by Sue Lawson
Table of Contents
Cover
Copyright
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Sas
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Sas
Khaden
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Khaden
Sas
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Khaden
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Sas
Ruby
Sometimes it’s as if it never happened, as though a pair of scissors had cut last summer from my life.
At first that suited me; I didn’t want to talk or even think about what had happened. But now, as the days become longer and the sun pours heat back into the earth, the memories pour back too.
Memories of being Ruby, Khaden and Sas.
All last summer I had the feeling something big was brewing. The sensation was as gentle as a butterfly wing-beat, easy to ignore with so much else going on. Now I recognise that constant flutter as a warning. If I’d listened to the warning, would everything be different now?
I need to find the starting point, unravel the carpet that was our friendship and try to discover where it began to fray, where the spills became stains, impossible to shift. Where the whole thing became threadbare.
Where we—Ruby, Khaden and Sas—were broken.
Khaden
Khaden found the last can of soft drink at the back of the fridge, behind his dad’s beer. He ripped open the can and drank, bubbles fizzing up his nose. Khaden closed the door and took a deep breath, sucking up the calm that filled the empty house. He knew his dad, Mike, would still be at work and that his brother, Taj, would be either at band practice, drinking with Joey or hanging out with Salena. Not that it mattered where they were. All that mattered was that he was alone.
In his bedroom he set the empty can on his bedside table and made for his guitar, a beacon in the chaos of discarded clothes, sheet music and unmade bed. Khaden settled into the beanbag under his window and began strumming random chords, which soon morphed into his current favourite song to play, David Bowie’s Changes.
He’d first heard it at one of Mike’s ‘legendary’ barbecue nights. At least that’s what Mike called it when Wayne and Sally and their daughters came around for dinner—a ‘legendary’ barbecue night. After the meal, and after the mozzies or cold had forced everyone inside, Mike would scatter his vinyl records across the floor and select songs to play to the kids, songs that they just ‘had to hear’. Bowie, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, The Kinks, even The Ramones. Though Khaden didn’t admit it to Mike, he loved the raw sound of the old music.
Not long after the night Mike had played Changes, Wayne and the girls stopped coming around. Mike hadn’t played his vinyl since and their home had become a train wreck of beer, silence and anger.
Changes.
The changes weren’t only at home. Something had changed between Ruby and Sas, too. They used to finish each other’s sentences and talk forever about movies or guys, but now Ruby and Sas picked at each other like crows over road kill.
Even stranger than Ruby and Sas’s bickering was the new feeling Khaden had every time he was with Sas. Just thinking about her made something swoop in the pit of his belly and spread to his fingertips. It never happened when he thought about Ruby, or if just he and Ruby were together—only with Sas.
The Changes chords had just drowned out the turmoil in Khaden’s head when the back door slammed, ripping him out of Bowie and dumping him back in reality.
‘Khaden, did you hang out the washing?’ yelled Mike from the kitchen.
Khaden put his guitar back on its stand and took a biology text from his school bag.
Mike’s heavy footsteps thudded down the hall. ‘You hear me?’ he said, standing in Khaden’s doorway.
‘Hey, Dad.’ Khaden lifted the biology text. ‘Doing homework.’
‘And the washing?’
Khaden stared at Mike’s red face and oil-covered hands and T-shirt. He wondered what had happened to Mike. He used to smile, crack ridiculous jokes, be laid-back and slow to anger, but not any more. Not for a long time.
‘The washing? Sorry. I forgot.’
Mike shook his head and stalked from the room, leaving behind the smell of sweat, oil and beer.
Ruby
The space between the library and the science labs, tucked away from the oval and netball courts, had been our place since we were in Year Seven. On this grass slope, the three of us had planned holidays, laughed about Lyndal Reicher’s pink hair, discussed Mr Meyer’s disappearing wedding ring and argued over whether Jessica Lonsdale had been pregnant, or if it was just a rumour.
Today we lolled on the slope like seals, Sas beside me, left arm flung over her eyes to block the sun. Khaden was on the other side of her, his school shirt wrinkled and untucked. They both looked so untroubled. I envied them.
‘I love summer,’ said Sas, her voice like honey.
The backs of my knees felt sticky, and my arms ached from leaning back on them. I leant forward and studied the crisscross pattern the grass had left on my palms. ‘It’s November, so technically it’s spring.’
‘Spring, summer. Whatever,’ she said, stretching. ‘It’s hot.’
‘Hey, it’s less than a month ’til summer holidays.’ As Khaden rolled onto his back, his shirt bunched under his hip. ‘Cool, huh?’
‘Is that all?’ I turned to face Sas. ‘We still on for the beach in January?’
‘Yeah, well…’ Sas sat up and plucked blades of grass from the lawn. ‘The week at the beach is off.’
I frowned. ‘Since when?’
‘Things change, Ruby, okay? Dad has a life too.’ She spoke to the grass, her voice bitter.
