8

I wake up with a sandpit

mouth, in the wedge of sunlight piercing my bedroom window. My skin is hot and baked dry. A book slides off my chest and onto the bed. Urgh. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

‘Mum?’ I yell out, but I know it’s futile. She’ll be out on a regular job, cleaning an office building. She gets paid good rates on a weekend.

There are two missed calls and two voicemails on my phone. The first call is from Helen and the other is from an unknown number.

‘Nia, darling, just letting you know I’ve rejigged the rosters so you’re only working Saturdays. School starts this week, doesn’t it? I’ve given you the longest shift I can. You can pick up some extra hours in the holidays, okay? And don’t forget Shopping Night. Look sharp. You’re an asset to the business, honey.’

I smile at those last very unHelenlike words. That’s one less thing I have to worry about. I’m filled with an unexpected whooshy, sunshine feeling, until the next message starts. The voice is so quiet I have to bring the phone close to my ear.

‘Nia…this is Jethro. Please don’t hang up. Hear me out…’

There’s no danger that I’ll hang up. I’m so busy listening to the low rumble of his voice and picturing his blue, blue eyes, that I don’t really listen to what he’s saying. He talks to the end of the message, cut off by the beep midsentence.

Hating myself already, I hit repeat. The whooshy sunshine feeling turns feral. I don’t know whether to be pleased or mad.

‘…hear me out. I know it’s been a long time. There’s a lot to tell you. Lupe’s left Shyness, that’s one thing. It seems like the right time to call. I…I hope you’ve been well…I’m worried about Paul…’

Okay, make that mad. I choose to be mad. His voice is echoey and whistling, as if he’s calling from an open space.

‘…I have a gig on tomorrow night. I know it’s short notice, but you’ve never seen us play, and I really want to see you in person to tell you that—’

And this is where the line beeps and cuts him off. Message over.

My bedroom suddenly feels the size of a shoebox. I kick my doona to the floor. Who does he think he is? He ignores me for six months and thirteen days and then calls expecting me to come hear his stupid band? I want to call back and say exactly this. I’d scream except if you scream in the Commons, it’s inevitable someone will call the police.

I can’t stay here or I’ll go crazy.

Plexus teems with the usual Saturday crowds. Normally the influx of tourists annoys me, but today I don’t mind getting lost among people. I don’t want to spoil the last weekend before school starts with a bad mood. As if I’d call him.

I join the power walkers, sun junkies and pram pushers on the beachside path, where it juts into the sea. The sun still pelts down but the wind carries away its heat. I lean out over the sea wall. My arms get all goosebumpy with the wind’s kiss. Ahead of me is the unknowable ocean, stretching further than I can see.

Tomorrow I go back to school and for once the thought doesn’t fill me with dread. Things are going well. The universe has hit a delicate balance and I’m trying to keep it that way.

My eyes water from the relentless gust, so I rest my head against my arm. The sea wall is warm against my forehead. Without meaning to, I tune in to the conversation of a group of girls standing a few metres away. It’s pretty hard not to listen. They all have high, annoying voices and keep talking over the top of each other.

‘Mrs Briggs,’ says one girl. ‘What a bitch. I can’t believe I have her again this year.’

The name catches my attention, and then the voice. I know those voices.

The loudest is Beth Mahoney, but I also recognise Naomi Tran. That means the other two girls must be Ellen and Matilda.

I freeze right where I am, bent over the wall. If they look to their left, they’ll see me.

I never found out for sure that they emailed the fake photo of me doing things I’ve never done to a guy I’ve never met, to the entire year level. Mum reported it and all four got called separately to speak to the principal, but there was no evidence. I moved schools soon after.

They’re going to recognise me any second, and then I don’t know what they’ll do. Play nice, as if it never happened? Pick up the bitchy comments from where they left off? Part of me used to like the verbal wars, both parties slashing away at each other, with the meanest words we could think of, but I’m not that person anymore.

I get a strange flash of memory, a snippet of Shyness rushing at me. Standing at the top of an Orphanville tower with Wolfboy next to me, looking out at the dark suburb and the starry sky overhead. Feeling as if I had my whole life ahead of me, glittering and mysterious. The opposite of what I’m feeling now.

I straighten up and walk away, expecting my name to be called out at any moment. My legs are shaky. Soon I’m a hundred metres up the path, and when I turn around, the mean girls are coloured specks in the distance.

I cut across the nature reserve to the main road, breathing in exhaust fumes from the cars. The photo was the final way of telling me I didn’t fit in at that school, and never would. That everyone else in my year level believed it so easily meant they already thought I was that kind of person anyway. And what had I done to deserve that? Grow up in a rough area? Did being from Plexus Commons automatically mean I was a slut?

But then following that was the night. The night in Shyness that seemed to be the start of everything working itself out. And maybe, if what Ortolan said is true, it was the same for Wolfboy.

He sounded endearingly hesitant in the voicemail. And Lupe leaving is a big deal. She’s one of his closest friends. And he said something about Paul. Paul was nice. I shake my head to clear it. No. No. No.

Cars whiz past me, and a guy leans out of a Valiant and whistles. I hold my head high, pretending I’m on the side of the road in America, or Spain, or Iceland, and I’m about to hitchhike somewhere really cool. You’d be amazed how I can make myself believe my own fantasies. The road wobbles and shimmers ahead.