CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Friendship with Ava McTavish was laughing until we couldn’t breathe, paint fights, and finding new and inventive ways of getting out of PE.
Ava used her period cramps several times a month to avoid the torturous exercise, and because Mr McCallum didn’t want to know more about her monthly cycle, he never questioned it.
I, on the other hand, wore a bandage around my wrist to feign a fracture.
Unfortunately, Mr McCallum pointed out that I could still use my legs, and Ava would laugh from the benches as I fumbled through games of dodgeball and cricket.
It was late nights sharing memes, early mornings debating whether an education was worth waking up before the sun, and weekends spent browsing art supplies and bookstores.
One night, she’d convinced me to attend my first ever concert and I was terrified.
The Devil insisted on listing every single thing that could go wrong, and as the mosh pit crowded around me, the music blasting from the speakers and fluorescent lights dancing across my vision, I was seconds away from a panic attack.
Ava reached for my hand, squeezed gently, and pushed people away when they got too close.
I was safe with her, building up the courage to jump up and down alongside her when our favourite song came on.
Our friendship was bedroom doors wide open when we visited each other’s houses because Ava was yet to announce she exclusively liked girls, and her parents did not trust that I wasn't lusting over their daughter.
We went from year seven to year eight, year nine to year ten. And then to year eleven, enduring dating rumours because of how inseparable we were whilst everyone else around us built steady relationships unlike the week-long relationships of previous years.
Although Ava had many friends, I only had her.
I grew attached, perhaps more than I should have.
Not a crush, though everyone seemed to think so.
It was more—fear, jealousy. I only had Ava, and if she decided she liked her other friends more than me, I would be alone, and I was terrified of losing her.
But things were good. Ava and I were two sides of the same coin.
And then came Eden.
We met her during an art gallery exhibition hosted by the school’s visual arts department. It was a small event, though there were more people than I had anticipated.
Ava and I stood by our artworks watching people walk past, seemingly uninterested.
“This is so humiliating,” Ava mumbled.
“It’s because everyone is just here for their own kid’s work,” I told her.
“I hope mum and dad get here soon,” she sighed, adjusting her canvas so it hung straight on the wall behind her.
It was a self-portrait, face decorated with meaningful scenes from her childhood and early teenage years.
There were moments with her parents swinging her in between their arms, moments playing board games with her cousins, and even a scene with me from last summer when we went to South End’s Adventure Island.
It was beautiful. Truly. Though a competitive side of me still wanted to take first place.
“Is your aunt coming?” she asked, fiddling with the gold chain around her neck as she looked around for her parents.
“No. She’s in Rome.”
“Rome? God, wasn’t she in Florence just last week?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What a rich bitch.”
I snorted.
Moments later, her parents arrived. They were so proud, snapping several photos of Ava in front of her artwork. She complained when they fussed over her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
“Oh, Augustus, come, come! Let me take a photo of you both together!” her mother said, ushering me to stand with Ava in front of her work.
“Let me get one of you in front of your work too, sweetie!” her mother added, ushering me the other way toward my canvas.
My artwork was inspired by Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle; an old, gothic mansion with a black gate at the entrance, dark greenery devouring the cobbled pathway toward the front steps.
Inside the house was a young girl standing by the window, a solemn expression darkening her features as she stared right into the eyes of whoever beheld the painting.
Behind her, an ominous shadow loomed, misting around her as though tightening its grasp.
“You’re both so talented,” Ava’s father said, beaming from ear-to-ear.
Their praise and support meant the world.
Having no parents of my own to share in this achievement was difficult, but Ava’s family never made me feel excluded. It was hard, though, knowing the photos they'd taken would be in their family album and not my own.
While Ava and her parents went to taste test some of the cakes baked by junior food technology students, I remained by my artwork, shifting from one leg to the other as more people filed in.
Mrs Brighton had promised she would try and bring Auden, but I didn’t hold out hope. She was struggling with arthritis, and driving caused her all kinds of discomfort.
“Bit grim, innit?” a voice said to my left.
I silenced a groan as my gaze landed on Alexander, hands in his pockets as he observed my artwork.
“Fuck off,” I said.
“Rude,” Alexander pouted. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, explaining your work or something?”
“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, terrorising local neighbourhood kids?” I bit back.
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Come on, tell me. What is your artwork about?”
“I will not entertain you, Parsons.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not in the mood.”
“You’re such a bore, Saint.”
“Then go away.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll smash your face into the dirt and use your blood on my next artwork,” Ava said, returning to my side with her arms folded over her chest.
“Ah, here she is,” Alexander smirked. “Here to save your boyfriend, McTavish?”
