Laughter—weird, happy, excited laughter—surges up my throat.
“You don’t really want to stay at Sofe’s.” His finger moves across my lips, and his arm passes lightly—accidentally?—across my breasts. “Nat?”
He’s right, of course. Sofia will cover for me.
We sit side by side on the edge of his bed in our Formal clothes, like a brother and sister in fancy dress.
“Are you nervous?” Josh asks.
I nod. “A bit.”
“So’m I,” he says softly.
“But it’s not the same for you!” I protest. “You’ve done this before.”
He nibbles my ear. “Not with you.”
It’s not that I’m nervous, exactly, even though—I’ll admit it—I’m trembling all over. It’s that I’m scared of being disappointed, you know? This is something I want so, so much.
“Josh?” I murmur, as he unzips my dress.
“—Nat.”
“—I love you—”
His kisses chase around my neck, down my stomach. The words wash out of me from some faraway shore.
“I do. I love you.”
His fingers stumble only once—on the bra strap. There’s something about men and bra straps, I remember hearing someone—Sofia? my mother, after a few glasses of white wine?—say once. They’re incompatible. Too much for the male IQ. So I push Josh’s fingers gently away and undo the clasp myself.
Josh smiles. He doesn’t stumble again.
People say the first time—for a girl, anyway—is never any good. Mum told me this when she gave me her “Facts of Life, Part Five” spiel. (“Sex is like anything else in life, Nat. It’s a learning process.”) Even Sofia agrees on this one. “My first time was crap. Mate, I thought: Never again.”)
Well, people are wrong. For me, anyway.
There are some things you can’t describe, I suppose. Josh is gentle, and he jokes to put me at ease. I can see the shadow of his ribs rising underneath his brown, freckled skin, and he bathes me in his brown, laughing eyes. I feel a wave rise and sink inside of me.
And all the time, he says my name, over and over again: “Nat, Nat, sweet Nat—”
chapter nineteen
Chocolate cake
Sofia arrives at my house first, the handle of a big wicker basket over one arm.
“Lamingtons!” I say, peering inside the basket. “And fairy bread. Yum.”
She smiles. “You gotta have fairy bread at a birthday party.”
A moment later, we’re letting Lise in through the back door. She’s wearing a big, baggy Windbreaker and running shoes, her hair scraped back into a messy half bun.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “I went for a run before I came here.”
Next to me, I see Sofe, her eyes skipping over Lise with sudden alertness: in her track pants, Lise looks pale, tired, impossibly slender. She thrusts a glass bowl at me as she follows me into the kitchen.
“I made some fruit salad to go with the other stuff. Thought we should at least have something healthy.”
“What—no soy milk yogurt?” says Sofia sarcastically.
We lay the food out on the kitchen table.
“Mum and Dad’re out,” I tell the two of them. “Went for a Sunday walk. So we’ve got the house to ourselves.”
I rummage around in the kitchen drawers for a box of matches, light the candles I stuck into the cake earlier this morning. Then Sofia and I sing a tuneless version of “Happy Birthday” while Lise blushes and stares at the ground: “You didn’t have to do this, guys.”
After we’ve finished singing, she blows the candles out obediently and takes the knife I hand her. I hold my breath, waiting to see what she will do. Without looking up at us, she cuts three big hunks of cake, all the same size. I let my breath out in relief. Maybe Sofia was right, I think; maybe everything’s going to be all right after all.
“It looks delicious,” Lise says enthusiastically.
“And the amazing thing is, it’s totally vegan,” I say quickly, just in case she hasn’t heard me say this the last three times.
Lise doesn’t answer. She grabs a teaspoon and scoops several spoonfuls of fruit salad onto her plate, on top of the piece of cake. Then, while Sofia and I pig out on chocolate cake and lamingtons, she eats her fruit salad, teaspoon by infinitesimal teaspoon, three bites to each spoon.
Sofia eyes Lise’s strange new eating habits skeptically.
