by C. J. Duggan
Amanda checked the box for the hundredth time. ‘Oh my God! I’m not pregnant, Lexie! I’m not pregnant!!’ she screamed with elation, dancing around the room like she had been called down for The Price is Right.
She encircled me into a bone-crushing hug on the way. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Lexie!’
I tried to smile, but I felt like a woman on the edge.
All for nothing. It was all for nothing.
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, and summoning the patience to put up with Amanda, who was now spinning around the room like Julie-fucking-Andrews.
•
There was no word. Nothing. I had hoped that there might have been a phone call, or maybe a tap at my window in the middle of the night demanding an explanation, but nothing. After a sleepless night, the day lay before me with an epic number of new challenges. My parents would be here by lunchtime and as much as I had missed them and couldn’t wait to see them, all I could think about was getting to Ballantine.
Amanda woke up in high spirits, chirping away and picking out her outfit for the last official day of school. She was so happy and carefree I just wanted to punch her in the face. ‘Don’t worry, Lexie, I won’t water-bomb you,’ she said, smiling at me in the reflection of her mirror as she smoothed down her hair.
‘What?’
Amanda swivelled around in her chair. ‘Today’s muck-up day for the Year Twelves,’ she said, her eyes alight with excitement. I sighed. I already had egg on my face; I really didn’t need that to be literal.
•
The schoolyard vibe was filled with an electric buzz; everyone walked around with an air of guarded amusement, half expecting to be ambushed by a Year Twelve with a bag of flour or a water bomb.
There was no sign of anything untoward, which only built the anticipation. By recess I still hadn’t seen Ballantine, but I tried not to panic because on the whole there were very few Year Twelves in sight and rumours began circulating that muck-up day had been cancelled. All this seemed semi-believable . . . until lunchtime hit.
The sound of screams and the thudding of feet along concrete paths rung out through the schoolyard. A stampede of squealing girls rounded a corner near the library. They ran, screamed and laughed as they blindly rubbed away the caked-on flour in their hair and smattered across their navy uniforms. Two Year Twelve boys dressed all in black with balaclavas to disguise their identity followed behind; they looked like ninjas and were only two of the many others who started infiltrating the school from all angles, dressed in identical outfits.
‘Shit-shit-shit! Lexie, let’s go.’ Laura grabbed my arm, dragging me into motion as the ninjas closed in. As much as Amanda said she would leave me alone, that didn’t account for anyone else, and Laura and I sprinted into action, only to run into a group shaking cans of whipped cream.
We screamed, turned on our heels and bolted towards the girls’ toilets, thinking maybe we could find some kind of shelter there; unfortunately for us I didn’t have telepathic abilities to communicate with Laura who kept running when I turned left. I skidded to a halt and watched on in horror as Laura, while looking back for me, ran into the direct path of a hooded Year Twelve, who grabbed her as another dumped a bag of flour smack-bang over her head, followed by an egg smashed on top.
‘Boon! You dickhead, piss off!’ Laura screamed and kicked her assailant who was most definitely Boon, not only completely obvious from his height, but also from his distinct muffled laughter. I couldn’t help but find myself laughing at poor Laura who was now chasing after her brother, trying to attack him with the excess egg and flour she was dripping with. My humour was short-lived when I spotted a figure coming my way, with what looked like an industrial-strength water pistol in hand.
Oh shit, oh shit.
I turned to run the other way only to blindly slam into the chest of another Year Twelve who caught me in his grip. I was a goner. I attempted to pull myself free, but it was no use; the more I struggled the stronger the hold was, and as bad as flour, egg or cream might be, I was to suffer a far worse fate. I was being dragged into the girls’ toilets.
Oh my God, I was going to get flushed!
Instead of any of the screaming, cowering girls that were hiding in the safety of the toilets coming to my aid, they scurried out like rats from a sinking ship.
Every man for themselves, I guess.
All I could do was put all my weight into the back of my heels as I continued to be dragged along.