“I like girls, dipshit,” Ava said.
“You’re too pretty to like girls.”
“And you’re too ugly.”
Alexander shrugged. “At least I–”
“Wow,” Eden Bexley cut him off, her flawless sun-kissed skin and emerald green eyes decorated with make-up. “Your artwork is absolutely beautiful.”
Ava beamed at the compliment, my eyes darting in between Alexander’s scowl and Eden’s radiant smile.
“Thank you,” Ava said.
Alexander walked away, my eyes tracking his movements to ensure he really was leaving.
“Can you tell me a bit about it?” Eden asked, pulling a stray blonde hair behind her ear.
Ava nodded enthusiastically and explained the meaning behind her work and the process, all the while I stood to the side awkwardly, unsure whether to leave or not.
Eden was in our year, though we didn’t share any of the same classes except for history.
She was a swimmer, and so she spent most of her time with the more athletic crowd whereas Ava and I were amongst the social outcasts.
Not that I had a problem with that. I really didn't care for one's gym routine or the ingredients in a protein shake.
My gaze ventured toward Alexander who stood with his friends, one of whom was a food technology student with a table of pasta. He smirked as his eyes flickered toward Ava and Eden who were laughing, bodies shifting closer together.
If I had known anyone else, I would have left. But I didn’t, so I played the role of an uncomfortable third wheel.
“Wow,” Ava breathed out once Eden returned to her family who were waiting by the food tables, “I didn’t know she liked art. She really knows her stuff.”
“Not just a dumb swimmer, then,” I mumbled.
An elbow to the ribs was Ava’s response.
No longer were we spending our lunch breaks organising social justice school events—Ava was very passionate about the environment and inequality—or painting in the art rooms. There were no more concerts to plan or theme parks to save up for.
Instead, we shuffled onto poolside benches to watch the girls swim team train. Or, more accurately, watch Eden train.
I missed the quiet of the art block, the familiar scent of charcoal and wet paint. The splashes of water, the cheering, the music—it was overstimulating. Even when I brought my art book to draw, concentration evaded me.
“God, she’s so beautiful,” Ava would sigh dreamily.
Everything was all about Eden. It was exhausting. I wanted to discuss art, music, books—Ava wanted to discuss Eden, Eden, Eden.
“I heard she’s going to be at Jesse Somerton’s party this Saturday,” Ava said during one lunch break, her gaze locked on Eden as she climbed out of the pool, wet blonde strands slipping from her swimming cap.
I pulled a face. Jesse Somerton had been arrested twice for driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol, and he wasn't even eighteen yet.
He was always smoking in the bathrooms, setting off the alarms until we all had to evacuate to the sports field.
Somehow, he evaded expulsion, which I suspected had something to do with his politician father.
“We should go,” Ava went on. “It will be our first real party! There will be drinks and music and heaps of people from school. Eden invited me. You should come!”
“To a party?” I repeated, alarmed.
Ava nudged me. “Why do you look so scared? It will be fun! And I need you there for support because…maybe I’ll finally build up the courage to ask Eden out.”
“But…you don’t even know if she…you know…” I waved my hand around in a vague gesture.
“Likes girls?” Ava supplied.
I nodded.
“We’ve been texting a lot,” she shrugged. “I’m not one hundred percent sure but I have to shoot my shot, right?”
“And what am I supposed to do while you’re flirting with Eden?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
Ava wriggled her eyebrows. “Maybe ask a girl out yourself. I heard Elysse has a crush on you.”
“Not interested.”
“Okay, it doesn’t have to be her,” Ava chuckled. “But I mean…don’t you want like…a girlfriend or something?”
“No. I’d rather just…hang out with you.”
Ava frowned, gaze lowering to her hands as she turned so her body faced away from me. “We’re friends, Augustus. Just friends.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“And I’m gay,” she went on, “so I shouldn't have to explain to you that–”
“I don’t like you like that!” I cut her off.
Ava paused. “You…don’t?”
“No!” I said, shaking my head. “You’re my friend, that’s all.”
An uncomfortable silence lingered between us.
“Okay, well, good,” Ava said. “Sorry.”
I shut my art book and climbed to my feet, bag swinging over my shoulder. “Have fun at the party.”
“Augustus–”
I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence as I walked away, tears of frustration threatening to roll down my cheeks.
Why are you crying, little monster?
I had no answer for the Devil. I didn’t like Ava in any romantic capacity. At all. The fact that she, of all people, questioned that after everything just made me feel pathetic. Did she really think our friendship only meant something because I wanted to be with her?
It didn’t matter, not really. Things were changing, and if I couldn’t keep up, Ava would leave me behind.