by Abby Wilder
"Why haven't you been back to school?" I yelled into her ear.
She pulled away but still kept her hands locked about my neck, her thick eyebrows rising high. "I needed a few days."
"An entire week?" My voice was rough and I had to strain to be heard over the thud of the bass.
She wriggled her eyebrows and laughed. "I start back Monday." She didn't say anything more and I didn't ask. Cara and school had never had a great relationship. It had something to do with her aversion to rules. I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did at the boarding school. It wasn't exactly known for its relaxed policies.
The music changed and Cara, still holding onto my hand, pulled me away from the centre of the room. She pinned me against the wall and fished her hand into the pockets of my jeans.
"What are you looking for?" I tried to ask casually, but my voice was a little high pitched due to the proximity of her hand on my thigh.
"You got a smoke?" She extracted her hand and looked at me expectantly. "You've changed where you stash them."
I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my jacket pocket and handed them to her. Cara was a secret smoker, a fact that she hid from her parents. Most things Cara did loudly and proudly but her mother hated people smoking, even though Cara's father did, so Cara hid it from them both. I remember the first time she stole one from her dad while he was distracted in the workshop. We ran into the forest, certain that he would notice and come chasing after us. She had the first puff. She inhaled and held her breath, her eyes watering, fighting back the urge to cough, and then held the cigarette out to me. I couldn't hold back the urge like she did and coughed and spluttered until I wanted to be sick. That made Cara finally release her breath with a smoke-filled laugh that got lost in the trees. We shared the cigarette, puff by puff until it burned down to the filter. I hated every toxic breath, but Cara didn't. She loved the way it left her lightheaded, the way it burned her throat. She laughed a lot that day, so I became a smoker just to watch her laugh. I wasn't addicted to the nicotine. I was addicted to her.
"Not in here," she admonished, taking the cigarette and lighter.
"I didn't think you cared what other people thought?" I said as I followed her outside after she had stuffed two beer bottles in her pockets and another in her hand.
She walked over to the Fairlane and leaned against it, bringing the cigarette to her lips and lighting it. She drew in sharply and held her breath before exhaling. In the coolness of the night, the smoke came out white and thick.
"I don't, but people shouldn't be forced to inhale smoke if it's not their choice, and it's nicer out here, don't you think?" She brought the bottle to her lips and twisted the cap off with her teeth.
The hall was already filled with the lingering second-hand smoke from all the kids that had nothing better to do with their lives, and I didn't see what difference one more would make, but she was right. It was nicer outside. The night air was cool and crisp, and the hall was drowned in light, casting strange patterns over the surrounding trees shrouded in darkness. It was peaceful, and the only sound came from the faint thuds of music that managed to slip out through the cracks of the building.
We stood, taking turns to puff on the cigarette until the moon rose high in the sky and Cara's skin was dotted with goose bumps. We talked about everything and nothing, and all the nervousness I felt around her earlier dissolved.
She screwed up her face, her hand hovering in the air in front of me, squinting from the smoke as she drew the cigarette away from her lips. "What happened to your nose?" The smoke twisted in circles into the night.
I had forgotten all about it. It was supposed to be a friendly game, but apparently someone on the other team took offence to something I said, or didn't say, and decided a head butt would be the best response. "It's nothing," I said, taking the cigarette from her outstretched fingers. But I was pretty sure it was fractured.
She narrowed her eyes and reached out to touch my skin. "It doesn't look like nothing."
I froze as she traced the outline of the bruising under my left eye and across my nose with the tip of her finger. It started to rain, but the drizzle was so fine it looked like glitter in Cara's hair.
"I forgot what it was like to have you home," I said. It was a lie. I hadn't forgotten at all. It was just that the moment was better than my memories.
Until Ruben appeared.
He stumbled out of the hall and onto the gravelled carpark. His steps were uneven, and the bottle in his hand was empty. He tried to take a swig before frowning and throwing it away. The glass shattered against the stones. "Cara! Judah!" he yelled. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"We've been here the whole time," I said coldly.
But Cara wasn't so cold. Her eyes lit up, and she walked over to him, her hand caressing his arm, steadying it with a familiarity that twisted my gut. Despite the state he was in, his clothes remained in perfect condition, making him appear as though he had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
"So much for you being the sober driver," I said, as he slung his arm over Cara's shoulder, dangling my keys in his fingers. I put down the bottle of beer. It was only my second one for the night, and I didn't even get to finish it. Cara's eyebrows shot skywards when Ruben's breath hit her, and she pulled away, ducking out from his embrace.
Ruben frowned and pulled her back to him. "Come here," he attempted to say, but it came out garbled and distorted. Drunk.
"I think we need to take him home," Cara said, laughing as Ruben lunged at her, trying to place a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
She was right. Ruben was well past the stage of happy drunk and was just plain drunk. Annoying drunk. The kind of drunk that left him too affectionate and too friendly for my liking. I went to take the keys, but he whipped them from my grasp surprisingly quickly for someone who couldn't walk straight. It took me five minutes before I caught him and twisted them from his fingers. He laughed a lot. I did not.
