The other girls hadn’t said a word about what had happened in Drama. It was either too boring to stay on their radar or Chloe had threatened them. At that point I didn’t care which, I just wanted the week to be over.

‘Can I hang out with you tonight?’ I asked Chloe. We were packing up our books for the day, and there was no way I was ready to go home.

‘I thought you didn’t fit in with the gang.’

‘Okay, fine, I won’t.’

‘Oh stop. Course you can. But I’ve got detention, so go to my place first and someone will buzz you in.’

‘What? No! I’m not doing that.’

Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Wait in the library, Miss Special Needs. For god’s sake, it’s just my place. There’s always someone there.’

Maybe I could do it. Either Evan or their dad would answer, or one of their friends and I’d met most of them before. If I could speak up for myself with Mr Inglewood, maybe I could handle this too. The thought of seeing Evan made my skin tingle. What if I hid myself away for good and only ever imagined what love felt like from a distance instead of getting the real, magnified version?

‘Okay, you’re right.’ I tried to sound casual and for once it seemed to work. ‘By the way, what was wrong earlier? You seemed down when you came to Drama.’

‘No big deal. How’s home stuff?’

I shrugged. ‘You know.’

‘But how’s everyone doing? Your mum and everyone.’

This was definitely the most air-time my family had ever gotten without an off remark about our boring lives. It felt nice even if the topic wasn’t. ‘They’re pretty screwed up. Mum’s been smoking weed.’

‘What? That’s hilarious! I might come over.’

‘Seriously, don’t. It’s embarrassing. I can’t stand the atmosphere there.’

‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll look after you.’ She slung her bag over her shoulder.

‘What did you get detention for this time?’

Chloe ignored the question and kissed me goodbye like always. As she left the class she called back loudly, ‘I called my German teacher Frau Fuck.’

I laughed to myself as everyone filed out of the form room slowly, wishing I’d planned ahead and brought something to change into. At least I had a hairbrush and a bit of make-up in my bag. I locked myself in a toilet cubicle and used my phone screen as a mirror to put on lip gloss, eyeliner and mascara. I took in big lungfuls of air and imagined being able to tell Essie the next day about seeing Evan and being a normal teenager who didn’t always hide under a rock.

The walk to Chloe’s seemed sharp and bright; St Kilda intoxicated on the sun and Friday afternoon bliss. I felt like I was absorbing every drop and my head was just noise.

Then I saw Dad coming out of our favourite fish and chip shop, wearing the same stupid pants as when he’d walked out of our house a few days ago. I almost ran in the other direction. But I stayed there, stunned. What was he doing around here, where we used to live? He had hot chips and looked happy. I wanted to smack the whole lot out of his hands and scream at him in the street, but all of that anger stayed bunched up in my middle like something wild while I stood still and held my breath, waiting for him to see me.

The moment our eyes locked I wanted to cry.

‘Hannah! Oh, sweetheart, it’s so great to see you.’ Dad’s face lit up. He chucked the chips in the nearest bin before putting his arms around me. As much as the feel and smell of him hit me full-on, like finding something important that you’d been tearing the place apart for, my body stiffened and I tried to break free. The way he’d thrown those chips away looked like I’d caught him out. To me they said having a good time, not thinking about his abandoned, screwed-up family.

‘Yes, I’m still alive, thanks, Dad.’

He looked stung. ‘Hannah, it’s really so good to see you.’

‘Really? Did you forget how to get in touch? I think you know where I live, what my phone number is. Right, Dad?’ Warm tears coursed steadily down my cheeks and the rest of St Kilda was a blur around the sharpness of my dad. He looked awkward and sheepish. I was scared of what he was going to tell me but in a way it was a relief to cry. I’d always been able to do that in front of him more easily than with Mum.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. His face was long and serious, as if he’d only just realised what he’d done.

‘Is that it?’

He just shrugged and his eyes flicked around, only catching mine for a couple of seconds at a time. ‘This is difficult,’ he finally said. For a while it was silent between us but noisy all around. A passer-by clipped Dad’s arm but he acted like he didn’t notice. ‘I don’t know what to say to make it easier,’ he said. ‘You know I love you.’

‘I don’t know anything. Someone even said you might be gay and I didn’t even know what to think – you just left.’

‘I’m not gay, Hannah. Who said that?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ It wasn’t the first time I’d blurted out something I’d heard from Chloe and then covered up her identity from my parents, who’d marked her as suspicious from day one.

