You Were Made For Me

by Jenna Guillaume

  Alex grinned and held out his hand. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

  ‘Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ Theo said.

  ‘It’s a great idea. A rite of passage.’ Alex grabbed Guy’s hand and started pulling him towards the clothesline. ‘Come on, Katie. You too.’

  ‘I’ll pass, thanks!’ I called. Guy looked back at me, a question in his eyes, and I gave him a thumbs up and a nod.

  ‘Are you worried about him?’ Theo said to me.

  Rebecca was looking between the two of us, a bemused expression on her face. ‘He’s a big boy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Exactly. He’ll be fine.’ The truth, which I didn’t dare express out loud, was that I was kind of relieved to have some space. As wonderful as he was, it was getting pretty exhausting being Guy’s whole world. And I was becoming acutely aware of the fact that he wasn’t the whole of mine.

  My relief started to fade within a few minutes. Rebecca was talking to Theo in a low voice, her body turned towards his and her hand resting on his arm. They were just talking about one of their other friends from school, nothing serious, but I began to feel like a third wheel.

  I looked over to the clothesline, where Guy was enthusiastically guzzling from the goon sack while Alex slapped him on the back, cackling with laughter. A drunk Guy sure was going to be interesting.

  I tried to resist turning my head towards the fire, but I couldn’t stop myself. And I instantly regretted it, because the first thing that caught my eye was Mikayla, who was not only on Declan Bell Jones’s lap again, but had her face attached to his at the lips.

  I suddenly wished I wasn’t so terrified of Mum and could actually have a drink myself. If there was ever a time when I felt I needed one, it was now. Not that I knew what drinking felt like, but it was meant to help you de-stress, wasn’t it? Which I definitely needed, because I was about eighty-nine per cent stress at that point. The other eleven per cent was fear of my mother, of course. It was a potent eleven per cent.

  I turned my attention back to Theo and Rebecca, who were laughing about something I hadn’t heard. I think they’d forgotten I existed. I got up.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Theo said.

  Oh, now he was looking at me.

  ‘Uhhh, just going to the toilet?’ I rushed towards the house before he could say anything else. It wasn’t until I reached the back door that it dawned on me I had no idea where the toilet was.

  Why had I ever thought it’d be a good idea to come to this party?

  A girl from my year who I’d spoken to maybe twice before – her name was Primrose – was sitting on the kitchen counter with another girl I didn’t recognise. They appeared to be having a rather energetic conversation about Ikea furniture.

  ‘Sorry, do you know where the toilet is?’ I said.

  ‘I think it’s down the end of that hall,’ Primrose said, gesturing, before turning back to her friend and her ode to the wonders of bookshelves.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, but neither of them was paying attention to me anymore.

  It turned out there were three doors ‘down the end of that hall’. It felt like the scene in that horror movie where the characters have to choose between doors marked ‘not scary at all’, ‘scary’ and ‘very scary’. One was partially open and clearly a bedroom. That was the ‘scary’ one then, and I knew to avoid it. I hesitated a minute, trying to choose between the two closed doors. I leaned in and put my ear to them one at a time, trying to detect any noises, but the music coming from the back room was all I could hear.

  Well, here goes, I thought, choosing the door on the right.

  It took me a second or two to register that it was another bedroom. I was about to leave when something caught my eye. A framed photo of Mikayla and Declan. I looked around the room, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

  Holy shit. I was in Mikayla Fitzsimmons’s bedroom.

  I should have walked out and closed the door behind me right then and there.

  No, five seconds before that.

  I should have. But I didn’t.

  I glanced back into the hallway. There was no one around. I stepped further into the room, unable to resist this peek into the devil’s lair.

  Mikayla’s room was . . . not what I was expecting. It was pink. Very pink. She had a large double bed, a four-poster, with little lace curtains surrounding it. It seemed like her mum – or she herself – had the same fondness for cushions as my mum did, because her bed was covered in them. There was also a bunch of teddy bears, one far more worn than the others. I made a mental note to tell Theo that Mikayla Fitzsimmons had her very own version of Mr Fluffybutt that she probably slept with every night, too.

