Scarred Roses

chapter 2-some clarity

Mum and dad were gone by eight in the morning. We had breakfast with them; scrambled eggs on toast, made especially by mum, along with dad’s favourite coffee. Then after helping them pack the trunk with a couple of medium-sized travel-bags, they hugged us goodbye before gradually descending down the gravelled drive. I stood in the slight warmth of the morning sun, a breeze as refreshing as a cold drink of water, brushing my face and neck. I was donned in my school uniform, and Audrey in one of her work outfits. Since ‘Kicks’ didn’t require a uniform, Audrey was lucky enough to be able to wear whatever she wanted-given it wasn’t too scanty or revealing. She always had the best clothes anyway, so I suppose her extensive know-how in fashion made her all the more appealing for the retail business. I, however, had to wear a uniform-the standard, girl’s uniforms for Derby High. Dark, navy skirts, maximum length, two and a half inches above the knee, pale-blue shirts, worn in a respective fashion, and the navy cardigans with the Derby High crest embroidered onto the left breast. A sparrow; a symbol of innocence and freedom. It was a corny mascot, and we all knew it. But Derby was proud of it, and so we should be too.

“Are you going to be home tonight?” I asked her, looking up as she brushed a loose lock of her coal-coloured hair from her forehead.

“I doubt it-I’ll probably just crash at Viola’s tonight. I won’t be back until the morning to change clothes. Will you do something?”

“Yeah-I’ll probably just rent some movies, maybe have Ingrid over.”

“Who rents movies these days? Everybody’s downloading Hazel,”

“If that’s so true, why are you going all the way to Viola’s when you could just sample wine at home?” Audrey caught my teasing look and laughed.

“Touché,” She giggled, “Come on then; you’ve got school to prosper in, and I’ve got shoes to sell.”

Even though Audrey didn’t go to the same school anymore, nothing much had changed. We still walked that way together; the bus stop being just a little further away. Boys still fawned over her, but instead of her being the most beautiful girl in school, she was now the gorgeous, older woman, the one with the worldly experience and the reputation to go with it. And the most annoying of all? Girls in my year, and the year above would still suck up to me, in hopes that they could be friends with her. Lucky for me, I was wise enough to tell the real friends from the fakes. If Nicholas taught me anything, it was seeing deception when it was staring you in the face.

“Have a good day,” She bent down to kiss me on the temple before walking away. “And don’t wait up!”

Not waiting to watch her disappear, I made my own way through the gates of Derby High. And, just my luck, Ingrid and Leo were standing in the courtyard, waiting for me. Leo, being every bit a stereotypical geek, wore his uniform to absolute perfection. Blazer, perfectly pressed, buttons done all the way up, and his navy and white, pin-striped tie, sitting just at the centre of his throat. Ingrid however, had taken to the fashion of altering her uniform to suit her own style. Her skirt was shorter than mine by two inches, her blouse untucked, fell just a few inches above her skirt, and in place of the tie, was a long, thick, navy scarf that looped around her neck in a hood and covered most of the blouse. She wore thick, denier stockings, and a pair of simple, black ballet-flats. Feminine, but not revealing. That was Ingrid, down to a T.

“Audrey’s fixed that skirt, I see.” She commented, admiring as I twisted to show her the pleats. “It suits you.”

“Thanks-I figured that compared to Bridget’s tennis skirt idea, this would look saintly.”

“And retro’s making a comeback,” Leo added, “So, off to home-room then?”

“Not yet, let’s sit out here a little longer.” Ingrid suggested, “The weather’s just right this morning.”

After finding an empty spot in the courtyard, the three of us sat. School bags sitting at our feet, as we let the sun warm us. Derby could be especially nice in the summertime; the town was known for its horticultural enterprises; flowers and plants that were generally expensive to buy in stores were grown, harvested and shipped directly from Derby. Our particular specialty being hybrid roses. The way mayor Lenin had put it, the roses were both Sigel’s for house Lancaster, and York, that meant it was of great importance to our commonwealth. And what better way to pledge our loyalty to England than to grow its’ very symbol? Summertime was when the roses flourished the most, and coincidently, when they were in demand the most.

“So, anything interesting happen last night?” Ingrid enquired, “I spent a majority of mine trying to block out Cathy and Camille’s squalling, and watching my father tear his own hair out so anybody else’s evening has to be better than mine.”

