ONE
Belle (Now)
The sun is out in full force today, which means half the school first fifteen play an off-season game of rugby on the green, shirtless. Naturally my best friend Kate and I have set ourselves up under the trees that border the field, making the most of the goods on display.
I’m riding a high that only the last full day of high school brings. Final-year exams start next week, which means outside of attending those, my days in the classroom are done. I’m unshackled from the restrictions of a schedule, let loose from the expectations of the state.
Nine hours of testing to go, and then I’m officially a school-leaver.
An adult.
I rearrange my bag to act as a makeshift pillow and lean back, sliding my sunglasses over my eyes as Kate rummages in her bag. “Dad said I could go to Scott’s party next weekend. Even told me he’d buy me something to drink.”
Kate frowns, carefully peeling the wrapper from the base of her cupcake. “I thought we weren’t doing that?”
“Why not?”
“Last week you said you didn’t want to go.”
“Yeah, well last week I didn’t have a personal invite from Scott.”
“No way.” Her eyes go wide and her jaw hangs slack.
“Way.” I lift my hand for a high five.
She slaps it with her own. “When did he do that?”
“Third period, English.”
“Tell me everything then.” She takes a bite of her baked goods, smiling around the mouthful while she watches me, and then swallows. “What exactly did he say?”
I grin at the memory and stretch out. “He said it would be a shame if we never got a chance to hang before we go our own way.”
“Hang out.” She scoffs before she takes another bite. “Whatever. We’re totally getting shit-faced and you are getting it on.” She waggles her eyebrows at me before she seemingly stares off into nothing. “Damn. What am I going to wear?”
“You look fine whatever you choose.” It frustrates me; she really does. The girl could wear a thrift shop bargain two sizes too large for her and still look hot.
The guys are bound to love her, and as usual, she’s bound to make me invisible in the process.
“Dad’s picking me up, though.” I groan. “Said he’d pick us both up, actually.”
“We’ll tell him I drank too much and Scott’s mum gave me a bed for the night.”
“Yeah, I’ll think of something.”
“I’ll tell my parents that your dad is getting us and I’m staying at yours.”
“He works nights now.” I don’t really know why I choose to share that with her other than the change in hours has niggled at me since he took the offer a month ago.
We need the extra money, and moving to the late shift means penalty rates. The decision was a no-brainer, which is exactly what I told him when he asked if I was okay with the idea. Still, it sucks. Dad and I might not have done much in the evenings, but those cheesy TV shows, the two of us cozied on the sofa together… that was our time. That was what we’d done since Mum left. I guess the realisation that I’m growing up—that those moments won’t last forever—took me by surprise.
I’ve been so focused on proving that I’m a young adult that I forgot to make the most of being a child.
“Must be quiet on your own then.” Kate sets her rubbish aside and promptly hitches her tank up her stomach to tuck the hem beneath her bra. She wriggles on the grass, scrunching the legs of her shorts together until the black material almost resembles a belt, and then spreads out to catch the rays.
“It’s not too bad.” I shrug. “I’ve got Netflix and a ridiculous amount of data.”
She chuckles, brushing her hair aside. “I’d love to be on my own at night. The things I’d get up to, the guys I’d sneak in….”
“You’re a fucking nymphomaniac,” I say with a laugh. “It’s all you think about.”
“Babe.” She lifts her eyebrows. “I’d have to be fucking to be a nympho.”
“True that.”
“Speaking of….”
I slip my sunglasses to my forehead and turn my face her way. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind if I invited someone else to join us at Scott’s?”
“Who?” I get the distinct feeling I’m not the only one who hasn’t been sharing everything of late.
“So, there’s this guy that does my brother’s mechanical work, right?” She bites her bottom lip, fighting the most ridiculous goofy smile. “He’s twenty-one, and babe, he’s so fucking fine.”
“Have you…?”
Her eyes go wide. “Not yet. No way. Damn, I’d tell you if I had.” Her cheeks flush as she smiles at me. “I’ve been drooling over this guy for weeks, Belle, and Saturday he finally decides to talk to me.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “Hello. Messenger, bitch.”
“I wasn’t sure if he was keen, you know? Like most of the guys always see me as Trent’s baby sister and give me hell. But the signals he was throwing off….” She sighs, her eyes glazed as she loses herself to the memory.
I clear my throat, lifting both eyebrows. “And?”
“He messaged me last night. I swear to God I almost died when the notification came up.”
“What did he say?” I cry, damn near hysterical. The suspense is killing me. I live my love life vicariously through her escapades, each story like a new hit.
“He fucking sent me a picture,” she groans. “You know the kind.”
I make grabby hands for her bag, and she swats me away.
“No way. I’m not ready to share yet. But I promise….” Another sigh. “You’ll love him, Belle.”
“So ask him to come.” I narrow my gaze on her. “You think a guy your brother’s age wants to hang out with school leavers though?”
