Mum is supposed to leave work early on Fridays, but the moment I step into the waiting room that afternoon, I know she’s not going anywhere. It’s like every sick person in the suburb has turned up. I hold my breath as I walk over to the desk to minimise the amount of germs I inhale. ‘Sorry, honey,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll be another hour.’ She looks tired. Even more tired than usual. ‘You can sit in the waiting room and do your homework if you want,’ she suggests.

‘That’s okay,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll come back in an hour.’ There’s no way I’m hanging around in here with all these sick people.

I pause at the top of the elevators, trying to decide what to do. I could catch a bus over to the cinema complex and take the bracelet back to Cargo, but the more I think about doing that, the more I realise how weird and awkward it would be. The woman in the shop might not believe I took it by accident. I could just try to sneak it onto a shelf somewhere, but I’d probably look pretty suss doing that. And that’s when I have a brilliant idea. There’s a charity bin not far from where I’m standing. I can put the bracelet in there and then I won’t have to worry about it anymore. Plus giving stuff to charity is good, right?

I hurry over to the bin and take the bracelet out of my pocket, glancing around first to check that no-one is watching me. The flap of the charity bin creaks and clanks loudly as I pull it down. I put the bracelet on the chute then close it up. It feels good to hear the bracelet sliding away, deep down into the darkness. It’s the sound of a problem being solved. I swear I feel a few kilos lighter as I walk back to the escalator.

Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and the heaviness returns. My chest is so flat. I look like a ten-year-old. So I decide to go visit the Charm Bra. Who knows? Maybe it’s gone on sale or something.

When I get to the lingerie department, I can’t find the Charm Bra anywhere. There are none left on the rack and I can’t see them anywhere else in the teen section either. They must have sold them all. I feel completely gutted. The worst bit is knowing that there are a whole lot of other girls walking around in my bra, having their profiles boosted.

‘Can I help you?’ There’s a shop assistant nearby, restocking. It’s not the grandmothery lady from before. It’s a girl who doesn’t look all that much older than me and she’s totally stylish. Everyone who works in the department store wears black – it must be their uniform – but unlike the other lady, who wore a boring black shirt and pants, this girl is wearing a really cute dress and shiny shoes. Pinned to her dress is her name badge, Melissa. Melissa has the best make-up on – it’s sort of retro, I guess, with really thick eyeliner. I instantly decide I’m going to try to do mine like that, too.

Melissa smiles at me, not in a pushy shop-assistant way, but like she’s being friendly. ‘Can I help?’

‘I was just wondering what happened to the purple bras which were hanging here a few days ago,’ I say, pointing to the empty rack.

Melissa nods. ‘The Charm Bras,’ she says. ‘They’ve been really popular.’

‘So there’s none left?’ I say.

‘There might be some out the back,’ Melissa says. ‘I’ll go and check.’ Her heels clack against the tiles as she walks off and I wait there, with all my fingers and even some of my toes crossed. A few minutes later she comes into view, holding up two Charm Bras triumphantly. ‘It’s your lucky day,’ she says. ‘These have literally just come in. They don’t even have price tags on them yet.’ Melissa hands them over to me. ‘I think the 8B will probably be right for you, but they run a little large so I brought the 8A just in case.’ I can’t help grinning at that. She thinks I might be an 8B!

The material is even softer and silkier than I remember. ‘It’s a gorgeous bra, isn’t it?’ Melissa says. ‘I’ve got one too.’

‘It’s the most beautiful bra ever,’ I say.

‘Go and try it on,’ says Melissa. She feels more like my big sister than a shop assistant – except that she’s way nicer to me than my real big sister is. ‘I’ll come and check on you in a few moments.’

The change room is completely deserted when I get there. There’s no attendant waiting to give me a number, either. I hang by the entrance for a minute, waiting to see if anyone is going to turn up, but then I just go and choose a cubicle for myself.

I peel off my uniform and the boring white bra Mum bought me and dump them in the corner of the change room. I’m careful not to look at myself in the mirror at this stage – I don’t want to catch a glimpse of that blue vein on my left boob. My hands are actually shaking a little from excitement as I put on the Charm Bra – the 8B, of course. The material feels really soft and nice against my skin and I manage to get it done up at the back without having to swivel it around to the front. Then I adjust the little buckles on the strap so that they’re as short as possible. And it fits! Pretty much, at least – especially if I hold my shoulders right back.

