Chapter 32

Fractured

The shiny, powder-pink wig actually looks okay. The rest of it…

Lily’s literally crying with laughter. ‘Katy Perry doesn’t scowl like that. She doesn’t have great fat hairy legs either.’

‘My legs aren’t fat.’ But they are hairy, and that’s not a good look with a short skirt. Neither is the tan-line from my shorts, which is a good two inches below the skirt’s hemline.

Being all empowered and shit is great…but how did embracing my inner fire lead me here?

It started two days ago during lunch break, when Stephanie came over to our balcony to talk to Padma.

‘You’re coming to my birthday party on Saturday, aren’t you?’ Steph asked.

‘Yeah, of course,’ Padma said.

Steph spared a glance for the rest of us. ‘You’re all invited too.’ She smiled like a Barbie doll before throwing a sucker-punch back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s a costume party.’

We don’t get invited to a lot of parties. I obviously want to go. Obviously.

‘What…?’ Ravi said.

‘That’s the California-cool way of saying it’s fancy dress,’ Justin said.

‘I know what it means—but what does it mean?’

‘It means we’re going to a party!’ Justin said to Ravi. ‘You should definitely go as Hermione Granger.’

‘That is perfect for you,’ I agreed. ‘She’s the world’s coolest geek.’

He looked sceptical. ‘Dress up as a girl?’

Oh yeah. I hadn’t thought of it like that.

‘Come on, it’s fancy dress!’ urged Justin. ‘Let’s be noticed for once. I’ll do it if you will. You’re in, aren’t you, Luke?’

‘Me?’ I asked in a strangled voice. Sure, it’s no big deal for Justin—but for me, it’s a bit too close to the bone.

‘You! Go big, go bold! Be Lady Gaga or something.’ Justin struck an outrageous pose.

I can’t dress up as a girl was warring with I can’t explain to Justin why I can’t dress up as a girl.

‘Ah, I don’t do bold,’ I told him. Sure, I’ve considered more feminine clothing—but glam is not on the table. I’m still working up the courage to wear clothes that actually fit, for goodness sake!

‘I suppose you don’t.’ Justin shot me a disappointed look. About the party or about my general lack of boldness? He decided: ‘You’ll go as Katy Perry, then.’

The walls were closing in. ‘Katy Perry is still a bit…much.’

‘Compared to Gaga?’ Justin said.

‘Well, no, but…’

‘So, you take her and I’ll be Gaga,’ Justin said. ‘I can pull off her look, don’t you think?’

That’s what it’s like being friends with Justin. Me and Ravi exchanged a bewildered—and defeated—glance. How could we say no when Justin was so hyped about it?

So now it’s Saturday night and I’m standing in the upstairs hallway having this weird family discussion:

‘You’re his father, you should be teaching him how to shave.’

‘But I’ve never shaved my legs. Men don’t do that! You’ll have to show him, Keira.’

‘God, you guys are so gender-normative!’ Lily says. At least it stops the argument, because neither of them wants to admit they don’t know what Lily means.

‘I’ll google it,’ I mumble and lock myself in the bathroom with my phone. I sift through the cabinet and choose Mum’s shaving foam because it smells nicer than Dad’s. There is a thrill of being allowed to do something that is normally forbidden. I could do this every day. Why not?

And then I cut myself. There’s why not.

Ravi, Justin and I meet up before going to the party. Safety in numbers. Or girl power or whatever. Our costumes are a bit shabby, with bits from charity shops and—I admit it—Lily’s dressing up box. We don’t actually look like girls, but I feel different to normal. Less confined (and not just because a breeze is blowing up my boxers). Justin’s the only one who’s gone as far as stuffing a bra (I don’t want to know where he got a bra from), and we all drew the line at women’s shoes. We’re trying to have fun, not torture ourselves.

And it is fun—surprisingly fun. I’m way outside my comfort zone. It’s scary, but not in a panic-inducing way. Turns out it’s easy pretending to be Katy Perry, because it’s a role I only have to play for one night. It’s hard pretending to be Luke because I have to keep wearing the costume my whole life.

It’s a proper, no-parents-at-home kind of party. The music is so loud that the neighbours must be hearing every word. I can hardly walk up the stairs without tripping over a make-out session. I’m not going to drink—I have enough trouble keeping myself under control without alcohol—and making out is definitely off the table, but I’d like to dance. Or at least lean on the wall and tap my foot. Things are good until Steph starts handing out birthday cake. It’s not until it’s melting into gooey deliciousness on my tongue that I remember I’d promised Lily I wouldn’t eat sugar. Crap! Should I spit it out? But…Lily will never know, will she? And it tastes so good…

I spit the chewed-up mess into a napkin. It looks like…well, like crap. No, Lily would never have known—but how can I expect something from her if I can’t manage it myself? The world already expects too much from her. How can I even be out enjoying myself, letting myself forget when she can’t forget for a moment? I try to keep smiling so as not to drown the whole party in my well of guilt.

When a Lady Gaga song comes on, Justin leaps up on a coffee table and sings along. When a Katy Perry song comes on, I hide in the kitchen. That’s where all the cool kids hang out. Obviously, that’s why I’m the only person there.