‘Well, it’s definitely not that. Look, how are you and Sam doing?’

‘You didn’t even call me.’ The flow of tears was choking me, and I hated drawing attention to us. ‘I don’t even know where you live now. It was such a shock, Dad.’

‘Christ, Han, I’m sorry. I’ve handled it badly. I’ve been in bits myself. Here, I’m in a motel near our old place – take this.’ He handed me a card from his pocket. Bayside, heart of the action, breakfast included, the perfect choice for exploring this great city. It was like he was on holiday.

‘Right, well, I’m still at 48 Mary Street and it’s all still shit if you even care. And Mum hates me and so does Sam.’

He held me then and I let him, sobbing against his chest. I stayed there until I felt all cried out, and then I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. ‘I’m going now,’ I said, looking down.

‘I’ll call you. We’ll talk it all through.’

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and pictured my face streaked with mascara.

‘Look at me, Han. C’mon, where’s my girl?’ He tugged the sleeve of my uniform. ‘Have you got your map on you?’

I gave him a hard look. ‘I don’t need your maps.’ Our arms grazed as I passed him and I didn’t look back.

 

Chloe’s street was half in shadow but the block she lived in was hot vanilla in the last of the sun. Friday night bar noise gradually faded behind me the closer I got. Just as I was about to press the buzzer, the main door opened and a brown dog trotted past me, followed by a scruffy bearded guy in shorts. He smiled, sleepy-eyed, held the door open for me and then took off after his dog.

For a moment I hesitated about whether to head straight up to their place or go back outside to buzz from the main door. I imagined Chloe standing next to me. Just go up, she’d say. Do I have to hold your hand for every little thing?

Everything echoed in the concrete stairwell – my footsteps, a door slamming somewhere further up. I was breathing heavily with nerves. The journey up might be stark but Chloe’s apartment was like a den that always set off every one of my senses. It smelled earthy and full of spice. Even if I tried to remember what it was like in there, it still took me by surprise compared to the white surfaces and lemony smell of home.

Although I had a clear mental picture of it, I’d never be able to recreate the amount of stuff in there. It was packed with strange belongings that Mum would call junk. There was a bicycle hanging on the wall in the kitchen and a scruffy chaise longue in the bathroom, draped in towels, instead of a rail. They had varnished upturned crates for tables and there was never anywhere to put things down – every surface was occupied with cups, ashtrays, books and lanterns.

They had posters and embroidered wall-hangings, long stretches of material hung from corners that made the lounge room feel like a Bedouin tent. Chinese dishes filled with tiny bits that had lost their way, cups full of pens, engraved wooden chests, coloured bottles. Sofas and armchairs were draped in fabric, sometimes several layers thick. None of the doors closed properly and the carpet was almost worn down to the backing in some places.

I knocked on the glass panel of their door and, barely a second later, Chloe’s dad opened it. ‘Hey, Hannah, I was just about to head out.’

‘That’s okay. Chloe told me to come – she’s got detention but she said . . . well, I could go and come back later or –’

‘Don’t worry, come in. Chloe won’t be long, will she?’ Chloe’s dad looked much younger than mine. He wore skinny jeans and loose t-shirts, had a goatee and wore his hair in a ponytail. But he still had lines around his eyes and a middle-aged gut.

As I went in, he walked out.

‘Make yourself at home, darl,’ he said, and shut the door. I heard him whistling as he went downstairs and looked around me, even more nervous than I had been before, wondering if I was alone or not.

I crept from room to room but it was dead quiet everywhere. I’d never felt it so still – the Hatchers usually had a full house. Their dad’s bar spilled over into their home most nights. And Evan always had friends over.

His room and Chloe’s were the only ones I hadn’t looked in. Evan’s door was open just a crack and I tried to peer in but didn’t dare push it open. There wasn’t a single sound apart from the low, faint murmuring from the main street. When I went into Chloe’s, I could see why – her window was wide open, not the letting-in-air kind of open but the jumping-out-and-smashing-your-skull kind. If you stood on her desk, you could fall straight out. I reached over and closed it.

I tried to make the bed so I could sit on it, but without Chloe thinking I’d been tidying. There was a hot-pink thong on the floor and several books splayed out that she was in the middle of reading, none of them set texts. There was the Powderfinger biography – I knew Chloe’s dad liked them. I picked it up and started to read where she’d left off but it was too hard to pretend I was interested in anything other than whether Evan was next door.