“Mum was cleaning the house for Victor’s return.” Leo began, “Rushing about like a madwoman, dusting, polishing, I think she made his bed about three times. She’s even been scrubbing beneath the sink!”

“But why would Victor care what’s under the kitchen sink?” Ingrid asked.

“Beats me; but you know what mum’s like. When it comes to Victor, nothing can be too perfect.”

“Well, I’ve got some news.” I announced, “It seems we’ll have a new student here in about a week.”

“What’s this about fresh meat?” Our friend, Bridget Mason, appeared behind us. Dropping to the grassy edges, surrounding one of the platformed trees, Bridget positioned herself between Ingrid and me. Her curly, yellow hair tied up in a tinker bell bun, with her fringe brushed over her temples.

“According to Hazel, there’s going to be a new student soon.” Ingrid explained. “So, what’s happening?”

The three of them looked at me expectantly. How was I supposed to explain this? Nicholas would be at my school soon enough, so they’d find out sooner or later. But Ingrid was the only one out of them I’d told about him.

“Some friends of my parents have…passed on recently. Mum and dad left for London this morning to attend the funeral.”

“How sad!” Ingrid murmured.

“They left behind a son; he’s about two years older than us, and is supposed to finish high school this year. His brother wouldn’t have him, and he doesn’t have any, other, living relatives, so mum and dad are bringing him to live here, in Derby.”

“How sad!” Ingrid repeated.

“So, he’ll be living in your house?” Leo enquired, puzzled. “Isn’t that a little risky, teenage boy living just a few doors away from teenage girl?”

“Leo, he did just lose his parents.” Ingrid reminded him. “I doubt very much that girls will be the first thing on his mind at the moment. And anyway, the spare bedroom is downstairs so if he ever tried anything, Mr. Kazia will show up with the same shotgun he uses on Audrey’s boyfriends.”

I laughed at that; the shotgun didn’t actually work, but it did a sufficient job in scaring away the idiots who tried crawling into her bedroom window.

“So, what’s his name?” Bridget quipped. “What does he look like?”

“His names Nicholas. Nicholas Koster. But I haven’t seen him in years, Bridget, so I don’t know what he looks like now.”

Ingrid’s expression sparked up with alarm. She knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Well, we’ll see him when he gets here, won’t we?” Ingrid settled the matter, trying, for my sake, to bring the subject to a close. “So, when do your parents get back?”

“Sunday, I think. Actually, Audrey’s going out tonight for another wine-tasting. Do you want to come over and watch some movies?”

“I thought you’d never ask! I could use the break from Cathy and Camille, and it’s not very often we get a house with no adults.”

“Hey, why not make it a sleepover while you’re at it?” Bridget suggested, “You won’t get as many of them, I wager, with this Nicholas guy in the house.”

“That’s true…okay then,” I agreed, “Let’s make it a sleepover! I’ll ask Flora in Art if she wants to come too.”

“Cool! We’ll go back home to get some overnight things and junk-food, then meet back at Hazel’s to let the fun begin!” Ingrid announced, “And Leo, if you get overwhelmed in the excitement of Victor’s return, you can always take refuge with us.”

“I don’t think so,” A slight tinge of pink went to his cheeks. “Besides, if mothers on patrol, there’s no escaping. Soon enough, he’s going to want to hear about my conquering the ladies of Derby High with my man-charm.”

“Should you ever need proof that you’re a lady-killer, you can always count on us.” Bridget assured him jokingly. “We’ll make him look as virginal as the pope!”

We all had to laugh at that one! If there was any risqué joke to be laughed at, we could be certain that it came from Bridget. Aside from being one of the best Tennis players in school, Bridget had a daring sense of humour that made us all laugh ourselves stupid at best. Like me, she had an older sister, Olive, once the star tennis-player in Derby before she graduated. Now she was attending an elite university somewhere in England, dreaming to play Tennis professionally. Though we both loved our sisters, it was easy for us to feel over-shadowed by them. Minus the ‘Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!’ side of it.

The five-minute bell sounded a few seconds later, urging us to head to homeroom before Miss Kotter began to mark the roll. Although Bridget wasn’t in our homeroom, belonging to a different house, I still had Leo and Ingrid with me. And we saw her in a lot of our classes anyway, so it wasn’t as if we were miles apart. So, heading our separate ways, we walked briskly down the halls of the English block where our homeroom presided, in a cube-shaped classroom, with the standard, plastic furniture and thin, cheap carpets adorned our learning space. Miss Kotter was sitting at her desk when we arrived, perched casually over the front, her eyes fixed on an unmarked essay.

