Six (2 page)

So — on the surface — just another summer.

But underneath the usual summer rhythm was something else. I know we all felt it — everyone heading into senior year. Time was marching on and taking us to a place that we could only imagine. That summer we were invincible. Some of us had holiday jobs, but nights were for partying, or small gatherings where we talked about everything and nothing, where we drank, ate rubbish and did things because they felt good. Some of us drove around the streets with L-plates stuck to car windscreens, hostage parents in passenger seats, their feet tapping urgently on non-existent brakes. A few cars wore their P-plates like a badge of honour, windows rolled down, music blaring.

The gossip that summer centred on Virginia Sloan and Finn Cashin, the golden couple of Silver Valley High, whose relationship had combusted in a dramatic public blaze before Christmas. It was hard to fathom the effect this had on people. It was like the Earth had tilted slightly off its axis and the things that we took for granted suddenly seemed built on shifting sand. Not everyone was unhappy about the golden couple’s break-up, though.

Plans were already under way for the end-of-year celebrations — Schoolies — where we would forget about homework and study and exams and just party on. My biggest problem would be getting my parents to let me go. I was sure they still saw me as that six-year-old girl who needed a night-light on in her bedroom. In the meantime, though, I worked in my family’s cafe in my spare time, saving my money for Schoolies and a car.

If I wasn’t working, that summer, or catching up with friends, I was going to summer school. My parents insisted I attend summer school in their quest for the perfect exam score. My cousin Michael had gone to summer school before his Year 12, but he’d used it as another way to socialise. I had no friends at summer school, but it was definitely a better option than babysitting my little brother, Jefri. Getting up early was a chore, but going to the uni for classes gave me a glimpse of what my life might soon be. University was my parents’ dream, and I could see the appeal. The gated university on the edge of the city was surrounded by ancient trees and manicured lawns. The grey stone buildings with their crumbling facades stood firm with gentle dignity.

Most days after class my best friend Poppy would meet me at the uni cafe — on reduced service for summer break — and we’d walk into the city hub. Sometimes we’d go to the cinema, talking non-stop on the way, or check out boutique stores for fashions we couldn’t afford, or drink coffee that kept us awake into the early hours of next day. We owned those afternoons; Poppy in her floaty gypsy outfits, her hands a flash of colour and movement as she talked, the jingle of her bracelets a musical accompaniment. Then there was me, an insipid-looking mouse, who could outtalk even Poppy, although I can’t remember now how we found so much to say. Sometimes we’d see Virginia Sloan on the train home and we’d wave, or peel off our hot seats for a chat, even though she would barely speak to us at school.

That summer, Virginia Sloan had been offered a role in a semi-professional production of
Guys and Dolls
. Everyone knew about the offer, it was all over Facebook, and no one was surprised. Virginia was a serious dancer and at one point there had been talk of her aiming for the national ballet company. But now it looked like her plans had changed. Whenever I saw Virginia she was just coming or going to rehearsals or dance class or voice production — by herself. It took a while to get used to seeing Virginia not hanging off Finn Cashin’s neck.

And Virginia Sloan wasn’t the only person I kept bumping into that summer.

Tom Cooper was saving money in a secret hiding place in his bedroom. I knew this because he’d told me about it when I’d dropped by the supermarket one day. Cooper — no one called him Tom — was mopping the floor and I made a remark about Cinderella or something. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but he’d looked up when I tried to slip past him and he fixed me with a stare. That’s when I babbled something stupid and he told me about the hiding of the money so his parents wouldn’t find out. I actually thought it was a bad idea — what if someone stole it — but I didn’t say anything to him.

Cooper and Poppy had been an item for three seconds in Year 8, but I didn’t know him that well. Some girls at school thought he was sweet, but I had always found him a little creepy. I saw him a few times after our talk in the supermarket, usually when Poppy and I were on the train, and once I remarked that it was strange how Cooper seemed to be around all the time. Poppy just jangled her bracelets, hands moving, as she explained that Cooper was a tortured soul — with a green aura, which pointed to great intelligence — who needed my understanding, not my ridicule or suspicion.

Finn Cashin — love of my life — jogged that summer. I know that because he flew past my house just on dusk every day. He usually wore a pair of incredibly baggy shorts that flapped about his thighs, and a singlet, which had a large tear on the left shoulder. I wondered if he ever washed those clothes, but mostly I wondered how it would feel to have that toned, sweaty body pressed up against mine. Sometimes his friend, Jacob Nicolson, jogged alongside him. I tried to be home at that time of day, even though I never talked to either jogger. Just to see Finn loping past made my life hum like the cicadas outside my bedroom window.

And Jacob Nicolson — Nico to his friends, school football star and solid wingman for Finn — didn’t know it but he was about to fall in love with a girl he barely knew. That girl was my best friend — Poppy.

Poppy Harris was possibly the most misunderstood, misquoted and misguided person I knew. She was convinced that she had a Power that gave her insight into the future and people’s true emotions. A lot of people at school made fun of Poppy, but many more would seek her out. Boyfriend trouble. Teacher trouble. Home life or work trouble. And they would ask her advice about anything from when to book their car licence test to what questions were going to be on the end-of-year exams. When we were younger I used to play along with Poppy’s Power talk, but as we got older I ignored it and she respected that, although sometimes she couldn’t help but tell me something if she thought it would help me.

Still, even Poppy didn’t see it coming. The drama that was to unfold and become just another sound bite on the radio, a grab on the TV news, another headline in the daily newspaper, another breathless Tweet, another misspelled text, just one more Facebook memorial site.

So that was our last summer of school holidays. And it was perfect, until the nearly end. Which was good, because after what happened later, the memories from that summer were something to hold onto.