I stand there for a few minutes, looking at my reflection, flipping my hair over my shoulder and smiling the way the model in the Charm Bra ad does. The change room has those adjustable mirrors so I can see how I look from the back and the side too. The bra looks great from every single angle. Then it’s time for the big test. I grab my uniform from the corner and put it back on over the bra. Then I slip my jumper over the top of it and check out my reflection again. It’s amazing – I look at least sixteen. And that’s just while I’m wearing my baggy school uniform. I’d probably look even older if I was wearing something more body-hugging.

This feeling of longing swells up inside me then. I want the bra more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life. Owning it will change everything for me. It’ll change who I am and how people look at me. I just know that I’m meant to have it. But I also know there’s no way Mum will ever buy it for me. And I can’t wait the months and months it’d take me to save up for it. So I guess that’s the end of the matter. I could cry.

Slowly I get undressed, take the bra off and put my old boring bra back on. Once I’m dressed again I unlock the change-room doors and start heading back into the shop. I spot Melissa over in Big Beige Land helping a customer. I guess that’s why she never came to check on me.

I’m about to put the two bras on the table near the exit of the change rooms when I notice something. Not only do the bras have no price tags on them, but they also don’t have any security tags. Which means there’s nothing to set off the alarms if I were to walk out of the shop with them. I look at the bra, in all its shiny, purple loveliness. I need this bra. I’m meant to have it.

I step back into the change rooms and very slowly begin to unzip my bag. The noise sounds crazy loud to me – like thunder – but I keep going. When there’s a big enough opening, I tuck the bra into my bag and quickly re-zip it. I leave the 8A on the change-room table, sling my bag on my shoulder and start walking towards the exit. It’s funny – I don’t even feel nervous this time. I guess it’s because the whole thing feels like fate. Maybe Melissa even wanted me to take the bra – that’s why she gave me it to me without the security tag. There’s terrible department-store muzak – ‘Careless Whispers’ – piping over the speakers and I hum along to it.

I feel a tiny bit nervous when I get to the scanners at the entrance to the store. It’s dumb, but I’m still half-expecting the alarm to go off. It doesn’t, though, and I walk out of the store and into the noise and smells of the food court. I realise I’m a little thirsty. Maybe I’ve got time to grab a Jokey Juice before I go up to meet Mum.

Then there’s a hand on my arm, holding me back. ‘Just a moment, please, young lady!’ It’s a security guard, dressed in department-store black. Standing beside him is Melissa. But she’s not smiling at me now. Her face has gone really hard.

‘Is this the girl?’ the security guard asks her, and Melissa nods. The guard turns back to me. ‘Unzip your bag, please,’ he says.

When I felt his hand on my arm, it was like my heart had stopped beating. But now it’s making up for those lost moments by beating extra fast. ‘Why?’ I say. ‘I left the bras back in the change room. If they’re not there it’s not my fault.’ But neither of them seem to hear me. A group of girls walk past and stare curiously. My face burns.

I unzip my bag super slowly, hoping that maybe the bra will have worked its way down to the bottom of my bag where the guard won’t see it. But it hasn’t, and when I hold my bag open for the guard to see, it’s sitting right up on the very top, the diamantés sparkling in the fluorescent lights of the food court. The only thing I feel glad about is that the bracelet isn’t in there too.

A kid walks past with his mum. ‘Look!’ he says. ‘That policeman’s got that girl.’ I keep my eyes down.

‘I can’t believe you did this,’ says Melissa. She sounds disgusted. ‘I did you a favour bringing out that bra with no security tags. I’ll get into heaps of trouble thanks to you.’

A lump begins to form in my throat. ‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ I say.

Melissa rolls her eyes and doesn’t even bother to reply. Instead she turns to the security guard. ‘Can I go back to my department now?’ she says. ‘I need to make sure no more little girls are stealing bras that probably don’t even fit them.’

Melissa is allowed to go. But I’m not. The security guard takes the bra out of my bag and tells me to follow him.

‘Where are we going?’ I say, panic starting to bubble up inside me.

‘First stop is the security office,’ the guard says.

I am way too scared to ask what the second stop will be.