“Ah! There you guys are.” She greeted us with her usual, keen smile. It was as if the joy that teachers had lost from their tiring careers had all been pumped into her, with all the enthusiasm she had to show. “Take your seats and pay attention; we’ve got a special announcement this morning.”

She looked at me as she said that, like the announcement she had was for me, and me only. Huh, I thought. It must’ve been something to do with a good mark.

Shrugging it off, I followed Ingrid and Leo to one of the rear tables, where we usually sat with our other friend, Marlon. Talking casually about small, unimportant things until Miss Kotter silenced us for roll-call. She might’ve been one of the younger teachers, but she didn’t stand for disruption. If she wanted roll-call, all she asked for was a minutes’ silence while she ticked off the names of those who were here.”

“Hazel?”

“Present,”

“Ingrid?”

“Here, Miss.”

“Michael?”

“Here, and not queer!”

She shot him a sharp look, before continuing with the rest of the roll. After getting through everybody, she held our silence a few minutes longer as she read the daily bulletin. Chess-club meeting on Monday, a pair of trainers found in the locker room, the usual, mundane things. But the last notice, however, held her enthusiasm, and successfully gained my attention.

“Calling art students in Derby High, Green Thumb Horticulturists require photographers and graphic designers for a series of new brochures and catalogues being put together to advertise Derby’s horticultural specialties; our beloved roses. If you’ve got a knack for photography, or a flare for digital art, enquire at the school office for a promising opportunity. Don’t be shy, we can use all the help we can get!”

She did look directly at me as she said it; and everybody had noticed. Most people in my year knew of my passion, and not only did they accept it, they saw it as an envied skill. Now and again, I was asked to do the odd birthday party, and volunteering at school balls for the couple and group pictures. Some girls thought the popularity from it must’ve been good, but I couldn’t care less about that. I just loved being out there, capturing the world in its’ brightest beauty to keep forever in a photograph. For at a time where I often thought the worst of my own appearance, it brought me solace to draw beauty out from everything else.

“Now, don’t forget your donations for mufti day next week, to contribute to the fundraising of London’s, woman’s refuge. Hazel, may I see you for a moment before you go?”

Some of my classmates gave me some teasing looks, the kind you’d usually expect for the ‘teachers’ pet’ of the class. Reminding myself that they were only joking, I approached Miss Kotter’s desk as the rest of the class took off for first period. Behind her retro, wing-tipped glasses, her luminous, green eyes sparked with genuine intrigue. She struck me as strange sometimes; Miss Kotter. She had a way of looking at someone and seeing something that everyone else, including yourself, didn’t know you had. It felt invasive somehow, yet you had to know what she meant. In case what she saw could somehow mean there was something wrong with you.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. It’s about the work at Green Thumb. I’ve heard good things from your art teacher Hazel, it seems you have a promising talent for photography.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“You’re too modest. I’ve seen your work: you’re still learning, but as far as amateur work goes, yours is immaculate. I think you’d do well to apply for work at Green Thumb, which is why I’ve spoken to Mr. Reed about getting you a personal reference.”

For me? With a personal reference, I would have just as great a chance, if not a better chance at getting work there as the senior students. Granted, I’d have to make it through some sort of short-list, knowing these kinds of jobs, but it I actually got a job like this…it would grant me an impressive conquest to put on future Uni applications. And god knows that was something I had to consider for later.

“Miss, I don’t know- “

“-If you’re worthy of it?” It wasn’t what I was going to say, but it was what it meant nonetheless. “Go and speak to Mr. Reed once you get to class, he’ll tell you the rest of it.”

“But- “

“Go, I’ll hear no more of it. You’ll be late for class.”

Without any more chance of protesting, I was sent away. Sometimes I wished she wasn’t so insistent on certain things. Although Miss Kotter often meant well, sometimes her efforts weren’t always welcomed by her students. When Tahlia Hannigan was having trouble reading the worksheets, Miss Kotter arranged and paid for her to have an eye examination. A kind gesture, but one that embarrassed Tahlia and angered her parents for the unwarranted interference. Then, when Leo was given a hard time by a boy from the year above, Miss Kotter made it her business by accusing and shaming the boy in the middle of a school assembly. The day after, that boy’s fist became the reason Leo’s traditionally-straight nose now looked more Roman. She did her best to be a caring teacher, but she didn’t always think about her efforts before carrying them out.

