14
I WAKE UP the next morning with swollen eyes and a tear-damp pillow. I have a pulsing headache. I grope on my bedside table for my Franklin Grammar water bottle and down the whole thing before dropping it on the floor and scanning the ceiling for the safe, familiar crack. I want to just zone out like this for a million years but the details from last night sharpen in my mind and I can’t lie still. I find my phone underneath my pillow and open up my messages with Ben. I need to know what’s happening with Ninja. If he has any updates. Plus I should probably thank him for coming over and telling me about her. The more I think about it, the more considerate and sweet I realise it was. He definitely could have not told me. It would have been so much easier for him. I think Ben might actually be a really nice guy. I should also probably apologise for having a freak-out in the street, dramatically running off and leaving him standing there all alone.
About last night basically um thanks for coming over and sorry I freaked out. I’m thinking 7.5 on the weird scale? Anyway if I promise not to have another meltdown can you tell me what’s happening with Ninja
While I over-analyse every single word I sent and wait for his reply, I drag myself out of bed and rummage around the bathroom for paracetamol. I find some in the cupboard behind a stack of unopened toothpastes, tissue boxes and mouthwashes, because Dad has an obsession about having backups for everything. I think it’s his version of retail therapy.
Then I force down some cereal at the kitchen bench because Mum swears you can get a stomach ulcer from taking Panadol on an empty stomach. I close my eyes for a minute and try to project my mind out into the universe. To try to sense how Ninja is. If she’s dead already or maybe… maybe. Would I know? Would it feel like Charlie, light rushing out of the world? All I feel is crushing fear and uncertainty.
When I start to get dizzy from effort I open my eyes and reply to Jacinta’s messages asking me what happened last night, explaining about Ninja, and she tells me that’s really sad but also maybe a little bit romantic in a very morbid way. I finish my bowl of cereal, slump onto the couch and scroll on my phone while I wait for Ben’s reply.
I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
Except Ben doesn’t write back. He doesn’t write back that whole day. And he doesn’t write back the day after, either.
I spend forty-eight hours distracting myself by helping Dad put graphics on his housing-prices prediction video and helping Mum with the surprisingly satisfying job of organising the kitchen spices. They both ask me if I’m feeling okay and I say yes. Eventually I somehow manage to convince myself that Ben probably didn’t see my messages. Maybe they didn’t go through. So the following morning I message him again.
What are you up to for New Year’s? Also Ninja update please!?
I lie in bed for the rest of the morning with my hand on my chest, feeling my heart beating. I consider calling the sanctuary directly to get an update on Ninja but if Debbie answers I’m screwed. At one point that afternoon, as I’m rereading my messages to Ben for the millionth time, three dots appear—confirmation he’s still alive and his phone hasn’t been swallowed by a platypus or whatever, and that he’s typing back . But the dots disappear. Then they appear again. Then they’re gone. I grip my phone and chew my lip, my surroundings fading to a blur as I will words to pop up on the screen, but Ben never sends anything. I feel sick. I message Jacinta and she attempts to reassure me.
He’s probably just super busy covering a million shifts for all the people on holidays
Yeah probably
I don’t fill her in on my much more believable theory that Ben and I were never friends, that Ninja was really the only thing tethering him to me out of a mix of endangered-animal gratitude and Charlie-sympathy, and she probably died overnight but given my reaction in the street he’s not telling me and, now that he’s seen what a total mess I am, he’s decided he should probably distance himself altogether. I can’t decide what hurts more: I’m sorry. I can’t or this.
I haven’t heard from Lockie again either. The only reason I don’t cancel my New Year’s Eve plans with Jacinta is because when I told Mum about them she said she was so happy I’m doing so well and tried to help me plan a ‘fun, colourful outfit’. That, and the wild hope it might act like a faith-based placebo. I even wore my yellow pyjamas to bed last night, trying to soak up the happiness, optimism and energy. Maybe it will work: if I pretend things are okay, they magically might be.
The train to Melbourne is vibrating with anticipation as it heads towards the city skyline. We’re only a few hours away from an entirely new year.
Jacinta and I are squeezed into seats near some twenty-something-year-old guys in singlets who are messing around, sneaking swigs from a flask, and listening to tinny techno on an iPhone. They keep glancing at us.
We spent three hours getting ready at Jacinta’s house—her Mum delivered mini sausage rolls and diet Cokes to the bathroom—and the makeup Jacinta did for us is incredible: hers a galaxy of shooting stars and planets stretching from temple to temple and mine glittery, forest-green eyeshadow with gold feather fake eyelashes. Jacinta’s in badge-studded overalls and I’m wearing a hot-pink T-shirt dress. I’d say we look pretty good.
Jacinta holds her phone out for a selfie. We squish our cheeks together and smile.
