myself in the forehead. I hadn’t even considered how it would look from her end. By this time the class was empty, the only students left were the two of us, Dina and two guys who looked like mismatched salt and pepper shakers.
‘We’re not the same age,’ I shouted.
Sabiha stopped, turning around again, her mouth open to continue her tirade.
‘I’m a year younger,’ I continued, quietly, since Sabiha was listening. ‘I was moved up a grade in primary school.’
When I’d been moved, it had been a point of great pride and honour, but ever since it had become a cause of personal regret and hassle. Dad bragged about my great intelligence and speculated about my future academic career.
Since I began high school, life became even more difficult. I constantly felt out of step. All my friends talked about was getting a boyfriend or keeping one, but personally I couldn’t see the appeal. I was forced to pretend I was into the same stuff, even though the chasm was widening.
Sabiha looked at me with suspicion, like she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me.
‘It’s true,’ I insisted, desperate for her to believe me. I told her my birthday.
Her gaze softened, and she looked off-kilter and lost. Her face was so familiar, an almost mirror image to mine, that I felt a certain kinship toward her. I wanted to comfort her, and my arm tingled as I fought the urge to lift it toward her.
‘You okay?’ Dina put her arm around Sabiha’s shoulders.
‘I can’t do this,’ Sabiha muttered and rushed off.
The blonde-haired guy in her group hesitated, looking back at me with an apology in his eyes, but he followed as they all left the room.
Feeling shaky after the confrontation, I sat back down. I was on the first floor of the main building and saw the front of the school through the window. There were students milling around on benches, talking and eating, the noise of a crowd like the buzzing of working bees.
I wished I was one of them, an anonymous student with a clique I could blend into and disappear. The tears took me by surprise and I glanced to see if there were any witnesses. The hallways were deserted. Everyone was outside enjoying the sunshine. I stood to do the same, but realised I had nowhere to go and no one to see.
I sat back down and waited until the bell rang. Mum had packed me snacks for recess, but I wasn’t hungry. I took out To Kill a Mockingbird. Usually I’d be frustrated at re-reading a book, but it comforted me in knowing what was going to happen. In my experience, nothing good came from being surprised.
When the locker bell rang, I consulted the map on my school diary and walked to my next class. As I walked under the walkway, I passed Sabiha and her friends. Sabiha stared straight ahead and her entourage followed her lead by not making any overtures.
I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder when they passed and caught Sabiha glancing back. Our eyes caught for a moment, before she quickly turned forward. I continued walking through the crowded hallway to my class.
I was officially an outcast.
***When the bell rang marking the end of school, I walked out with relief. I’d spent the day hiding in dark corners, so it wasn’t obvious I was a loner, a role that was the equivalent of being a criminal in high school. Dina had been in my class in period five, but she ignored me.
I walked down the main road, enjoying the feel of the weak afternoon sunshine on my skin. I’d wanted to go out at lunch, but hid in the library, watching other students through the window with envy.
As I entered the main shopping strip, I stopped. I didn’t know the way to Dad’s medical centre. I tried to unscramble my brain and think, but I couldn’t even remember the street name. The one and only time I’d been before Dad gave us a tour when he moved into his office and he drove us from home, so I had no point of reference to orientate myself.
I reached for my mobile only to think better of it. If I called Mum, she’d ask questions I couldn’t answer. I didn’t need to give my parents another excuse to fight.
If only I had internet access on my phone, I could have Googled the address, but Mum had us on a prepaid mobile plan, ensuring that we could only use the phone for emergencies. I’d have to walk the streets of St Albans until I saw something familiar.
I turned, planning on crossing the street at the pedestrian crossing I’d passed, and bumped into someone. I was heading for a spill on the concrete footpath, but muscular arms grabbed me.
I lifted my head and met amused blue eyes. He had slicked brown hair, light stubble on his face showing he was older, and a cigarette dangled between his lips. I was stunned mute. I’d never been this close to a hot guy and something strange was happening. My mouth was dry and my stomach was doing weird somersaults as if a furry critter had invaded my intestines.
‘You okay?’ He plucked the cigarette from his lips and ground it under his foot. ‘Here, sit down.’ He ushered me to a street bench and went back to collect my spilled belongings.
Something about the matter-of-fact way he helped me got to me. No one had shown me kindness for a while. The emotions that had been below the surface all day burst forth and hot tears burnt my cheeks.
Mortified that I was crying in public, on a public bench where pedestrians were walking by and while a cute guy watched, made it even worse. The harder I tried to stop, the more the tears came. The cute guy sat beside me. He casually put his arm around my shoulders and sat there, waiting it out.
I reached into my backpack and found disposable tissues, furtively wiping my face. I took out my compact, quickly glancing in the mirror to check I didn’t have gobs of snot coming out of my nose.