  Next to the photo of Mikayla and Declan on the bedside table was another of Mikayla with a really old lady. The old lady was laughing and cupping Mikayla’s chin in her hand, and Mikayla was looking down at her with a big joyful grin and eyes full of affection. An expression I’d never seen on her face in all my years of knowing her.

  I was suddenly overcome with the strangest realisation. This room – it was so normal. So nice. So human. Concepts I did not remotely associate with Mikayla Fitzsimmons.

  I was turning back towards the door when something else caught my eye. A print, hung up on the wall on the other side of the bed. I moved closer, just to make sure I really was seeing what I thought I was.

  Yep. There it was. A work by Frida Kahlo, right there in Mikayla Fitzsimmons’s room. The exact same print that was also pinned up in my bedroom.

  I had to get out of there before I lost my entire concept of reality and my brain melted out of my ears. I took a step towards the door and heard voices coming down the hallway.

  Shit.

  I ducked down beside the bed, hidden from view from the door.

  The voices . . . entered the room.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  ‘It’s okay, Mikayla won’t mind,’ I heard a girl whisper. Olivia.

  There was a low chuckle from a guy.

  And then . . . oh no. Kissing noises. Wet, sloppy kissing noises.

  Shuffling sounds.

  Weight shifting onto the bed.

  Oh god, I had to get out of there.

  Slowly – painfully slowly, emphasis on the pain – I inched forward, staying on all fours. I rounded the corner of the bed, trying desperately to ignore the noises coming from above me. I was promptly hit in the face with a shirt and almost squealed, but managed to swallow the sound just in time. I was closer to the door now, but about to move away from the safety of the bed, which had so far blocked me from view.

  I weighed up my options and decided my best was to make a crouch-run for it and hope to make it out of the room before being spotted.

  You might not be surprised to learn I barely made it three steps before –

  ‘What the –’

  ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ I straightened up but kept my eyes on the door. ‘I’m just –’

  ‘Katie?’ a male voice said.

  I froze. Turned around.

  ‘Michael?’ I said.

  He was standing up, scrambling to find his shirt and pull it over his head. His face was flushed. But it was definitely him.

  Michael Hartley.

  Libby’s ex-boyfriend.

  ‘Uh, hey,’ he was mumbling. He looked awkwardly at Olivia, who was sending daggers my way with her eyes.

  My mind was reeling, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. We’d all gone to primary school together. Had Olivia stayed in contact with Michael? Had she brought him here tonight?

  ‘What – what are you doing here?’ I said to him.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Olivia said, while Michael stammered, ‘Oh, um, I came with some mates from school? They play footy with Fitzy.’ He ran a hand through his hair for the fourth time that minute.

  ‘But . . .’ I wanted to ask what he was doing there with Olivia, but my brain was also trying to come up with an excuse as to why
I was crawling around Mikayla’s bedroom.

  Olivia was standing now, too, her arms crossed. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  Shit. I was really dead.

  I made a strangled noise and turned to leave the room again, but Michael reached out to grab my arm.

  ‘Wait. You’re not going to tell Libby about this, are you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just – please don’t tell her.’ His eyes looked desperate.

  Olivia said something that sounded like a protest, but I wasn’t really paying attention to her. I was thinking about what Libby had said, about having her heart broken.

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘What? Of course I care.’

  ‘Oh yeah, it seems like it,’ I said. ‘You break her heart and five minutes later you’re banging Olivia Kent?’

  ‘Broke her heart?’ Michael said. ‘She’s the one who dumped me!’

  ‘I – what?’

  Michael let go of my arm. ‘What did she tell you?’

  Even less than I’d thought, it seemed – and that wasn’t much to begin with.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t tell her, please?’ Michael called after me. I left him there to deal with Olivia, who was looking just about the unhappiest I’d ever seen her, and that included the time she’d peed her pants in Year 1 and had to wear a pair of trackpants from Lost Property for the rest of the day.

