Friday 29 July

We’re walking up stairs, then more stairs, and more stairs. And here, tucked into some low-rent office space high up in this lovely decrepit building, is the club. Hot music swells into the innocent hallway as we push through a door and find ourselves at the back of a queue.

The music is like Flume meets Violent Soho. What am I doing here?

Kate looks incredible – with really just a few tweaks. Hair piled up high with lots of fake flowers stuck into it. Pale ghost works for her, and nothing says that like black-crimson lips. The queue is short. Naturally we get stamped and waved on in. Even grungy places love stylish girls. It ain’t right, but it’s a help when you’re under-age.

I have enough dollars for one drink, and I cross my fingers that there’s enough credit on my Myki to get back home. Kate has to leave in time to make her eleven o’clock curfew, and I’ve said I’ll go when she does.

On the one hand, what am I doing here? On the other hand, this isn’t the sort of place I usually hang out, so it makes for a change. And you know what they say about change. I check my phone. The screen is a long list of people I can’t be bothered calling back, Rupert the most persistent.

I text him in case he gets worried and tells my parents that I’m not answering my phone. Text that I’ve detoured and won’t make it to Sam’s. I say sorry. I don’t say: I’m a bit over your self-involved conversation and my perfunctory hand jobs. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate material for a text. I add to the sorry: Talk tomorrow, manbabe x.

Kate already seems mesmerised by the music being made by the two girl/two dude outfit on stage. She’s moving her head to their strange syncopations. It’s arty electronica meets strange noises, and I’m not particularly into it. I glance around and hold eye contact with the cute boy mixing sound; it gives me a little twing in the pants. Mmmm. Maybe. Another message from the universe about the wrongness of Rupert. For me. Not in general.

I ask Kate if I can get her a drink. ‘My shout,’ she says, absently handing me her wallet, not taking her eyes off the stage. Boarders are always cashed up. What do they have to spend money on, apart from chocolate and make-up? I’m often drinks monitor because I look older and intimidating when required. Seeing as Kate is paying, I get us both vodka tonics and tip the bar guy. He’ll be good for a free drink later.

Kate is way on the other side of the floor when I deliver the drinks. She’s found her people, but doesn’t seem super relaxed. She knocks the drink back quickly, breaking briefly from an intense-looking conversation with a guy and introducing me to a girl called Max.

I get my second twing for the night. Max is beautiful in my ideal androgynous way. Tall – my height – with short, flicky black hair, ballet back, square shoulders, killer sixties cocktail dress and a cautious smile. I smile back, reckless.

‘Who are you here to see?’ she asks.

‘No one in particular.’

‘I mainly want to see Milton Glass, but they’re not on till eleven.’ Max is checking out my dress. ‘Family, op shop, vintage . . . ?’

‘Family.’

‘Love it.’

‘Love yours.’

‘Op shop.’

‘What’s your favourite?’

‘Red Cross on –’

‘Bridge Road,’ we say at the same time.

‘I’m also addicted to Vixen,’ I say.

‘Back room,’ she agrees. ‘Amazing.’

‘It’s the best.’ It’s where they put stuff that hasn’t been sorted, cleaned or mended. A treasure trove. Only available to people they like. I think that door gets opened based on whether they approve of what you’re wearing.

I glance over at Kate – she’s checking her watch as she continues her argument: Cinderella time soon.

A new band goes on stage making a different bunch of challenging noises. One of their members is the guy Kate was talking to.

Max leans in close. ‘This is The Sherlocks, friends of mine. Dance?’ One dimple appears when her smile widens. I follow her onto the floor and start moving; it feels like my joints need oiling and I don’t know the music, but soon enough we’re jumping and laughing.

The sets are short; the next act starts with a slow song, a girl singing and playing cello. Max keeps dancing as people drift off the floor. She moves unselfconsciously. It makes me think that the way I’m used to dancing at parties is much more about performing to be watched, than it is about the music.

After another piece is played, my bartender gives me a nod; he’s poured some tequila shots. Max and I converge and down them in a coordinated gulp. Kate joins us. Max licks the inside of her shot glass, picks up a lime wedge, eats it, and says, ‘Tall Tales Tacos should be downstairs by now – let’s get one.’ Bartender boy smiles goodbye. Jesus, he’s cute too – three twings – it’s like I want to have theoretical sex with the whole world tonight, except Rupert.

Down, down, down the stairs, passing lots more people heading up now. The three of us each fang down a taco – Kate pays. And those two talk music-tech while I watch Max. I could have taken more of that, but we have to hurry for Kate’s curfew.

‘Let’s do this again,’ says Max, turning to head back inside.

I imagine her saying that after doing lots more things together. Let’s do this again.

Like the responsible stylist I am, I have a travel pack of face wipes. Three wipes later, by the time the tram arrives at the stop outside school, Kate is shiny-faced, flowers out, bun down, velvet coat-dress swapped for her black puffy jacket, and looking just about as innocent as usual.

What I won’t be telling Malik about the Look outside your friendship group experience: it wasn’t what I expected.

Kate is interesting and I like her. All that apparent vagueness – she has a whole secret universe in her head. She’s so into this cool-weird music scene, and seems to know heaps about it. If she doesn’t get out much, how does she know it all? She must live online. She maybe likes or maybe dislikes the Sherlock boy; there’s some friction there that could go either way. She is brave. She penetrated the rich bitch facade. She bought me a drink and a taco. She saw nasty stuff on the domestic front, and it didn’t faze her. She introduced me to the first someone in ages I’ve felt has obsession potential.

Clem is interesting and I don’t exactly like her, but I can see she’s more than just a swim-girl. She’s so into jacket guy. I want to know what it feels like to need someone that much. She seems shameless, or maybe it’s fearless. She literally chased him. I’ve always been chased. Maybe if you win that many races you think everything is there for the taking. Or maybe she just wants time as a regular girl as well as a jock. People shouldn’t have to choose between modes.

The Clem and Kate assignment definitely wasn’t what I was expecting on any count.

More unexpected things when I get home. Tiptoeing past my parents’ closed bedroom door, I hear my father crying against the background of my mother’s urgent murmuring. I try to feel optimistic – at least he’s back in their bedroom, not sleeping downstairs – but the sound of him crying is something I’ve never heard before and it is unimaginably terrible.