She didn’t laugh.
“I’m serious. He stared at me, I swear, like the entire first half. And then we got paired up to answer this question and, oh Evie, he’s so deep. He like GETS Aristotle. And he’s the lead guitarist in this band. And he’s got tattoos, but, you know, like good ones…”
She rambled on while I analysed the peculiar feeling forming in my stomach. An uncomfortable lurching, a rush of sickly…
… Jealousy.
I wanted to be happy for Jane. She deserved happiness. She deserved a “well done” for being so perfect for so long. I made all the right noises when she gushed on about him. I pretended I didn’t want to cry when she announced he’d asked her out only two days later. I helped her pick out an outfit that didn’t resemble anything she’d ever worn before. Seriously, Doc Martins. From the girl who played Grade Eight clarinet and owned the Now That’s What I Call Disney album.
In return, for the past three weeks, all I’d had was missed phone calls. I got messages saying “Joel walking me in this morn, soz” and I wandered to college many mornings alone. She spent every lunch on the green, decamped in Joel’s lap, piling her tongue into his mouth. I sat to the side of them, making awkward small talk with Joel’s friends as my friend fell in love quicker than I’d ever known was possible.
Her cute vintage dresses became band T-shirts with ripped denim mini skirts and Converse. Her beautiful blonde hair turned jet black overnight and she didn’t even ask me to help her dye it. Eyeliner was ladled around her eyes. She worshipped bands that sounded like bears having sex in an explosion of All The World’s Noise.
She hadn’t just given her heart to Joel, but her entire personality, her entire…Janeness. So quickly, so willingly. She must’ve been desperate to get away from me. I must’ve been so annoying she was willing to morph identities, just so she could escape me.
What I couldn’t handle wasn’t the dropping of me as a friend – although that stung like an African Killer Bee – but the selling out of who-you-are and what’s-important-to-you just because a boy likes it. To me that made you a traitor against girl kind…against yourself. But maybe I was just lonely…or jealous. Or both.
The kitchen was bursting with alcohol. Piles of beer cans, half-empty bottles of wine and a few own-brand bottles of spirits dominated the black laminate countertop. Joel’s best friend, Guy, was pouring a beer into a red plastic cup.
“All right, Evie,” he nodded, concentrating on getting the foam right. We’d been forced into an awkward friendship since his best mate and my best mate had become love’s young dream.
“I’m okay. Sorta. My date is, like, really drunk.”
Guy looked up from his beer. “You brought a date?”
I deliberately jogged his beer, making some dribble over his hands.
“Don’t sound so effing surprised.”
Guy smiled and wiped his hands on his jeans. He was the one half-decent thing about Jane’s transformation into a pod person. He and Joel were in the same crappy band and yet Guy was okay. Funny, sharp, just that little bit self-aware. And attractive, I suppose, if you’re into that whole messy hair, ripped jeans sort of thing.
Pity he was a massive stoner…
“So how drunk is he?” he asked.
I sloshed some red wine into a cup and took a careful sip.
“He’s headbanging. And pogoing at the same time – which I didn’t know was possible.”
“That guy’s your date?” Guy’s thick eyebrows went all sarky.
I laughed. “You’ve seen him?”
“Yes. Man, he IS drunk.”
“He pretended he had alien hand syndrome on the way here, used it as an excuse to grope my boob.”
I regretted telling him instantly, as saying the word “boob” automatically makes boys look at yours. Which is exactly what Guy did. Blatantly. He smiled his wicked grin again and took a pull of his beer. “Can’t say I blame the guy.”
“Hey.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
The dull thud of the music made the glasses in all the cupboards tinkle. We stood there for a moment just giggling at each other before Guy drained half his drink. “So do you like this guy?”
I shrugged. “Yeah…I guess. He told me he liked the Smashing Pumpkins and I googled what that was.”
“Geez. Girls actually do that?”
“What? It’s just a google! So you wouldn’t google something for a girl you like?”
Guy looked down at his chest and puffed it out. “I’m perfect, I know everything.”
The top of his T-shirt sleeve rode up, displaying his half-arsed biceps. I spotted a scab.
“Wait! Have you got a new tattoo?” I leaned over to examine it as he rolled his sleeve up properly, looking all pleased with himself.
“I got it done last week. It’s at the scabby stage.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Delightful.”
He traced the twisted black design lightly with his finger. There was still a red outline, blushing angrily from where the ink had hijacked his skin.
“It’s tribal,” he said, proudly.
I rolled my eyes. “People always say that about tattoos. What does it even mean?”
“You know. Like, from a tribe.”
I glanced sideways. “But what tribe?”
“Well, you know, just tribal.” There was an edge of irritation in his voice.
“You can’t just get ‘tribal’,” I told him. “There’s not just like this one big ‘tribal’. Which tribe? Where from? What’s the tribe’s name? What does the tattoo mean?”
“Screw you.” He finished his drink and plonked his cup down with a loud clack.
“What’s that in tribal?”
And, despite himself, Guy laughed. “At least I’m not dating a premature alcoholic.”
Just as he said it, Lottie – an old friend from primary school – walked into the kitchen with another girl. Lottie and I used to be close, but she was a genius and got a free scholarship from Year Seven to Eleven at the local private school so we’d lost touch. She was at my college now and I’d seen her a few times – her long, dark hair cutting its way through the corridor.
“Oh my God, Evie, is that drunk guy with you?” Lottie interrupted, not even bothering to say hello.
I hugged her, then withdrew and took a medicinal sip of wine. “What’s he doing now?” I said. I’d only been five minutes. Ethan couldn’t have got that much worse in five minutes.
“Relax, he’s just, er, dancing a lot, that’s all.” Lottie started sorting through the bottles of booze. “Oh, this is Amber,” she gestured to the girl beside her. “She’s in my art class. Amber, this is Evie, we went to primary school together.”
I turned to say “hi” but was struck by how…intimidating this Amber was. She must’ve been six feet tall, with long red hair. She was absolutely stunning and yet had her arms around herself, like she was trying to block herself out.
“Hey,” I said, smiling.
“Hi,” she replied.
“Woooooooooooooooah,” Guy stared upwards at Amber’s face. She was at least four inches taller than him. “You’re like…huuuuuuuuge.”
Amber hugged herself tighter. “No I’m not.” Her voice didn’t match her body language at all. It was strong and bossy. “You’re just a midget.”
I decided I liked her immediately, though Guy looked stunned. He was a bit short…bless ’im.
“Don’t worry about him,” I said quickly, keen to impress her. “He’s just permanently tattooed a complete mystery onto his body for ever… In ‘tribal’.” I pointed to his tattoo.
Amber laughed while Guy chewed his lip, fuming.
“Whatever, I’m going for a smoke.” He took another beer with him as he left the kitchen.
“Boys,” Amber sighed.
I sighed back.
“Tell me about it.”
Four
I delayed returning to my drunken date. I chatted to Lottie and Amber and took my time pouring out some apple juice I’d found in the fridge, hoping Ethan was pissed enough to think it was more cider.