7.

‘The answer’s no.’ I’m glaring through rusted bars, keep one eye on the fading sky. ‘At least … I think so.’

‘You think?’ Stella balances on her toes like she’s about to run. Standing behind her fence, she’s wearing cargo pants and a hooded sweatshirt, sneakers on her feet. Guess she wants to be ready for anything.

‘Tell me again, exactly. Why am I here?’

‘What?’ She frowns, looking for tricks. ‘Why?’

‘I just want to be clear.’

I don’t tell her my memory of last night is poked with so many holes it looks like she stabbed it with a knife. I remember we need to talk, something was on her phone and she knows too much. I know I can’t ask Celeste for help because we’re both in danger from Stella, and it left me feeling heavy, a weight I can’t shift, high inside my chest. I know most of the truth, but not all of it.

Sighing, she tilts her head back and starts talking. Her voice paints pictures, but she’s careful not to lose her memories, talking in present tense as if the ideas just came to her, instead of repeating the past. Smart girl. Her words hit hard and the gaps in my memory fill up with anger, a cold glue.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Stella’s trapped me, but I can’t struggle and let her know I’ve been caught. Instead, I fold my arms. ‘Even if I agreed, do you have any idea how bad unhappy memories taste?’

She shrugs, like she’s decided I deserve what I get. Her face looks firm, but one hand fiddles with the clip in her hair. Is she unsure?

I take a deep breath. ‘It’s like swallowing gravel.’ My fingers tighten, digging into my elbows. ‘And you still haven’t told me why you want to get rid of memories.’

Stella stares at me through the bars — half girl, half iron. Her mouth opens and closes. Her lips twist like words are trying to escape and she’s fighting to keep them in.

Finally she bursts, ‘What do you care? Taking away bad memories is a good thing. You should be glad there’s a chance to do something decent with your ability instead of …’

She stops and shakes her head.

‘What?’

‘Forget it. Why are we even arguing? You’ll say yes.’

‘You can tell anyone you like.’ I turn to watch her. ‘The answer’s still no. If you told anyone about me, no one would believe you.’

Her gaze is hard, but she bites her lip. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

I fold my arms, not backing down. ‘You know, if you did tell people, they would panic. They’d probably smash my statue into bits. I’d be dead. And what would that make you?’

She bites her lip, again. ‘I’m not the monster.’

‘You’d be a killer. Isn’t that a kind of monster, too?’

She frowns and I stare back until her hands fall by her sides.

She sighs, glancing away. ‘I don’t know … maybe.’ Now both our shoulders drop, as if her words lowered a knife between us. Her eyes move left and right, recalculating. ‘I need to get rid of my memories, but I don’t know how … I’m sorry.’

I don’t answer, but I feel something inside me growing smaller, softer.

She leans forward, her body rocking a little, like she’s soothing herself. ‘Look, what if we made a different deal? There’s got to be something else you want?’

‘There isn’t.’

I breathe a sigh of relief, for Stella and not just me. Not able to meet her eyes, I look down at the fence. At the same moment I feel an idea lifting its head and poking words into my mouth.

‘There is one thing.’

‘What?’

‘You could open the stupid gate.’

‘What? But that’s easy.’

Would she do it, really? My words come out in a rush, ‘Not this one — the main gates.’

‘Oh.’ She drags the toe of her shoe in the dirt. ‘But then you’d be free to, um, feed on anyone … right?’

‘No, I’d just go for a walk. I’ve never been outside the gates, I’d be back in a few hours.’

‘No you wouldn’t.’

We’re back where we started, staring at each other.

Of course, she’s right. I’d stay outside in the world where there’s everything to see and so many people, I’d never get hungry again. But so what? I don’t see humans crying over every animal they devour. What does it matter if I steal a few memories? Why do I have to stay in this stupid cage?

Out loud I say, ‘Well, then I guess we don’t have a deal.’

She sucks on her bottom lip, frowning. ‘What if I offered you something else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Well …’ She nods towards the sprawling villa, peeking from behind fruit trees as if it’s bashful, hiding its face beneath a wide-brimmed roof. ‘You want to see outside the gates, right? And you’ve never been outside this garden for … how long do you think?’

I look over my shoulder at the empty gardens, my home. ‘Not sure. At least a hundred years. Probably longer. Trolls age slowly, so I am a kid, but I’ve been one for ages.’

‘Okay … okay.’ She nods to herself. ‘Don’t you want to see the world?’

Everything inside me stops. And then thoughts rush through me. Nothing ever happens inside this garden. I want something to happen.

I say, ‘What do you mean?’

She frowns. ‘I’m not saying I trust you. If anything happens to me I will make sure everyone knows about you, but if you want to make a deal …’ She points at her house. ‘You’ll have to come home with me, I’ll open our house gate. But our fence is iron all the way around, same as the gardens, so don’t get any ideas about escaping.’