  When I reached the lounge room, I paused. So much for getting a breather. I was feeling even more overwhelmed than I had before. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes.

  What the hell? I never cried.

  I wasn’t ready to face the chaos in the backyard again just yet. I turned and headed out the front door. When I reached the gutter I sat, the tears freely falling down my face now.

  My first party experience was a complete and utter disaster.

  ‘Hey,’ I heard from behind me. I turned around, startled, hurriedly wiping at my eyes. When I realised who it was, I felt like clawing my skin off.

  ‘Are – are you okay?’ Declan Bell Jones said. He looked unsure, his hand half raised in my direction, hovering in the air like he didn’t know where to put it. Eventually he settled on dropping it right back at his own side.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ I said, hoping my face wasn’t currently streaked with mascara, but not liking my chances.

  ‘I, uh – I was just calling my mum.’ He gestured to the front verandah. ‘She worries, you know. And you rushed past me. And I thought, well, you seemed, like, not okay? So I wanted to see if you were. Okay, that is.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. I looked down at the road in front of me.

  ‘So are you?’ Declan Bell Jones said, taking a step closer. ‘Okay, I mean.’

  ‘Um. Not really.’ My voice wavered and I could feel the tears rearing their ugly, soggy heads again.

  Declan Bell Jones sat down next to me. ‘Listen. Don’t worry about Mikayla, okay? She’s exhausting but . . .’ He glanced back at the house and bit his lip. ‘Anyway. I’m sorry. For how she treats you.’

  ‘You don’t have to keep apologising for her,’ I said. ‘You’re not responsible for her.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s just, I dunno. She’s got issues. I try to help but . . .’ He sighed.

  I picked at the nail polish on my fingers. I’d been so hopeful when I’d applied it earlier.

  ‘Why do you like her?’ I said quietly.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Why,’ I repeated, taking a deep breath and looking Declan Bell Jones in the eyes, ‘do you like Mikayla?’

  He raised his eyebrows. He seemed surprised by the question. After a moment he said, ‘Can I be honest with you?’

  ‘I want you to be.’

  He let out a small, humourless laugh. ‘Sometimes I don’t.’

  I don’t know what answer I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

  ‘So why are you with her then?’ Sitting next to Declan Bell Jones, in the gutter, in the dark, was making me all kinds of brave.

  He sighed. ‘Well. I mean, she’s alright, you know, when we’re alone. Like, we have fun . . . I guess.’ He scrunched up his face and covered it with his hands. ‘You’re making me think way too hard for a Saturday night.’

  I rubbed my own face self-consciously. ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Oh! Um.’ Declan Bell Jones patted his pockets before grabbing the bottom of his shirt and stretching it in my direction. I tried not to notice the strip of bare skin I could now see. ‘You can wipe your eyes on this.’ He grinned at me.

  I laughed again. ‘No, it’s okay.’

  ‘Here. Let me.’ He scooted closer and pulled his shirt towards my face, causing him to lean into me. He brushed at my cheeks with the rough material but I barely registered the sensation. My insides were in full-on chaos mode at just how close Declan Bell Jones was to me.

  I held my breath.

  He chuckled. ‘It’s not really helping, sorry.’ He dropped the shirt but didn’t move away. Now his thumbs were on my cheeks. I felt a jolt as his eyes met mine. I wondered if he did, too. He might have, because his face grew more serious.

  ‘The truth is, Mikayla, she’s hard work,’ he said. His hands were still on my cheeks. ‘She’s not like you. With you, it’s so easy. You think everything I do is amazing. It’s cute.’

  My thoughts were whirring as he leaned in closer, his breath hot on my skin. I could smell some kind of alcohol on it. I wondered how much he’d had to drink. He didn’t seem too out of it.

  I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. All I could do was stare at Declan Bell Jones.

  And then Declan Bell Jones closed the gap between our faces. He closed his eyes. And he brought his lips to mine.

  He kissed me.

  He kept kissing me.