Leaving the matter to rest in the meantime, I marched off to my first class, theatre arts. The classes that followed, History, English, Graphic arts seemed to come and go like clock-work, until my final class of the day, Art came along. Art was my favourite subject for obvious reasons. One: Mr. Reed taught year twelve classes, and he was a favourite amongst the senior students. Two: the history that came along with it. And three: the freedom to be an artist as I wanted. In Art, I could just wander, me and my camera, and explore Derby for inspiration. Whether it came from the town Square, where Derby’s small area of retail presided or the best place to go, Lilac Park, the fine art of photography was limitless. That’s what made art classes worth going. Only today, I found, there was a drawback.

When I stepped into the cosy, cool class-room, decorated with baby-blue, chiffon curtains and the artworks of previous students, covering every, little space of the cream-painted walls, I felt the tension being lifted from my body. Everybody sat in clumps at their grouped desks, talking casually, with their big pads and spiral-bound sketchbooks out in front of them. And to no surprise, Flora was at one of the front desks, greeting me with a cheerful smile and a little wave. Flora Field; one of the best drama students in our year. She could sing like a bird, dance like Ginger Rogers, and transform herself into any, famous, Broadway character she chose. If there was anything to do with the drama department in a school assembly, it could be guaranteed Flora Field would be there. Sashaying her way onstage with everything she had.

Before I could sit down next to Flora, however, I knew I should confront Mr. Reed before class began. Perhaps I could talk him out of giving me the reference.

“Ah, Hazel.” He greeted in his smooth, deep dulcet tone. He wasn’t a young teacher, by any means, with a full head of thick, white hair and a short, Santa-like beard, steel-grey eyes peeking out beneath thick, bushy eyebrows, and small, round, John Lennon-style glasses. “How can I help you on this fine day?”

“Miss Kotter said I needed to see you about…something.”

“Oh-yes! Your applying for the Green Thumb project. Well, I’ve had some time to consider her proposal, and while I don’t have any favourites in my classroom, I am inclined to agree that you’ve got talent.” He drew his chair back, pulling the top draw on the right side of his desk open. In his big, rose-tinted hand, was a small, white envelope. He’d written out the reference already?! Now I had even less of a chance of talking him out of it.

“This is a personal reference, written and dated by myself, with my full recommendation. If Miss Kotter had her way, I’d have sent this off to Green Thumb without a second-thought. However, I know you Hazel; your modesty overrides your confidence. That’s not always a bad thing, mind you, but nevertheless, I will leave the decision in your hands. If you want to use the reference, you may, but if you want to apply within the merits you have, I won’t stop you.”

All I could think was ‘thank god!’. Though Miss Kotter was being incredibly kind in her talking to Mr. Reed, he didn’t let her block out what I had to say on it. And what’s more, I had a choice in it. I could say no to Mr. Reed if I wanted to, just as long as I could apply on my own merits.

“Can I think about it, sir?”

“Of course. I’ll give you until Monday; if it’s a yes, then this is yours. If it’s a no, then I’ll hold onto it, should you ever need a reference in the future.”

“Thanks sir.”

I went over to join Flora at the table we sat at. Flora was doodling pretty, pink flowers with her metallic gel-pens before she looked up at me. Sliding into a thinly-cushioned seat, I started taking out my pencil case and the fabric-bound, sketchbook Audrey had customized for me at the beginning of the year. Filled a third of the way with sketch exercises and lesson notes in pen. No doodles on the used pages. I could never do much with a pencil to begin with.

“What was Mr. Reed telling you?”

“Oh,” Should I tell her? “He just…did you hear in the bulletin that Green Thumb is looking for art and photography students to help out with their marketing?”

“Yeah, I did. I thought you’d be all over that.”

“Well, apparently Miss Kotter was thinking the same thing. She spoke to Mr. Reed about giving me,” I whispered this part; I didn’t want anybody else knowing. “-A personal reference.”

“Wow! Hazel, That’s awesome!”

“Shush!” I hissed through my teeth. “I don’t really want anyone to know, in case they thought I was getting special treatment.”

