Begin End Begin: A #LoveOzYa Anthology Read online

  A hand grabs me lightly around the back of the head. I drop my gross half-beer with a squeal. Even through the pounding decibels, his low voice penetrates.

  ‘Gabrielle? Are you hyperventilating? You look like you’re hyperventilating.’

  ‘Argh, Louis, let go!’ I yelp. I straighten, fleetingly caught off guard by his calloused palm on my hair. Lou shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s not much taller than I am, but is all shoulders and muscles and square, stubbly jaw, the boy my mum has always described, affectionately, as ‘the thug one’. Though in Mum’s estimation, Tommy is ‘the nice one’, and Lara is ‘the chatty one’, and Claire is ‘the pretty boy’s girlfriend’, like my friends are characters in some lame-arse sitcom.

  Lou’s thick eyebrows furrow. He’s wearing his uniform of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, a pack of smokes peeking out of his pocket. He smells faintly, familiarly, like tobacco and generic shampoo. I grab hold of his arm as my brain tries to hammer out some words.

  ‘Gabe? Why’s your face that colour?’ Lou asks, dark eyes travelling back and forth between mine. ‘You look like you’ve seen —’

  But Lou is no longer looking at me. He’s followed my gaze, and he’s clearly caught sight of Cam, judging by his open-mouthed double take.

  ‘Oh. Shit,’ he says.

  I grip his hand and use it to point through the crowds, somehow hoping that our combined power will cancel out whatever insanity is happening here. ‘Lou — what is going on?’ I yell. ‘What’s Cam doing? And who the hell is that girl?’

  Lou has recently shaved his dark hair almost to the scalp, but a hand unthinkingly lifts to tug at the non-existent strands, his habitual nervous manoeuvre. ‘Dunno. I mean, I guess him and Claire had a tiff or whatever, but —’

  ‘What in the freaking hell is this?’ A tinny voice squeals.

  Lou and I spin around. Lara is standing next to us, hands on her hips, substantial chest heaving like she’s sprinted here.

  Lara rounds on us, an accusatory finger pointed. ‘What is Cameron doing? Did you guys know about this?’ she yells over the music.

  ‘Lara, chill,’ Lou rumbles. ‘Look at Gabe. Do you think we know anything?’

  Whatever is happening on my face makes Lara downshift from burly tempest mode. She has a smear of lipstick on one canine tooth, and it’s normally my job to be on teeth patrol for Lara and her red lipstick, but none of that matters because the cosmic calamity continues as Claire materialises beside us.

  I am frozen in shock, but Lara, always the more dramatic of the six of us, leaps in front of Claire. She grabs Claire and steers her around so that her back is to the dance floor. Lara shoots Lou and me a look of desperation; Lou takes a step back, disengaging as he is prone to do whenever any hint of emotional drama threatens.

  ‘Listen, Claire-bear, let’s go outside,’ Lara says quickly. ‘Tommy shouldn’t be left alone with those guys from Lou’s Greek school. Let’s go find him before they dare him to chug a bottle of Sriracha again.’

  Lou shoulders a little in front of me. ‘Ah, yeah,’ he says, his gravelly voice pained. ‘Outside. Let’s do that.’

  Claire shakes off Lara’s hand and turns around, pale ponytail swinging. It’s like watching a car crash, a slow-motion building demolition; as disastrous as witnessing Tommy attempt to pull off a Panama hat for a month in Year 10.

  Claire blinks at the dance floor. She smooths away an imaginary wrinkle in her dress. A pink-nailed hand reaches up to straighten the single heart on her necklace, a Valentine’s present from Cam, which she has worn for as long as I can remember. And then she turns to face us again.

  ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘So that’s Isla. I kind of imagined she’d be taller.’

  Lou superglues his shoulder to mine, tension humming through his skin. Lara’s mouth opens and closes, but for once, Lara seems to have no words.

  I round on Claire, my eyes bugging. ‘Wait, what — you know about this?’ I yell over the music.

  Claire takes a nonchalant sip from her giant red cup. ‘Well, yeah. I think Cam met her at the English exam last week.’

  The three of us stare at Claire. She, quite painstakingly, avoids our eyes.

  ‘But … you guys … you just had a fight!’ I say. I hear the panic in my voice, and I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t seem to hold it back. ‘You and Cam always fight, and you always make up. What … Claire! You can’t be okay with this!’

