‘He walked you home from Lee’s place. In the opposite direction from where he lives.’
‘Maybe he was hooking up with his girlfriend afterwards, who just happens to live near me? I don’t know!’
‘Did the police break the two of you up?’ Zin asks eagerly. ‘Please let the police have broken the two of you up!’
‘They didn’t make out in the front yard!’ Clem snaps. He looks at me sideways. ‘Right? You didn’t, right?’
I roll my eyes up to Zin’s very clean, evenly painted ceiling. ‘This is all giving me a headache. I’m going.’
‘You just got here!’
I frown. ‘I don’t want you all at me like this! It’s not good communication!’
‘Sorry,’ says Zin. ‘We forgot you’re a weirdo about this sort of stuff. I’ll make you a chocolate milk?’
Lara sighs. ‘Yeah – sorry.’
We sit in silence. ‘So, Stella starts brawls at parties, huh?’ says Clem.
Lara hits him with a pillow and glances at Zin. ‘Stella spoke to Monica Ravensleigh last night,’ she says.
Everything goes very still and then there’s Zin’s dangerously low voice. ‘You what?’
‘Both arms,’ Clem mutters, pulling his blanket up to his chin. ‘It’s going to be both arms.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Zin wails.
‘Relax – I had a plan. She’s going to message you this week. She’s got a flower situation.’
Zin considers this. ‘A flower situation?’
‘A very serious flower situation. She’s in charge of flowers for her sister’s wedding. I dunno, Zin. How can you be interested in someone who doesn’t understand the difference between calendulas and gerberas?’
‘You know the difference between calendulas and gerberas?’ Clem asks me. ‘I don’t even know what calendulas and gerberas are.’
‘It’s the principle of it.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘So, she’s going to message me?’ Zin asks. ‘Monica Ravensleigh is going to message me?’
‘Yup.’
‘Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow.’
‘She’s short-circuiting,’ Clem says. ‘Whack her on the back or something.’
‘This is amazing,’ Zin says. ‘Stella – you’re in so much trouble, but this is amazing.’
I grin.
Zin freezes. ‘Her sister, though.’
‘What about her sister?’
‘Well, it’s all very troubling. I mean, what’s the point of getting married if you don’t organise all the flowers yourself? What’s the point?’
‘That you get to spend the rest of your life with someone you love?’ Clem replies. ‘I always thought that’s the point – not that it ends up being the case for many married couples.’
‘Flowers are the best bit about getting married,’ Zin says.
‘Speaking from personal experience, are we?’ I ask.
‘Don’t you go giving me attitude, Stella. You’re on thin ice. I’d told you not to talk to her.’ Zin pauses. ‘She’s pretty, right?’
‘She’s very pretty,’ says Clem.
‘But not in a squeaky, plastic way. She’s pretty in a real way. Don’t you think, Stell?’
‘She’s very pretty in a real way.’
‘I love her long hair, but I reckon she’s got the kind of face where she could shave her head and still look really cute, don’t you think, Clem? Don’t you think so?’
‘I dunno. She could be one of those attractive people who has a really lumpy skull.’
‘You think?’ Zin sounds alarmed. ‘You really think so? No. I don’t think so. Lumpy. You think?’
I try to imagine being so consumed by someone that I liked. Maybe I’d like Matthew. Maybe I’d like a boy I’d walked past a million times and have never even noticed. I try to imagine not having to worry about where we’re going to live, or paying bills, or wondering if my parents’ marriage is going to survive. I try to imagine knowing the woman who’d given birth to me and having siblings who didn’t set things on fire, climb onto the roof or get thrown out of school. I try to imagine being utterly consumed by a person who needs help picking flowers and it’s like a chasm opens up between my friends and me, so wide and jagged that I almost lose sight of them.
I take a deep breath. That type of thinking is pointless. I love my friends. I have a roof over my head and food in my belly and a family I love. I chant this to myself until the other thoughts disappear. It’s not repression, it’s just sensible. I pull the doughnuts out of my bag. Clem pales. ‘Oh, God. I just worked out what Tahlia had been eating with the Fanta.’
‘Yeah,’ says Lara, looking queasy. ‘Reckon the doughnuts are all yours, Stell.’
I shrug and bite into one and both of them look away. ‘It’s not that bad!’
‘You weren’t there,’ Clem says hoarsely, shaking his head and opening the laptop back up. ‘You didn’t see it.’
***
Later on, I’m sprawled on my bed, reading a library book about aromatherapy, when Taylor comes in and shuts the door.
‘What?’ I ask, without looking up.
She perches on the end of the bed. ‘You bashed up Joshua Bennett?’
‘No!’
‘And made out with . . . with Matthew?’
‘No! God! Joshua was being crap to Chelsea and I . . . helped her.’
‘You helped her? How?’
‘It wasn’t a bad kick. Just a regular sort of kick.’
‘You kicked him? Ha! Love it.’
Mum comes into our bedroom and stares at Taylor’s head. ‘No,’ Mum says. ‘No, no, no.’
Taylor runs a hand through her bright-purple hair. She’s wearing her netball skirt and I wonder if she and Mum have had a row about it, yet. ‘I just thought it was fun.’
‘Where’d you get the dye? You’re grounded.’
‘I just used food dye,’ Taylor says. ‘It was in the grocery boxes.’
Mum closes her eyes for a moment. ‘You look trashy, Taylor. And look! I’ve told you not to wear that tiny skirt!’
‘I don’t care,’ says Taylor, yawning. ‘Maybe I feel like looking trashy for a while.’
‘Didn’t need to dye your hair purple for that,’ I mutter and Taylor punches me hard in the arm.
‘She hit me!’ I say as Dad walks quickly past the door.
‘Come in here, Charlie,’ says Mum.
‘I didn’t hit you!’ says Taylor. ‘I just expressed my true emotions. It’s healthy. You always tell me that.’
‘Don’t hit me!’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ says Mum.
Mum shoots Dad a look and it’s one of those moments where I don’t understand them at all. I need to read more books. I look at Taylor, wondering if she understands our parents more than I do – she belongs to them in a way that I never will. But she just looks impatient and bored and very purple. She tugs at the hem of her netball skirt. I guess she doesn’t get it, either.