I’m participating now.
Time blurs. Bree twirls in front of me, her short, layered dress swirling around her thighs. I try to copy her, but when I stop turning the lights and crowd distort together and keep going. My stomach twists, contracts, somersaults in response. Oh no.
‘Back in a sec,’ I shout.
I think she nods but I don’t wait to see if she wants to come.
Sweat beads on my skin. I walk with exaggerated care, each step heavy and slow. It wouldn’t do to stumble and land flat on my face in front of a teacher. Not when the scholarship that will let me move to the city for uni isn’t official yet.
Right on cue, an image of my mother’s disapproving glare appears in my brain. My little brother is here somewhere. I don’t need him telling on me.
What must I look like? Ms Everything-Under-Control or Ms About-To-Vomit?
My hand grips the wall for support as I round the corner and slam to a stop. The line for the bathroom is out the door. A dozen overgrown party dolls waiting to use the facilities. I cover my mouth. I will not vomit in this hallway. I force my legs to move faster. There’s a fire exit back here somewhere. It shouldn’t be open tonight, but the punch shouldn’t be spiked either.
‘Callie?’ A girl calls my name. ‘Are you okay?’
I don’t stop. I can’t. At last, I reach the door, propped open with an old sneaker. I push at it. The rush of cold air dries the sweat from my skin, but the view brings it back tenfold. Vertigo. The balcony . . . Why didn’t I remember the balcony was out here? I cradle my cramping belly. Seventeen concrete steps are all that stand between maintaining my last shred of dignity or vomiting on my shoes.
Move, Callie.
But my new black strappy sandals don’t budge.
‘The school captain feeling a bit seedy?’ The boy’s deep voice is cooler than the rail gripped in my hand. And it sounds amused.
I peer into the dark shadows below. One eye works okay but the other struggles to focus. Great, I’ve lost one of my contact lenses. ‘Who’s there?’
He ignores my question. ‘I recommend the garden. For spewing.’
The greenery and the voice taunt me from a billion miles away. ‘That’s the plan,’ I mutter.
Knowing I have an audience helps push the fear to the back of my brain. It’s only a few steps. I conquer one at a time, refusing to dwell on what could happen if my wobbly knees give way.
‘Only a few steps to go now.’ That voice again. And is that a hint of sympathy?
So much for hiding how hard this is. Three more steps. My heel catches, but my death grip on the rail saves me from adding ‘falling face-first’ to my list of indignities.
When I reach flat ground the nausea rears up like a cobra, scorching the back of my throat. Stumbling forward, I double over. Then I let go.
It comes in waves of something like punch-flavoured relief. Again and again, until I think I’ve been vomiting my whole life and might never stop.
I heave until I’m empty. Then once more. Gulping air, I wipe my hand across my mouth and rock back on my heels.
‘Feel better?’
Sweet crapola. I’d forgotten I had an audience.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ My prim tone is so at odds with what he just saw me do that I giggle. A stupid, airy noise I’ve never heard coming from my mouth. I sound like Bree. The thought has me giggling even harder.
‘You’re insane.’ He steps slowly out of the shadows. Dirty khaki sneakers, faded black jeans and a battered dark leather jacket are lit up by the buzzing fluoro light above the fire exit. He’s not here for the dance. At least, not in the way the dressed-up boys inside are. He hesitates and I stand on rubbery knees, curious to see who it is.
But I guess his name in the instant before he makes the last step. Rhett Barker. Scarlett’s twin brother.
The stubbled jaw and dark eyes confirm my guess. The hair on his head is shaved almost to skin. Bree once suggested he wears it so short to keep the lice at bay, but seeing him here in the shadows, I can’t imagine a bug brave enough to mess with him.
His gaze meets mine and a tingle of excitement sizzles across my flesh. Of course I’ve seen him in class, but never this close. And never alone in the school grounds at night. He’s dark and dangerous. Everyone knows he’s just like his dad—one argument away from jail.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ His jaw tightens. ‘I’m just a nobody who witnessed the Valley Beach school captain emptying her guts in the school’s prized rose garden. What a tale to tell.’
Another surge of nausea climbs up the back of my throat. I swallow it down and try to think. My brain is mush. ‘No-one will believe you.’
He stares me down. ‘Really? You sure?’
He rolls out the question in a way that has my hands curling into frustrated fists. He’s not exactly Mr Reliable, but I don’t know how many people saw me stumble from the gym. My eyes close. Something like this could mess up my scholarship. The one I’ve all but won. It’s not official until Monday. Mum’s reminder echoes in my mind.
How could I have been so stupid?
The answer comes to me in the form of my phone, buzzing in my clutch purse. A text from Jonny, I bet. If he hadn’t stood me up, none of this would have happened. The excuse fades before I can catch it. I have only myself to blame. Which makes everything worse.
I’m determined not to cry, but tears threaten again. Everything is riding on that scholarship. A good university, with all the pre-med requirements, brilliant grades and then studying medicine. It’s all mapped out before me.
And this boy could ruin everything.
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ISBN: 9781489220462
TITLE: THE LAST DAYS OF US
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Beck Nicholas
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HQ Young Adult
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