  Lou looks kind of angry, or as angry as his deadpan face ever gets. ‘Gabe’s got a point,’ he rumbles. ‘It’s not right. Even if you guys are on the outs, or whatever. He’s being … disrespectful.’

  Lara nods vigorously, but Claire just gives Lou a swift, shrewd look that makes him scowl and avert his gaze.

  Claire closes her eyes. ‘Yeah, okay, look,’ she says slowly, gesturing for us to huddle closer. ‘We knew this was going to be tough for you guys, and I am a little pissed at him because we said we would talk to all of you together, but, the thing is …’ She crosses her arms defensively, and I feel a heavy, horrible weight settle in my guts. ‘Cam and I have decided to break up,’ Claire says flatly. ‘It’s been coming for ages. I’m sorry we didn’t say anything sooner, but you guys …’ Her face scrunches, and even though my entire world is shifting on its axis, I’m also a bit flabbergasted, because I think Claire might be trying not to laugh. ‘You guys are maybe just a wee bit invested,’ she finishes with a grin.

  My eyes ping-pong between Claire and Lara, Lou and Cam, but I think my brain stalled somewhere back at, ‘So that’s Isla.’

  Claire sighs. ‘Look, guys, this is gonna take some time for you all to process, but really, it’s for the best.’ She smiles brightly, like she hasn’t just pitched a giant flaming turd bomb into the centre of our group. ‘Come on, think about it. Uni starts soon, and honestly, I think we’re both kind of relieved to be starting it … free.’

  No, no, no. This wasn’t part of our plan. For four years it’s been Claire and Cameron, ever since they hooked up at Tommy’s fourteenth birthday party. Every movie night at Cam’s house, bigger and nicer than any of the rest of ours, and every Saturday trip to the movies in the city; every lunch hour hanging on the edge of the soccer field watching Cam train; every after-school session at the greasy chicken-and-chips place at the train station. Every plan for next year, our first step into freedom, so close I can almost taste it — it’s always been Claire and Cameron. Yeah, so maybe we are a wee bit invested. But, man, with the rest of our shitty, messy lives? Claire and Cam are the closest thing any of us have to a gravitational centre.

  Claire gives us her best sympathy eyes. ‘I know this is unexpected,’ she says, her voice that patented, soothing Claire tone. ‘But it’s fine. Everything is going to be okay. It’s all good.’

  No. No, no. ‘It’s all good’ is not acceptable for this situation. It’s what you say when you fail a quiz that doesn’t count towards final marks, or when Lou once again finds himself sleeping on Cameron’s floor, ’cause Lou’s mum is entertaining another Tinder date. It is not a satisfactory explanation for the only people in your life who are supposed to be rock-solid and unbreakable, one of whom is currently snogging a girl with indigo hair, who — oh my God — now has her hands right up the front of his shirt.

  I close my eyes, trying to take myself to my happy place underwater with nothing but silence and my breath through my diving regulator. I haven’t been to the ocean in months, what with exams, and my dad’s wedding plans ballsing up my life. It’s a little hard to visualise the peace of submersion with the brain-busting music, and Lou’s too warm arm practically pasted to mine.

  Claire shrugs. ‘It doesn’t have to change anything,’ she says. The song switches to something even more thumpy and aggro, and someone on the dance floor hollers, dislodging the light fixture with an ill-timed arms thrust.

  Claire casts one last look at the dancers and then disappears through the lounge-room door. Lara hurries after her.

  The press of bodi
es has jammed Lou flush against me, enveloping me in his familiar smoke-and-shampoo scent. He looks uncomfortable, and totally thrown. Not a good sign, considering Lou dealt with the news of his own parents’ divorce with nothing but a stoic shrug and a weekend Fast and the Furious marathon.

  ‘Lou! This isn’t right!’ I yell, my voice getting lost. ‘What are we gonna do?’

  Lou cups a hand over the shell of his ear. He leans down, presumably to hear me better, the brush of stubble against my cheek briefly ticklish. I take a deep breath, trying to find the fortitude to repeat myself, just as someone jostles Lou, and my lips accidentally brush his ear lobe. Lou leaps back with a start.

  Then a slurry, wet voice beside me burbles, ‘Hey, has anyone ever told you you’ve got really sexy lips?’ And Lou grabs my fist before I can launch it at gross Ian.

  So this is what it’s come to.