I coughed and listened. He wasn’t there, was he? But I couldn’t relax. I chewed off three fingernails and looked around Chloe’s room without really taking anything in. There was a post-it note on her desk with the words ‘MAP – DO NOT FORGET’ in Chloe’s handwriting, and she’d underlined every word twice. I had the strangest feeling but I couldn’t explain it – needing a map sounded like me, not Chloe.

 

‘Bloody hell, you’re here,’ Chloe said when she came in over an hour later.

‘You said I should.’

‘I know I did, but it was so quiet when I walked in I figured you’d gone home.’ As if to prove a point, she made a lot of noise walking through the room and picked up a magazine to swat the window and scare off a couple of seagulls that had perched on the other side of the glass.

Evan appeared in the doorway. ‘Hey,’ he said. He stretched one arm up in a yawn and scratched his messed-up hair with his other hand, and I realised he must have been asleep next door all this time.

‘Hey,’ I said, just as Chloe shut the door on him.

‘No, thanks, not today,’ she said. Evan’s muffled laugh as he walked away made it sound like he enjoyed how offensive Chloe could be. Sam would never have reacted like that. As for me, having the door closed was probably a good thing – my heart was thumping just from that one-word exchange.

Chloe plopped down on the bed next to me. Then she rearranged herself – this time with her head on my lap and her legs stretched out. She picked up my hand and put it on her head, a simple message that she needed comfort. I stroked her hair, but I knew I wasn’t very good at this bit. In class I’d see other girls plaiting each other’s hair or holding hands; they’d walk around school with their arms linked. But I always felt too awkward. And I never touched someone unless they made the first move, except maybe Dad. I wondered if Chloe knew that if she ever stopped kissing me goodbye the ritual would end because I’d never initiate it.

‘You were funny in class today,’ she said.

‘Was I?’

‘The way Mr Inglewood ran after you cracked me up.’

‘He’s a dickhead.’

‘Oh yeah? You sure you two aren’t . . .?’

‘As if, Chlo.’

She laughed. ‘What? That’d be classic. Girls always fall for older men when their dads walk out on them. You see it all the time.’ She flipped onto her back and started to roll a ciggie. ‘I’m working tonight, by the way.’

‘I thought we were hanging out.’

‘Sorry, some of us have responsibilities.’ She didn’t look sorry at all. ‘Why don’t you see what Evan’s doing? He’ll probably let you hang out with him if you don’t want to go home.’

I couldn’t read her – or remember her ever suggesting that before. But something in her voice had made it sound like she thought Evan would be doing me a favour. Babysitting me, almost. Maybe they’d spoken about it – Chloe might have told him what I’d said about him asking me out. I pictured him laughing; the two of them ridiculing me. The weight of Chloe’s head in my lap was suddenly making my legs twitch.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘What you gonna do?’

‘I’ll go, I think.’ I tried to shift her off me.

‘You okay, Han?’

‘Fine. Just trying to get up.’

‘You don’t have to go this second. Stay.’ She sat up, cross-legged, and licked the edge of the ciggie paper to seal it, then tossed it onto the bedside table. ‘Anyone heard from your dad?’

‘I just saw him. It was awful. He barely said a word. It was like watching someone get told off by the principal. He looked kind of awkward and guilty.’

‘At least he feels that.’

She meant her mum. But if Chloe hadn’t heard from her mum in all these years, she wouldn’t have a clue how she felt. I’d never have said that to Chloe, though.

‘Just wait till they both get new partners,’ she said, ‘then the fun really starts.’

‘Jesus.’ I turned my face to hide how deeply that thought had cut through me. But apparently I hadn’t done a very good job.

‘Han, stay strong, okay? You’ve got to look after yourself now.’ She held one of my hands in both of hers. This was Chloe at her best – on my side – and I wanted to keep her there. ‘Just remember that whatever you’re feeling is the right thing to feel. When something happens to you, it’s your thing. It makes you grow up a bit,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m not saying you needed to or anything.’

I smiled and gave her a look. ‘But that is kind of what you mean.’

‘I’m just telling you that you can handle this.’

It was moments like this that made me remember what was special about Chloe. Every so often she gave me a little piece of her strength. I just wasn’t sure what she got in return. ‘What was it like for you?’

