Dylan’s face crumples with disappointment. ‘I’m for real. I want you to be my date.’
I search his face, certain there has to be a twist to this. For a second I flash back to Tatiana filming that video, and like an idiot I turn my head to scan the yard, convinced someone is watching us.
There’s no-one there, of course. My eyes go back to Dylan. Even though we’re not friends any more, I know when he’s telling the truth or covering it up. He means it.
It should be the greatest feeling: he’s the one standing on my verandah, putting himself on the line, and I get to play his old role and reject him. But it’s not, because the old me has risen to the surface. I want to say yes and I despise myself for it.
You’re still desperate for anyone to love you! the little voice inside my head sings. He thinks you’re that desperate too.
We’ve barely spoken since I got back from Borneo. Nothing between us is how it was. And he thinks I’m going to say yes? It’s an insult.
‘I’m not going to the formal with someone superficial,’ I say.
‘Superficial?’ he splutters. ‘Why do you think I’m superficial?’
‘You should know why.’
There’s a reason you’re asking me out now, and you never did back then.
He might say that he’s doing now what he should have done then — but that’s the whole point. He didn’t want me then. He chose Tatiana instead. I can’t forget all of that. And I can’t forgive it either.
Dylan has this puzzled expression on his face. I’m not going to stand here waiting for him to figure it out.
‘You see?’ I tell him. ‘If you don’t know what you did, then sorry means nothing. This invitation means nothing.’
‘This invitation means everything,’ he exclaims angrily. He takes a breath and his voice goes softer. ‘This is my last try. This is you and me, Ade — this is whether we lose everything, or keep it all.’
He doesn’t understand. Things can never be how they should have been.
‘This is your last try?’ I repeat.
He nods. I watch his Adam’s apple dip in his throat and I feel myself teeter at the edge of I want to work this out.
‘Good.’ I need to end this fast as I’m so close to crying in front of him. ‘Because I’m saying no. If you have a shred of respect for me, you’ll leave me alone now.’
Dylan looks at me as if he’s about to say something.
I raise an eyebrow like ‘why aren’t you gone already?’ and that’s enough. He heads down the front steps to the street. I shut the door on him and sink down onto the stairs, my eyes streaming.
I want to call after him. I want to tell him I’ve changed my mind. But I can’t do that and keep the shred of self-respect that I feel I have now.
I’ve been sitting there crying for what only seems like a few minutes when the doorbell rings again. I want to ignore it, but when it rings again, I swipe at my eyes and throw the front door open.
‘Are you for real?’ I say, expecting to see Dylan, but instead it’s Emily and Theo. I’m horrified. I must look and sound like a complete psycho.
What are they doing here? I suddenly remember Em telling me about their Friday night study session.
Em throws her arms around me. ‘We wanted to cheer you up.’
‘Tonsillitis sucks, right?’ Theo’s face is sympathetic.
I want to run away and hide. I was already shy around him, and now I’m virtually paralysed thanks to the pyjamas and socks and red eyes.
‘Sorry if it’s a bit of a surprise,’ he says.
‘No, it’s fine.’ I gesture for them to come in.
Emily beams at me, but I don’t smile back. I’m furious at her.
‘Why don’t you guys sit down and I’ll make us some tea?’
What am I, a grandma? But it’s the only excuse I can think of to give me a few moments to pull myself together.
Theo and Em protest about helping, but I show them into the lounge room, insisting they’re guests. I head for the kettle and fill it. What I want to do is run upstairs, shower and change out of my pyjamas, but then I look like I’m self-conscious.
Emily bounds into the kitchen. ‘Hey, that guest stuff never applies to me.’
‘Obviously,’ I say in a quiet voice. ‘You didn’t bother to check with me first about coming over.’
‘When do I ever check with you first?’
‘You know I like him, and you know how nervous he makes me. I had to open the door to him looking like this!’ I gesture at my pyjamas.
‘Your this is everyone else’s epic good-looks day,’ Em says, and giggles.