“But Hazel, you’re a great photographer!” She said in earnest. “Why shouldn’t you have something to show for it?”

“I don’t even know if I want to use it.” I confessed, “Besides, shouldn’t they be looking for Uni students to do this kind of work?”

“You forget Hazel, Derby doesn’t have any Uni students. At least, none studying photography. From what I can see, you’re likely their best candidate-well, you and Marlon. Say what you want about him, but the guy can draw.”

“That is true.” As if he heard his name, our friend Marlon Benson came walking in. Marlon was one of those pop-culture kids, favouring bands like blink 182, Linken Park and his all-time favourite, fall-out boy. He was also the type to dress in bright, cartoon-print T-shirts, loose, ripped jeans and a signature, lime-green cap he wore backwards with a capital ‘M’ on it. The cap sat in its’ usual place today, smothering the dark-brown stubble on his head. With his shirt tail hanging loose, the regulation shorts being frayed to look like cut-offs, and graffitied lettering drawn in marker all over his shoes, he was a dress-code write-up, waiting to happen.

“Hey guys!” Marlon greeted Flora, me, and the classmate that sat at our desk, who didn’t say anything. “Anything new?”

“A new arrival in Derby soon!” Flora squealed, sending me an apologetic look afterwards. “-Sorry Hazel, but Ingrid told me already.”

“No skin off my nose.” I shrugged, just glad I didn’t have to go over the whole story again.

“Well, his name is Nicholas Koster, he’s in the year above, and he’ll be starting here in about a week. Apparently, he’s a major douchebag as well, so we’d better steer clear.”

“Wait, I never said…” Ingrid. It had to be. “Never mind.”

“That’s okay,” Marlon replied, “Most of the people from the year above don’t talk to us anyway. Too young and immature for them. It goes to show, doesn’t it, that the ones who claim they’re too mature for younger people aren’t really that mature at all.”

“How profound of you, Marlon.” Flora teased, “It is true though, just ask Leo. His brother’s just finished Uni and still likes to be known as the ‘cap-master of Doncaster’.”

“What does that even mean?” I chuckled.

“How many beers he can down, I think.” Marlon guessed, “And counting the beer-caps to see how many he drank.”

“What an achievement,” Flora commented dryly.

We stopped talking when Mr. Reed began to call the roll. After confirming that none of us were ditching class, he started going into a full explanation of what we were doing today. More specifically, what we would be doing for the rest of term. It wasn’t long after we’d finished our latest assignment, so naturally, we were pushed, head-first into another. This time, it was a more open assignment, meaning we were allowed to use all the elements we had access to. Painting, drawing, digital modification and plain, raw photography.

“Portraits,” He said, “Are like an open window to a person on certain levels. Like being caught feeling something you didn’t want other people to know you were feeling, hidden secrets of the mind and heart. It can also reflect how you see the person; if it’s somebody you dislike, you may happen to draw them negatively, perhaps with devil horns and facial hair.” He got a weak titter from the class, but that wasn’t on his agenda. “Or if you care very deeply about the person, you might exaggerate some of their most flattering features, like the colour of their eyes, or the way they smile.

“What I want to see from you isn’t how high your artist merits are, or how good-looking your subject is. All I want is your solid interpretation of this person. How you see them as a friend, an enemy, a romantic interest,” He said mockingly, “Or even a parent.”

Flora and Marlon traded an anticipating smile. Marlon would finally have free-reign over his unique style, and there was a broad selection of people Flora wanted to draw devil-horns on.

“Your first task for this assignment, homework on the weekend I’m afraid,” His response was a harmonious groan from the class. “Is to do your first portrait on none-other than yourselves. Use either an old photograph, a mirror, or if you wanted, photograph yourself. Whatever it is, make sure it captures you and what you’re passionate about.”

He handed us each a sheet, naming the assignment by number and stating how many pieces we needed to make up a full-portfolio. Some people in the class looked at the assignment with indifference, some were a little excited, but what did I think? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure whether to feel excited at the idea of using my favourite, kodak once more, or terrified because of this very task. We were supposed to present the portraits as our interpretation of the person; I could barely give a good interpretation of myself, much less another person. I’d have to think about this first; maybe ask Audrey what she thought of the whole thing.

“You girls doing anything interesting tonight?” Marlon asked us.