“It’s a fantastic cake,” she says to me after a moment, deliberately.
“Thanks,” I say nervously. “You’d never know it has no eggs.”
The thing is, it is delicious. Despite the fact that I’d never have made it if I hadn’t been so worried about Lise, it’s actually the best chocolate cake I’ve ever made. It’s moist and chocolaty and dark. I reckon even Josh’d be proud of this effort.
Finally, by the time Sofia’s moved on to the fairy bread and I’m eating my second piece of cake, Lise finishes her fruit salad. She puts her spoon down on her plate, stretches.
“God, I’m full,” she says, yawning luxuriously. “That was delicious. Thank you both so much.”
She reaches for her mug of black coffee. Wrapping her hands around it, she brings it to her face, resting her cheek against its warmth. Sofia and I exchange glances over the lamingtons and fairy bread. Lise’s slice of cake—the one she cut for herself, exactly the same as ours—sits in front of her, untouched on her plate.
There is a moment’s silence.
“Eat your cake, Lise,” Sofia says abruptly.
Lise puts her mug down, startled; her eyes go strangely wary. She looks almost trapped. My stomach clenches with sudden foreboding.
“I’d love to,” she says. “It’s just—I had so much fruit salad. I couldn’t eat another mouthful.”
Sofia leans across the table, pushes Lise’s plate back toward her.
“It’s a present. Nat made it for you.”
“I know—”
“It’s rude to refuse presents.”
“I’m not,” Lise says quickly. “I’ll eat some later.”
Sofia’s eyes don’t waver from Lise’s face.
“You are so full of it,” she says evenly. “We all know you won’t eat it later. You’ll throw it in the bin, or feed it to the cat, or—”
“Lise doesn’t have a cat,” I protest weakly, breaking in.
I’m trying to divert her, stem her attack. I don’t want this argument to happen.
But Sofia ignores me.
“If you want to lose weight—which, by the way, you don’t need to do—why don’t you take up some kind of sport?” she says to Lise. Her tone is belligerent.
“I do. I have.” Lise takes a quick, shaky breath. “I run.”
Sofia rolls her eyes. “I mean, like tennis. Or hockey. Or basketball. A team sport.”
“But I’m no good at team sports—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sofia says heavily. “You’re no good at anything. How could we forget?”
My breath catches. Lise falls suddenly, heartrendingly silent. She stares at the plate of cake in front of her, her forehead knotted.
“Lighten up, mate,” says Sofia simply. “Just lighten up.”
Everything goes quiet then. Here we are again, I think: Sofia haranguing, Lise hurting, me wishing they’d both just stop.
But then Lise lifts her head. The look on her face is unbearable, like she’s—stricken. It’s the look I’ve always dreaded, the look I’ve always hoped we’d avoid.
“I don’t mind about the cake,” I say quickly, stupidly, into the silence.
They both swing their eyes to me, uncomprehendingly.
“Lise?” I speak quietly, looking only at her. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”
She doesn’t answer.
I stumble on, urgent, clumsy in my need to smooth things out. My words fall over each other.
“All Sofe means is, she’s worried about you. You’ve lost heaps of weight. And it’s great—don’t
get me wrong; we both think you look great. It’s just—you don’t want to get too thin—”
She’s breathing easier now. I can see the muscle in her jaw relaxing as I speak.
“I’m okay,” she says to me. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit tired.”
Suddenly we’re talking to each other like there’s no one else in the room. Our voices are soft, secretive.
“I know. We’re all tired.”
“It’s Year 12.”
“It’s the pits.”
“I get so stressed about it sometimes—”
“Tell me about it.”
Sofia moves her head back and forth between Lise and me. She seems puzzled, like she thinks we’re speaking some other language that she doesn’t understand. Like she’s missed what’s going on between us, and she knows she’s missed it, but she can’t grasp why.
“We didn’t mean to hassle you,” I go on to Lise.
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, it’s good to eat healthily—”
“Nat,” says Sofia sharply.
