“Remember: straight home after work,” said Mum when she dropped me off the next morning, the first words she’d spoken since we’d left the house. She was obviously still narky with me, even though I’d already sat through the obligatory we’re-so-disappointed-in-you lecture the night before.
I closed my door and bent down to the window to say goodbye, but she pulled away from the kerb before I could speak. Welcome to purgatory.
“Looks like someone had a big night,” said Dylan, handing me a large glass of water. “I recommend a couple of these and a bacon and egg roll in about half an hour.”
My stomach lurched at the thought of food. I drank the water down in one and refilled the glass. “Why do people do this to themselves?” I groaned.
“Sadly, most of us have had to learn the hard way,” he said with a sympathetic smile.
Dylan wasn’t treating me any differently, but even in my hung-over, sleep-deprived fug, I knew I had to clear the air with him. “About the other night, after the tasting … I – I wanted to say I’m sorry if … I didn’t mean …”
Thankfully, Dylan put my out of my tongue-tied misery. “Apology accepted. But I think you need to ask yourself why you’re having so much trouble accepting Larrie for who she is.”
I started to point out that it was Larrie who had kept who she really was a secret in the first place, but when Dylan heard Jay coming downstairs he busied himself in the coolroom. The combined aroma of a hundred cheeses hit my nostrils like an uppercut punch as Dylan opened the heavy refrigerator door. My stomach gurgled threateningly.
“You, my dear, are as green as stilton,” said Jay when he saw me. “You can’t serve customers in that state. Why don’t you spring-clean out the back this morning?”
I nodded and refilled my glass, ashamed of the state I was in but grateful for their understanding.
My phone rang midway through my fifth glass of water. Maz’s name appeared on the screen.
“Did you have a good time last night?” she asked cheerfully.
She mustn’t have spoken to Simon yet or she’d have launched straight into a lecture.
“It was … okay.” I hadn’t decided how much I was willing to tell Maz if she hadn’t already heard it from someone else. “Where did you and Nicko disappear to?”
“We went outside to talk in peace. You lot were being so loud with that stupid game that we had to shout to hear each other.”
“Uh-huh. Nice excuse.”
Maz giggled in a completely un-Maz way. “Why don’t you come over after work and I’ll fill you in?”
“Can’t. I’m grounded for missing curfew and not answering my phone when Dad called to check up on me.”
“I take it things went well with Josh then?”
“I can’t talk about it at work,” I whispered, hoping she’d think Dylan or Jay was with me. “I’ll call you later.”
I felt a pang of guilt about not coming clean with Maz about what happened during truth or dare, and about Simon springing me and Josh on the couch, but I thought I’d better get it straight in my own head before she started weighing in.
The fact was, I wasn’t sure where I stood with Josh any more. I’d sent him a text message before I went to sleep saying sorry for having to leave the party, but he hadn’t replied. I told myself it was possible he hadn’t read it yet, but I had a sinking feeling that I was being ignored.
My mind raced with thoughts about Josh and about kissing Tracy and, weirdly, about whether Simon thought even less of me after last night. I threw myself into cleaning to try to distract my brain for long enough for things to start to make sense.
The coolroom where the cheeses were kept was always immaculate, but the shelves out the back were randomly piled with anything that didn’t have to meet food safety regulations, so I started there. Today, the thought of pulling out all of the delivery receipts and catalogues from suppliers and rubber bands and lidless pens and putting them all back in their proper places seemed soothing. Like a metaphor for what I hoped was going on in my subconscious. I imagined stepping back to admire the perfectly organised shelves and having an epiphany about how to handle last night.
I took everything out and sorted it into three piles: 1) Keep, 2) Ditch, and 3) What the hell is this doing in here? (The last was a larger pile than you’d imagine; it included a disco whistle, a cricket ball and a lone sock.) I’d got as far as wiping the empty shelves when Maz rang again. By now she’d have spoken to Simon and he would’ve told her about the dare with Tracy and how he had to rescue me from Josh’s evil clutches. My brain was still sorting my thoughts into piles of its own: 1) It’ll be fine, 2) Pretend it never happened, and 3) You can’t show your face in school on Monday. I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, so I let the call go to voicemail and busied myself stacking the spare takeaway containers in size order.
