8
‘THE HARD BIT,’ Jacinta says, ‘is making the stars look like stars and not pimples.’ We’re walking across the Frank’s carpark, having finally found a spot a million miles from the entrance. Jacinta’s tiptoeing along the white-painted lines, arms out for balance, while telling me about a full-face galaxy makeup trend she wants to try. ‘You need the right amount of shimmer. Bourjois does a good silver for it.’
‘Sounds complicated,’ I say, using our slow pace to avoid cracks in the concrete because I’m slightly superstitious. ‘And a lot of work for something you wash off a few hours later.’
Jacinta shrugs. ‘The impermanence is part of the beauty. Like how cut flowers are beautiful because they die. But, yeah, I obviously take a million photos.’
I want to tell her that the concept of impermanence gives me quite violent vertigo, but I also want to keep my mood light, so I ask, ‘Did you do art at school?’
She nods. ‘Basically the only thing I did.’ Jacinta told me her VCE results were pretty crap. She’s still tossing up whether to go to TAFE next year and what course to do—a diploma of nursing or beauty therapy. ‘What subjects are you doing for year twelve?’ she asks.
‘Uh.’ I have to think for a second. Leonie told me grief can affect basic cognitive abilities, like memory, but it’s also very possibly an attention-span thing. It’s a wonder I managed to put on a bra. ‘Media. Psyc. Bio.’
A car drives past and Jacinta loses balance. ‘Psychology and biology ? So, you’re smart.’
I feel myself blush slightly. ‘I have to work pretty hard.’
‘Doesn’t mean you’re not smart. Okay. Tell me a biology thing. Or a psychology thing. Something I haven’t heard before. Blow my mind, L.’
I take a second, sidestepping some freshly discarded gum. ‘How about an unproven hypothesis thing?’
‘You don’t strike me as the conspiracy type, but sure.’
Then, for some reason I can’t quite fathom, I’m telling Jacinta about the one transcendent thing theory.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ she says. She sounds half amused and half intrigued, affirming my hopeful assumption I can pretty much be myself around her. ‘There’s some incredible and special thing hidden in me, like some ‘chosen one’ shit, but it’s highly likely I’ll go through my whole life never knowing what it is.’
I shrug. ‘That’s pretty much the gist, yeah. I mean, have you ever really tried to move inanimate objects with your mind? Or have you just always assumed you can’t?’ I catch Jacinta’s eye. ‘Like, you can’t discover you’re a world-champion-level badminton prodigy if you’ve never even played.’
She laughs. ‘Okay, interesting point. But do you still subscribe to this theory? Or is this more like when you believed in the tooth fairy?’
I think for a moment, bending to examine something shiny, but it’s just a lost zip. Somewhere, someone’s undone. ‘I mean, I don’t think I still believe in, like, telekinesis or magic or anything,’ I admit, trying to figure out how to explain why I brought the theory up in the first place. But I don’t think I can without bringing up Charlie. And anyway, I can’t find the words. Maybe I should forget about it, forget about chasing signs this summer, forget about the feeling that there might be something…more. ‘I dunno. It was a kid thing. It’s stupid,’ I say.
Jacinta pauses, thinking for a second. ‘Nah, I don’t think it’s stupid. I mean, it’s seriously optimistic, and kind of narcissistic, also a bit depressing, and probably unlikely. But it’s not stupid.’
Before I can respond to that she’s started walking again and I have to run a few steps to catch up.
The shopping centre entrance yawns before us, Christmas carols float out of the automatic doors. We pass through the portal and into a world of consumerism. 350 stores in one location , an electronic display tells us. Maybe more than there are plains-wanderers left in the wild, I think.
‘So,’ Jacinta says. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Find me a job or, at the very least, a place to dump these.’ I wave my resumes. ‘Then banana smoothies and a movie.’
‘Perfect.’
We wander past a Priceline and a Foot Locker, weighing up the pros and cons of working at various retailers and dodging hordes of stressed-looking Christmas shoppers, until Jacinta pulls on the sleeve of my T-shirt.
‘Look.’ She’s pointing to a clothing shop called Flair that appears to be for middle-aged women—all bold patterns and statement colours. A sign in the window says: Junior holiday sales assistant wanted—urgent . Inside, there’s a curvy, managerial-looking lady with a fitted leopard-print dress and large, red-framed glasses straightening some clothes.
It’s not my thing, but it’d probably be better than cleaning crusty dishes and wiping down toddler-slobbered tables in a cafe.
I straighten my skirt.
‘I’m going in,’ I say. ‘Can you come with me? I’m weirdly nervous.’
‘Um. Sure. What should I do, though?’
I shrug. ‘I dunno. Just…moral support?’
Jacinta bites her lip. ‘Okay. On it.’