I hadn't even had two beers, but I should have known better. Ruben was drunk, and Cara wasn't exactly sober either, so I was the best of a bad bunch. Or so I thought until I drove around the corner and saw the flashing lights.
Chapter Ten
Lennon
Walking home together became our tradition. We never spoke of the fact that we both drove cars. We talked about everything and nothing, pointless facts and nonsensical stories. His favourite movie was The Dead Poets Society, a movie I'd never heard of that came out long before we were born, while mine was The Fault in Our Stars. I was a sucker for tear-jerkers. He was into 80's rock music, though he had a soft spot for The Phantom of the Opera after his mother took him to a performance in the city. He pretended to hate it, but he was enthralled. He whispered when he told me that he still cries whenever he hears All I Ask of You, something he had never told anyone. His favourite meal was steak, chips and mushy peas, while the thought of mushy peas made my stomach turn. He dreamed of being an architect, but his dad wanted him to be a lawyer. I just felt bad that I didn't have a dream. His favourite birthday had been when he and Ruben turned thirteen and they went paintballing. He said it was the only time he could remember his father actually playing, rather than standing on the side lines and lecturing.
And every night he invaded my dreams. It was always the same. He would reach for me and I would go to him, only to drown in his kiss. It was the most beautiful and terrifying of dreams.
On Friday night, I woke earlier than I usually did after the dream. The red numbers of my clock showed it was only eleven o'clock. My light was still on and my book had spilled to the floor.
It was only a dream.
I pulled my hair back from my face and took in a deep breath.
It was only a dream.
I caught my reflection in the mirror above my dresser, pale and gaunt.
It was only a dream.
My skin prickled as a faint tap sounded on the window. I pulled the curtain back and saw a figure standing ou
tside, one hand in his pocket, the other pressed against the window ready to tap the glass again.
"Judah?" I pulled open the window.
"Ringo." He grinned.
"What are you doing here?"
Judah took in my ruffled appearance. I was wearing my most comfortable sleeping shirt, which was just an oversized and ripped tee shirt of my mother's. "Did I wake you? I saw your light on."
"It's okay. I was awake." I grabbed my dressing gown from where it lay discarded on the floor and pulled it over my shoulders.
"You want to go for a walk?" he asked.
I looked outside. The night was black apart from the street lights shining in muted circles, restricted by the low cloud. "Now?"
"No, tomorrow." He grinned again and it melted my hesitation.
"Give me a minute." I crept over to the door. Faintly, I could hear the murmur of the TV set. I considered telling Mum I was just popping out, I didn't have rules or curfews—I had never needed them before—but the thought of telling her I was going for a walk at midnight with a boy she had never met, made me hesitate. I closed the door gently, with the smallest amount of guilt eating me, pulled on some jeans and tugged a hoody over my head. I stumbled as I pulled on my shoes and had to grab the curtain for support.
Judah was staring at the street, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. Again, he was wearing only a tee shirt.
"Won't you get cold?" I clambered through the window.
"It's not that cold out here." He turned to help me, holding my arm as I manoeuvred through the window. It was a lot smaller than it appeared, tall but rather narrow.
We walked down the street, through the deserted town, passed one of the hotels that his dad owned, and towards the lake. Some people milled around The Fat Stag, but mainly the town was quiet for a Friday night. Mist danced around the street lights and the moon hovered above, like a protective mother hiding out of sight behind the clouds.
I froze as he led me towards the playground on the stony beach. He sat down on one of the swings and began rocking back and forth, the creaking of the movement immobilising me further. In my dream, the fear never hit until we kissed, but in my dream, I never knew that I had already had the dream.
"Everything okay?" He looked up from under dark hair, his eyes hopeful, yet restrained. I nodded and made myself walk towards the swing beside him. It creaked as I sat down, and the stones groaned under my feet as I pushed off and started to swing.
The moon was nothing like in my dream. It was hidden, shrouded in cloud, and the lake was deadly still. A nervous lump rose in my throat and I swallowed it back down. Since when had I become afraid of dreams? Probably since they played on repeat.
"Are you sure you're okay, or do playgrounds creep you out as well?" Judah's voice startled me.
I laughed but it sounded hollow in the night air, lost in the emptiness of the lake. "I'm fine. Just a little cold. I can't believe you don't feel it."
Judah shrugged and pushed off with his feet so he swung high into the air. His hair flew back with the force. "You're just not used to it."
I pushed my feet harder into the stones and soon we were swinging in perfect time. I laughed as the wind whipped my hair back. I was being foolish. It was nothing like my dream.
I rocked in the swing, the chains cold under my hands and the slight breeze teasing my hair. I wondered if he had seen me at his house the other day and I decided to come clean rather than let the uncertainty eat at me. "Your house is rather nice."
Judah looked up quizzically. "You've been there?"
"No. But I do have to admit I drove past. I was curious to see where you lived."
"What did you think?"
"It's big."
"Overkill, isn't it? Dad bought the biggest house he possibly could after he and Mum got married. Mum had admired it for years." He looked down at the stones, the sadness returning to his eyes. "I never really liked it, too many rooms, and that statue of the peeing boy is just disturbing."