  Stuck inside this crumbly house with a life that’s suddenly crumbling, too. And for the first time, I can’t be sure my friends will be there to salvage the pieces.

  10 p.m.

  Lou and I scramble into the kitchen behind Lara and Claire. It’s like the last days of Casablanca in here, jammed with shouting people, every surface overflowing with cups and cans and the remnants of sausage rolls. Over by the fridge, Vanessa Nguyen is crying, noisy and damp, and her friends are scrambling around proffering paper wipes and fierce sympathy words. The usual party drama, fuelled by some crisis that’ll no doubt be dissected to death over the next few hours. The magnetic letters on the fridge behind Vanessa’s head have been rearranged to spell out the words: Hassan Fahed has a face like a cat arse. Commiserations, Hassan, whoever you are. You have my sympathy.

  Lou scratches at his stubble, the raspy sound all too familiar when Lou is feeling beleaguered. ‘Shit. Where’d they go?’ he growls. ‘And has anyone seen Tommy?’

  The few people in the vicinity who know us shake their heads. The few people who don’t offer some useless advice, and a few anatomical unlikely places where Tommy could be hiding.

  Lou and I always find ourselves together at these things. Partly ’cause Lou is about as social as a hermit crab, or one of those octopuses who lug a coconut shell around, just so they have a handy place to retreat. I guess us social lepers and misanthropes must just gravitate towards one another; at least that’s my explanation for why Lou and I, strangers then, ended up hiding together in the PE equipment room at our Year 7 formal, silently smacking a shuttlecock back and forth between us, tentatively bonding over the stupidity of the rest of the world.

  The touch of cool glass against my neck snaps me back to the moment.

  Lou holds out a bottle of Limonata, the top popped. It’s my favourite, and not usually found in these parties of off-brand cola and cheap plonk.

  ‘Where did this come from?’

  Lou shrugs. ‘Brought it from home, didn’t I? Better than Abdul’s stash. Didn’t even know Romanian beer from Aldi was a thing.’

  I take the bottle, weirdly unnerved by the gesture. ‘Oh. Um, thanks, Lou.’

  Lou shrugs. ‘S’okay.’ He clears his throat. ‘We better find Tommy before he hears about this shit through the grapevine.’

  There is a crash from the other side of the kitchen. A guy I vaguely recognise shoves his face against the pantry door, shading his hands against the slats. ‘Oi, you guys!’ he says to no-one in particular. ‘Reckon someone’s doing the business in here.’

  Lou and I exchange a look. We hustle through the crowds, to find Lara and Claire trading whispered words inside the kitchen pantry in between bags of rice and cans of Spam.

  Lara squints at us as light floods the cupboard. ‘Get in here, Gabrielle,’ she hisses, hauling me and Lou inside and slamming the door behind us.

  There’s barely enough space for one normal-sized person in here, but with Lou’s bulk and Lara’s boobs, it’s as crammed inside as a novelty clown car. I feel the pulse in my temple start to pound, in time with the shithouse club music.

  ‘Suppose we couldn’t have this conversation out on the street like normal people?’ Lou grumbles. He lifts his arms above his head to make some space for me, and wiggles his backside into a shelf of tomato cans.

  ‘Not my fault,’ Lara snaps. ‘Spend less time at the gym, G.I. Joe.’

  I bristle. ‘Hey, he’s not the one with a skirt that could double as a circus tent,’ I hiss, shoving the voluminous fabric of Lara’s skirt out of the way.

  Lara Saliba has lived three doors down from me since forever. She’s my oldest friend, but weirdly, not my closest. It’s like we’re linked together only by proximity, and our stupid Mills & Boon names. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death, but her hectic energy and constant shoutiness are just a bit much to cope with, one on one.

  ‘Yeah okay, sorry Lou,’ she says, waving a dismissive hand. ‘But, you know, forgive me for being a little bit tense. This is an emergency!’

  ‘So what’s the plan, then?’ I whisper, ’cause urgent whispering seems to be called for in this situation. ‘Lou, maybe you should go talk to Cameron?’

