by Sarah Ayoub
‘You look hot, Soph!’
‘Check out her shoes, they’re just divine!’
‘Soph, girl, I never knew you had legs like that – where you been hiding them?’
I giggle nervously, unused to the attention, but before I know it they’re back to their own looking-hot agendas. Only Dora and Rita stay to analyse my make-up – or lack thereof.
‘Dude, love the outfit,’ Rita says, looking me up and down, ‘but the make-up’s all wrong. No offence.’
I mean it when I say, ‘None taken.’ I’m already out of my element in a black PU mini, fishnet stockings, black pointy high heels, and a fitted three-quarter-sleeve top. Dora insisted I buy it on our recent shopping excursion because it ‘reveals that you are indeed a female who possesses some boobs’. I’m used to jeans, tees and Converse sneakers, but I have to admit that I’m a little pleased by my reflection in the mirror, even if I’ve managed to make an otherwise sexy outfit look demure. I’ve even brought along a jacket for good measure.
‘You look totally hot, Sophie,’ Vanessa says across the room. ‘I mean it. But I just have to know – is your skirt one size too big? Not that it’s obvious, but I tend to notice these things.’
‘Um, yeah, I wanted it to be a tiny bit longer and looser so I’d feel comfortable dancing in it,’ I reply.
Her facial expression says everything and I shake my head in amusement.
‘Sophie seems to relish hiding herself from the world,’ Dora says, death-staring me.
‘Not that Marilyn Monroe has ever been my guide to life or anything,’ I say, ‘but she said your clothes need to be tight enough to show you’re a woman, but loose enough to show you’re a lady. And I want to be lady.’
‘I like that,’ Vanessa says. ‘Might get it printed onto one of her pictures and hang it in my room. I have a collection.’
‘I bet you do,’ I say, smiling sarcastically. Thankfully she doesn’t notice. Probably because all the eyeliner she’s applied has clouded her vision.
But eyeliner must be some sort of party prerequisite, because suddenly I have girls swarming all over me with brushes and applicators. Amanda starts applying bronzer (ignoring my plea of ‘not a lot, because I don’t want to look like an LA bimbo’) and Rita nearly blinds me while attempting to apply liquid liner (which is pointless anyway, because I have no idea you’re supposed to wait for it to dry and rub my eyes straight away because they’re itchy). After that nobody’s interested in fixing me up any more and I’m grateful to be left alone.
The Hummer limousine arrives and we all storm outside. Even though driving around in a Hummer is the ultimate western-suburbs cliché, I feel special for a second and join in the screaming and screeching all the way to the wharf.
As we’re standing around waiting to be security-checked and admitted onto the boat, I’m suddenly aware of being watched. I look up and spot Shehadie and Daniel Abboud talking to each other, ignoring the pushing and shoving around them. Shehadie has his hands in his pockets, while Daniel’s animated hand gestures tell me he’s talking about his biggest passion: gaming.
I check out Shehadie and am surprised. He’s wearing jeans, hung low in the same surfer-dude style he wears his Big W pants, a checked shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Converse Chucks in white. For once, he isn’t hiding behind his Prada glasses, messy hair and that bulldog jumper he’s so attached to. The Clark Kent in him has suddenly become kind of Superman-ish and I find myself thinking him attractive, much to my chagrin.
I realise he’s staring back at me, and it seems like he wants to smile, but we’re both out of our element so we just exchange nods and look away.
‘That Goldsmith kid’s a bit hot, isn’t he?’ Vanessa says. ‘Maybe by the end of the year Zayden will be over hating him and I can go there.’
‘Oh, you’re such a little minx!’ one of her friends says.
I just stare at Vanessa, gobsmacked. ‘Why can’t you go there now?’ I ask, ignoring Dora’s second death stare for the night.
Vanessa looks at me like I’m a poor unfortunate puppy. ‘Sophie, clearly you have no idea what it’s like to be popular. If I talk to him, the rest of the class will think it’s okay to talk to him too, and Zayden will be mad. We agreed to keep him at arm’s length, to send a message that what’s been done to us recently is not okay.’