I stop. “What?”
She looks at me hard, as if she’s about to say something. Then she changes her mind, shrugs.
“Oh, well. Have it your way.” She turns to Lise. “It’s your life, anyway.”
Then Lise does the strangest thing. She turns to Sofia and she smiles. It’s a weird smile: not forgiving or understanding; not apologetic, even. It’s full of secrets, this smile.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “It is.”
Over the last couple of months, people at school have been giving Lise quite a lot of praise about the way she looks.
In a way, I can see why. In her school uniform, she’s lithe and slender; she has no ugly bulges or swellings like the rest of us. Sometimes I even feel a bit jealous of her: I wish I could be disciplined enough to get up early every morning and go jogging before school.
Recently, though, the compliments have changed slightly. Now, when people notice her, they say, “How come you’re so skinny?” There’s still a hint of envy in their voices, of course (that puzzled, hushed envy that everyone uses on skinny people, you know?), because although Lise must be the thinnest girl in our class by now, she’s not what you’d call bony. Anyway, fragile is—you know—trendy.
But if you listen carefully, there’s another question in their voices—one that they’re just too polite, or too scared, to ask out loud. It’s Has she got what I think she’s got?
Sofe didn’t ask, though. She said it, loud and clear: I KNOW you’ve got it.
Sometimes I hate the way Sofia does that—says the things other people don’t say; the things they can’t say, won’t say.
It takes guts, that’s what I can’t stand—the kind of guts I just don’t have.
chapter twenty
Julie
We lie side by side on the bed, Josh’s leg crossed over mine, my head tucked into his neck. Next to me, on the bedside table, are a packet of condoms (opened) and the photo from the Formal last week. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so widely for the camera before.
It’s six o’clock in the evening. Josh, the eternal insomniac, yawns.
“Sorry,” he says—and then yawns again. “I didn’t get to sleep until 3 a.m. last night. I’m so tired.”
“You’d have slept okay if I’d been here,” I say, digging my elbow into his ribs.
He smiles. “Stay for dinner?”
But I can’t; I just can’t. Homework’s absolutely screaming at me. The exams are less than two months away now, and I’m way behind. It’s just that I’ve been too happy in the last few months to do anything about it. Being with Josh makes me feel so good.
It’s weird—whenever I’m away from Josh now, my thoughts rush back to Lise: wondering what I can do, who I can talk to, who could do something about her. But the moment I’m back with him, my head fills up with him, only him, and I forget all my worries about Lise. There’s just no room for anyone else in my head when Josh is around.
Right now he’s shaking his head at me in mock disapproval. “Planning to cram for the exams, are we?”
“It’s the only way I’ll ever get through them now!” I wail.
But even so, I make no effort to get up. Without even trying, he’s tugging at me, drawing me in; I still can’t break his pull.
Josh half stifles another yawn, oblivious of all this. He folds his arms underneath his head.
“Might go for a hill ride tomorrow.”
“Lucky you,” I say sarcastically.
“Gotta do it, Nat. It’s part of my training.” Then he grins and pokes me back in the ribs, exactly where I poked him a couple of minutes ago. “Anyway, admit it. You’d rather study than go for a hard ride any day—wouldn’t you, now?”
I don’t even bother to answer this: by now, my exercise laziness is legendary between the two of us. Instead, for about the millionth time, I lie there admiring him for his dedication. He’s never once given up on his dream of riding to Perth, Josh; he’s been training so long now, and so hard, it seems to have become almost second nature to him.
It makes me feel left out, sometimes, to be honest—this long-term, high-flung dream of his. It’s like he has a secret side to himself: a side he won’t share with me, that’s all his. I keep thinking: Where do I fit into all of this? The answer always comes back to me: I don’t.
But does that matter? Do I have to fit into everything in his life? I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it, to analyze it; I just want to enjoy what I have.
Besides, recently I’ve been dreaming up plans of my own. Instead of saving up to get a car this summer, I’ve decided to buy myself a plane ticket to Perth. I want to, like—be there to greet him at the finishing line.