But we’re only three steps inside when she splits away from me and heads to the opposite end of the shop. I grit my teeth at her flakiness and approach the leopard-print woman, who looks up from a rack of dresses and smiles with closed lips. ‘Can I help you?’ There’s foundation in the creases around her eyes.
‘Um, yes please. I just wanted to apply for the sales assistant job,’ I say. I hand her my resume, which she accepts and runs her eye over it. It doesn’t take long. It’s basically a bullet-point list of positive personality traits.
‘Do you have any retail experience?’
I tuck some hair behind my ear, trying to sound confident even though it’s already obvious by her body language that she’s not going to hire me. ‘Well, no. But I thought…because your ad says junior…’ I trail off and point to my resume. ‘I’m a fast learner and very conscientious and—’
She cuts me off. ‘We expect all our staff to have retail experience.’
Cool. Amazing. I can see how this job-hunt thing is going to go. ‘But how can I get experience if you won’t give me a chan—’
Someone clears their throat behind me. I turn to see Jacinta standing there with an expression I assume she thinks looks mature.
‘So sorry to interrupt,’ she says to me. ‘But do you work here?’
I blink at her for a second and lower my voice. ‘What are you—’
‘Great,’ she says. ‘Because I’m looking for something for Mum’s fiftieth birthday and I really need some help. Her style is, like, super gaudy and over-the-top. She was a dancer on a cruise ship in her twenties and I think she’s still trying to live her glory days, you know?’
‘Right. Sure,’ I say, having no idea where to go with this.
Leopard-print lady opens her mouth to interrupt, but Jacinta jumps in first.
‘So, do you have anything?’ she asks me, eyes darting left to a rack in the far corner where a midnight blue top covered in sequins hangs like a solar system on steroids.
I bite down on my smirk. ‘Well, actually, we do have something that might suit.’ I get the top and hand it to Jacinta with a shimmery flourish. ‘What do you think? Over-the-top enough? It’s only’—I glance at the price tag and almost choke—‘$395.95.’
Jacinta gasps, taking the monstrosity from me and holding it up to the light. ‘Yes! It’s transcendent ! How did you know her favourite colour was too-many-sequins?’
I wave a modest hand, really getting into the role now. ‘Just doing my job.’
‘No,’ Jacinta says. ‘You really are a star employee. I’ll be telling my very many rich friends about this store and—’
‘That’s enough.’ Leopard-print lady moves to stand between us, looking unimpressed with our performance. ‘I saw you two standing together outside the shop.’
I cringe and Jacinta gives me a look like ‘oops’.
‘Now,’ the woman continues, gently taking the top away from Jacinta. ‘If you’re done mocking my stock, you can get out.’
Jacinta and I try to hold it together as we leave the shop. We only just make it out of sight before we collapse into each other, laughing so hard no sound comes out.
‘Your mum was a dancer ?’ I say, gasping. ‘On a cruise ship ?’
She shakes her head. ‘She worked in the cafe on the Spirit of Tasmania . The staff got boozed below deck on overnight sailings and she almost broke a shoulder trying to dip my dad to some Robbie Williams song.’
We both crack up again and a brief, guilt-laden thought pops into my mind like a very delicate bubble: I’m having fun .
We’re still laughing and talking as we walk through the shopping centre, heads bent toward each other, when I smack directly into the solid chest of some guy.
‘Woah!’ he says, leaping backwards and sending popcorn from a half-empty box flying.
I look up, ready to apologise, until I see long eyelashes and pink zinc-remnant-streaked cheeks and a T-shirt with the words ‘Basketball South Africa’ around a green and gold logo.
I swear my heart stops beating. ‘Ben!’ I say, and my mind does the thought bubble thing again: He’s beautiful.
He frowns for a moment before recognising me. ‘Oh! Lucy. Hey.’
I can’t tell from his expression how he feels about seeing me. Probably not great. But of all the thoughts and questions swirling through my mind, including apologising for the dingo thing again, asking how badly I got him in trouble, and wondering whether he knows that his dad has seen my boobs , the most pressing concern is if Ninja is okay. I’m about to ask, when—
‘Evans,’ a voice to Ben’s right interrupts my thought process. ‘Hey.’
And suddenly I realise Ben’s not alone. He’s with five other people, all holding oversized drink containers and popcorn. There’s a short guy I don’t know with dark features and a corduroy cap that says ‘Dog Mum’; there’s Stephanie Chew and Tina Strunk from my old group at school; and there’s Rach , the sight of my ex-best friend makes my whole body throb with hollow longing; and there’s the person who just said my last name—a voice I’d know on another planet, autotuned, a thousand years from now. For a moment there’s the memory of Charlie at that party, the smell of chlorine, that sickening crack —but I clench my teeth to keep from tumbling into the memory of that nightmare day. I try my best to smile.
‘Lockie,’ I say. ‘Hey.’