‘Right,’ I say awkwardly, while inside I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with them.
On board, the decorations committee have done a great job. I’m not surprised, given the committee is made up of the type of girls who wear heels just to go to the local shopping centre. Dora tugs at my jacket and gestures to a group across the room. I forget Shehadie as soon as I spot Zayden. He’s in dark jeans and a fitted polo shirt, laughing with his friends and oblivious to the fact that he’s setting hearts aflutter all around the room.
The DJ starts the night off with Bruno Mars’ ‘Locked Out of Heaven’ and soon everyone is dancing. Zayden comes over to our group and starts chatting. I wonder what Dora has told Rita and Vanessa because I hear them saying something to Zayden about me. He glances over at me and smiles.
‘Looking good, Sophie.’ He gives a long and exaggerated nod. Then he sticks out his arm and says, ‘Shall we?’ and before I’ve had a chance to think we’re walking towards the dance floor.
‘Take off your jacket, you nun!’ Dora hisses at me.
We dance to a couple of songs, but he doesn’t pay me much attention, and a short time later he goes to dance with another group. I watch him flirt with a couple of girls from another school and feel crushed, even though I know he’d never be interested in me.
Shehadie wanders over and I knows he’s seen me staring.
‘Really, Sophie?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I thought you were against clichés, and yet it’s obvious that you have an eye for one particular cliché.’
‘Please stop pestering me,’ I plead. ‘You’ll ruin the first good night I’ve had in ages.’
He makes a face. ‘Well, I don’t want to do that.’
‘Go away then.’
‘I’m just a little puzzled, that’s all,’ he adds softly.
‘And why’s that?’
He leans over and whispers, ‘You’re not exactly Queen of Hearts material with all that cynicism, sarcasm and sometimes even bitterness, so it’s unlikely the Prom King’s going to pick you.’
‘Okay, what the hell is your problem?’ I say, wanting to kill him with my bare hands. ‘What gives you the right to make assumptions about who I do or don’t like, and whether or not I’m anyone’s type?’
I realise that I’m swearing more in this conversation than I ever have in my whole life.
‘I’m just saving you the mortification of finding out that you don’t belong with him, and he wouldn’t care for you much even if you did. Plus, you’re better than him.’
‘This conversation is so out of line! Who do you think you are, talking to me like this?’
‘Hey, forgive me for hitting a sore spot. But isn’t that the Lebanese way of doing things – act first, think later?’
He makes another face at me and walks away, hands in his pockets. I take a loud breath and inch closer to the girls. They don’t seem to have noticed anything. Of course, they wouldn’t – not with boys from other schools around.
The boat docks at eleven thirty, and it’s about a quarter to twelve by the time we’re back on the wharf. I’ve made arrangements to go home with the girls I came with, but we’ve lost each other in our scramble back to dry land. I spot them with a group of boys and make my way over. My feet are aching and I curse myself for wearing heels.
The group are discussing whether or not they should go to the Star Casino, which is across the road, or to Newtown, where some guy that Vanessa likes works at a pub. Half of them are underage so I wonder why they’re bothering, but don’t say anything. Instead, I stand there freaking out about how I’m go
ing to get home. Dora is standing on the edge of the group, like she’s caught between popularity and our friendship. I try to catch her eye, but she looks away.
‘So, are we going?’ I ask, breaking the silence. I shiver, hoping someone will say that it’s cold and we should go home, but no one does.
Just then, Jason Makdessi rounds the corner in his mother’s Toyota Land Cruiser and pulls up at the kerb. ‘Come on, guys!’ he hollers, sticking his head out of the sun roof. ‘Are we gonna check out Saade’s new boyfriend or not?’
Vanessa giggles into her (real) fur stole and calls out, ‘Stop it!’ in a way that indicates she actually doesn’t want him to.
