And then she hears a voice that lights up the afternoon. ‘Sammy, this is meant to be! Hello!’
Samira turns to see Tilly and her friends wearing slight variations of the bold, bright costumes from the previous night: the Queen, the Robot and the Pirate.
‘What are you up to?’ Tilly asks, glancing at the shop behind Samira. It’s closed.
‘Um, my group and I got separated,’ Samira fibs. ‘They’re late, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon. We’re . . . we’re on our way to a party.’
‘Sounds fun,’ Tilly says. ‘Isn’t this the best week? We didn’t make a lot of plans, we just dress up and see where the day takes us. And hey, it’s taken us to you.’ She turns to her friends. ‘Hey Peachies, this is that fabulous girl I was telling you about. Sammy is my superhero. She gives good loo chat too. Great loo chat.’
The Peachies laugh, clearly used to Tilly’s enthusiasm.
‘Hey, I’m Kris,’ says the Robot.
‘And I’m Harry,’ adds the Pirate. ‘And you obviously know the Queen herself.’
Tilly curtsies. ‘She does.’ She points at Samira’s bangle. ‘Sammy’s a Peachie in the making. I’m thinking “the Warrior”.’
Samira blushes. ‘I don’t know if that suits me.’
‘You fought for me!’ Tilly says. ‘I can’t believe we’ve run into you! I was telling these guys you give off good vibes left, right and centre.’
‘I . . . I do?’
‘Ten out of ten aura.’
Samira grins. Tilly seems to have that effect on her. ‘Um . . . thanks.’
‘So we’re heading to a dumplings place two streets back if you’re interested,’ Tilly adds.
‘The all-you-can-eat one?’
‘You know it. Want to bring your friends?’
Kris smirks. ‘Stop trying to recruit more Peachies into your cult, Tilly.’
‘At least so obviously,’ adds Harry. ‘Shameless.’
‘That sounds awesome,’ Samira says before she can stop herself. ‘But my friends and I have those, um, those plans.’
‘Sure, all good! Pop your number in here,’ Tilly says, passing Samira her phone. ‘In case you get a craving later.’
As Tilly and the Peachies walk off, arguing over which song Alotta Peach will open her set with at the concert later in the week, a new number pranks Samira’s phone. She saves it under Tilly the Peachie, then stares at the screen, wishing Anoush would reply.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, after still nothing from Anoush, Samira stands in the doorway of the hole-in-the-wall dumpling bar, watching the Peachies laughing and arguing and feeding each other with chopsticks.
They spot her and wave her in, round up another chair, and heap steamed dumplings onto a plate for her.
Within an hour, Samira’s startled to realise she’s told them everything: about Zain, Anoush, the fake ID, all of it. The words tumble out and they listen, really listen, and the night rolls on.
It’s Tilly’s idea to hold an exorcism at midnight. ‘A “Good Riddance to Zain” exorcism,’ she says.
Kris and Harry roll their eyes at the suggestion. But Samira, despite having no idea what Tilly’s talking about, agrees.
Zoë
Day 2: 10.17pm
Zoë and the others are down to their underwear and packed into Darius’s rooftop hot tub like sardines. Foamy bubbles spill over the edges and onto the deck, and music blasts from a speaker in the corner, competing with the songs blaring from other suites in the resort.
Luca takes another sip of his cocktail and leans in closer. ‘Say it again, Zo.’
Zoë beams. ‘Not grounded!’
‘No yelling from Aunty Rosette?’ Violet chimes in, sloshing her drink everywhere. ‘Or crying from Uncle Gian?’
‘None,’ Zoë says, and widens her eyes for emphasis. ‘Dad even said he loves me.’
Prakash wipes water from his thick brows. ‘I can’t get over it. You’re in the clear?’
Luca pretends to bow down. ‘So clear it’s translucent! Zo, this is your permission from everyone to forget about exams and have fun.’
‘He’s right for once.’ Violet props herself up in the tub to better show off her lacy pink bra. ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime shot.’
‘I know, I know,’ Zoë groans, rolling her eyes. ‘We only get this holiday once.’
Luca stands up, sending water spraying everywhere. ‘Zoë!’ he declares, ignoring the girls giggling at his sopping wet boxer briefs. ‘You don’t seem to understand the gravity of what you’ve pulled off. I thought you were dead-cousin-walking, but you’ve escaped without a lick of punishment. It’s a miracle!’
Akito cheers. ‘The universe wants you to party!’
‘Nay!’ says Darius, sliding into the tub and passing around more drinks. ‘Needs you to party.’
Prakash and Zoë swap smirks.
‘Yes, needs,’ Luca repeats, high-fiving the boys. ‘Listen to us, Zo.’
‘Let’s do something outrageous then,’ Violet says. ‘Come get a tattoo with me tomorrow.’ She holds out her phone. ‘Look at this butterfly design.’
‘Not a chance!’ Zoë says.
‘But it looks so adorable.’
‘And clichéd,’ Luca adds.
While the cousins argue, Zoë slips out of the hot tub and pulls her towel around herself.
‘Zo, you better not be going to bed after our inspiring pep talks,’ Violet yells, splashing water at her. ‘Uncle Gian might’ve gone easy on you but I won’t.’
Zoë walks towards the balcony door before pausing in front of the speaker. She slowly looks over her shoulder with a crooked grin, then leans over and turns up the volume, before whipping off her towel and twirling it in the air.
Violet’s hollering fills the night sky as Zoë throws the towel onto the deck and dances under the yellow glow of the fairylights.
Day 3
Samira
Day 3: 12.10am
Samira stares at the fire pit, hypnotised by the flicker and spark of the burnt orange flames. They cast eerie shadows across the beach house’s courtyard.