‘Please, please don’t do this; you can do anything else, anything!’ I screamed, as I was flung around like a rag doll to stand in front of him. Before I could let out another series of incoherent pleas, the boy in black before me peeled off his balaclava, revealing a beautiful, familiar face.
Ballantine.
A devious smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he fought to catch his breath. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
I didn’t get a chance to answer as he leant down, taking my mouth in a hot, passionate kiss that ended all too soon.
‘See you tonight,’ he said, winking at me as he backed out of the toilets. He pulled the balaclava back in place, readying himself for war. I couldn’t see his mouth but I could tell he was smiling when he glanced back at me. ‘Stay here,’ he said, his voice muffled through the black knit, before leaving me alone, standing in the middle of the girls’ toilets in a flustered daze.
I lifted a shaky hand to my kiss-swollen lips.
He definitely didn’t know.
Chapter Forty-Nine
You would think that I would have been filled with relief on learning that Ballantine hadn’t been ignoring me, or by the fact that his mum had obviously not confronted him, giving me a chance to explain what had happened with the pregnancy test disaster. Yeah, not so much. Aside from Ballantine’s toe-curling kiss, I went around the rest of the day in a state of confusion, as the world around me was bombarded in eggs, flour, cream and water, turning students into walking pancakes. I couldn’t help but be burdened with a much worse problem as my thoughts plagued me.
Why hadn’t she told him?
•
Sure, I’d been lucky not to be attacked at school, but when it came to arriving home I was to face an ambush of a different kind.
Emotional parents!
Don’t get me wrong, I welcomed the familiarity of my mum’s arms wrapped around me and my dad’s hideous jokes, but regardless of how glad I was to see them, their arrival started the clock ticking.
Tick-tick-tick.
Having already had the pleasure of completing my accelerated exams with the Year Twelves, it turned out that I was free to go. For the most part, my fellow Year Elevens were seething with jealousy that I got to start my holidays early; I, however, was less than thrilled.
One night to make it count.
I would explain everything to Ballantine and lose my V-plates once and for all. It was the perfect plan; only then could I feel better about the way I would leave Paradise City.
‘School social?’ piped up Dad. ‘Surely you’re not abandoning us to go to a school social.’
‘It’s the final one of the year,’ I said, pacing in the lounge room, waiting for Laura to arrive.
‘And this is what people wear to school socials, is it?’ asked Dad, who was looking over my outfit with uncertainty.
‘What?’ I said. A suede brown mini with knee-high boots. What was wrong with that? It had taken me and Laura hours to find the perfect outfits.
‘Oh, leave her alone, Rick. You look lovely, honey, just ignore him,’ said Mum, but it was too late. The seed had been planted and I was already on edge. I was seriously contemplating getting changed when I heard the doorbell ring.
Laura, thank God!
I ran towards the front door, my boots clicking on the glossed tiles, never so relieved to be saved from my parents’ running commentary. I ran so fast I overshot the door, sliding sideways rather inelegantly, barely saving myself from toppling over by latching onto the f
ront door handle, and then whipping it open.
‘Thank God you’re he–’ My words fell away as I stilled, my mouth agape as my eyes locked onto a dark figure on our doorstep.
Dean Saville.
Tall, dark and wicked, he flashed a wolfish grin as he flicked his Ray Bans up onto his head.
‘W– what are you doing here?’ I whispered, moving forward and closing the door behind me, before grabbing his arm like a small child and dragging him away from the window.
Dean looked down at me as if he was offended by the action. He glanced back towards the front door.
I pulled at his arm, drawing his attention back to me. ‘Hey, what the hell?’
Dean’s eyes narrowed; he went to speak but then paused and stepped back a little, taking in my outfit with interest.
‘What?’ I frowned, once again fidgeting under the scrutiny, cursing my skirt which I now realised was too short. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’
Dean’s eyes lifted. ‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re judging me like a bitchy teenage girl would.’