“Only one way to know if he’s keen.” She smiles woefully. “I reckon if he does come out with us I might be able to, you know….”
“Get him liquored enough to go through with it?” I tease, slipping my glasses back on.
The back of her hand collides with my arm. “Hush, woman. He’s not that far out of my league.”
“Didn’t say he was. I mean he’s only three years older, right?” Not as though he’s in his thirties….
Something twists in my gut as I recall the crush I developed on Dad’s best friend a few years ago: guilt, shame? Whatever it is, the unease that builds and flows into my chest is unwelcome as I think back to how hard it was processing those new feelings, how long I struggled before I managed to remind myself how wrong it would be for anything like that to happen between Zeus and me.
Still, I can’t deny that half the reason why I’ve never had a steady relationship with a guy since is because I subconsciously compare them to Zeus. Apples and oranges. How could a boy ever compare to a man such as him?
Simple: they don’t.
“You don’t mind if I message him, then?” Kate asks. “He could probably give us a lift to Scott’s if your dad’s okay with that.”
“Has he got friends?” I need options. If things with Scott don’t pan out, I want someone to help me push those kinds of thoughts of Zeus back into the darkest corners of my mind.
I need a distraction.
“Has he got friends,” Kate mutters, mocking my question. “Of course he has friends.”
“But not your brother.” I point a finger at her. “I’m not going to be stuck hanging out with your brother all night.”
“Nah, Trent will have something else on with his motocross crew.” She rolls away to retrieve her phone as the rugby boys erupt into frustrated cries of defeat.
I prop myself up on my elbows as they attempt to retrieve the ball from the macrocarpa hedge. Good luck with that. Kate taps furiously to my right, wriggling around from butt cheek to butt cheek. It’s almost sickening how excited she is; the guy must be hot.
Still, I could guarantee he’s got nothing on Zeus. Why am I back there? I dealt with this obsession ages ago. I was young, it was a tough time, and he had been a shoulder to lean on—that’s all.
Whatever makes you sleep at night. Fuck.
I lie back and close my eyes, frustrated as my mind continues to wander while Kate’s immersed in her phone. He was the extended family I never had. I loved him, before I really loved him. And then he vanished. Just up and—poof—gone one night.
Dad won’t tell me why. I blame myself. Why else would him leaving coincide with when Dad realised how I really felt about his best friend?
“Done,” Kate announces, tossing her phone down. “He’ll meet us there if your dad doesn’t agree.”
“Sweet.”
She sighs, settling on her back once more. “Do you ever freak out a little at the fact school is almost over?”
Yes. “No,” I lie, thankful for the change in topic.
“Really?” She pauses, positioning her backpack above her head to block the sun from her eyes. “I do. I wonder if I’ll ever achieve anything great, you know? Like, will I be someone important, or will I just coast through life never really making a difference?”
“You think too much,” I mutter, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. “What are you going to do anyway?”
“Ugh,” Kate complains. “Dad wants me to go to Polytech. But I don’t know what I’d study.”
“I thought you wanted to be a nurse?”
“I do… sort of. I don’t know. The more I think about it the less I can make up my mind.” Kate rolls to her side as the rugby boys give up and jog past to head for the change rooms. “What about you? You never talk much about what you want to do after school finishes.”
For good reason. People expect some grand dream when they ask you what your plans are: to travel the world as a humanitarian, study to be a doctor, or dive into the start of a great investment property portfolio. If you tell them that your dream involves eight hours a day permanently etching colour into a person’s skin… yeah. The comments aren’t usually all that supportive.
“I have an idea,” I say. “But I want to look into it more before I commit.”
“You’re not still obsessed with tattoos and shit, are you?” She crinkles her nose.
“Nah. Something else.” Case and point.
Why would she want to know a thing about the hours I put in studying artists I admire, sharing my designs on my Instagram page, when to her the dream is ridiculous? What the hell is it people find so trashy about being a tattoo artist? If it were that easy, anybody could do it. But it’s not, and I respect the hell out of the people I follow.
Takes guts to permanently etch your art into somebody’s skin with the hope they’ll love it.
Kate huffs, settling back as the bell sounds to signal lunch is over. “Damn it.”
We each retrieve our bags, and I brush a few pieces of dry grass off Kate’s backside as we start toward the buildings. I love her to pieces, but at times I wonder if deep down we’re just too different. She loves school life, the drama and the social aspect of seeing the same people day in, day out. Whereas I can’t help but feel dread as I look up at the two-storey complex before us.
I can’t wait to get out of this prison. I know what I want from life, and I want to be given the chance to get it. I’m ready to prove myself, and above all else, I’m ready to prove that I’m not a kid anymore.
I’m Belle. Not John’s daughter. Belle.
I want to be defined by more than just my age. I don’t want to be seen as a child anymore; I want to be recognised as a young woman.
I want to be taken seriously.