A few minutes later my phone buzzed with a text message. It was Maz, no doubt annoyed that I hadn’t taken her call.
I don’t know what happened last night but it’s all over Facebook …
I made it to the toilet just in time to bring up all the water I’d drunk. When my stomach stopped heaving, I sat on the floor, taking deep breaths to try to stop the adrenalin pumping through my body so that I could think clearly about what to do.
“Everything all right, Al?” asked Dylan. “You’ve been in there for almost half an hour.”
I flushed the toilet and opened the door. “Actually, I’m not feeling very well. I think I’d better go home.”
Dylan nodded. “Go on, I’ll finish off the shelves and make your excuses to Jay.”
I thanked him and grabbed my bag, carefully scouting out who was on Kingston Street before ducking down the laneway. I took the back streets all the way home. It took twice as long, but it was worth it not to run into anyone I knew.
I ran straight to my room and turned on my laptop. When the site finally loaded, I typed my email address and password with shaking hands. My heart was pounding as if I’d run a half-marathon. An error message appeared saying my login details were rejected. For a panicked moment I thought my account had been hacked, but my second login attempt was successful.
When my home page loaded, I immediately saw what Maz had been talking about. There was a post on my wall from Josh, followed by a string of comments.
Josh Turner is 100% certain Al Miller is straight.
Prad Chandarama wonders where Josh was when Al and Tracy were at it.
Tracy Green thinks Prad’s jealous.
Josh Turner still thinks chicks kissing each other is hot – but only if they kiss me afterwards. Right, Al? ;)
Prad Chandarama reckons it sounds like Josh and Al were doing more than kissing.
Josh Turner A gentleman never tells.
Simon Lutz has been reading about the effects of binge drinking on the teenage brain.
What was Josh thinking? I closed my bedroom door before calling him.
“Hey, you,” he said, as if everything between us was completely normal. “What’s up?”
“I’ve just seen Facebook,” I snapped back.
Josh laughed. “Oh, yeah, it was a great night, wasn’t it? After you left–”
“How could you, Josh?”
“How could I what?”
“How could you post that stuff about you and me … and me and Tracy?” My voice rose with anger.
“Chillax, Al. You were worried about everyone thinking you were lesbo, weren’t you? So I’m making sure they know you’re not.”
He sounded very pleased with himself, which made me even angrier.
“By insinuating that we had sex?”
“I didn’t say that. I said a gentleman never tells.”
“Which sounds like we had sex! You’ve got to do something about it.”
“Like what? Post up an update saying you got frigid when Clutz appeared and then ran off with him? That’d do wonders for your reputation. You should be thanking me, Al. There are a lot of rumours going around Whitlam about the Miller sisters. I thought you’d want to make sure they’re aimed at the right one.”
I hung up before he could say anything more.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember what I’d ever seen in Josh Turner when my phone rang.
“I went to Say Cheese, but Dylan said you’d gone home. I take it you managed to log on.”
“Maz, let me explain. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Josh made it sound.”
“I know. Simon’s already filled me in. Now do you believe that Turner isn’t the man of your dreams?”
I sighed. “Okay, you were right. As usual.”
“Thank you. In that case, where shall we meet to plan your revenge?”
“I’m grounded, remember? And it’ll be till the end of school if any of this gets back to my parents.”
“Maybe they’ll let me come over to your place,” she suggested. “I could bring the ice-cream cure.”
“No chance. Not only am I forbidden to do anything even vaguely social, but Mum’s called a family dinner tonight.”
“Poor you. I’ll see you on Monday then?”
“If I last that long.”
Mum came to my room with a tray of toast and tea.
“I thought some bland food might help settle your stomach,” she said. “I know some people swear by greasy takeaway, but this is the best hangover cure I’ve found.”
“I don’t have a …” I started, but Mum’s expression told me there was no point lying.
“Dad and I are really disappointed in you. I don’t know why you have to push our limits all the time. Larissa never–” she cut herself off. “I hope feeling this rotten has been a lesson to you.”
The tea and toast did make my stomach feel a little better. Unfortunately, it couldn’t solve any of my other problems.
Al Miller isn’t sure there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.