Paradise City (3 page)

Chapter Four

I couldn’t believe it.

Dinnertime arrived, when we all came together to feast on not-KFC – that was somehow ‘shelved’ by Aunty Karen for baked salmon over a bed of couscous and Mediterranean vegetables. My heart sank, testing the gravelly mound of what looked like sand. The meal wasn’t the thing that I was having trouble accepting, though; it was the fact that Amanda, my fire-breathing cousin from only mere moments before, had emerged out of her cave like a beautiful butterfly. I’m not saying she transformed in any physical way as she still had on the belly-exposing tank top and yoga pants, but she was sporting a beaming smile and open arms to my parents. Double blinking and flashing her white teeth at their typical aunty and uncle praises. ‘Look at you.’ ‘Haven’t you grown?’ Blah, blah, blah.

Spare me.

The only other person who didn’t seem to be buying it was Uncle Peter, who was looking at his daughter like he didn’t have a clue who she was. Not that I think he actually cared. He stood up and opened the door to his stainless steel fridge and grabbed another beer. Probably to numb the pain.

Amanda laughed and smiled and helped her mother with bringing food over to the table; the only time I ever saw a crack in Amanda’s facade was on the odd occasion when her eyes met mine and her expression dimmed somewhat.

I frowned. What had she said? Tragic? Was she calling
me
tragic?

I adjusted my top, looking down and trying to work out how a white V-neck and denim mini could be tragic or offensive. I had deliberately gone shopping for a new summer wardrobe knowing I was coming here, and just as I straightened my top, I froze.

Oh my God.

I was fidgeting self-consciously like my mother. Oh no, that
was
tragic. My heart sank; I had never felt so incredibly out of place. Even my dad had begun to relax after a few beers. He had managed to strike up a conversation with Uncle Peter about cricket and Mum and Aunty Karen, well, after a few red wines, they were thick as thieves. They may have been worlds apart in a materialistic sense, but they would always have one thing in common – their childhood. A burst of laughter sounded from the kitchen as Aunty Karen topped up Mum’s glass. They were talking about old boyfriends or something cringeworthy like that. I turned to look at their carefree, flushed expressions; tears were literally falling from my mum’s eyes as Aunty Karen fought to breathe.

That was what I had hoped to have with Amanda, that no matter how much we had changed, we would always have a childhood to cling to, that even though the Barbie dolls were long gone, and yoga pants and piercings were now in vogue, all that could be put aside; we were blood, that meant more than the aesthetics of someone. But there was just one teeny, tiny issue I could foresee being a complication. The Amanda Burnsteen, the one who sat across from me, smugly shovelling a fork of couscous into her mouth, this Amanda was an absolute bitch!

•

After having said goodnight to my parents, who were too tipsy to drive back to the motel and were looking at a night crashed out in Uncle Peter’s office, I readied myself for bed.

I held my toothbrush and toothpaste to my chest like a shield as I stood in the doorway and stared in horror at my new sleeping quarters. In. Amanda’s. Room.

‘It’s only a single bed, but it’s a king single we bought from Freedom.’ Aunty Karen gave me the décor rundown as she turned down the sheets. It was a beautiful bed, expensive-quality cover striped with greens and blues, nestled under a big window on the opposite side of the room from Amanda’s bed. But it didn’t matter how beautifully it had been made, I still got this sense that a certain someone was not going to be pleased about this and, as if conjuring her out of my nightmares, Amanda appeared, walking past me, bumping my shoulder as she walked into her bedroom. Yep, definitely not happy.

And neither was I. I’d kind of assumed with Gus having gone to uni, that there would be a spare room now. But apparently his room was sacred and off limits, used as some kind of shrine to their son for whenever he returned, which from what I’d heard, wasn’t very often. Surely with such a big house you would think that there would be a space for me? A nook, a cranny, a closet? Anywhere that wouldn’t put me at risk of getting smothered in my sleep. Apparently there was another room but that was Aunty Karen’s ‘studio’. That was her space for whatever phase she went through each month. I had spotted a yoga mat, walking machine, beading station, a potter’s wheel from her stint at clay-pot making, and painting materials: a real mishmash of hobbies. Obviously Aunty Karen had commitment issues.