  Lou grunts. ‘And say what? You think I’m gonna be able to stop him pashing a rando? I can’t even get him to stop putting McDonald’s in his mouth —’

  I elbow him in the ribs. ‘How about, “Dude, since when has your thing been girls who look like cartoon characters?” Who even has blue hair —’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon we could start by letting Is-la know she’s peed on the wrong lamppost,’ Lara says, crossing her arms. ‘I haven’t been in a fight since Year 7, but I still reckon I could take her —’

  ‘Christ, you guys!’ Claire yelps. It’s dark in here, and I’ve been momentarily distracted by the gluggy sound of someone puking outside the door, accompanied by a few expletives, and a lot of cheering. I’d sort of forgotten Claire was even here. ‘There’s been no peeing on anything, Lara,’ Claire hisses. ‘Has it even occurred to you guys that this was my decision, too? Why are you all acting like I’m some sort of hopeless bystander?’ Claire crosses her arms. ‘I know you’re upset, but that’s actually really … freaking insulting. And, by the way, none of this is Isla’s fault. That poor girl is not the issue here!’

  The smell of vomit wafts into the pantry. I have a cast-iron stomach, but Claire’s rant is making me queasy, and even in the dark I know Lou’s face would be paling. I’m not sure that he’s going to make it out of here without a sympathy hurl right into the Razaks’ basket of cucumbers. Lou grabs my arm. He sways precariously sideways.

  ‘Okay, we’re done,’ I say, yanking open the door. My friends may have crossed over into some alternate dimension of stupidity and obtuseness, but I refuse to spend another second of this hellish party trapped in a freaking kitchen cupboard.

  I tug Lou’s hand, and he follows blindly. I have no explanation for the giant ball of anger that coalesces as the kitchen light hits Claire’s face, I only know that I need to get away from her before I say something I’m gonna end up regretting.

  Outside, Brian Cheng from my chemistry class is face down on the floor, a puddle of bright vodka-and-orange sick near his head. His friends are pointing and laughing. One of them is in the process of tying his shoelaces together.

  I step over his prone body, dragging Lou behind me, depositing the untouched Limonata on a bench as we pass.

  ‘We’re going to find Tommy,’ I call over my shoulder.

  Lou is holding his breath, his hand clasped firmly in mine. I’ve seen Lou gag after catching a glimpse of rubber novelty puke at Claire and Cam’s last Halloween party, so I drag him quickly towards the laundry door, refusing to acknowledge Claire’s anxious plea behind me. I know it’s ridiculous, and yeah, probably a bit self-centred, this fury I can’t seem to quash, that Claire’s problems have upset my life. And, irrationally, all I really want right now is a hug from Cameron; Cam always has a ready hug for even the smallest of traumas, freely given and uncomplicated, one of the few people whose touchy-feelness doesn’t make me squirmy.


  God — I have been friends with Cam for way longer than I have known Claire. Does this mean that I’m supposed to be on his side? What am I supposed to do if these two people don’t come as a pair now? I have this mental flash of my future, managing my friends like I manage my parents — conversations conveyed through me in terse Chinese whispers, and Cam hiding behind the agapanthus as he collects me for an awkward dinner that’ll be filled with not-at-all-subtle digs at his ex — and I kind of want to join Brian Cheng in his epic kitchen-floor puke.

  Instead, I hold tight to Lou’s hand and cast a last look over my shoulder, leaving Lara gesturing frenetically at Claire, and Claire looking kind of resigned amid the Razaks’ groceries. They can stay there for all I care.

  11 p.m.

  I lead Lou through the laundry, down the concrete steps and outside into the warm, smoke-filled air. It’s a little less jammed here, the space beneath the carport hosting various pashing couples, and what looks like an impromptu game of tequila pong. At least, I think that’s what’s supposed to be happening; as far as I can see, the game seems to involve nothing but a bunch of giggling idiots sprawled across the table-tennis table, amid empty bottles of Jose Cuervo.

  Lou lets go of my hand as soon as we hit the open garden, but he sticks close as we move through the crowd. It’s like we’re in some kind of shared daze, swapping occasional glances loaded with confusion. Lou’s looking less greenish now, though the line of consternation between his eyebrows has yet to vanish.

  ‘What should we do?’ he asks as we head past Abdul’s crowded granny flat.

  I cast a glance around, but Tommy is nowhere in sight. Part of me hopes he has given up and gone home, but with everything that’s been going on with his folks lately, I shudder to think what our normally cautious friend is up to right about now.

  ‘Gabe …?’

  ‘Louis, you reckon I have a plan?’ I manage to reply. ‘Dude, clearly you’re getting desperate.’