‘Having a bad day?’ he asked.
‘You could say that.’ I looked ahead, not wanting to see his amusement or pity.
‘You’re the new girl. We go to the same school,’ he explained when I looked at him with surprise. ‘I’m Alex.’ He offered his hand.
‘I’m Alma. You don’t look like a high school student,’ I blurted as we shook hands.
He smiled wryly. ‘I’m in year 12. I’ll be turning 18 next week. Got a car waiting for me and on my birthday.’ He mimicked turning the wheel.
I laughed at his antics.
‘You should smile more often. You look gorgeous with your high cheekbones on display.’ He brushed my cheek.
I stilled at his touch. He still had his arm around my shoulders, and he held me against his side. I’d never been this close to a guy before and goose pimples broke out my skin. He was looking at me as if he wanted to kiss me.
It became hard to breathe, and my brain raced. He wasn’t going to kiss me. I was imagining it. How to extricate myself from his embrace? There was no graceful way of doing it. I didn’t want to be rude after he’d helped me.
‘I’d better get going,’ I said.
‘You sure?’ Alex asked. ‘It looks like there was something bothering you and I’m a good listener.’ He waggled his eyebrows playfully, wrenching a smile from me again.
‘My Dad is waiting for me.’ I looked away, feeling self-conscious under his intent gaze. ‘I can’t remember which street his work is in.’
‘I’m guessing you’re new to the area,’ Alex said.
I nodded.
He got out his mobile and pressed a few digits. ‘It’s actually piss easy to find your way around St Albans. They built the whole place like a grid.’ He leaned in and held his mobile in front of me. On the screen was a street map of St Albans. ‘We’re here.’ He tapped his finger against the screen, his hot breath on my cheek.
With his left arm still around my shoulders, and his right holding the mobile, it was like he was embracing me. I had to fight not to hyperventilate. Finally, my eyes cleared and I could see the screen. I followed my path from school and recognised Dad’s street.
‘Where’s Victoria Street?’ I glanced at him.
His eyes were on my cleavage. I looked down. As I’d hunched over, my top gaped, allowing Alex to see my bra. I covered my breasts, shifting away from him.
When I gave him a horrified stare, he smiled. ‘You can’t blame a guy for looking.’ He removed his arm from my shoulders and pointed to his left, giving me directions to Victoria Street. ‘You okay now?’
I nodded, feeling like a gauche schoolgirl who’d overreacted. I lowered my hands from my chest and bent away from him to pick up my backpack. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘I’m always happy to help a damsel in distress,’ Alex said.
I braved looking at him.
He was sitting cockily on the bench, wearing a big smile. ‘I don’t suppose you need some more comforting.’ He winked at me suggestively. ‘I hear that touch is the best way of healing someone.’ He caressed my arm.
‘No, thank you,’ I said primly and stood.
He stood up, and I had to lean my head back to look at him.
‘Until next time, my lady.’ He pressed a kiss against my hand. With a quick bow, he turned and walked away.
I watched the way the black t-shirt clung to his wide shoulders, while the skinny black jeans highlighted his thin waist and hips, cupping his cute butt. Realising I was ogling, I looked away. As I walked to Dad’s work, I scanned the crowd, looking for Alex’ brown hair.
I’d never had such a charged conversation with a boy. The last time I’d been in a Co-Ed School was when I was in primary school and that was one thing I’d been most nervous about. My previous interactions with a boy were at school mixers as we exchanged awkward small talk.
But Alex, well, Alex was a man. He was confident and cocky. He radiated masculinity. I’d had guys crack on to me before and it had been vaguely unpleasant and sordid, with lots of damp hand-holding and nervous eye-shifting. But with Alex, it had all been smooth and light. He’d made me feel good, and he’d given me something else to think about. I was sorry to arrive at Dad’s medical centre and have to stop thinking about him.
When I walked inside, it was like coming home. Mum used to work with Dad in Hobart and I’d spent countless hours in the staff room, watching television and doing homework after school.
The waiting room was full and patients who chatted to each other in Bosnian. As Dad was one of the few doctors in the community, they travelled from all over the city to see him and his waiting room became a de facto community centre where they exchanged information about all matters Bosnian.
St Albans had a large population from former Yugoslavia that swelled even more after the Balkan war. As a result, Dad had no trouble getting a job and had his pick of medical centres vying for him because of his language skills.
The receptionist answered the constantly ringing phone, ‘Victoria Street Medical Clinic,’ only to continue speaking in Bosnian.
An elderly woman who was waiting for the receptionist saw me heading behind the desk to the staff room and hailed me. ‘Ćija si ti?’ she asked.
‘Esad Omerović mi je Babo.’ I told her who my father was, bemused that the Bosnian way of eliciting parentage translated to Whose child are you?