I glanced at Amanda; she had peeled her cover back and jumped into bed, wedging her ear plugs in her ears and turning the volume up.

Looked like there was going to be no late-night ghost stories like the days of old; the only nightmare I would be having tonight would be the thought of my parents actually leaving me here in the morning.

‘There you go!’ Aunty Karen stepped back, admiring her handiwork. ‘You’ll sleep like a baby.’

What? Wet, hungry and awake, screaming my lungs out every hour?

I smiled. My aunty was trying to make me feel at home; at least someone was.

She came over to me, sweeping my hair from my shoulder. ‘Now tomorrow, we’ll sort out your uniform for Monday and get you any last-minute things you might need for your big day.’

I pooled all my effort into smiling. ‘Great.’

‘Oh, I am so happy you’re here, Lexie,’ she said, embracing me in a huge perfumed hug. ‘Don’t stress about Amanda, she’ll get used to it,’ she whispered into my ear before letting me go with a cheek pinch.

Aunty Karen made her way, well, zigzagged her way over to Amanda’s bed. It was a few red wines later.

‘Goodnight my angel . . . MWAH!’

‘Ugh, get off me, Mum,’ Amanda yelled.

‘Aw, I love you, too,’ she laughed, slapping her daughter on the bum as she struggled to get off the bed, zigzagging her way out the door, pausing at the light switch until I slipped into my bed and under the covers.

‘Night, girls,’ she said, flicking off the light, plunging the room into darkness and closing the door.

I lifted the cover up to my chin, much like a child would do to ward off creatures that go bump in the night. The blackness wasn’t entirely consuming; a streetlight outside cast a muted glow through the curtain of the window I lay under. It was the silence that was suffocating. Back in the day, Amanda and I would have pulled our mattresses to the floor, wedging them together and making one giant springy island. We would crawl under our blankets with torches and talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up or about our super secret crushes. Now all that pierced through the dark was the distant, high-pitched noise of the music that was being drummed into Amanda’s ears – that and . . . laughing?

Was she laughing?

I cocked my head, listening intently, thinking maybe it was just the music playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t. Amanda was laughing all right, almost giggling like a school girl. I peered over to her bed.

Was she laughing at me?

When I hitched myself onto one elbow to squint her way, there she was. Her smiling face, illuminated by the screen of her mobile.

Whoa. Amanda had a mobile phone. I didn’t even own one.

Her thumbs made clicking sounds in the dark as she lay on her back, listening to music and texting one of her BFFs, no doubt.

I don’t know what it was about that sight, but it made it crystal clear that she didn’t in any way, shape or form want me involved in her life. I felt a heaviness in my heart. I settled back down in my thousand thread-count sheets, and brand-new orthopaedic mattress, and tried to not let every giggle, every click wind me down further into sadness. But as I stared out the window, focusing on the glow of the streetlight, I could feel hot tears well in my eyes, pooling and falling down my temples as I came to a sudden realisation.

Paradise was a lie.

•

It didn’t take long for sleep to claim me. The build-up, anticipation, travel and orientation had me bone tired. It might have been the luxurious feather-top mattress as well. I could have slept for a thousand years; well, until I awoke with a foot to my head.

I thought I was dreaming when I felt the searing pain of my hair being ripped out by the roots, my bed springing up and down with violent jolts, before being hit with the sound of scraping metal and a gush of wind. I went to scream as my hand flew up to my trapped hair. My scream was muffled as a hand clamped down on my mouth; plunged fiercely out of my slumber, my eyes blinked wide, my heart threatening to punch a hole through my chest, my nostrils flaring at the sight of Amanda kneeling on my bed.

‘Shhhh.’ She scowled down at me. ‘If you so much as make a sound, I swear to God,’ she warned.