‘Ahh, I’m so excited for tonight!’ she says with a squeal, sending me the photo.
‘Me too!’ I say, because I kind of mean it. But also because I’m trying very hard to maintain the fun-and-carefree-girl mood I spent all day psyching myself into. But when Jacinta’s message vibrates my phone and I glance at my screen, my chest tightens even though I see exactly what I expected: Ninja there as my background and no message from Ben.
I watch Footscray sliding by and I half-heartedly listen to Jacinta dissect Bella Darling’s latest video about her five mental health New Year’s resolutions and moan about the fact that she’s doing meet and greets in the US, UK and Europe next year but she’s not coming to Australia. As the twilight slowly arrives, our reflections appear in the glass like ghosts.
‘Hey,’ Jacinta says, turning from the window as we’re finally pulling into Southern Cross Station. ‘We should have asked your brother to come tonight. What’s he doing?’
I feel my shoulders tense. ‘Uh.’ I try to think of a way to answer that isn’t an outright lie. ‘I’m sort of trying to move on from hanging out with my brother. It’s a bit sad.’
‘Oh. Fair enough,’ she says, but then she frowns slightly before forming her next words carefully. ‘Hey, are you…is everything okay?’
I pretend to look confused, trying not to freak out that my placebo act might be see-through. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean,’ Jacinta continues, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. ‘I know the Ninja thing is really crap. As is the fact that Ben might turn out to be a jerk. But, besides that? In general?’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Yeah. Totally.’
When I don’t elaborate Jacinta hesitates, but then just nods. ‘Okay,’ she says.
Luckily the train stops a second later and we jump off with everyone else, flowing with the river of people pouring into the Melbourne night.
I’d managed to convince Mum and Dad to let me watch the fireworks in the city with Jacinta, as long as we don’t drink and Jacinta’s mum picks us up from Franklin train station afterwards. Our mums had a phone call about it a few days ago, which I’d monitored from across the living room to ensure it was short and sweet, and then permission was miraculously granted. That was the moment I started liking Jacinta’s mum, and my affection for her grew after she pretended to be surprised when I turned up at her front door and screamed out to Jacinta to ‘hide my dildo collection’, which was cringe but also hilarious. Then she followed us around as Jacinta gave me a tour of their small but warm-feeling home. I thought this was a little odd before realising she probably hadn’t had any of Jacinta’s friends over for a while either, like my mum. She also might have had a wine or three. When we were alone for a second I asked Jacinta how her mum was about everything with her dad and she said, ‘Good days and bad days. But today’s a good day.’
·
‘It’s up here,’ I tell Jacinta after a ten-minute walk through the buzzing city, looking up from the map on my phone and pointing to a laneway on our right.
We walk up the tiny street and into the restaurant, which is the definition of cheap and cheerful. Sizzling plates of spicy-smelling food land on brightly coloured tablecloths and there’s a constant chorus of cheers echoing around the room. My mood lifts a little. Given we only booked a few days before New Year’s Eve we’re relegated to a tiny table up the back, but it’s perfect for people-watching. We order dragon-fruit mocktails from the tattooed waiter and start stuffing our faces with the free, salty peanuts as Jacinta scans the restaurant for potential midnight kisses.
‘What are your feelings about bamboo shoots?’ I ask, looking up from the menu.
Jacinta shrugs. ‘Neutral.’
‘I’m sorry. Neutral ? That’s not a feeling. Have you even tried them before?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘ Yes, oh-cultured-one. I have.’
I laugh. ‘Okay. Then you must have a feeling about them. You can’t feel neutral about something.’
‘Sure I can,’ she says, shoving some more nuts into her mouth. ‘I’m impartial. Non-partisan. I have zero feelings about bamboo shoots.’
I shake my head. ‘Nup. Not possible. If you know what something is, you have to either like it or dislike it. Even a tiny bit. Even one per cent. You have to feel something. It’s, like, a law of being human.’
The waiter brings out our drinks, two enormous pink things made from happiness and sugar highs, and we order veggie dumplings, sticky lemon chicken for Jacinta, tofu satay stir-fry for me, and fried rice.
‘That’s definitively untrue,’ Jacinta says after taking a sip. ‘There are plenty of things people feel neutral about.’
I gulp from my glass and wince against a brain freeze before answering back. ‘Okay, name anything—any single thing in the world that I know exists—and I guarantee I have a feeling about it.’
‘Okay. How about…’ Jacinta smirks, as if she’s already won. ‘Hydrogen gas.’
I blink at her for a few seconds, trying to evoke a feeling that isn’t there. ‘I mean, I don’t exactly—but it’s not that—’ Then I burst out laughing. ‘Okay. Wow. I am literally neutral about hydrogen gas.’
‘Told you.’