That’s where Dean corners me. He’s dressed up, unsurprisingly, as a soldier. I think he’s a bit drunk. His eyes sweep me slowly up and down and he sneers. I get what girls are always complaining about. Just because my legs are sticking out doesn’t mean I’m a piece of meat.

Dean says, ‘Look, Luke, whatever’s going on with you—you’ve got to get it together.’

‘I don’t need to see a doctor—’

‘Not the panic attacks. All the rest of it…’ Dean’s face screws up in frustration. He’d never normally be this direct about his feelings. I know he’s going to say something I’ll hate, but I’m glad it’s coming out at last.

‘You’ve been changing, man,’ Dean says. ‘You’ve gone all soft. Alright, like, you’re gay or whatever, but you can’t show it.’ He flicks a strand of my shiny borrowed hair. ‘What are you trying to be? Pretty, for fuck’s sake?’

‘Why should pretty be an insult, Dean? Why should I have to feel scared of being soft?’ I’m trying to match his anger, but I can hear my voice wobbling. Please, don’t let me have a panic attack now. Not in a pink wig.

Dean takes a swig out of the beer can he’s clutching and steps in closer, lowering his voice. ‘Luke, this is not cool. We’ve been mates a long time, so I hang with you and your geeky friends even though you’re not all that. But you’re going too far.’

Dean’s mate Sam staggers into the kitchen. ‘Hey, my man!’ he says.

We both glare at him.

He swallows and staggers out again.

I’m getting sick of this: I’m an inch away from a total meltdown, and here’s Dean making out that he’s doing me a favour by being my friend?

Like he says, we’ve been mates a long time: I know how to hurt him, too. ‘Is this about me, or about Padma?’ I ask. ‘She broke up with you, so you’re breaking up with me?’

‘I’m not gay!’ he shouts, loud enough to be heard over the music. Heads turn in the living room. Shit. Bets are on that Sam will tell the whole school that we’re having a lover’s tiff.

‘I’m not gay, either,’ I say. ‘I’m just…me.’ That’s as vulnerable as I know how to be. I hope he’ll take it as a peace offering.

He bangs his hand on the countertop, and beer slops out of his can to add to the sticky detritus of the party. ‘I’m not okay with you being this freaking weird.’

‘You’re not okay with it? What about me? You think I like being a total mess?’

‘So, just stop being so…’ He kicks the dustbin. It sounds like our friendship breaking.

Yeah, that’s it. Stop being me. ‘You think I haven’t tried?’

‘How hard can it be to just be normal?’

‘Normal like you? You used to get in a fight in the playground every week when we were at primary school—is that normal? Boys being boys. Who made up these rules?’

I only notice I’m crying when a tear splashes onto my hand. Dean flinches as if my tears are an infectious disease. All those rules are stacked up behind his eyes like artillery. He doesn’t even need to speak for me to feel the bullet. Boys don’t cry. Yeah, well, I’m not much of a boy, am I? Why can’t everyone just be okay with that? Why can’t I?

I end up arriving home an hour before my curfew, which may be the saddest thing about a pretty fucking sad night.

So much for all of Aliya’s inner fire. Believe in what I am. When did my dreams become a self-help seminar? And when will they actually start helping me? It’s all very well for Aliya: she’s special. There’s a place in her world where she fits. What place is there for me? All the magic of her world is just escapism. None of it translates to anything real. Not here, where it matters. We can help random strangers who appear in my head, but I can’t help Lily.

Her bedroom door creaks slightly, and I freeze in the doorway, but she doesn’t wake. I sit on the floor beside her bed and rest my head on the duvet beside her. My sobs shake the mattress, but I don’t make a sound. She rolls over in her sleep, and one of her hands lands on my head. The slight weight lends me focus. The turmoil of thoughts in my head are rays of light, and they all gather inwards into the sheer white lamplight. None of them are worth hanging onto. Then, beneath them, silence. A ghostly grey world. Lily’s lamppost is right in front of me—and then I am her.

Something is clinging to my head. I don’t want to know, but I have to look. Go and stand in front of the mirror. My bedroom, surrounding me with the familiar; in my reflection, horror.

There is a giant spider on my head, multi-jointed legs and multi-faceted eyes. It is slimy like something that lives at the bottom of a pond.

The spider is eating into my head. No, not my head—Lily’s head. I can only watch in numb horror as my long, blonde hair goes dark with blood, the spider’s mandibles dripping black gore that runs down my face. Not my face. Come on, Aliya taught me how to do this. There is pain—that constant background drone. It’s a dream of pain. I mustn’t let myself hope that the pain will stop; hope is too hard to bear. Better to embrace the inevitable. Just a dream.

I’m no longer part of Lily’s dream. Awake, my back stiff from my awkward position on the floor.

This should feel like success. For the first time, I’ve dreamwalked here in my own world.

Lily is whimpering in her sleep. This doesn’t feel like success at all.

Lily’s nightmares may not be able to drag her to her death like the plague dreams in Aliya’s world, but they could kill her just the same. If she keeps believing that cancer is killing her, how will she be able to survive?