‘Amanda, come on, let’s go,’ a hushed voice sounded. My eyes snapped to where the voice had come from, the opened window.

‘I’m coming,’ she called, momentarily peeling her eyes from me and then back again. She pressed her finger to her lips to mime a warning for silence. When I nodded quickly she slowly lifted her hand from my mouth, watching me like a hawk, warily waiting to see if I would scream or not. I desperately wanted to, I wanted to shout the house down, lash out at her for scaring the shit out of me, for stepping on my head, for pulling my hair. Instead I sat up, pushing myself back and away from her against my bedhead, brushing the hair out of my eyes and staring daggers at Amanda.

‘Well, well, well . . . what do we have here then?’ A pair of elbows rested on the aluminium frame of the opened sill, a head poking through the window with a cheeky smile and eyes that trailed over me in curious assessment. I pulled the blankets around me, still trying to catch my breath after such a rude awakening.

The boy canted his head towards me. ‘Is this her?’ he asked Amanda.

Amanda ignored him, readying herself to stand, before locking her burning eyes on me. ‘If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make your life a living hell!’

She put as much diva-esque emphasis on her warning as she could, most likely because she had an audience. My brows lowered, matching her murderous gaze as she tried to intimidate me; I couldn’t contain it any longer.

‘Oh, fuck off!’

A burst of laughter came from outside the window, not from the boy standing there, who merely looked on with an open mouth – the loud outburst of deep-bellied, surprised laughter came from behind him. As I peered past boy one, my eyes rested on boy number two. He leant against the house, his shoulders vibrating as he laughed; his profile was highlighted by the glow of the streetlight, and the first thing that struck me was the deep dimple that formed when he smiled. I wondered if his other cheek matched and desperately wanted him to turn around, to look my way. But instead he remained casually slouched beside the house in the semi-shadows, arms crossed against his chest; he was tall, lean and maybe it was the darkness but his hair was dark and ruffled in a devil-may-care way. The only thing that snapped me out of my trance was what would be the second biggest surprise of the night.

Amanda shifted her focus from me and glared towards the tall boy in the shadows; she moved to grab onto the edge of the opened window as boy number one lifted his arms to help her. She was midway out when she addressed the still-laughing boy: ‘Shut up, Ballantine!’

Chapter Five

Ballantine?

Ballantine . . . Ballantine.

The name rolled over in my mind, time and time again. It had been on repeat ever since the previous night, when I’d stared wide-eyed and stupefied as Amanda snuck out the window and disappeared with the two boys: admittedly, two hot boys. Even in the shadows I could tell that; there was no mistaking the lure of that dimple, and that laugh; the laugh that was a direct result of me telling Amanda where to go. A part of me cringed at the memory, of being such a gutter mouth. Seriously, what would they think of me? What would bad-boy Ballantine, who stood up the principal, think of me? Well, at least he found it funny, much to Amanda’s displeasure. I, of course, wondered what my new life would be like now, how she would most certainly make my life a living hell. When the sun rose in the morning, I had tentatively rolled over to squint through sleepy eyes, and there she was. Twisted in a blanketed cocoon, fast asleep. I hadn’t even heard her come back in. Oh God, had she climbed back through the window? I blinked at the curtains in horror. Had the boys helped her back in and looked down at me drooling onto my pillow?

I pulled the covers over my head.

Ugh, I hated sharing her room!

But then the memory of the smiling boy in the shadows would pop into my mind and somehow that very thought seemed to trump all the negative. My chest puffed out with pride every time I recalled it.

As my spoon clinked against the porcelain of my cereal bowl at breakfast, I remembered the boy in the shadows. Showering, soaping my hair into a bubbly, foamy hive, I remembered the boy in the shadows. Standing on a chair as my mum fixed the hem on my school uniform, I smiled a small smile, thinking of the dimple in the dark and just as I was lost in the dreamy perfection of the memory, a half-asleep, probably half-hungover Amanda shuffled herself into the lounge, looking like death. I lifted my chin with a knowing glint in my eyes, as she sneered my way and went to the pantry.