"I couldn't really see all that much from the road." I didn't want him to know exactly what I had been up to. "But what I could see looked impressive."
We didn't say much after that, but for some reason we didn't need to. We swung in unison, only the creaking of the swings and the water lapping against the shore to break the stillness of the night.
Judah dragged his feet through the stones, slowing the sway of the swing. His eyes gleamed in the dim light from the street lamp, then darkened. "It's almost been a year." It took me a while to realise he was talking about his brother. "It feels so much longer, and yet, only yesterday. Everything changed. It was like I became invisible."
I knew how that felt. Though to say so, to compare his loss to mine, didn't seem right. "To your parents?" I stilled my swing and kicked the stones under my feet, watching the reflection of the moon on the lake as it peered out from behind a cloud so grey it was almost blue. It looked like a little piece of the lake had drifted into the sky.
"To everyone," he said. "It's like they stare right through me now. I used to just be me, you know? Now when people look at me, they see something else, or rather, nothing."
It is hard to lose someone you are close to, let alone be blamed for their death. Enough blame was thrown in our family without any cause. I couldn't imagine what it was like for Judah, or how it had changed his life. "What was he like?" I asked.
"Ruben? He was okay, I guess, kind of hard to describe. Everyone liked him, and now that he is dead, I guess it means he will sort of live forever in people's mind as this perfect boy who could have accomplished anything if given the time. If only they knew the truth."
I took my hands off the cold chains of the swing and tucked them under my arms. "What do you mean by that?"
Judah bit his lip. "Nothing. I shouldn't have said anything. It's not good to speak ill of the dead." He let out a grunt that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "But I'm here with you now. And you see me."
He looked at me, eyes full of sadness and loneliness, and they made me want to embrace him and tell him everything would be okay. But I didn't trust myself to touch him. I was scared. The dream of drowning in his kiss flashed through my mind.
Judah sighed and walked behind me. He started to push with gentle swings that drifted me through the cool night air. "So tell me why cemeteries freak you out."
I paused before answering. "It's just thinking of the bodies lying below. I don't like to think that I'm stepping on them, or disturbing them." He was easy to talk to. I felt like I could tell him anything and he wouldn't judge. He had lost someone too. "Besides, it always brings back the memories of seeing Harrison before he was buried. It is just too horrible to think of him down there, all cold and dark. I peeked in the coffin when Mum and Dad were talking to the funeral director. He didn't seem dead. It was like he was sleeping. And he was so perfect. He had these little rosebud lips and such perfect skin. He looked nothing like new-born babies usually do, all wrinkled and red. Only his little fingers and toes had wrinkles on them." I wanted to tell him about Harrison's eyes and the way he looked at me like he wanted me to know something, but I knew how it would sound, and as honest as I felt I could be with Judah, it was something that verged on crazy. I didn't want him to know that about me. Not yet. I cleared my throat, my voice barely a whisper. "I touched him and he felt so cold, and he was so pale, as though he was a black and white photograph rather than someone real. Every time I go to the cemetery, I picture him like that. I can see the little white outfit that Mum had him buried in and the little blue coffin." I sighed. "It just fills me with a sense of dread."
Judah pushed me higher, and I was keenly aware of his presence each time the swing swung back. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to.
After a while, he stopped pushing and walked in front to catch me mid-flight. The weight of the swing pulled me back, but he held onto the chains. He was so close I could feel his breath, warm and comforting on my cheek. For a moment, we just stared at each
other, and I was certain he was going to kiss me. It was as though all he could see was me. I was used to being Sienna's cousin, my mother's daughter, Robert's kid or Lizzy's granddaughter. But not this time. This time, someone saw me. He saw me. He lowered me back to the ground, and I was left staring at the freckles that dotted his cheek in the shape of Orion's belt.
When we walked home, Judah reached out and took my hand. A delicious tingle rippled down my spine and chilled my skin. Waves of electricity pulsated through my hand, and I wondered if he felt the same. I tried not to think about how his kiss would feel, his real kiss, not the one in my dreams.
When we reached my window, he stood with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes once again clouding with sorrow. "Thanks for that. It's nice having someone to talk to."
I watched until his shadowy frame turned the corner on the street, and my hand burned cold with the memory of his touch.
Chapter Eleven
Lennon
The following night, I lay in bed with heavy eyes but couldn't fall asleep. I was tired. My late night stroll and nightmares had made sure of that, but no matter how long I lay still with my eyes closed, I couldn't drift into the numbing bliss of sleep. Maybe that was it, sleep no longer brought numbing bliss.
Finally, I got up and turned on my computer. My room was small, only big enough for a single bed, a desk and a wardrobe, and even then, I had to push my chair under the desk to get into the wardrobe. My computer whirred into life and I opened the app to check my emails. Bold print flicked onto the screen, scrolling further and further down as each message appeared in my inbox. There were a few from my friends at my old school asking how I was. I hadn't contacted them in ages, so I quickly sent out a group email updating my life in Puruwai. It didn't take long.