“Oh-that reminds me. Flora, Bridget, Ingrid and I are having a sleepover at my place. Do you fancy a movie-marathon?”

“As long as I can bring Chicago!” Marlon and I shared a look. Flora’s obsession for musicals was so extreme sometimes, it was comical. “I’m in!”

“Can I gate-crash?” Marlon joked.

“I’d say yes, but you know what my father would do if he knew I let boys sleep over in the house.”

As if she were possessed by dad himself, Flora mimed pulling back a rifle gun with a ‘Dun da-dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun….’. We all had to laugh at that. It brought back images of dad, in his Hogan’s Heroes pyjamas, holding the rifle to one of Audrey’s one-time boyfriends who’d managed to climb his way up the trellis.

“You don’t have to tell me twice-I thought I’d go over to Leo’s anyway. I’d quite like to see how the cap-masters return pans out.”

“Well, if you do, tell us what happens.” Flora giggled, “I bet he’ll pick Leo up, over the shoulder and see how much he can bench-press him.”

The second class ended, I let out another sigh of relief. Nicholas would arrive here on Sunday, along with my parents. Freedom would be smothered by his prescience, my privacy would be harder to maintain, and if he hadn’t changed since that incident years ago, I would once again, have to feel like a prisoner in my own home. However, I did have a day and a half of freedom left, and I was going to use that time to have some fun. Starting with tonight, it’d be just me, my favourite friends, and four boxes of our favourite pizzas.

{}

The popcorn was made, the boiled raspberries were sitting on the kitchen bench, and the camp cots from the basement were brought into the living room. I’d dashed over to the video store before coming home to rent Deadpool, St. Trinians, and Dirty Dancing on DVD. I borrowed dad’s box of cranium charades, and to add another level of comfortableness, I took every lounge-cushion I could find and piled them along the carpet. I’d turned our ordinary living room into a teenage girl’s fortress. Now to see if I could act the part as well as set the scene.

Ingrid was the first to arrive. She’d changed into a black, cotton dress, draped over with a thick, long, peach-pink scarf and a matching cardigan. In her hands, piled biggest to smallest, was her game of ‘Cards against humanity’, a box of frozen eclairs, and her pick of movies. Slung over her shoulder was an overnight bag. Her Ingrid-y grin told me she was ready to have fun tonight; to hell with her loud house, her hot-tempered mother and her squalling sisters, and the father who ran away to his office. Tonight was ours to enjoy.

“Let’s party!” She cried, making her entrance. “I’ve got The Avengers: age of Ultron, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and The Legend Of Tarzan.”

As Ingrid went to go and set up her camp-bed, Flora and Bridget made their entrance without bothering to knock. Bridget had her share of DVD’s in one hand, two, big bags of Doritos in the other, whereas Flora brought what Flora was expected to bring; chocolate, marshmallows, and gram crackers. If there was ever a treat to indulge in at an all-girls sleepover, it was smores. Melted, marshmallow goodness, smothered in melted chocolate, all sandwiched deliciously between two crackers to give it that satisfying crunch. This was going to be a sleepover worth remembering, I decided. One of the few, good things that came out of mum and dad’s absence.

And so we started off our night of fun with the first movie-my pick, since I was the host and all. Deadpool: the funniest thing I’ve seen since Blazing Saddles. We all laughed so hard, tears were running down our cheeks. After that, it was Ingrid’s choice, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. If Lizzie Bennet’s sharp comebacks weren’t enough to wound a man, her skills with a samurai would’ve done the trick. How it must’ve been, I thought, to be so graceful with a sword. To be able to seem so graceful and dainty in appearance only, but then, when push comes to shove, you were able to transform yourself into the ultimate assassin. I wished I could be like that. If Nicholas, or somebody like him had tried to hurt me again, I could just draw my sword and show them what I was really made of.

After Ingrid’s movie, we decided to order the pizza. Mum and dad were good enough to leave behind some money for groceries and/or takeaways; Audrey had taken some earlier for her own dinner, so I’d only taken half as much. Glad I didn’t have to feel any guilt in it, we dialled Pizza Hut to order delivery: a seafood pizza with an extra swirl of hot sauce (Ingrid), a thin-crust Hawaiian (Bridget), a meat lovers with extra cheese (Flora), and a cheese lovers with stuffed crust (me). And whilst we waited for the pizzas, we sat in the living room, just talking. We talked about school, about our siblings, about new returns, and even new arrivals. Flora told us about her decision to start saving for a holiday in New York, Ingrid discussed her latest piano lessons with her newest Tutor, Miss Gillan, and Bridget was so excited for her next tennis match. If she won, she’d qualify for the semi-finals. What was I doing? They wondered. Why wasn’t my life as eventful as theirs?