‘Done!’ Mum announced. ‘Go take a look.’

I hopped down from the chair, running towards the downstairs bathroom mirror. My school dress fitted perfectly – the blue and white checked uniform had me grinning like a fool.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was going to go to a real school, with lockers, school socials and canteen lunches, and real people who passed notes to each other in class. I had agonised over so many decisions: hair up? Hair down? Half up? My hair was not straight enough to be dead straight and didn’t have enough of a curl to be curly. It was just ash-blonde, and kinky. Dull. My nose was not too offensive; it kind of had a ski-jump quality about it that I didn’t entirely hate. I was glad I got my mum’s nose and not my dad’s bulbous one. I had a light smattering of freckles across my nose that I hated. Mum bought me some powder concealer and I didn’t go anywhere without a dusting of it across my face; it also helped make me look a bit less pasty. Seeing myself next to Amanda or Aunty Karen – heck, anyone in Paradise – I was painfully aware of how pale I was. My skin was almost translucent in comparison. My mum would tell me I had a peaches-and-cream complexion, like that of an English maiden. I likened it more to Casper the ugly-arsed Ghost! Still, it would now be my summer mission to inject some colour into my life.

I’d posed a million ways in front of the mirror, testing out a million different hypothetical scenarios. ‘Hey, I’m Lexie. What’s up?’ ‘Hi, I’m Lex.’ I was literally yanking out strands of hair every time I readjusted the elastic band into a new style; I decided to quit while I was ahead, rocking up to school with a comb over would not be a hot look.

‘So what do you think?’ My mum’s voice startled me, as I caught her beaming smile in the reflection.

‘Geez, Muuum.’ I clutched my chest, reeling in the pounding of my heart.

‘Sorry, love,’ she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. ‘You look so lovely.’

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. ‘How cool is the uniform?’

‘Pretty cool,’ she agreed.

‘Do you think I’ll be the only girl at Paradise High who is really excited about things like uniforms, and school bags and lockers?’ I laughed.

‘I think that’s exactly why Paradise High is going to be so lucky to have you. You’ve already scored an A plus for enthusiasm.’

Ha! I thought, what would Amanda score then? The simple task of breathing in and out seemed to inconvenience her.

Dad appeared in the bathroom doorway, folding his arms across his barrelled chest and drinking in the sight of his girls. He wouldn’t say anything but you could tell what he was thinking. I was half expecting him to relay some kind of Dad humour like, ‘I’m gonna need a shotgun.’ Or ‘You take after your old man.’ So when he finally spoke and said, ‘It’s time to go, luv,’ I swung around so fast my ponytail whooshed across Mum’s face, momentarily blinding her.

‘What, already? No, you can’t go,’ I said in dismay, my eyes bulging and alarmed. I knew today was the day my parents were leaving for home but, I don’t know, I just didn’t expect the reality of it.

‘We’ve got to, Lexie. It’s a long drive and I have to go to work on Monday,’ Dad reasoned, his eyes sad.

‘But you guys haven’t even been to the beach yet; you can’t come to Paradise City and not go to the beach. That’s just wrong.’

Mum stepped forward, brushing my fringe from my forehead. ‘We’ll be back, and when we are, you can show us around.’

Mum was implying I would what? Be a local by the time they came back for school holidays, in eleven weeks time? Heat began to creep up my neck again. Seventy-seven whole days coexisting with Amanda, of her hissing and glaring at me, stepping on my hair each and every night. I tried to not let my inner turmoil bubble to the surface.

Instead I smiled, hoping it didn’t seem so forced. ‘I will, I’ll plan a whole agenda for when you come back. Surfing, boogie boarding, beach volleyball, rollerblading.’ I counted out the activities on my fingers.

‘Oh, for sure; hang gliding, body piercings, you name it,’ Dad agreed.

•

After the initial chaotic runabout that seemed rather indicative of the way the Burnsteen household operated, we were walking Mum and Dad out to the car, doing the usual pouted, sobbing goodbyes. Actually, that was just Aunty Karen.