The giggle makes me madder. She’s not getting it. She knows me. How can she believe that because I’ve lost the glasses and the braces I’ve lost all my old insecurities too?
‘Ade, he and I talked. He’s going to ask you tonight, I’m sure of it.’
I nod my head towards the lounge room. ‘Take the tea in, will you?’
Emily looks hurt, but she does what I say. I run upstairs and wash my face, add mascara and some tinted lip gloss, and pull the dreadlocks into a ratty-looking bun.
‘He’s going to ask you to the formal,’ I say to myself, looking in the mirror.
My reflection doesn’t crack a smile. Why did Dylan have to get in first tonight?
When I go back into the lounge room Emily has started playing Banks and she and Theo are going on about the song ‘Drowning’ and how much they both love it, whereas all I want to do is put on some happy music because my mood is low already, but I don’t want to look like the odd one out. I look like the odd one out anyway, because even though I’m trying so hard not to slip into my hesitate-before-you-speak mode, there are moments I can’t join in on the conversation because they’re discussing something to do with oil painting, or a point they want to make in their presentation.
I keep expecting the dynamic to change, for Theo to start focusing on me more, but that’s not happening. He’s talking to both of us, but his attention keeps going back to Emily. His brow creases when he’s listening to her, like he’s taking notes at a lecture and he’s determined not to miss a word. If I joke about something, he laughs, but Em’s comments produce shoulder-shaking laughter.
They laugh a lot. They obviously have the same sense of humour. I haven’t realised how much they have in common because the only time I’ve been around them both is at the party. They’re this natural with each other because there’s no attraction, I tell myself. He told Emily he wants to ask me. He’ll do it soon.
But that feeling is coming back — the one I used to get now and then before we left for Borneo. Like when Emily delivered an incredible oral presentation in class without a single wobble in her voice. Or when she’d turn to a complete stranger on the bus and have a conversation I would never be able to manage. How is it possible to admire and resent someone at the same time? Not just someone — the person you’re closest to in the whole world? I’m jealous of her. Of how she is tonight. She’s so vibrant and funny, and her cheeks are glowing as she gives her opinion on things. Meanwhile, the conversation with Dylan has left me bone-tired and I have none of Emily’s fire in my voice.
Not for the first time, I wish we could trade places. Partly for her confidence and cleverness. But mostly because when she meets a guy and he falls for her, she’ll know it’s for real. Not because of his ego. Not because he thinks she’ll impress his friends or make him feel better about his insecurities. Because he likes her for her. She’ll never know what it’s like to not trust anyone’s intentions.
That’s why I’ll never give in to my feelings for Dylan. Even if we wound up together, like I’ve always imagined, the whole thing would be poisoned by the thought in the back of my mind — he never would have chosen me before I became beautiful.
Emily and Theo stay for over two hours, but Theo doesn’t ask me to the formal. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity. Em leaves us alone several times, going to make more tea, or
going to the bathroom, or calling her mum. Theo asks me tons of questions about myself, but he doesn’t ask the question I’m waiting for.
Dad arrives home, and comes and sits in the lounge room too, and then I know the chance of something happening is gone, because what guy is going to ask a girl out in front of her father?
It’s close to 11.30 pm when Dad yawns and says he’d better drop Theo home. ‘I’m presuming you’re staying here, Emily?’
Em nods. I look at her face, which is so happy. Has nothing of what I said earlier sunk in?
‘You should go back to yours tonight,’ I tell her. ‘I’m still not a hundred per cent.’
I’m still mad at you is what I’m really saying.
Emily’s face falls for a moment, but she quickly hides the expression. ‘Sure. Come to mine on Sunday?’
I shrug. ‘I’ll talk to you later about it.’
The next morning, I’m still mad at her. I know part of it’s because I’m jealous of how relaxed and confident she was last night. I know I’m lying to myself when I think, If she’d called ahead to tell me they were going to visit, I could have felt like that too, but still, what she did bothers me.