‘I was six, Han, I can’t remember.’ My question had hardened her up again. ‘Plus, it was my mum who left, not my dope-head dad. You’re lucky.’

‘I’m not lucky. God.’

‘Fine, you’re not.’ Chloe let go of my hand, lit her rollie and settled back on her side to smoke it. ‘Sorry, don’t mind me,’ she said after a few tokes. ‘I’m all over the place at the moment.’

‘How come?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Argued with a guy – no big deal.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Just a nobody. It’s over.’

It was another one of those dead-end conversations that made me feel like I was too young to understand what was going on in my best friend’s life. ‘I know this might sound weird,’ I said, ‘but you know Essie?’

‘Nana Nutbags? Yeah.’

‘Funny. Anyway, she wants to meet you.’ As soon as the words were out I felt like I’d taken a stupid risk. What if Chloe actually wanted to come? ‘Doesn’t matter. As if you’d want to. I mean, I don’t even want you to, I was just saying what she’d said.’

‘Why wouldn’t you want me to? Are you scared I wouldn’t know how to behave in front of Miss Haversham?’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Han, do you ever read? She’s the crazy old lady in the wedding dress from Great Expectations. Creepy as hell but kind of sad.’

Chloe didn’t have the look of someone who’d read all the classics but she knew way more than you’d think. She joked that her dad used to leave her and Evan alone for hours when they were little so they’d had to fend for themselves, making sandwiches filled with coloured sprinkles and reading stories aloud because the TV was always broken. I’d always been jealous when I pictured them doing that. What would Sam and I have gotten up to if Mum and Dad hadn’t always been around? I didn’t think it would be reading to each other.

‘I just meant that you’ve probably got better things to be doing on a Saturday.’

She took a last puff and dropped the butt into a cup by her bed. ‘I’m coming.’

‘Seriously? You don’t have to.’

‘I’m coming! It’ll be cool. The famous Essie. Awesome.’ She put her head back in my lap, facing away, and rested her hand on my leg, gently stroking me with her thumb.

 

An hour later, I walked out of Chloe’s building and was halfway to the main street when I heard my name.

‘You left without a goodbye,’ said Evan. He didn’t have shoes on. I couldn’t help imagining what my mum would say – when we were little it felt like she never stopped going on about broken glass and dog poo.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Your door was shut.’

‘I’ll let you off then.’ He nudged me. Then he didn’t speak, he just looked at me.

‘Um,’ I said, and we both laughed. This was painful and amazing. How did people navigate conversations like this all the time? They made it look easy. I’d watched Chloe get chatted up outside her dad’s bar hundreds of times.

‘So, did you want to hang out tomorrow night?’ he said. ‘There’s a band I know doing a gig. You might like them.’

It felt wonderful and completely impossible that Evan might know what music I’d like. I only pretended to love the bands Chloe made me listen to. I’d inherited an embarrassing mainstream taste in music from my dad. We joked about how boring we were all the time, but only in private. ‘What about Chloe?’

‘She’ll be working again, I reckon. Said she’s saving up for something.’

I felt ashamed to have no idea what that might be. ‘But I mean, would she mind?’

‘I doubt it.’ He smiled.

I must have looked unsure because he said, ‘We don’t have to go to a bar. I’m not into getting boozed-up.’

I bet Chloe had told him that I was always the nerd who looked after her and her mates while they got high. If anything, I’d rather have had a beer with him – at least I knew where I was with that, unlike drugs. Mum always let us have one drink at Christmas, or even a wine with a Sunday roast if she was in one of her rare up moods. She once said she’d rather we drank wine than Coke because drinking Coke was like soaking your teeth in acid. She didn’t seem to get the irony.

I still hadn’t given him an answer.

‘It was just an idea, ’cause we’ve always got on well and . . .’

‘We do. I’d like to,’ I said, too quickly. ‘Let’s do it.’ My words seemed to be swept away by a passing car, as if it had felt embarrassed for me that I’d said ‘Let’s do it’ to the boy I’d most imagined doing it with.

‘Great,’ he said, ‘so I’ll meet you . . .’ Evan scanned a hundred and eighty degrees, the heel of one bare foot grinding down the too-long hem of his jeans, and looked right at me, ‘. . . here?’ We laughed again and he touched my arm, backing away. ‘See ya.’ He smiled and turned, and so did I, just so I could look up at the sky and say a secret thank you to the universe.