‘Oh, you sure you can’t stay a little longer?’ She shuffled in small, heeled steps towards Mum, throwing her arms dramatically around her. I was still a bit perplexed as to why she was wearing heels on a weekend.

I tried to put my big-girl pants on, to not let my mum’s tears affect me and make me want to jump in the car and go home with them. This would be the first time in, well, ever, that I would be living away from my parents for anything longer than a weekend. And now they would soon be gone and I would be gloriously free, living it up in the city: new start, new friends, new me. It was the life I’d imagined I wanted. The only thing was I just wasn’t feeling it yet. I shook off the thought, thinking it would be different once I started school. That would change everything.

In true Uncle Peter style, he stood idly by, his body language making it clear that he would prefer to be anywhere else right now instead of at painful family farewells. Amanda had said her goodbyes before heading out to who knew where for the afternoon. Maybe to hang with the boys from last night? My mind flicked back to Ballantine.

My parents were behaving as if they were sending me off to the warfront or something. Hugging me so fiercely, tears staining my mum’s cheeks. Even Dad was all misty-eyed as he focused intently on straightening the car aerial.

‘Don’t cry. You’ll see me in school holidays,’ I said, trying to pacify them in some small way.

Mum gave a small and totally unconvincing smile. ‘Home just won’t be the same.’

‘Are you kidding? It will be even better. Less laundry to do, no more nagging me to keep my room clean or me whingeing that I don’t want to watch the ABC. You’re going to love it.’

‘She has a point, Jen,’ said Dad, ‘I’m kind of regretting not opting for boarding school earlier.’

I tilted my head as if to say ‘Ha-ha’ but it was exactly the distraction Mum needed, and I felt less sad about her being upset, because I knew five minutes into their journey Dad would have her laughing again. He was good like that.

‘Oh, Lexie. Wait a sec, I almost forgot,’ my mum said, sniffing as she moved to the passenger seat and grabbed her handbag, delving into the contents.

My interest piqued; the bag search usually meant money, and any donations to the Lexie Atkinson fund were always greatly appreciated.

‘Here, take this.’ Mum held out her fist, indicating I should hold out my hand.

Ooh, what’s this, I wondered, offering my open hand eagerly as Mum dropped something into my palm.

My brows narrowed, my smile slowly falling as I studied what sat in my hand.

A whistle?

‘Um, did you sign me up for some sporting team I don’t know about?’ I eyed the whistle with disdain.

‘It’s a safety whistle; you wear it around your neck and if anyone tries to mug you, you can alert the neighbourhood you’re in trouble.’

Oh my God. Was this a joke?

When I didn’t so much as move, Mum took it upon herself to step forward, picking it up from my palm and looping the cord around my neck. I looked down at it, studying it with disbelief.

‘Why didn’t you just ask Uncle Eddie if I could borrow his safety vest?’ I asked, horror lining my face.

‘Come on, Lexie, you’re not in Red Hill anymore.’ Dad adopted his disciplinary voice.

Thank God for that, I wanted to say. I wanted to throw the biggest mind-blowing tantrum of my entire seventeen years, but instead I took a deep breath, and tucked the whistle under my t-shirt before Amanda came home. They held all the cards here and I was half convinced that this was some kind of test – a minefield laid out before me so that at any moment they could declare that this wasn’t going to happen and then whisk me away, never to see Paradise City again.

I was almost there. Only a few more moments of playing it safe, of saying yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. Not long and I would be waving my parents goodbye, home free.

I straightened my shoulders. ‘Thanks,’ I managed.

My mum blinked in disbelief. I think she had actually mentally prepared herself for Armageddon and when it didn’t come, her shoulders relaxed, and that sad look she would break into every so often since my enrolment had been accepted at Paradise High appeared. The tilt of the head, the watering of the eyes and the pout. Followed by a bone-crushing hug.

‘Aww, our baby girl is growing up,’ she cried.

Well, at least I was trying to.