‘What?’ Stella’s not making sense. ‘The world’s inside your house?’

‘Actually, yeah.’ A small grin inches across her face. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

I can’t look away from the computer screen, which glows with the iridescent light of a full moon. I can’t stop tapping the buttons. Images flash by, pictures I’ve never seen, not even in someone’s memory; the iris of a tiger, scales on a goldfish and bacteria under a microscope blooming like wildflowers.

Outside it’s beginning to rain, banging on the windows like it’s trying to get in, and I hear the Leith rushing through the park. We’re on the second level, her bedroom window higher than the trees in her backyard, but I’m not interested in the view, not even if it were a night filled with moonlight. Stella sits near me, cross-legged on her bed with a notebook on her lap. She glances up at the screen. ‘It’s called Google Images. I thought you’d like it.’

‘It’s — it’s amazing. Sort of like looking at people’s memories. But I can choose what I want to see. Not like human memories, they’re messier, I can’t order them.’

‘Hmmm …’

She doesn’t answer, and I turn around and point at my seat. ‘I’ve never seen a chair like that before, not even in someone’s memory.’ Solid wood, it’s painted gold and re-covered with striped cushion prints. ‘Is that real zebra skin?’

‘No! That’s illegal, and kind of disgusting. My mum likes to redo furniture for a hobby. You know one time, we …’

She covers her mouth. That was close. Her fingers drop from her lips, leaving her mouth open: a silent gasp.

‘It’s not safe, is it?’ She pulls on her bottom lip. ‘Talking to you, I mean.’

‘No, but you knew that before you invited me in.’

She nods, looking down at her book, a pen wiggling in her hand. She leans back against the wall, sitting as far away from me as possible. I wonder if she’s regretting her offer already.

Shrugging, I glance at the door. She’s not the only one taking risks. Her parents could come in and there’s another thought, buzzing through my head like a mosquito, causing my memories to itch. Something about this place bothers me, but I can’t be sure.

‘Stella, have I been here before?’

‘No.’ She frowns.

‘Where are your parents?’

‘Don’t worry about Mum. She works six a.m. shifts at the supermarket, so she goes to bed early, right after Connor.’ I bite my lip and she adds, ‘Seriously, she never wakes up. I think she takes a pill or something.’

‘Your dad?’

She taps the pen against her lip. ‘He’s not around.’

‘So, where is he?’

‘Does it matter?’ She shakes her head again, and looks down at her feet. I don’t push for more. Something tells me those memories might taste bad.

‘What’re you writing?’

‘Just stuff … I like to write poems, stories, you know. I draw too, but not very well.’

‘What, like in books?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can you read me something?’

‘No.’ She glances at my face. ‘It’s not personal, I don’t let anyone read my stuff. It’s not good enough. It might never be good enough.’

So I look back at the room and there it is again, an itch. There’s something about this place, something isn’t right …

‘You know this room feels familiar.’

She tilts her head, poking the pen into her mouth’s corner. ‘I really hope not.’

We don’t need to say I could’ve eaten a memory set in this room and mightn’t remember taking it. We’re both thinking it, anyway. So we sit in silence. Both of us probably feel I should leave, and I look again at the door.

Frowning, she starts tapping one knee. Her fingers move like a pulse. ‘How do you even know what chairs look like? You can’t see many in the garden.’

I turn my eyes back to the screen, focusing on an image of deep-water jellyfish like flowers falling through a night sky. ‘I’ve eaten tons of memories. I’ve seen wars, operations, cities being built and broken — I’ve seen everything.’ I feel her watching me. ‘I keep other people’s memories a lot longer than my own. I mean, some of my early ones stick, but not many. The rest can last for days, even months, but they disappear in the end.’

‘Yeah? What do you remember? I mean the early stuff, the memories you don’t forget?’

My fingers tighten around the computer’s mouse. ‘Um, I don’t want to talk about it.’

She pulls her knees up, knocking a shiny magazine off her bed and onto the floor, but doesn’t bother picking it up. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

Truth is, Celeste would kill me. She’s the only person I share memories with and vice versa but, if I’m honest, my first memories are precious. They’ve never faded and not even Celeste knows them. I don’t want them taken out and reflected back. I want them to stay mine, even if I risk losing them. But I can’t explain and I clear my throat, looking for a better answer. ‘I can’t really trust you, not yet. I hardly know you.’

Her lips tighten. ‘So? When you take people’s memories do they trust you?’

‘That’s different.’

Stella drops the pen on her duvet and leans forward, resting her head on her knees, tensing with concentration. Her body language whispers the real question, making my stomach drop. She wants to know the truth — is there anything good inside you? Could I tell her? Sharing memories gives me a chance to show her who I am. And she’s not a troll, my memories won’t disappear if I share them.

