I’m cleaning my teeth after breakfast when Trent barges into the bathroom without knocking.
‘I’m in here,’ I say through a mouthful of white foam. ‘Wait a sec.’
‘Sorry, bro, can’t. Tastes like something’s died in my mouth,’ he says, rubbing at an eye with one hand, fumbling for his toothbrush with the other.
I spit in the sink, then turn on the tap to wash the gunk down the drain. Yawning, Trent pushes in front of the mirror until we’re shoulder to shoulder. I notice his hand is shaking as he runs water over his toothbrush.
‘Big night again?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘I can tell. You look like crap.’ I grin.
Watery toothpaste dribbles down his chin. ‘You too. What’s your excuse?’
I spit again. ‘Just trying to be like my big bro.’
A laugh rumbles from him. ‘How was work yesterday? The old man still being a punish?’
‘What do you think? He was all, “Computer science sounds like a great idea” and “Where’s your life headed, Milo?”’
‘Worst.’
‘I don’t know how many other ways I can tell him I have no idea. You’re older than me — why don’t you cop this?’
‘Lost cause, bro. You’re the golden boy letting them down.’ Trent leans over and spits into the sink, then bolts upright. ‘Geez, nearly forgot! How about Sal’s tattoo?’
My eyes meet his, which are glassy as hell, in the mirror. ‘What tattoo? She hates them.’
‘Not any more.’
‘She does. She paid me out when I said I’d get a tatt one day.’
‘As she should — a tatt would look rubbish on you. I don’t know what to tell ya, but she’s got one.’ He wipes his mouth with the hand towel, leaving a milky smear, then crams it back through the hand rail. When he sees my face, he shakes his head, looking sorry for me for once. ‘Wait, you didn’t know? That was days ago, after an obstacle course or some lame uni thing. I swear I saw it on Facey — think it was on her wrist.’
* * *
There’s no sign of the tattoo anywhere in Sal’s photos online. There’s plenty of new pics of her from the car rally — laughing, doing star jumps, eating a burger dripping with cheese — while wearing a pink leotard, running shorts, a bib with Got Wood? emblazoned across it and a sparkly gold sweatband. I look for any trace of a tattoo on her wrists but it’s nowhere to be seen. Not even in the photo of Sal scaling Woody’s back and pumping the air with two thumbs-up. My head pounds, annoyed that I let Trent mess with me like this.
I go back to my and Sal’s messages in case I’ve missed something. Layla’s name catches my eye as I’m scrolling down. Her most recent texts stare back at me.
I read them.
I read them again.
I catch myself reading them a third time, tiring out my cheeks as I smirk to myself.
And then I read them again.
* * *
Three hours later and I still can’t block out the noise, both outside and inside my head. The Robinsons’ dog is having its usual ten o’clock barking fit, which has set off every canine within a few streets. Trent’s snoring and snuffling roars through the house. Mum’s watching an old episode of Law and Order at full volume. Dad’s on the phone in their bedroom, which is three rooms away but his voice bellows over everything else. I’m still wondering about Sal’s tattoo. Trent wouldn’t make up something like that — there’s nothing in it for him.
When I call Sal, she picks up almost straightaway. Her voice is cracking with weariness. We make small talk for a bit, chatting about work and uni and not being able to fall asleep, and then a lull hits.
I go for it. ‘So … your pics look like you’re having fun.’
She groans. ‘That’s one word for it. I’m never partying again.’
‘That good, huh?’ I’m trying not to jump ahead. ‘Yeah … that car rally looked pretty epic.’
‘Oh yeah, some of the dares were wild. I thought I told you about that?’
‘Yeah, I think you did … what happened again?’
I have no chill.
‘At the car rally? My team won the most points — hello, free pizza for two months. Totally worth skinny-dipping in the lake … oh God, and getting a photo with a police officer later that night. She was rad. Nearly forgot that part.’
‘You skinny-dipped?’
She laughs. ‘Yeah, our whole team did, otherwise we wouldn’t get full marks for doing the dare. It was the middle of the night so it wasn’t too bad.’
I force a chuckle out.
‘You right?’ she asks. ‘You sound sorta funny.’
‘I’m good. Just hanging out and listening and …’ Screw it. ‘Er, so … random question, but Trent mentioned that … well, I know I probably sound like a weirdo, but … did you get a tattoo?’
No freakin’ chill.
She groans. ‘Oh, you did see the photo? Woody had a brain-fart and tagged me in a photo of it, but I made him take it down. Like, Mum is friends with me on there.’
‘Wait, so you actually got one?’
‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘Yeah. I did.’
I swear out loud.
‘Pretty crazy, right?’
‘Yeah. In a good way.’ I mean it. I wish she’d told me, but I mean it.
Sal sighs in relief. ‘Well, it was worth fifteen hundred points. I almost chickened out, then I just went for it. And we won!’
‘Nice. Can I get in on that free pizza?’
‘Oh yeah,’ she says. ‘I was going to tell you, but celebrations got a bit out of control, and you had the accident and … I was just working out how to tell you. I’d made such a thing about not getting one. I was worried you’d be mad.’
‘Nah. Send me a pic.’
‘I will, but … well, the other thing is we had to get tattoos that related to the car rally, so our crew got initials. So Britt got an S for Sal, Woody got a J for Jamie, Jamie got a B for Britt and I got a —’
‘W.’ For Woody.
‘But it sorta looks like an E or 3 from certain angles, but I like to think of it as an upside-down M. For Milo. Kinda cute, don’t you think?’
Now I feel like I’m hanging upside-down.
Just say it’s cute, just say it’s cute, just say it’s cute.
I swear again. ‘You seriously got a freakin’ W?’
‘Yeah. What’s the matter?’
‘His name is on your body? Permanently?’
My chest has tightened so much it feels like someone is scratching through the skin.
‘It’s not really his name. Just the first letter. It was just this big, crazy night. It doesn’t even mean anything.’
I don’t see red when she says that. I see scorching, blistering, bloody red. And I let her know.
I’ve never spoken like that before. I don’t even know where this anger is coming from.
‘Get over yourself, Milo. He’s friends with everyone. Friends.’
‘And now you’ve got the tattoo to prove your friendship.’ My voice leaks with sarcasm. ‘He looks like a really, really good friend.’
‘What’s going on? You don’t even sound like you.’
‘What do you expect?’ I reply, my voice shaking a little. I know I should stop talking, take a walk, sleep it off, but I don’t. The redness has spread from the ache in my chest down to my stomach. ‘I’m here by myself in Durnan thinking about you like a loser and you’re off doing that.’
‘Yeah, I am. I’m trying something new. Making friends. Give it a go sometime.’ She’s not even trying to hold back any more. ‘And it’s not my fault you stayed behind. That one’s on you.’
‘At least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. And I bet the tattoo looks terrible.’
It’s Sal’s turn to swear at me.
‘You’re a mess, Milo.’ Pause. ‘Yeah … you really are, so I’m going to make this easy for you. We’re done.’
She’s hung up.
I stare at my phone, willing her to ring back.
Nothing.
I try to remember everything I said, every accusation I hurled, every hurtful comment I already regret saying. But I can’t.
I dial her number. It only rings once before it cuts out.