Dean laughed, way too loud.
‘Shhh.’ I placed my finger to my mouth to emphasise the point. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Believe me, I was not looking at you that way,’ he said, moving past me and picking a leaf absent-mindedly off one of the bushes near the porch.
I wanted to ask what way he was looking at me, but I really had to shut this down.
‘Look, as much as I would love to chitchat . . .’
‘So what’s the occasion?’
‘What?’
‘Well, I’m guessing “come fuck me” boots aren’t exactly casual after-school wear.’
I gasped, horrified. Which only seemed to amuse him all the more.
‘Not that it’s any of your business but I’m going to a school social, and you’re making me late.’
Dean grinned. ‘Wow, a school social. Good to see Paradise High has progressed.’
‘Oh, right, and when did you graduate, Grandpa?’
‘Grandpa?’
‘That’s right, I’m assuming you are Ballantine’s older brother.’ I folded my arms; it was now my turn to let my eyes roam over him in assessment.
Dean smiled slowly. ‘The better brother.’
‘I seriously doubt that.’ My patience and time were running out. ‘What do you want, Dean?’ I sighed.
‘You wanted to see me,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘What?’
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded brochure I had slid under his office door. Dean flicked it open; clearing his throat, he squinted at the handwriting.
‘Dear Dean, I can’t stop thinking about you and your huge –’
I snatched the paper from him. ‘It doesn’t say that,’ I snapped, crumpling it up and shoving it into the safety of my own pocket. ‘Seriously? You could have called, you didn’t have to come here.’
‘Well, you were looking for me. What gives?’ he asked, as he plunged his hands into his pockets.
‘I just wanted to use your phone.’
Dean’s expression darkened; his eyes flicked over my face for a long moment. I almost felt like stepping away but I held my ground.
‘Is that all?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean, is that all?’ I replied.
‘That’s all you wanted to see me about?’
I shrugged. ‘Yes.’
Okay, so maybe I had wanted to get Sherry into trouble, but I didn’t really have time to go through that right now.
He laughed, shaking his head and rubbing the stubble on his chin. ‘Fair enough. Tell me, how is my baby brother dealing with our love affair? Still jealous?’
I didn’t answer. Instead, my eyes bore into his. I didn’t know what the story was between the two brothers, why there was such venomous hatred, but I wasn’t buying into it anymore. Using Dean to get back at Ballantine was not an option any longer, nor was it necessary.
Dean stepped closer to me. His gaze pinned me in place, the multi-coloured hues of his expressive eyes changing in the light. Now they seemed almost clear, with yellowy-brown tinges in them. I was locked onto them in an effort to anchor myself as I remembered to breathe. He was so close. I wanted to step back but realised I was already too close to the door. He looked down at me, his eyes on my face, amused and silent.
What is he doing?
I felt like prey, like he was the lion, taunting his supper. His eyes roamed over me as if he might devour me whole.
I felt lost, completely powerless as the rest of the world fell away. He leant forward and whispered, ‘Let me know when you get tired of school boys, Lexie.’
Pulling away, flicking his shades back into place and offering a cocky grin, he said, ‘Have fun at your little disco.’ He moved away and headed across the grass towards his car, before pausing at his door and spinning around. ‘You’ll have to swing by some time, you left your bra in my office,’ he called out for the whole neighbourhood to hear.
I wanted to die, but more importantly I wanted to murder Dean, who lifted his shades again and flashed a departing wink as he slid behind the steering wheel. Not wanting to risk another unpredictable outburst I moved to head back inside when I was stopped by Amanda standing in the doorway, her eyes staring in the direction Dean had just left.
I waited for her to say something, anything, but in true Amanda fashion she simply stared at me, judging me like a bitchy teenage girl.
Perfect!
Chapter Fifty
All the Year Twelves were still riding on the adrenalin of the last-day-of-school shenanigans; muck-up day had been a complete success. No-one was mortally wounded, maimed or expelled. An excellent result.