Folding my arms over the chair’s back, I mutter, ‘Well, I suppose … just one.’

Reaching down deep into my thoughts, I pull out a white speck, glowing against the darkness of lost memories, those black, empty landscapes stretching inside my mind like thousands of nights knotted together.

‘Blinding light.’

She frowns. ‘That’s what you remember?’

‘Sunlight on snow. Everything was white and … I remember how it felt.’

‘What felt?’

‘Being free.’

She shakes her head. ‘Free? Sort of like the last day of school, just after the bell goes … is that what you mean? That excited feeling you get in the holidays?’

‘No, it’s the feeling of being able to go anywhere and do anything, even if you just choose to sit still.’

She frowns, again.

‘It’s hard to explain. I guess it’s more like breathing. You don’t think about it, until you hold your breath. I mean, you won’t miss it until it’s gone, and then it’s everything.’

‘Oh.’ We both sit still until the silence makes the space between us feel wider. I’m ready to say something, just to fill it up, but then she laughs — light and forced, but still a laugh.

‘So you’ll be a teenager for what? Another hundred years?’ She pulls a face. ‘Imagine being a statue with pimples and braces.’

My own mouth pulls, fighting a small smile. ‘I don’t eat lots of chocolate and fried food. I should be okay.’

‘No, you just eat people’s brains.’ Her laughter slams up against her words and stops.

‘Uh …’

Silence crawls back, sitting between us, and I don’t know what to say, except, ‘Maybe it’s time I went.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ But she doesn’t move. One hand reaches out, touching the patterned wallpaper. Her fingers move up and down, tracing circles. ‘But, not yet.’

We both know what she means.

‘Well?’ I sigh, trying to ignore a rising wave of heat inside my chest. ‘Shouldn’t we get started? I’d like to get out of here before dawn, unless you’re looking for a new ornament in the front yard?’

‘Okay, okay …’ She glances down at her notebook, then back at the ceiling. ‘You’re right. Let’s get it over with.’

I’m right? Like this was my idea?

Stella tightens her lips again and glares at the light above her bed. You’d think she was trying not to punch me. But all she says is, ‘Okay, I’ll tell you a memory, but don’t try and trick me. I’ve written it down.’

She turns her body around, facing me. She’s wearing an expression I’ve seen in memories; people jumping hurdles, leaping over a river or throwing themselves into the open carriage of a subway train, just before the door closes. And what does that make me?

An obstacle?

‘Stella? You’re sure you want to do this?’

One hand goes up, snapping a clip between her fingers. ‘Yeah.’ She takes a deep breath and her words rush out, ‘When I was five, Anthea O’Sullivan pushed me off the swings and called me a freak, because she thought I’d scribbled on her desk. I hadn’t and … wait, what was I saying?’

She blinks at me. I can’t answer, let alone move. I’m swallowing the pain of being wrongly accused and the freedom of swinging higher followed by the shock of concrete on my knees. No, her knees. But they might as well be mine.

Stella holds my gaze, then dives under her pillow. She pulls out a torn piece of refill, drops her head and sighs. ‘It worked … I don’t remember saying that. I don’t even remember it happening.’

She looks back at me.

Bet she’s thinking — what now?

Rubbing at my lips, I swallow hard and ask, ‘What’s the point?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Forgetting your memories? They can’t hurt you, they’re in the past. Why get rid of them?’

She shakes her head. ‘Yeah, but they stay inside. They hurt and when something bad happens they all come flooding back. It’s like going over the same thing, again and again. You know?’

I don’t answer because I don’t know. But I notice she doesn’t ask if her memories hurt me, going over and over in my mind. Maybe she thinks I deserve bad things happening to me, seeing as I’m a monster. The idea feels cold inside my chest.

Stella keeps talking. ‘Bad memories prove your life sucks. They keep popping up, saying, “See, terrible stuff always happens to you” or, “No wonder those girls hate you, you’re a loser”.’

‘Sorry, what girls?’

She frowns, catching herself. ‘Just some girls.’

I sit, waiting for her to explain.

‘Well, I’ve had a few different schools.’ She taps her fingers on her chin, beating out a tuneless rhythm. ‘And the girls are all different, but they end up being the same. You know?’

Again I can’t answer. How would I know? But I watch her face and wait.

I wonder, why can’t Stella sit still? Why does she talk like someone running out of air? What makes her words hard and breathless, like she’s throwing punches with her voice?

But when she opens her mouth I realise, I don’t need to wonder. I’m about to find out. She’ll tell me, one memory after another, even if takes months. And she won’t stop, no matter how much it hurts.