The woman nodded, her curiosity satisfied, and I continued on my way.
I was doing my homework when Dad interrupted.
‘Hello Pumpkin.’ He sat on the chair opposite. ‘How was your first day?’
As I told him about my teachers and classes, I was in heaven. This is what I’d dreamed about, Dad listening to me as if I mattered, but soon his attention waned.
‘Did you see Sabiha?’ he asked eagerly.
‘We had some classes together,’ I said.
He nodded, waiting to hear more. Seeing the hope in his eyes, I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. ‘But Sabiha was in the book club at lunchtime so we didn’t have time to talk,’ I lied.
‘She likes to read?’ Dad asked.
I nodded.
‘Of course she does. She’s her father’s daughter.’ He kissed me on the cheek. ‘Maybe you should join the book club too,’ he urged.
‘Mmm,’ I murmured noncommittally, not wanting to raise his suspicions about our less than enthusiastic reunion.
‘I’d better get going.’ Dad looked at his watch. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, smoothing a hand through my hair.
I used to push him away, annoyed that he’d ruined my carefully prepared hairstyle, but now I put my hand on my scalp, trying to imprint the sensation of his touch on my skin.
I tried to persist with my homework after he left, but I couldn't think. I practiced what I’d tell Mum. She’d want to know all about my first day, and it was impossible to talk about it without mentioning Sabiha.
The receptionist came to the door. ‘Your Mum is here. There’s no parking spots, so she’s waiting for you at the front.’
I collected my belongings and shoved them into my backpack, carrying it against my chest, the top unzipped and contents about to spill out. Mum was double parked. The esplanade was narrow and there was no way for the drivers behind to pass, so they were honking their horn.
I yanked open the back door and jumped in. Mum took off before I had the chance to tie my seatbelt, something she never did.
‘This traffic is atrocious,’ Mum muttered as she peered through the windscreen.
Ali was in the front seat, his eyes on his hand-held gamer.
Sanela leaned her head on my shoulder. ‘I missed you. I haven’t seen you since breakfast.’ She made it sound as if it was a lifetime ago.
‘I missed you too.’ I kissed her head. ‘Did you have fun today?’
‘Heidi had her hair in piggy tails today.’ Sanela pouted. ‘Can you do my hair in piggy tails tomorrow?’
‘You’ll have to wake up earlier,’ I told her.
When we got home, I yanked my backpack out of the car, forgetting I hadn’t zipped it. My books spilled onto the ground.
‘Clumsy.’ Ali bent and helped me. ‘All good today?’
‘Kind of.’ I looked at Mum, giving him a hint.
‘Later,’ he said and carried my books inside.
‘How was your first day?’ Mum threw out the question as an afterthought while we carried groceries from the car.
‘Great.’ I dumped the grocery bag and rifled through for refrigerated items to put in the fridge. ‘I made some friends and had someone to hang with.’
‘You’ll have to tell me more during dinner.’ Mum looked relieved.
I waited for more questions. Usually Mum would demand to know the name of my friends and what sort of students they were. Her motto was: your friends make you who you are. Mum opened a grocery bag and threw packaged boxes in the pantry. She looked frazzled, with dark circles under her eyes.
‘Your hair.’ I noticed Mum’s hair was blonde. Her annual transformation from brunette to brown marked the season change from winter to summer.
‘Yes.’ Mum touched it self consciously. ‘Better late than never.’
I smiled as I prepared sandwiches. Seeing Mum’s hair made me feel hopeful, like things were returning to normal. I carried the sandwiches and glasses of milk into the living room.
‘What’s up?’ Ali whispered, when Sanela was engrossed with Play School again.
‘It’s Sabiha’s school,’ I whispered back, keeping an ear out for Mum in the kitchen.
‘For real?’ Ali was surprised.
I nodded and swallowed a bite.
‘The old man knows?’ he asked.
I nodded again. ‘He said he’d tell Mum.’
Ali looked sceptical. Dad was all over the place with his working hours at the practice. He didn’t get home until late and hardly ever arrived home in time for dinner. After we ate Ali helped me take the plates and glasses to the kitchen. I washed the dishes as Mum pulled out pots and pans to begin dinner.
‘Do you need help?’ I asked.
‘I’ll help,’ Sanela shouted from the living room. She loved measuring ingredients.
Mum smiled. ‘It’s okay, go do your homework,’ she said as Sanela pushed her foot-stool against the bench top and clambered up.
I was walking to my room when Ali called me from the study. I came to the door, surprised he wanted me to come in. We each had a roster to use the family computer and he was usually possessive of his time.
‘Come see this.’ He waved at the computer screen.
He was on Sabiha’s social media profile. ‘How did you get in?’ I’d tried to check her profile when we first found out about her, but was too scared to send a friend request.