Sas’s mum and dad divorced while we were still in primary school. The day her dad, Angelo, moved out, Sas came to my house for a sleepover. Even though Angelo moved to Geelong and Sas, her three sisters and her mum, Lou, stayed in their Sykes Avenue home, nothing much changed between Sas and Angelo. They became closer, if that was possible, much closer than my dad and I have ever been. Sas spent most weekends with Angelo, and always came back full of stories about his silver Audi, plasma TV and the wireless speakers that played music in every room of the house. Then, a couple of months ago, Angelo moved to one of those small towns further along the Great Ocean Road, Lorne or maybe Airey’s Inlet, and Sas stopped visiting and talking about him. It was as if he’d died—just like our week at the beach seemed to have.
‘Are you still spending the summer with Angelo?’ I asked.
Sas lay back down, banging her hee
ls into the ground. ‘Mum has signed up for summer school, which means I won’t be the part-time slave, but the full-time slave. She expects, no, demands, that I babysit my sisters, wash, clean, cook and iron.’ She growled like a dog and turned to look at me, then at Khaden. ‘Bet I end up writing her essays too.’
Khaden frowned. ‘That sucks.’
‘Sucks doesn’t begin to cover it,’ said Sas.
‘She does pay you,’ I said. ‘I mean, it could be worse.’
‘Like you’d know, Miss Perfect Happy Family.’ Sas glared at me. ‘My life is complete crap.’ She covered her eyes with her arm again.
I stared at the boys playing handball against the library wall. Their tennis ball bounced towards us and I pitched it back.
‘At least your parents haven’t cut your allowance just because you got a B+ for a Shakespeare essay. “You’re capable of an A, Ruby. You’re just as smart as Harrison.” Blah blah blah.’ I flicked the buckle on my T-bar shoes.
‘Can’t remember the last time my dad even asked about my results,’ said Khaden. ‘Only thing he ever says about school is, “Done your homework?”’
Sas’s breath out was loud. ‘Let’s do something.’
‘Nuh,’ said Khaden. ‘I’m staying here until the bell. Double Fink next.’
Sas screwed up her face. ‘Biology with The Fink. Gross.’
‘Yeah, well, I have Human Development.’ I shuddered. ‘Mrs Bosworth pacing and lisping for two lessons.’
Sas’s eyes flashed. ‘Why do you always think you have it worse than anyone else?’
I folded my arms. ‘What do you mean?’
‘No matter what’s happening, you always have it worse, Ruby.’
‘Hey,’ Khaden cut Sas off and stood, brushing grass from his uniform. ‘Let’s see what’s doing on the oval.’
Sas reached her hand towards him. ‘Pull me up.’
‘Coming, Ruby?’ asked Khaden.
‘Nah.’
Khaden shrugged. Without looking back, he and Sas strolled past the handballers towards the oval.
Sas
Last night I finished the final page of my tattered journal, and couldn’t wait to use the new one Nona gave me for Christmas. It must have cost her a bomb. It has a red-and-white patterned cover, thick and smooth pages, and a ribbon bookmark. It’s a serious journal, the type of journal that should be filled with important thoughts and ideas, not the black muck filling my head.
And what has caused the black muck, apart from Dad? Mum! I’m so mad I don’t know whether to kick the bed, vomit or scream, all because Mum and I had ANOTHER massive fight over him. She says I need to communicate with him, which means she wants me to phone him. A text, maybe, but a phone call? No way.
When I told Mum that, her eyes rolled up in her head and her nostrils flared. I was sure she was about to have a fit, but instead she launched into a ‘texting is no substitute for conversation’ lecture. So I suggested I email him, but that just made her pace and lecture again, only this time she replaced ‘text’ with ‘email’.
It’s making my head spin. A couple of months ago, Mum was furious because I was spending too much time with him, now she’s going off because I won’t talk to him. She should be rapt I’m not talking to or hanging out with Dad because that means I’m home more, which means her live-in slave can do more cooking, cleaning, washing and babysitting. She should be chucking a party, not a mental.
The text and email lectures were bad enough, but when she started on me about writing him a letter—because writing with ‘a pen and paper would help me sort out my thoughts’—I was out of there. No way is snail mail going to make everything clear between Dad and me.
Anyway, what do I say?
Dear Angelo,
You suck.
Sas.
Yeah, that’s going to help.
IM Chat
Ruby: Hey, started that essay?
Khaden: Essay?
Sas: Pastoral care for Henderson
Khaden: ????
Ruby: Sigh 500 words. What do we make of that woman’s quote?
Khaden: ????
Sas: Khaden!!! ‘Do 1 thing everyday that scares u’
Khaden: Dislike!
Ruby: Due next week
Khaden: That sucks!
Sas: Life sucks
Khaden
One hand on the top, the other holding the door open, Khaden stared into the fridge. Cans of beer, a bottle of flat cola, a yellow block that looked more like soap than cheese and a limp carrot on the tub of margarine. Khaden sighed and rubbed his rumbling stomach.
He closed the fridge and opened the freezer. Just as tragic—empty ice trays, something covered in frost and a few loose peas.
‘I’ll shop tomorrow.’
Khaden jumped at the sound of Mike’s voice. The freezer door slammed. ‘Yeah, okay.’
Mike placed two pizza boxes side-by-side on the kitchen table. ‘Supreme, no anchovies or mushrooms, right?’
