Paradise City Page 3

  Maybe I wasn’t as easily distracted or, more to the point, couldn’t care less about imported Italian marble, and as I continued to look towards the direction in which Amanda had disappeared without so much as a word, I couldn’t help but feel a little . . . worried.

  Aunty Karen must have taken in my troubled expression – chewing on my bottom lip was a bit of a giveaway.

  ‘I know!’ she said, curving her manicured brow and sharing a devious look between me and Mum. ‘Why don’t you go see Amanda? She’s dying to see you, you just need to break the ice; I mean, it’s been so long.’

  My eyes flicked to Mum, who seemed to nod her approval.

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘Here.’ Aunty Karen spun around, opening the pantry and grabbing a giant-sized packet of salt and vinegar Samboy chips. ‘Take these to her and she’ll be a friend for life.’

  ‘Go on,’ mouthed Mum.

  I thought about it for a moment, before allowing the giddiness to take over.

  Stop being such a sook, Lexie. It’s only Amanda.

  She was probably just as excited and nervous as I was. Of course I’d break the ice. We had so much catching up to do, and I had so much to learn about this alien planet I had landed on.

  I smiled, grabbing the chips with much gusto.

  I’m going in.

  The hall was more like a wing – a long extension into a separate part of the house – and having been given the grand tour, it was clear that upstairs was the parents’ retreat and down here was the teenagers’ domain. Even that in itself was really cool. Amanda’s older brother, Gus, had long since moved out and was off at uni, which basically left Amanda an only child. With so much at your doorstep, I doubt there was ever a dull moment in her life. I was bursting out of my skin to find out. The muffled beat of loud music pounded through the door at the end of the hall. I wondered if she would even hear me. I knocked gently at first, and then harder a moment later.

  ‘Amanda? It’s me, Le–’ Before I even had a chance to finish my sentence, the bedroom door was whipped open. My fist lingered in the air, my eyes widening as my senses were assaulted with the ear-piercing noise – I think it was music – that was pouring out of her room. But more than that, I stood, frozen, my catatonic gaze etching its way up and down the girl who stood before me: tall, slender, with long flowing hair, heavy eye makeup and a lip piercing. She wore a midriff top, exposing her pierced belly button, and yoga pants low on her hips. The only recognisable part of her was her big blue eyes. The very ones that were glaring down at me as she stood there, her hip cocked to the side and her arms crossed. She raised her brows with impatience, as if to say, ‘May I help you?’

  Did she not recognise me? I hadn’t changed at all, not a bit. Taller, yes, but that was about it. I couldn’t fathom the creature that stood before me. What had it done with my cousin?

  My mouth gaped, trying to speak, to construct a single sentence, but all I could manage was to hold up my peace offering and croak, ‘Chip?’

  Amanda scoffed, before snatching the packet from my hands, tearing it open and shoving chips into her gob, crunching loudly. She looked at me, shaking her head in dismay. ‘Tragic,’ she said through a mouthful of chips, before she laughed and stepped back into her room, kicking the door shut with her foot.

  I let out a breath, one I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I moved away from the door, pressing my back to the wall, blinking rapidly as I tried to process what the hell had just happened.

  This was a definite game changer.

  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.