a million minutes at Bounce Nation. It feels fantastic. I tuck the loose hair from my bun behind my ears and frea
k. I should have brushed it better! Maybe I have a brush in my bag.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and when I return, Jackson is quiet. Like all fighters, his heart is mirrored in his eyes. They wash from bright green to olive.
‘You okay?’ I ask.
He picks up a fork and studies it, then positions and repositions it to line up with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. ‘Thinking about Morgan,’ he says, smiling only with the corner of his mouth.
I nod and reach out to touch his hand. He lets me.
Jackson looks up into my eyes and I feel that tug of war between us. ‘He nearly died, you know,’ he says.
It all happened before Jackson moved to our school for a fresh start, but he’s never really talked about it. His brother Morgan attends a primary school in Lanternwood, one close to home because he still has a lot of sick days. It feels like Jackson is finally opening up to me. Some boys are scared to be themselves, but the way Jackson can wear a school tie done all the way up with a school badge fastened to the knot and not look nerdy but exude confidence, the way he helps teachers to lift heavy things, brings to school the DVD you haven’t seen but everyone is talking about, speaks of his little brother, draws in his journal and the way he is always there to save you makes me think he isn’t allergic to feelings. Jackson relaxes a bit and stops playing with the cutlery.
‘What’s leukaemia?’ I ask.
Jackson lets go of my hand and scrapes his hair. Boys at school try to copy his haircut, it looks very expensive, but Jackson says he never visits the hairdresser. His hair grows unsupervised in a swampy mess that neatly licks to the left. Delicious.
‘It’s cancer that starts in the bones and spreads into the blood and then into the body. Survival is usually five years.’ He clears his throat. ‘Morgan was under five years old when he was diagnosed so his survival rate was much higher.’
I shudder. A moment ago I had been in the bathroom wrestling my hair into a neater bun. That had seemed important. When it’s obvious Jackson has thought about all the really big stuff. The ideas we talk about in philosophy: how Plato’s cave was full of ideas that became real things when he left the cave and walked into the sun, how we don’t know what happens when we die and how we have to cope knowing one day everything we do, say, love will be forgotten forever and ever. Thinking like this makes my brain hurt.