We come up with a surprisingly long list of things we’re neutral about and I laugh so hard my mouth aches. When our food arrives we dig straight into the sticky-salty-sweetness. While I’m washing down a mouthful of stir-fry with some dragon-fruit concoction, my phone buzzes in my lap. I flip it over as fast as humanly possible. But it’s not Ben.
Happy new year’s Evans
All the air leaves my lungs. I’ve tried not to think about Lockie since his message at Christmas, tried not to keep wondering what it meant, but if I’m honest he’s been a constant thought-wonder-hope at the back of my mind. Because I can’t help but still like him. I still want him to want me and for that wanting to be a time machine, to take us back to the way things were before Charlie died. For my entire life to go back and be okay again. I have a desperately hopeful thought: maybe if Lockie and I were a thing, like we were meant to be, all this dread and fear and confusion would somehow stop, like a rift in the space-time continuum that was never meant to happen would be repaired. Maybe I would feel normal again. I know that’s illogical—but I also don’t know it for sure —and, anyway, it feels like the only hope I have. Even the thought of Ben can’t compete with that.
I look up at Jacinta, wanting to dissect the message with her and try to figure out what the hell Lockie is thinking, but I can’t explain the situation properly when she doesn’t know about my brother. This is the worst.
‘Okay, you look like you’re about to pass out,’ she says, glancing towards my lap. ‘What just happened?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, aiming for casual. ‘It’s just Mum asking how we’re going.’
‘Right,’ she says, but I’m not sure she believes me.
I push my food around my plate, but I’ve lost my appetite now. On the other side of the restaurant someone pops a bottle of bubbles and people cheer.
‘Oh, did I tell you?’ Jacinta asks, swallowing a mouthful. ‘I’ve decided I’m doing nursing at TAFE.’
‘Oh, wow,’ I say, trying not to sound too distracted. ‘Cool.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty cool.’ And even though Jacinta doesn’t seem super enthusiastic about it, I don’t ask why because my phone’s buzzing again.
Hope ur doing something fun xo
I blink. A kiss hug? A kiss hug? All year I would have sold my own soul for a single message from Lockie, and now I’m getting a kiss hug? I thought he was with Tina, but maybe he’s not. My mind’s spinning. I picture Rach texting me: LUCY ELIZABETH EVANS YOU SEXY PIECE OF ARSE I TOLD YOU!! As I stare at the screen trying to figure out if I should reply, Jacinta starts talking again.
‘Actually, I was listening to this audiobook talking about this thing called multipotentiality.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I say, but I barely glance at her. If I do reply to Lockie, how long should I leave it before writing back? And what should I say?
Jacinta’s still talking. ‘Yeah. It was about, like, people who are multipotentialites . People who are really good at multiple things. It’s basically the opposite of your one transcendent thing theory. And I was thinking that kind of makes it really hard to—L, are you even listening to me? What are you looking at?’
I lift my gaze to see a strange, stiff expression on Jacinta’s face.
‘Sorry,’ I say, turning my phone screen-down. ‘Nursing. TAFE. Sorry…what were you saying?’
But she seems to have lost interest. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘Forget it.’
We go back to eating but things are awkward and tense, and we both drink and eat faster to compensate. Is this our first fight? I don’t know if I can handle fighting with literally my only friend. I glance around the restaurant, trying to find something funny to talk about to fix this moment. My gaze follows our tattooed waiter, and then lands on a dragon-themed clock on one of the walls. I see there’s less than two hours of the year left. Less than two hours of the last year that Charlie was alive. As soon as that clock hits midnight we’ve left every year he’s ever lived in behind and he won’t exist in an entirely new, completely terrifying way I hadn’t even thought of before now and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop that moment arriving. I’m suddenly a little breathless and then I get that cold sweat like before you throw up and the dark, immeasurable vastness wants to pull me deep, deep, deep. Don’t cry, Lucy. Please don’t cry on your fun night out. Please be normal! But I don’t think I can rescue my thoughts this time. I know it’s going to get worse and worse until this night is engulfed by darkness.
I’m about to race to the bathroom, but then—wait. No. I know how to stop sliding into this abyss. I know what I need. And as soon as I’ve sent the mental request into the ether, an idea hits me. Yes . I do a quick search on my phone and find what I’m looking for.
‘You know what?’ Jacinta says, putting her fork down on her empty plate. ‘It’s so nice to be hanging out with you and your electronic device. Should we order it a drink? I wouldn’t want it to feel like a third wheel or anything.’
I look up to see her glaring at me. ‘Sorry.’ I down the end of my mocktail. ‘Can we just get out of here?’
Jacinta crosses her arms, clearly confused by the sudden waver in my voice. ‘Where are we going?’
‘It’s a surprise,’ I say, and I know this is the right decision because my veins are already flooding with adrenaline, the world outside this moment beginning to fall away. ‘Just follow me.’