  I was still frozen for what felt like whole minutes but was probably more like three seconds. Then my brain caught up to the fact that Declan Bell Jones had his tongue in my mouth. It was sloppy, and it tasted strongly of alcohol.

  This is my first taste of alcohol, I thought.

  Then I thought, I hope Mum doesn’t smell this on my breath.

  Then I thought, Shit, stopping thinking about Mum.

  Then I thought, Just stop thinking.

  Declan Bell Jones’s tongue was really going to town in my mouth. It was like he was shooting for my tonsils or something.

  Is this why it’s called tonsil hockey?

  I’ve never been a fan of hockey.

  Why am I thinking about hockey?

  Argh. Stop thinking, stop thinking.

  Kissing Declan wasn’t like kissing Guy.

  Oh. Guy.

  Oh no.

  Oh no no no.

  ‘Ahem,’ someone coughed behind us.

  Declan and I sprang apart so quickly he fell back onto the gutter. I looked up and saw a figure silhouetted against the light coming from the house. I couldn’t see his features, but I could tell by the slant of his shoulders that he was angry.

  I knew the slant of those shoulders better than I knew most things in my life.

  It was Theo.

  Twenty

  Declan was scrambling up, muttering a stream of swearwords. He glanced at me once before rushing past Theo – barely missing charging into him – and into the house.

  Theo stood absolutely still. I could feel the emotion radiating off him.

  I tried to catch my breath – Declan Bell Jones had quite literally taken it away, which had turned out to be much less fun than it sounded. ‘Theo,’ I said, panting. ‘I –’

  ‘I’ll message Sophia. Tell her to come get us early.’ His voice was low. To a stranger it might have sounded calm. To me it sounded anything but. I stood up, taking a step towards him.

  His phone lit up his face as he typed. The expression there made me pause and caused my stomach to drop somewhere around my knees.

  Theo was furious. Really furious.

  He put his phone
back in his pocket.

  ‘Stay here. I’ll go grab Guy and Alex.’

  ‘Theo –’

  ‘Try not to kiss anyone else while you’re waiting,’ he shot at me as he walked away.

  I sank back down into the gutter, and the tears that I’d thought were all dried up started pouring out again. It was like five years’ worth of tears wanted to come bursting out all in one night.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  What had I done? What had I been thinking?

  I sobbed out loud, painfully aware I needed to get myself under control. Guy should not – could not – see me like this.

  That only made me sob harder.

  I was still desperately and futilely trying to rein in my despair when I heard Guy’s panicked voice calling my name and I found myself being enveloped from behind and picked up in one smooth motion.

  ‘Kate? What happened? Are you okay?!’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Theo said from somewhere at Guy’s elbow. ‘Seriously, put her down, my sister will be here in a sec and she’ll freak out.’ I felt his hand slip behind my shoulders to tug at Guy’s arm. Guy somewhat reluctantly placed me back on my feet, but his hands stayed on me, travelling up to cup my face as he stared into it in the dim light.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ he said. He wiped at my tears with his soft thumbs, and I was reminded of Declan Bell Jones doing the same thing earlier. The guilty sobs hovered around the back of my throat, threatening to spill out again. I swallowed hard and wiped my nose with my fingers. A big glob of snot stuck to them.

  Gross.

  ‘I . . .’

  I was saved from saying anything else by headlights flashing over us and Theo’s sister’s car pulling up to the kerb.

  ‘Come on,’ Theo said. His voice was sharp.

  ‘Let’s talk when we get home, okay?’ I whispered to Guy, wiping my face again before climbing into the back seat and shuffling over so Guy could slide in next to me. Theo got in the front. I turned to the window, letting my hair fall in my face as much as possible so Sophia wouldn’t glimpse the wreckage of my breakdown.

  ‘You guys didn’t last long,’ she said. ‘Where’s Alex?’

  ‘He met up with some other friends, so he’s gonna stay.’

  I wondered if he was with the guy he’d come here for. Billy, was it? He must’ve been, if he wanted to stay.