After munching our way through the pizzas, we put on some more movies, with game-breaks in between. Charades was where Flora thrived in her bizarre performances, cards against humanity was the funniest thing beside Deadpool, and Cluedo was the game Ingrid and I were best at. Playing the part of two, overthinking, imaginary moustache-twirling detectives, accusing anybody and everybody of who did it. Flora, who took any opportunity to play a good part, took one of the black, mink throws off of the couch and used it as a fur-coat to play the part of Scarlet-probably a bit too much in the fashion of Scarlet O’Hara, I’d imagine. But I had to admit, she almost had us fooled. It was only until the game ended that I realised she was just a sixteen-year-old girl, wearing a pair of heart-patterned pyjamas and a couch blanket, swathed around her shoulders.

After some more movies, ice cream and few rounds of ‘chubby bunny’, we all lay on the living room floor, snuggled warmly in our camp-beds, just talking. It was around midnight now, and despite all the excess sugar and intention to stay up, well into the early morning, we were getting sleepy.

“If a genie came and offered you three wishes, what would you wish for?” Bridget asked us.

“Hmm, I think I’d have stardom, eternal fortune and a private dance lesson with Channing Tatum.” Flora replied decidedly.

“You and Channing Tatum!” Ingrid laughed, “He has a wife, you know.”

“So? Perhaps they’d considered divorce after I’m through with him.”

“Dream on, Mrs Tatum.” Bridget teased.

“Well then, Miss Mason, what would you wish for?”

“I think it’d have to be…to be a renown, tennis player, to be a spokes girl for Adidas, and to have a sexy husband for a doubles partner.”

“Amateurs,” Ingrid scoffed, “I would wish for world peace, a mansion from ‘The Great Gatsby’ and to perform my first, original concerto in the Sydney, Opera house.”

“With us having front row seats?” Flora quipped.

“V.I.P seats!” Ingrid concluded.

“What about you, Hazel?” Flora turned her head to me. “What would you wish for?”

“It’s…it’s stupid.”

“Well, so are our wishes, but isn’t that the point?” Bridget pointed out. “Come on, Hazel. What’s the harm?”

They were my friends-and they weren’t like Audrey’s social circle. They liked weird and freakish-everything I was sure they thought I was. But my wishes were great ones like theirs, ones you could dream about. They were just ones I had when I spent the days, daydreaming in the sunshine.

“I’d have springs that didn’t cause hay fever, the smell of fresh baking bottled as a perfume, and to travel the world as a serious photographer.”

We were silent for a moment, the sound of night-owls and crickets making the faintest sounds in the background. There was no light in the living room, so the only way we could actually see one another was by the moonlight that washed over our faces through the thinly sheathed curtains. For that brief silence, I imagined we were sleeping outside; with nothing but the chilly, night air skimming our bare arms and the starry, starry night as our blanket. It’s what we sometimes did as kids-with the exception of a tent, of course. That didn’t mean it was any less special. Just being with them, right here and now was enough.

“You know something, girls?” Flora broke the silence first. With a resigned tone in her whisper. “I think if we all stick together, we’ll be just fine.”

Nicholas Koster was coming on Saturday. The boy who tainted what were supposed to be happy memories of my childhood was coming here, to Derby, to live in this house. And yet…there was something in what Flora said that made me not worry as much. I might’ve still been timid and frightened at the prospect of seeing him again, but in many ways, I wasn’t the same person he knew ten years ago. I was doing well in school, I was respected by my teachers and peers, and I even had friends of my own. I was one of the schools’ best photographers; not something I bragged about, but a fact I could sometimes feel the tiniest bit of pride in whenever I thought of it. And this month, I was applying for a job at the Green Thumbs gardens. I had loving, devoted parents, the best, big sister in the world; I had far more to keep me afloat than I did when I was six. So yes, I believed Flora when she said those words. If I just remembered that I had my friends, and that they had me, the nightmares of my past could be chased away. I just needed to remember that I was different now; I wasn’t the Kazia girl anymore. Wasn’t I?