I can see that she’s loving the attention. As much as I want to tell her that the guys are just looking for something to do and really couldn’t care less about the latest object of her affection, I remain silent. I’m still holding out hope they’ll decide to go home so I can avoid calling Dad and have him drive all the way over here to pick me up, only to lecture me about the importance of keeping good company for the half-hour ride home.
They decide on Newtown and everyone starts to clamber into the car. Dora and I linger behind. Rita motions to us and Zayden calls out, ‘Come on, girls! It’s after-party time!’
Dora looks at me pleadingly. ‘Can’t you tell your dad the boat was delayed?’
‘Are you for real? He knows it’s a school function and it won’t go later than midnight. Besides, if I tell him there’s a problem with the boat he’s going to come down anyway.’
‘But everyone’s going …’
‘So what? We’ve spent the last four years mocking people who do what everybody else does.’
‘Yeah, while secretly wishing we were like them,’ she points out, looking away.
But I know I’ve struck a chord so I keep going. I desperately need to win here. ‘You seriously can’t be thinking of going with them? What if you get busted at the pub for being underage? And don’t even get me started on Makdessi’s driving! I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Pepsi he was guzzling from that hip flask earlier.’
She glances from me to the car. ‘Wait up, guys!’ she calls out, then turns back to me and whispers, ‘I’m sorry, Sophie. But you know how it is.’
And then they’re driving off, leaving me standing alone on a Sydney street at five minutes to midnight in fishnets and high heels, tears welling in my eyes.
11
I hate it when things don’t go according to plan and I’m the one in the firing line
I don’t know what to do. I start walking up towards the Maritime Museum to see if I can spot a taxi at the intersection near the Pyrmont Bridge Hotel. I stand by the doors of the hotel, where there are more people, naively thinking there’s less of a chance that some dropkick will start harassing me here.
The dropkick manifests in the form of a bearded thirty-something man who calls to me from inside, where he’s sitting on a bar stool. He’s covered in tattoos, holds a beer in one hand and has ugly stains on his navy singlet and white boardies. When I see him coming towards the door I freak out.
‘Dad,’ I call. ‘There you are!’ I walk away with as much purpose as I can muster, despite the obvious fear in my voice.
I go back towards the Star Casino, and then cross the road and sit on a bench, staring at the water. By now it’s 12.05 am and I have no idea what to do. I want to call Dad, who’s expecting me home in fifty-five minutes, but at the same time I know it would reduce my already limited chances of ever going out again down to zero.
When I hear footsteps behind me, I’m sure the dropkick has followed me and that I’m going to die in the type of clothes I wear once a year. I’ll be forever remembered as the seventeen-year-old who was found dead across from the casino in fishnet stockings and with panda eyes.
‘My dad just went to get the car,’ I blurt out, afraid to turn around.
‘Well then, I guess he won’t mind if I wait around and keep you company until he comes back,’ Shehadie says as he plops himself down beside me.
My face goes bright red. ‘What are you doing here? I thought everyone went home.’
‘They did. I saw you as I was driving by, so I parked the car – illegally, I might add – to see if you’re okay. Clearly I’m a better knight in shining armour than that loser your eyes kept following tonight.’
I ignore him and stare straight ahead.
‘So,’ he says after a minute, making a point of looking around, ‘where’s Mr Kazzi?’
‘I’m about to call him,’ I say, sighing as I pull out my phone.
His hand reaches out to stop me. ‘No way, it’s late. I’ll take you home.’
‘Ah, thanks, but I think the heart attack would be less severe if I ran away to Vegas and became a showgirl rather than turning up in some guy’s car.’
Shehadie laughs out loud. ‘You are one f’d up chick, you know.’
‘Don’t swear in the presence of a lady, thank you.’
‘First of all, Miss Smarty Pants, I didn’t swear, I merely alluded to it. And second of all, since when did ladies walk around late at night in fishnet tights?’
‘I’ll have you know that once upon a time, the femme fatale look was the height of glamour and was not complete without a pair of fishnet stockings. I’m merely recreating a trend for the modern era.’
But I’m still self-conscious enough to pull my skirt down as much as possible while staring straight ahead.