The annual end-of-year school social was being held at the local town hall; apparently heels on the indoor basketball courts wreaked havoc one year, so now it was an off-premises arrangement – a fascinating history lesson courtesy of Aunty Karen who sat chatting to my mum up in front. I sat in the back wedged in between Laura and Amanda, praying Aunty Karen wouldn’t drop us off right out front.
She did.
It wasn’t easy to manoeuvre quickly across a leather back seat in a mini skirt; how do celebrities manage an elegant entrance onto the red carpet? There was no red carpet here, though, not even close. The height of Paradise High décor was the helium-filled balloons in the school colours adorning the entrance. Navy and white.
‘What time do you want to be picked up?’ Aunty Karen called from the open driver’s window.
Amanda looked as though she might die of embarrassment. ‘Mum, I told you, we have a ride home,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘You never told me that,’ Aunty Karen insisted.
‘I did tell you, you weren’t listening,’ Amanda snapped.
Aunty Karen wouldn’t have it, and so the back and forth between mother and daughter continued. So much for a grand entrance; this was just embarrassing.
‘Well, how are you getting home?’ asked Aunty Karen.
Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Ballantine’s mum is picking us up; they live just around the corner.’
My attention snapped towards Amanda.
‘What?’
Aunty Karen tilted her head. ‘Oh, that’s lovely of her.’
‘Happy now?’ Amanda asked, turning away and heading towards the glass doors.
‘Yes, I am!’ Aunty Karen called out. ‘Have fun, girls.’
A blind panic clawed at my insides as I chased after Amanda, catching her arm before she disappeared inside.
‘Why wouldn’t the boys drive here? Why will Ballantine’s mum be taking us home?’ My eyes were wide with horror, surely it couldn’t be true.
Amanda’s gaze darkened as she pulled her arm away from me. ‘Oh my God, you are so lame. I was lying, unless you really want to be picked up by our parents,’ she scoffed, before turning and heading through the doors.
I stared after her, breathing a deep sigh of rel
ief. Laura stood by me, bringing me out of my stupor.
‘Come on,’ she said, dragging me into the hall, squeezing past a group of boys loitering out the front dressed in their casual best and doused in enough aftershave to deem them highly flammable.
As we walked through the dimly lit foyer, my heart pumped in time with the beat of the muffled music coming from the hall beyond the double doors. Mr Branson stamped the back of our hands and told us to be good as we were edged forward from the push of the impatient people in line. All this onslaught of sight and sound would have made me giddy with excitement if I had not been totally consumed by skimming the crowd.
I had to find Ballantine.
As Laura dragged me through the double doors, the blinding strobe lights and deafening beats of Spiller’s ‘Groovejet (If This Ain’t Love)’ hit me. It took me a minute to adjust and adapt to the multicoloured bodies that were busting moves on the dance floor. Laura led the way. Dancing through the sea of people, she never let go of my hand as she guided me to the other side of the hall. Aside from making sure I wasn’t hit in the face by a flailing arm, I was intent on looking around for Ballantine.
Is he here? He did say ‘see you tonight’. I hadn’t imagined that.
Maybe I’d been lulled into a false sense of security; just because Ballantine’s mum hadn’t told him about the pregnancy test kit yet, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to. One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t be at peace until I got it off my chest and explained myself.
‘Bloody hell, Lexie, you look terrified. Don’t they have social gatherings in Red Hill?’ asked Laura.
‘Not like this,’ I said, my eyes skimming around the perimeter of the hall. Amanda wasn’t plastered to Boon’s face, which was a definite indication that the Kirkland boys were yet to arrive.
‘Hey, do these stamps on the back of our hands mean we can go in and out of the hall?’ I asked Laura, shouting above the music.
‘Going somewhere?’
‘I thought I might wait for Ballantine.’
Laura looked at me like I was deranged. ‘Um, wouldn’t that look a bit suss?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not hiding it anymore, I don’t care who knows about us.’
