Nudge 4 The Group Project
The Group Project
This is never going to work. I am going to kill him. And everyone here will have to watch.
Even now, as we survey Evie’s illustrious grounds, I can’t maintain a normal composure.
I’ve been here for three hours, strolling directly next to him, and he has done absolutely nothing.
Not a ‘hello’, not a ‘remember when . . .’, no small flinches at my presence.
I could be anyone or no one, and I don’t know which is worse.
It’s infuriating and embarrassing, and incredibly rude.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks gruffly.
‘What?’ I ask, snapping out of my rage-filled haze.
‘Your hand. It’s going pale from how tightly you’re holding that pen.’
‘Just taking notes,’ I lie curtly.
‘Yeah . . . and lots of them.’
His eyes scan pointedly over my paper full of annotations. It awakens a deeply savage instinct inside me that demands I gouge his eyes out right here on this grass.
The first time I ever really interacted with Aiden, he looked at me not too dissimilarly to now.
It was a tale as old as time – I was a quiet, young people-pleaser and he was a disruptive class clown, eager to be everyone’s best friend.
The teacher, dying to destroy some formative years, thought, How could I make both of these small children miserable?
and ripped us from our friends and sat us next to each other, in the hope that my quiet nature might tame him.
‘They’re not dissimilar to the type of notes I took when we were at Winterdown.’ I study him closely, but his face remains neutral. It’s psychotic. ‘You remember Winterdown? The school that we went to? Together.’
‘I know the place,’ he replies coolly.
Of course, I never tamed him. I don’t know why she thought it would be possible, for the devil cannot be turned with such ease.
Even back then, he took one look at my page of notes, asked why I bothered writing so much and that was the beginning of the end.
Although, the innocent eight-year-old me couldn’t have possibly imagined just how awful that end would be.
‘But not me?’ I keep pushing. ‘You don’t remember anything except me being “in your class for something”?’
I think it’s a perfectly sane, normal thing to ask. So, I have no idea why he’s staring at me like I have grown an extra head.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks, lowering his voice significantly.
I know he’s smart enough to pick up on context.
I’ve experienced the unfortunate strength of his mind games first-hand.
But I will not waste any further time explaining myself to someone who does not have the basic empathy to engage.
It’s undignified and stupid, and, most importantly, another instance where he comes out the winner.
‘Just forget it,’ I hiss.
‘You’re angry with me.’ The corner of his lip twists into a smile that could launch a thousand deathly missiles.
I lie again. ‘No.’
He responds with a chuckle that activates my fight-or-fight-harder instincts. ‘You seem it.’
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and remind myself that I am not a person that would fare well in jail.
I have spent years building everything on my way to success, and I will not allow him and his stupid laugh to knock it down for me.
But it’s so loud and so pressing, and bounces around my brain with so much vigour, that I can’t drown it out despite my best efforts.
‘Will you be quiet?’ I snap back louder than I intended. ‘You ruin everything.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m just standing here.’
‘Standing here and judging me when you should be paying attention,’ I reply.
‘I can’t multitask?’
‘This is important!’
‘Well, if it’s so important then maybe you should stop talking to me.’
‘Can you please go and stand next to literally anyone else?’
‘There she is – there’s Moany Maddy!’
I hear the triumph in his voice and time stops, trapping us both in it. Blood pounds in my ears as I turn to face him, my icy stare a contrast to his proud warmth.
‘What did you say?’ I hate how thin and weak my voice sounds.
‘Moany Maddy.’ He cocks one eyebrow. ‘I thought you might have grown out of her by now.’
He does remember me.
I lose all concept of space, time and all that surrounds me as my eyes narrow in on his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a dare almost. That’s the guy that’s haunted my thoughts for over a decade.
‘Maddison!’ Oliver’s call breaks the moment and I turn to see everyone else, Evie included, looking my way expectantly.
‘Evie asked if you had any thoughts,’ Pippa says, the words squeezing through her incredibly false smile.
‘My personal thoughts?’ I ask.
‘Yes, your personal thoughts.’ Evie chuckles. ‘You’ve taken so many notes – what do they say?’
‘Oh, Maddison’s just like that – she always takes loads of notes!’ Pippa rushes to say, attempting to sweep me back under the rug. ‘She gives such detailed write-ups; it’s so helpful when Gus and I are getting stuck in.’