‘At least you have the legs to pull them off,’ he says.
My face goes red again and I glare at him.
‘Relax, it’s not like I wanted to give you a compliment,’ he says. ‘I assure you it came out involuntarily.’
‘The truth has a way of coming out,’ I say smugly.
After a moment, I become aware of how quiet it is. I stare at the dark, foreboding water, which, strangely enough, feels more inviting than my current situation. God, why did I have to walk up to the stupid Pyrmont Bridge Hotel? I should have waited for the teachers – I could’ve gotten a lift with one of them at least, instead of rocking up in the car of the boy I love to hate.
‘So,’ he says, looking straight at me.
‘What? What is it you want to say now, you big pain in the arse?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s getting cold, Soph. We’re both working tomorrow. And we both know that despite the fact that you’re trying to convince us otherwise, your dad isn’t going to magically turn up here. And you’re not going to ring him for reasons I’m not going to attempt to figure out.’
I try to interrupt, but he’s on fire.
‘I’m also pretty sure that the unicorns stop flying at midnight, so that transportation option is out of the question. So would you please cut me some slack, assume I’m not going to kill you, despite the service I’d be doing to men everywhere, and get in my car so we can both go home?’
I’m defeated. ‘I’m not allowed to ride in cars with boys,’ I admit.
‘Even ones who don’t want to get in your pants?’ he asks, bewildered.
I raise my eyebrows and stare at him with a ‘did-you-just-go-there’ look on my face.
‘I say inappropriate things when I’m ready to hang out at the Farshi Club with DJ Pillow and the blanket crowd,’ he says almost shyly.
‘Ha, you said an Arabic word!’ I laugh. ‘Well done!’
‘A girl in Year Eleven was giving me lessons out on the deck when Daniel went to take a leak,’ he explains. ‘I forgot to ask her name, so now I’m going to be the Aussie With Bad Manners at school, because just being the Aussie clearly wasn’t enough.’
I smile at him in spite of myself. ‘Surely your new knowledge of the Lebanese language will help in that department?’
‘You think there’s hope for me after all?’ he asks.
‘Perhaps.’
‘So are we leaving or what?’ he says. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get home before the sun comes up to avoid giving my tayta a heart attack.’
I look at him, a pained expression on my face. It’s a lose-lose situation.
‘Look, if you’re really not allowed in cars with boys,’ he says, ‘I’ll stop a few houses away so your dad won’t see the car even if he’s awake. And I’ll tell my tayta and pop to say they picked us up if he does find out anything, okay?’
I’m still quiet, staring at a piece of gum on the ground.
He shakes my shoulder, then bends down and sticks his face under mine, pretending to analyse my expression. ‘Sophie, it’s quarter past twelve.’
I relent. ‘Okay. But do you think you can get me home by 1 am? I kind of have a curfew.’
As we walk towards the car, I say, ‘Don’t tell your grandparents to lie on my behalf. If my parents ask, I’ll just have to deal with it. And don’t you dare speed, or try any funny business either.’
‘Geez, you have a lot of demands for someone who needs a favour,’ he says. He turns around and makes a show of walking in the opposite direction. ‘Think maybe you can walk home instead?’
I grab his arm and steer him back to the line of cars. ‘Find your car, get in it and drive me home, Goldsmith,’ I say.
‘Yes, miss.’ He salutes me mockingly, then mutters ‘Women’ under his breath, just as I am rolling my eyes and saying ‘Men’.
We catch each other out and both grin.
On the drive home, I ask about his car – a green Holden Commodore and a fairly recent model for someone who’s only eighteen.
‘I love Holdens,’ he says. ‘They’re like the quintessential Aussie bloke car, don’t you reckon?’
I shrug, because I genuinely have no idea, and he smiles.
‘I’ve been working since I was fifteen, and when I got my Ps I didn’t want to drive around in some dodgy old bomb. So Dad and I made a deal that he’d pay for half the car if I came up with the other half, plus the costs for rego and insurance. It was a pretty good deal.’