Her voice is bright when she calls me mid-Saturday. ‘Hey, so tomorrow do you want to come over to mine or shall I come over to yours?’
‘I want to rest,’ I say.
‘We’ll just take it easy — watch videos on the iPad?’ Her voice becomes pleading.
I change the subject. ‘I tagged you in a bunch of things on Instagram. Have you checked them out?’
She sighs. ‘I don’t want to do the Instagram thing.’
‘What, because it’s my idea?’
‘I know you’re mad about last night,’ she says. ‘Let me come over and we can talk about it. I hate it when you’re upset with me.’
‘I’m going to go,’ I say. ‘I want to take the shower I never got to have last night.’
I spend Saturday alone at home practising makeup tutorials, trying to wipe out the memory of how disgusting I felt last night.
On Sunday morning Chanel calls and suggests a girls’ pool day at mine. Seeing as Dad’s going out on his stupid date, I don’t bother asking his permission.
When I open the door to the Tens, I remember how I told Emily I didn’t want to see anyone. For a second I wonder if I should call her and ask her to join us. But I push the thought out of my mind. If I don’t make a stand, she’s never going to take me seriously. Plus, there’s no way she’ll want to spend her Sunday lounging by the pool with the Tens.
I’m amazed I want to spend my Sunday with them either. But when Chanel asked, I thought about Instagram and how their tags pretty much kept me sane the last week.
‘You were away forever,’ Chanel says, and makes a sad face as she spreads her towel out on one of the deckchairs.
‘I like you with more eye makeup,’ Lana says as she heads over to the pool steps. ‘It looks super-hot. Plus, we always emphasise ours, and now you’re like us.’
I look down at my phone, at the group shot we’ve just taken, and it’s true: I look exactly like them.
‘Any news on Dylan after last week?’ Chanel whispers.
Lana’s lying on a floatie in the pool now, flicking water at Ally who’s sitting on the step in the shallow end. Maddy’s asleep in the sun, and I hear her give a tiny snore so I know we’re safe to talk in private. I tell Chanel about Friday night, about my horrible outfit and the equally horrible conversation with Dylan, and Emily bringing Theo over.
‘Emily and Theo are hanging out?’ She looks confused.
‘They’re in the same art class,’ I say, trying not to look bothered.
‘And he told her he wants to ask you to the formal?’
‘Yeah, on Friday. That’s why I’m so confused. He came over here but nothing happened.’
Chanel pauses to think. ‘He’s worried you’ll say no.’ She pauses again. ‘Normally I wouldn’t suggest this, but maybe you should ask him.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘I wouldn’t say it if I thought it was a bad idea. I don’t want to see you go down in flames.’
If Lana said this I wouldn’t believe her, but because it’s Chanel, and she’s never given me any reason to doubt her, I take her seriously.
‘I don’t know …’ I bite my lip. ‘I find it a struggle to talk to him. I’d never be able to manage “Will you be my date”.’
‘Text?’
‘I don’t have his number.’
‘But you have him on Facebook, right?’
I nod. He added me after the party. ‘Yeah, but we haven’t chatted or anything. Chanel, I can’t — he’s too attractive.’
She makes a face. ‘You know he wants to ask you. You just have to encourage him. Come on, I’ll help you.’
She gets up from her deckchair and joins me on mine. I hesitate, and she grabs my phone.
‘Okay, private message to Theo.’ Hey, she types.
A second or so later a response pops up. Hey! You feeling better?
Chanel giggles. ‘I’ve got the perfect response.’ Much better. I’m sunbaking by the pool today. ‘Now he’s imagining you in a bikini.’
She giggles again and I make a face, but giggle too.
You and Emily chilling like planned?
Chanel looks at me.
‘He knew we were going to hang today.’ Still, why is he bringing her into it?
No, just me, Chanel types. So anyway, can I ask you something?
‘You can’t just launch into it,’ I say, and put my hand on hers so she stops.
She pouts. ‘Don’t you have any faith in me? I’m bringing it in casually.’
Go for it, Theo says.