‘I friended her.’ He pointed to my name.
I slapped his shoulder. He’d hacked into my account again. It surprised me she’d accepted my friend request, but maybe she was curious about us as we were about her. It lifted my spirits slightly.
‘The two of you could be twins,’ Ali joked as we read about her likes and dislikes. ‘What is she like?’ he asked, eyes on the screen.
‘Tough.’ I’d been struck by her complete lack of fearlessness.
‘You mean she’s butch?’ Ali looked confused.
‘No, I mean she doesn’t care about what people think.’ I was still awestruck at how she’d confronted me, not holding back any of her feelings.
‘Of course she does.’ Ali interrupted with a frown. ‘Everyone cares about what other people think.’
I shared his confusion. Our parents brought us up in a glass bowl under the watchful eyes of the Hobart community. They always cautioned us to be good, to think about how other people perceived us, so it was a foreign concept to not care about other people’s opinions.
‘I mean, she’s a smart arse.’ I tried to capture into words Sabiha’s don’t hold back attitude.
‘I don’t want to see her.’ Ali shut down Sabiha’s profile with a quick flick of the mouse button and opened up a game, his signal that our conversation was over.
When his session was over, I opened Sabiha’s profile again. It was scary how much we had in common. We liked the same TV shows, the same music, we even had quite a few favourite books in common. I wondered whether genetics were imprinted and there was only so much you could do to escape your fate.
Mum burst into the study without knocking. I hit the close icon on the computer screen, but I wasn’t quick enough.
Her gaze sharpened. ‘Let me see,’ she demanded. Mum’s rule was we could use the family computer as long as she had our email password and she randomly checked our browser history. I went to my browser history and opened Sabiha’s profile, my breathing shallow as I waited to see if her sharp eyes would catch on those four words that would ruin my night.
Mum looked confused as she read it. ‘Why are you looking at this?’
‘I was curious.’ I clicked the mouse to close the browser.
‘Wait a minute.’ Mum covered my hand. She zeroed in on the Info section of the profile where Sabiha’s school was listed. ‘She goes to St Albans High School?’ Mum demanded.
Shit. I was done for when Dad came home.
‘You saw her today,’ she said, her voice low, like a rumbling earthquake.
‘We’re in the same class,’ I whispered, wanting to get the worst out of the way.
‘This is your father’s doing,’ Mum muttered and headed for the door.
I reluctantly closed the internet browser. I had thirty minutes left on the computer and had to prepare my schedule to track my assignment due dates. I deleted the old information from my previous school and input my new due dates, the act of creating order lulling me into calmness.
I heard Sanela’s squeals and knew Dad was home. As I shut down the computer, my self-imposed calm faded and I was once again a bundle of nerves. I met Ali in the hallway and we exchanged a look. Dad was serious, after all, about telling Mum.
‘Mum knows,’ I warned Ali in a whisper as we walked to the living room.
‘How?’ he whispered back.
‘Caught me on her social media profile,’ I muttered.
‘You’re so clumsy.’ He shook his head in disappointment.
I wanted to defend myself and explain that it wasn’t my fault Mum snuck up on me like she did, but he walked past me like I was invisible. When we entered the living room, Sanela’s arms were firmly around Dad’s neck.
Mum was in the dining room setting the table. She didn’t greet Dad, a sure sign she was holding a grudge.
‘Thanks,’ Ali muttered over Sanela’s head. ‘Dinner’s going to be hell.’
Mum interrupted before I could reply. ‘Hands clean,’ she said briskly.
‘Let’s go wash up.’ I led Sanela to the bathroom.
‘I’m sitting next to Daddy,’ Sanela insisted as she washed her hands.
‘All right,’ I agreed.
‘And I want Mum next to me,’ Sanela quickly claimed.
I nodded, relieved. Sitting between our parents’ tonight would be like being stuck between two sumo wrestlers who were jostling for space.
We sat at the table, and Mum began serving. ‘Aren’t we going to wait for Daddy?’ Sanela asked. The usual protocol was we didn’t begin serving dinner until everyone was seated.
‘He’s coming.’ Mum passed the serving dish to Ali.
Dad came in and saw the lay of the land with a glance. He glared at me.
Embarrassed, I looked away.
‘What did you do today, Sanela?’ he asked. Ali passed the dish to Dad without serving himself.
Sanela took that as her invitation to monopolise the conversation and talk all about her fairy painting that was drying at school. The rest of dinner passed in silence, with only Sanela chattering as she ate. Eventually the tension wore her down too and, by the end, she was playing with her food, pushing her fork into her mashed potatoes and smearing them on the plate.
‘Stop playing with your food,’ Mum snapped.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Sanela wailed, dropping the fork with a clank on the table.