‘Cool.’ The smell of his favourite pizza made Khaden’s stomach rumble even louder.
Mike flipped back the lid of the other box. ‘And Meat-arama.’
Taj’s favourite. Khaden took a slice of Supreme and, with his finger, snapped the string of cheese linking it to the rest of the pizza.
‘Where’s your brother?’ asked Mike, sitting at the table.
Khaden shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen him.’
Mike nodded and shut the Meat-arama lid. ‘Hey Khade, do you remember that time we went to Queensland?’
Khaden looked up. Remember it? That was the best time ever. When Khaden was in Year Seven, he, Mike and Taj had spent a fortnight at the Gold Coast. It was the first and only time Khaden and Taj had been on a plane. They stayed at a resort near the beach and did all the tourist things—hung out at the resort’s pools, visited the theme parks, surfed, and took jet boat rides and fishing trips. If Khaden had to name his favourite memory, that whole holiday would be it.
‘Yeah, I remember. It was cool.’
‘What was the name of the place we stayed at?’ asked Mike.
‘Something Sands.’ Khaden studied his dad’s face and wondered where this was going. ‘We had a room with a balcony.’
‘Golden Sands, that was it.’ Mike grinned.
‘Why did you want to know its name?’
‘I was thinking maybe we could go back there, you know, for a holiday. Just the three of us.’
Khaden froze, mid-bite of his pizza slice.
‘Maybe when you finish school for the summer, if I can find flights. Or Easter, next year.’
The back door slammed. Taj strolled into the kitchen. ‘Hey.’
‘Have some pizza.’ Mike nodded at the box. ‘Meat-arama.’
‘Ate at Salena’s,’ said Taj, pouring a glass of water and leaving the room.
The computer chimed its start-up song.
Mike pushed back from the table and took a beer from the fridge. As he ripped it open, something in Khaden’s chest deflated.
Ruby
TV ads, the crash of pots and pans and Archie’s laugh drifted down the hall to the study. The whole idea of having the study at the front of the house was so it would be quiet. Another great Dad plan gone wrong.
I pulled the chair up to the computer and opened the browser.
‘You going to be long?’
Harrison leaned against the doorframe, hands jammed in his pockets.
‘Use your laptop,’ I said.
‘Being upgraded for next year.’
‘Oooo, big scary VCE. School captain can’t fail, can he?’
‘You’re hilarious, Ruby.’ Harrison walked around to stand between the desk and the bookshelf crammed with Mum’s whodunnit novels and Dad’s boring roads and local government books.
‘Standing there won’t make me hurry, Harrison.’
‘Yeah it will. You’ll crack it and storm off. Five minutes, tops.’
My skin felt tight and my scalp prickled. ‘Whatever,’ I
said trying to sound cool. I opened Facebook.
‘Facebook sucks.’
I opened MySpace in another window.
Harrison snorted.
Teeth gritted, I went to YouTube.
‘Looking for Dream Team videos?’ He scoffed. ‘Lady boys.’ He kicked the desk in a steady rhythm.
I pushed back from the computer, hissed, ‘I hate you,’ and stormed out of the study.
‘Four minutes, twelve seconds,’ Harrison yelled after me.
‘What took four minutes?’ asked Dad, standing in the hall outside his bedroom.
I folded my arms. ‘Nothing.’
Dad’s tie made a swooshing sound as he pulled it free from his shirt collar. ‘Everything okay, Ruby?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be? I’m going to help Mum with dinner.’
Dad snorted. ‘There’s a first.’
‘Like you’d know.’
I went to move around him, but he stepped in front of me, his finger pointed at my face. ‘Watch it, Ruby.’
‘Whatever.’ I slipped past.
In the kitchen Mum was taking potatoes from the pantry. ‘Are you and your father fighting again?’ she asked.
‘Nuh.’ I opened the fridge. ‘Who drank all the Pepsi?’
‘Me.’ Archie leant over the back of the couch, arms dangling towards the slate floor.
‘Pig.’ I slammed the fridge shut.
‘Psycho.’ Archie grinned, gulped in air and did the most disgusting burp in the history of disgusting burps.
‘That’s revolting,’ I fought the urge to retch.
‘Excuse me,’ said Archie in a fake voice.
Mum smiled and shook her head.
‘Must you encourage him?’
‘Lighten up, Ruby.’ As Mum washed the potatoes, water gurgled down the sink.
‘Hey, where’s that bucket?’ I asked.
Mum held a potato under the running water and rubbed. ‘Ahhh…’
‘Thousands of litres are wasted down kitchen sinks every day,’ I said. ‘The bucket is meant to catch the water, so we can use it on the gar—’
‘I know what the bucket is for, Ruby,’ said Mum.
‘So, where is it?’
‘I used it to mix up weed killer,’ said Dad, strolling into the kitchen, wearing T-shirt and jeans.
‘Are you serious?’ I snapped.
‘Yep.’
‘I paid good money for that bucket.’
He took a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and ice cubes from the freezer. ‘And I paid good money for your school fees. Fat lot of good that’s doing.’