This is the story about how a car with six seniors rolled on the night of the Year 12 Formal after-party. Although, it’s not just my story. And it doesn’t start on the night of the accident. It starts six months before the accident, on the second-last day of summer holidays.

Poppy believed in fate. I guess it was fate that threw the six of us together, if you believe in that sort of thing. Or destiny.

Fate or destiny — is there a difference?

Sugar and spice

and everything nice

That’s what little girls

are made of

MY STORY STARTS on one of the hottest days of that summer. It was what the weatherman might call a ‘sultry’ day, with a tropical kind of heat where the air was heavy with moisture and the sky was covered in dense clouds.

I hadn’t planned to go to The Woods that day. There were only two days to the start of school and Mum wanted to take me shopping for a new school dress at The Mall. But on the morning of the proposed shopping trip Virginia invited Poppy and me around for a swim in her salt pool. Just the thought of shopping made me feel lethargic, so the choice was easy. Besides, I’d wanted to see whether the Sloan house lived up to its hype. Usually Mum would have insisted on me going shopping with her, but I could see the thought of me hanging out with local royalty outweighed my need for one more summer uniform dress. Already I could hear her dropping the Sloan name into conversation with her sisters.

‘Sarah was swimming at Virginia Sloan’s today. Oh yes, they are very good friends…’

Etcetera, etcetera.

Mum may have been surprised that I was invited to the Sloan’s, but no more than I was. It’s true that Poppy and I had spent some time talking with Virginia on our train trips home that summer, but our lives could not be described as a Venn diagram, for Virginia’s circle of friends and ours had never overlapped.

So when I got a text invite from Virginia, I figured she’d hit the wrong contact button. I texted her straight back and said, ‘Um, hi, it’s Sarah Lum.’ I expected her to text back and apologise for the mistake.

‘SO DO U WNT 2 COM R NOT PLEAS BRNG PPPY TOO,’ she texted back.

Of course Poppy said we couldn’t
not
go, as that would be rude. I’m sure it had nothing to do with her wanting to check out Virginia’s wardrobe.

‘You must invite Virginia back for dinner,’ announced Mum as I organised a swim bag. ‘I will make something special. I will make sure you father is home for dinner.’ Dad was on the local Council and was notorious for working long hours there.

‘She might be busy,’ I said, not wanting Virginia Sloan to be checking out my life. Suddenly my home seemed shabby and worn. The things that had until then been familiar and dear to me seemed suddenly ridiculous and out of date. There was no way I wanted her near my bedroom with its single bed and collection of Beanie Bears that Poppy and I had been so mad about a few years before. I thought about packing the bears away, but I didn’t really have time.

‘Just ask her,’ insisted Mum. ‘Maybe I will ask her when I drop you off—’

‘No! I will ask her. I promise.’

‘How are you getting home?’ she asked me.

‘We’ll work it out,’ I said. ‘Is that Poppy at the door?’

I opened the front door to find Poppy dressed in some kind of hippy gear, a huge floppy hat that could have doubled as the Opera House, and an oversized pair of sunglasses. She hated summer. Her skin was so fair and translucent that you could see the blue bits of her veins showing through. Poppy would keep out of the sun whenever she could. If she couldn’t, she’d wear clothes that covered her from nose stud to toe ring.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Are you ready?’

Virginia lived on the outskirts of town in what the land developer had called The Heights but was known locally as Mansion Acres. I drove to her house in Mum’s manual car, clunking through the gears and car-hopping whenever I took off from a standing position. When I got to Virginia’s I added the time to my Learner’s Log. I had five months to get my hours up and was driving whenever I could. Mum got out of the front passenger seat, a little shaken from the ordeal. I could tell she was desperate to come and have a look inside the Sloan mansion, so I ushered her quickly back into the car and closed the door firmly on her as she settled into the driver’s seat. I thanked her for the lift.

‘Remember dinner,’ said Mum. ‘You too, Poppy.’

‘Thanks, Mrs L,’ said Poppy, shifting the weight of her swim bag onto her other shoulder. ‘Hurry up, Sair, I’m melting.’

The front door opened and Virginia waved my mother goodbye, although they’d never met. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Mum driving into the nearest power pole, so intent was she on peering back at our host.

‘You’re invited to dinner,’ said Poppy, as she gave Virginia a warm hug.

I felt rather than saw Virginia pull away as if shocked by the contact.

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Mrs Lum is an awesome cook,’ continued Poppy. ‘Wow, how cool is your house!’

Virginia’s house was…big. I don’t know how else to describe it. We were standing in the entry hall — I think that’s what you would call it, because I’d never actually seen an entry hall until then — which was bigger than our kitchen at home. On the wall was a portrait of the Sloan family, and underneath it was a skinny table, which held a vase of flowers that were real. My Aunt Elya had flowers in the best room of her house, but they were silk flowers and were perfectly fine as long as you didn’t expect any perfume when you sniffed them.

‘It’s so hot already,’ Virginia moaned, as if the weather were a personal attack on her comfort. ‘Thanks for coming. I was so bored. I did Pilates this morning then my voice coach cancelled, so there’s nothing else on for me today. Are you hungry? I have food. Mum and Dad are at work, but my brother Oliver is here. Somewhere. Maybe we should get a swim in before it gets too hot to be outside.’

I wanted to ask Virginia where her usual friends were and whether she had got back together with Finn. I guess that’s why I was really there — to find out about Finn. But I didn’t really know Virginia that well and it just seemed, well, rude to even start that conversation.

Virginia led us to a family room whose floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened out to the pool. As we stepped through the doors, the whole pool area, fringed with palms, spread like a fan around us. At one end of the pool was a water feature that trickled water over a series of rocks.