‘I love that! And I’d like to know what she’s thinking,’ Evie says, perfectly mimicking her sickly-sweet tone. ‘I am really keen to hear what plans you’ve got brewing, Maddison.’
She looks at me with an open, earnest smile.
Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of ideas, but, in the four years that I have worked at Abbingtorn, nobody has ever asked me for any of them.
I’m not used to voicing my ideas and I don’t really know where to start.
There’s a line of communication, which is always filtered through Pippa, and we do not ever break that mould.
But Evie is staring at me now, glossy lips pursed into the softest and most supportive of smiles.
I try to speak, but the words get stuck somewhere in my throat.
So, I do the only thing my anxiety-riddled body will allow and hold out the notebook.
She crosses the space between us and I hold my breath as I let her scan the pages in my hand.
Delight and confusion dance across her features, nose scrunching at sentences, fingers tracing over my wobbly letters and shoddy diagrams. She actually wants to know.
She actually cares. And even from here, I can tell it’s making Pippa furious.
‘There’s a question mark by water features. You don’t like the idea either?’
I hear Pippa’s sharp inhale at Evie’s query, daggers shooting into the side of my head.
Two years ago, Pippa decided she needed an ‘event signature’ – something people would see and know they were at a Pippa Shaw soirée.
Why she decided on water features, I could not tell you.
I also couldn’t tell you why she consistently picks the tackiest ones around.
I just can’t bear to see Evie brought down to her level.
They’re not her brand – they’re not even remotely close – and she shouldn’t endure them at the expense of Pippa’s weak attempt at having a personality.
‘We all love water features, of course. They’re a Pippa Shaw staple,’ I say as diplomatically as possible.
‘But?’ Evie asks.
She can already tell what I’m thinking and she’s pressing me to go on, despite Pippa’s death stare.
‘I just don’t know if they should be the main feature for this event.’ I hesitate, but Evie nods for me to continue. ‘It’s called a “Summer Splash”, which to me implies more water park than it does water feature. You know?’
‘I do,’ she says, musing this over. ‘So, you think we should go down a water-ride route?’
‘Your brand screams luxury, and luxury is not found in family water parks.’ I wrinkle my nose, thinking of the garish colours, the smells, and the screams of children.
‘I think you could still have some fun with it, though – water parks and pool parties with a twist, you know? More adult, more upmarket, more . . . you.’
Her face grows more animated the longer I speak, at least until she surveys the crowd and narrows in on the less-than-impressed man to my right.
‘Aiden, you’re frowning.’
Of course, he’s frowning. I could tell him he’s just won the lottery and he would frown at me. Aiden hates my guts, and, by the looks of it, he’s done pretending otherwise.
‘It’s all good.’ He shrugs, feigning apathy.
‘Well, it’s clearly not.’ Evie continues to watch him closely. ‘Speak your truth.’
‘I just feel like it’s a bit obvious.’
‘Obvious?’ I say.
I’ll tell him what’s obvious. The way he dresses like a nineties R&B singer because he hasn’t got any style of his own, that’s obvious.
‘Resort . . . Summer . . . It just seems a little basic, you know? An obvious link,’ he says.
Pippa barely masks her snort of derision and I scoff at his words.
‘We would obviously make sure it wasn’t basic,’ I say.
‘And how would you do that exactly?’ he asks.
Well, I don’t know, Aiden. I just came up with it and no one was supposed to read my half-thought-out notes until they were fully formed and typed up.
I think for a moment, trying to recall the key points from the brief Aiden emailed around.
‘The point of the event is to launch a luggage line, so we could make this place a holiday resort – multiple holiday resorts.’ I wave a hand around the grounds, sectioning it off as the vision springs to life in my brain.
‘If we have multiple water rides – one in each quadrant, there could be a theme with each representing a different country you’ve been to. So, we—’
‘It has potential, but I don’t think it’s big enough,’ Aiden cuts in.
‘And how, exactly, would you make it bigger?’ I say.
I don’t quite understand what’s not big enough about multiple holiday resorts, and, frankly, I’m not convinced that he does either.
‘I don’t know . . . I just feel like it needs more,’ he says.
‘Like more rides?’ I grill him further.
He shakes his head. ‘Like more substance. Anyone can throw a party – Evie always does things with meaning.’
He makes an annoyingly good point. Evie has always been someone that posts with a purpose, be it a good cause or someone she can lift up.