I haven’t told Josh about my idea yet. I’m sure he’d like it, but this is my secret. I want it to be a surprise for him.
Through the open window, the smell of barbecued chops wafts in on the breeze. My thoughts drift longingly away from plane tickets to white bread, tomato sauce, burned sausages. I know this is the first year I’ve ever managed to keep my New Year’s resolution for so long—but right now, I’d give anything to break it. Broccoli just isn’t the same.
Josh shifts slightly on the bed, breaking my reverie.
“I bumped into Julie the other day,” he says, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
My breath catches. Julie, Josh’s ex—the heartbreaker in Vietnam.
“ ‘Bumped into’ her?”
“Yeah. She was at the beach.” He closes his eyes, like he’s not going to say anything more about it.
I stare at the cloth cap hanging off the hook on his door. Finally, I say, “How long’s it been since you last saw her?”
He shrugs. “Not since we broke up. She never spoke to me again.”
There’s a short silence between us.
“She told me she’s started cycling again,” he says after a moment, conversationally. “Remember how I told you she was into fitness in a big way? She suggested we go riding together sometime.” He glances sideways at me on the bed.
I lie still, trying to relax my shoulders.
“As friends, Nat.”
“Yeah. I know.” I breathe slowly, in and out, getting my thoughts together. “Okay.”
I lie there next to him, not speaking. Mum has always said that jealousy is a pointless emotion. If you love someone, she says, your love for them—like your trust—comes free of strings. Free of “ifs” and “buts.”
Yeah, but she’s a social worker, I think now, sardonically. What would SHE know?
In the end, I can’t help myself. “Josh?”
“Nat.”
“This doesn’t change anything between us, does it?”
“Of course not. Does it for you?”
I hesitate. “No.”
The cloth cap stares malevolently back at me from the door. I take another deep breath.
“Are you sure it doesn’t change anything?”<
br />
He sighs, rolls over onto his side, kisses me. His lips are soft on my skin, and our kisses wander over each other.
“Sweet Nat,” he whispers into my ear.
PART IV
Lise
chapter twenty-one
Hungry girl
The exams are so close now, you can almost smell them. Every time I open my books to study, a hot, sick wave rushes over me. I’m going to fail.
The Fear comes almost every day now. It hits at any time: not just during tests and exams, and not just at school, either; some nights, it even stops me from getting to sleep. Generally, it only lasts for a few minutes—perhaps half an hour, at most—but it feels much longer than that.
Sometimes, if it comes on in the middle of a lesson, I blank out completely. I sit there, covered in sweat, knees trembling uncontrollably underneath my table. I swallow huge gulps of air, stare down at my books so no one can guess what’s going on. And I say, over and over again inside my head, as if it’s some kind of private mantra, Please let this go away. Please let this go away. Please let it go away . . .
I don’t understand. It’s not as if there’s any good reason for me to feel this way: my life is totally secure and comfortable—privileged, in fact. My parents are still together; they have plenty of money, and they love me. And I don’t have any sicko uncles or cousins who raped me when I was a kid. Why am I making such a fuss about everything?
But no one else I know seems to experience this kind of feeling. What is the matter with me?
One Monday morning, in the lesson before lunch, the Fear lasts the whole lesson. By the end, as the last of the sickness ebbs away, I am exhausted. My hair clings in damp tendrils to my forehead, and the aftershocks still tremble all the way through me. It’s all I can do to stand up and make it to the classroom door.
Nat comes over to me as I stumble toward my locker.
“You look exhausted, Lise,” she says gently. “Are you okay?”
She’s been asking me this a lot recently. I don’t like it. It makes me wonder what she knows about me. And it confuses me, too: one moment she’s all sweet and caring; the next she’s laughing with Sofia over some secret joke about their boyfriends. It seems ages since Nat and I laughed together about something.
Leaving Jetty Road Page 10
