Chapter 18
Sophie leaned on the kitchen bench, listening to the hum of the kettle and voices in the lounge room where Ryan and the boys were watching the Raiders game.
Jasmine was drawing at the kitchen table.
Another dragon. Her forehead was creased with intense concentration as she outlined its scales with a gold pen.
Her teacher, Miss Clyde, had called that afternoon to discuss what she referred to as ‘Jasmine’s increasing isolation’.
Apparently she was spending her lunchtimes alone in the library.
‘How’s school, Jazzie?’ Sophie asked. Light. Casual.
‘Good.’ She didn’t look up from the drawing.
‘Who are you hanging out with these days?’
Jaz shrugged and sat back to study the drawing. She clicked her tongue, then turned the page ninety degrees and started touching up the tail.
‘Jaz?’
She didn’t answer. She was leaning forward, close to the page, biting her top lip as she drew. Was she avoiding the question? Or was she so absorbed in her drawing that she didn’t hear it?
‘Come on! Come on!’ Ryan shouted.
‘Yessss!’ exclaimed Charlie.
Harvey hooted.
Sophie craned her neck to see them through the doorway. They were all up on their feet. The Raiders must have scored a try. Hopefully they would win. Things were better when they won.
‘You bloody legend!’ Ryan said, high-fiving his sons who beamed back at him.
Sophie smiled to herself as she reached for the kettle. She loved nights like this when everything was exactly as she’d imagined it would be.
Ryan’s good mood tonight was a welcome surprise.
He’d been on edge ever since their encounter with Nel at the wake the day before.
He’d interrogated Sophie the whole way home.
Why was Nel at the library? Why did they talk to each other?
How did she know Harvey was sick? Sophie had done her best to supply satisfactory answers while Ryan glared out the windscreen, clenching his jaw.
The kettle clicked off. Sophie poured water into the mugs, then glanced at the calendar to check what was on this weekend.
What was the date? The seventh? She looked at the square for Saturday, noting the little P she put in the corner to keep track of her period.
It also said, Charlie soccer semi-final.
She frowned. That was last week. Charlie, the goalie, had dived to stop the opposition from equalising in the final moments to secure the win. Today must be the fifteenth. How did a whole week pass in the blink of an eye?
Looking at the right Saturday now, she saw that she’d written Charlie—Leo’s party 3 pm. Damn. She’d forgotten about that. He would need to take a present, but her allowance was gone.
She looked back at the little P written in blue biro on last Saturday. Was her period due a week ago? That couldn’t be right. She must have the date wrong. She flipped back to July and located the previous P, then counted four weeks forward. No, she hadn’t made a mistake.
Her period was late.