Formal — are you taking anyone?
‘Argh.’ I’m so embarrassed, even though Chanel’s the one doing the questioning.
There’s a pause, and then a message comes through: No. I was talking to Emily about it.
The message Theo is typing comes up, and Chanel and I wait. Then it goes away. What was he going to say?
‘I was hoping bringing up the formal would let him know you’re happy to be asked,’ Chanel says. ‘He’s still hesitating. We’ll have to be direct.’
She types: Em let slip that you were thinking of asking me. Oops :-(Listen, I had a nice time with you at the party, you’re a cool guy, so I’d like to say yes if the invite’s out there? :-)
There’s no reply. Not even Theo is typing.
‘Oh my god,’ I moan. ‘He’s sitting there trying to think of how to say no.’
Chanel is giving the phone a ‘what the hell?’ look. ‘There’s no way he’ll say no — that would be insanity on his part. Maybe he’s lost his connection. Maybe he hasn’t got the message yet.’
‘No, you can see he has,’ I say, and point to the Seen at 3.07 pm at the bottom of the screen.
‘What’s going on here?’ Lana is out of the pool and looking at our presumably anxious faces.
‘We’re looking at the latest OTT Miley post,’ Chanel says.
Lana makes a face and lies down on her deckchair.
Chanel gets back on hers, trying to make things look normal, but she keeps glancing over at me with an ‘anything?’ expression.
Nothing.
Right now I hate technology, because knowing he’s seen my message and is hesitating like this feels a thousand times more excruciating than a real-life ‘Will you go out with me?’ thing.
My heart is in my throat for what feels like forever, but is only five minutes. I know because I can’t look away from the phone, and I see the minutes roll over, the only thing that’s changing on my screen.
And then my phone rings in my trembling hand and I nearly drop it onto the floor from nerves. It’s a number I don’t know.
‘Hello?’ I say.
It’s Theo.
Emily’s Diary
One of the most interesting things I learned when I first started reading about Ancient Egyptian m
ythology was that while the mummy-makers removed most of a dead person’s organs prior to mummification, they never removed the heart. The Ancient Egyptians considered the heart to be the centre of all thought, memory and emotion, so it had to stay with the body ready for when that person sat their test for the afterlife.
They believed that after you died, your soul appeared in front of Osiris, the lord of the underworld, and a tribunal of forty-three deities. You had to swear you hadn’t committed a series of sins, while Thoth, the god with the ibis head, scribbled your answers on a roll of papyrus. When this process was finished, a ritual called the ‘weighing of the heart’ was carried out by the god Anubis.
Anubis weighed your heart against Ma’at, which was the standard of truth and justice and took the form of a feather. The feather was placed on one side of an enormous pair of scales, and your heart was placed on the other side.
It seems unfair to weigh a feather against a heart, right? I mean, a feather weighs nothing; whereas I know from Biology that the average human heart weighs between two hundred and three hundred grams, depending on whether you’re a man or a woman. But that type of reasoning played no part in the afterlife. If your heart was free of sin, Osiris and co expected it to weigh the same as a feather.
If your heart balanced against the feather, you were deemed a good person and allowed entry to the Fields of Hetep and Iaru (i.e. the happy place where you wanted to end up). If your heart was weighty with wrongdoing, the scales would tip and your heart would swing down to where a creature called Ammit waited. Ammit’s name meant ‘gobbler’ and he was a monster with a lion’s or leopard’s body, the back legs of a hippopotamus and the head of a crocodile. If your heart sank with sin, Ammit devoured it. With no heart, you didn’t go to hell; you simply ceased to exist at all.
When I first read this story at age six, the idea was simultaneously terrifying and totally cool. Whenever Mum and I used scales to measure things for cooking, I would imagine my own heart being weighed against a feather. I’d wonder if taking the occasional chocolate biscuit from the top of the cupboard where Mum had hidden them would add weight to my heart, or if it would only be affected by big things, like stealing from the supermarket.
My Best Friend Is a Goddess Page 28