Tilly’s voice cracks through the dark. ‘It’s after midnight, Samira. You ready to do this?’
Samira’s gaze falls to the Live your way, baby bangle again. ‘I think so.’ A nervous laugh slips out. ‘But also no. Just one second.’
She can’t believe she’s at the Peachies’ house in the middle of the night. This isn’t part of the plan. She checks her phone. Still nothing from Anoush, despite Samira texting and calling her after fleeing the Capitol earlier that day.
‘Hey!’ Tilly’s voice snaps Samira back to reality. ‘Phone away, Sammy. I need your full attention at this exorcism of your ex.’
The moon glows high among speckled stars, and the boys crowd around Samira, waving sparklers in the air.
‘Are they necessary?’ Samira cringes as the sparklers pop and fizz uncomfortably close to her hair.
‘Don’t they look fabulous?’ Tilly claps her hands twice. ‘Let’s begin. Silence!’
Samira, Kris and Harry swap wide-eyed looks and stifle laughter.
Tilly clears her throat. ‘We’re gathered here today—’
Harry snorts. ‘It’s not a wedding.’
‘Right, right,’ Tilly says, hushing them. ‘We’re here tonight, at, twelve past twelve precisely — wow, that’s got to mean something, right? — to banish the bad vibes that this so-called Zain—’
‘That is his name,’ Samira says with a grin. ‘But you’re correct on the bad vibes.’
Tilly nods. ‘Right. Basically we’re all here because Zain sucks. He broke the heart of the amazing Sammy, the Warrior among us, and she deserves one million times better. My Peachies, Kris and Harry, will serve as witnesses to this momentous event,’ she continues, ‘and it will go down in history as a night to remember. A night when good overcame evil. When the hero beat the villain. When true love — self-love — won all.’
It’s Kri
s’s turn to crack up. ‘Move it on. I’d love to get to bed before the sun rises.’
Tilly turns to Samira. ‘Where are the items I requested?’
Earlier in the night, Samira had collected a few things: Zain’s passport photo, which she’d kept tucked in her wallet; an item of his clothing (she’d snuck next door into his room to borrow a sock); and a love letter. Zain had never written one, so Samira scribbled out one of his nicer texts on the back of a takeaway menu.
‘Here they are,’ she says, emptying the items out of her handbag onto the bench in the courtyard. ‘Hope they’re okay.’
Tilly strokes each piece — cringing when she realises she’s fondling a stranger’s sock — before placing it back on the bench.
Kris and Harry snigger.
‘Perfect,’ Tilly says, glaring at the boys. ‘Sammy, first select the item of Zain’s clothing.’
Samira picks up the sock.
‘What does this represent to you?’ Tilly asks. ‘Think deeply.’
‘It’s his sock . . . so . . . feet?’ Samira shrugs.
‘No, no.’ Tilly shakes her head. ‘Like, socks, feet, shoes, shoes are made for walking, walking, walking, walking away, walking all over someone, walking the talk, walking the walk . . .’
‘Is she having a stroke?’ whispers Harry.
‘Think, Sammy,’ she insists. ‘Why did you pick this sock? What does this sock say about Zain?’
‘If that sock could talk, we’d all be millionaires,’ Kris cracks.
‘Fine.’ Tilly rolls her eyes. ‘Just throw it in the fire.’
‘I thought I was only borrowing it,’ Samira says.
‘Nope. Fire. Now.’
Pinching the sock between two fingers, Samira tosses it into the fire.
‘Anyone else feel sorry for the sock?’ Harry asks. ‘What did it ever do to us?’
Tilly claps her hands again. ‘Silence! Next, the love letter. Read it out, please, then add it to the pit.’
‘It’s just a text, and not that lovey,’ Samira says, picking up the menu. ‘Babe, you looked so hot tonight. See you in my dreams.’
Kris cringes. ‘That’s it? Pass the spew bucket.’
‘Writing romantic texts obviously wasn’t Zain’s strength, but I’m sure he had lots of qualities that made Samira fall for him,’ Tilly says. ‘Not that we’re focusing on his good qualities! This is a bad-qualities-only exorcism.’
Samira holds the menu over the fire. The edges catch alight and then it’s sucked into the flames.
Tilly hums as she throws a feather, a leaf and a black and white shell into the pit.
‘What do they mean?’ Samira whispers.
Harry leans in. ‘She has no idea.’
‘Everyone, stop trying to micro-manage the purging!’ Tilly says. ‘Sammy, pick up the photo of Zain. And look at it. Really eyeball this tyrant.’
Kris stifles laughter behind his hand. Tilly shoots him a warning glare.
Samira picks up the photo and stares at it, taking in Zain’s soulful expression. He looks so serious, because he wasn’t allowed to smile for the passport photo.
She remembers the day the photo was taken. They’d sipped on chocolate milkshakes before going to the local post office. Samira didn’t even need a photo. She only got one because Zain didn’t want to go alone. It would be boring without her, he’d said.
They’d fought afterwards because he’d flaked on their plans to have a picnic in the park, going instead to Mathieu’s to play video games. Later that evening, he’d surprised her with a bouquet and a mumbled apology. Cringing, Samira remembers how she’d been so annoyed with how he’d treated her, but she’d let him shower her with kisses and didn’t mention the flowers looked suspiciously like Teta’s roses from the front garden. She wishes she could go back to that moment in a time machine to call him out.
‘What are you thinking, Sammy?’ whispers Tilly. ‘Wait, that’s personal — you don’t have to answer that.’
Samira looks at the photo again, then looks at Tilly. Every sense is sharpened, from the smell of the fire, to the sound of partying in the distance.
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ she admits. ‘He was my first proper boyfriend.’
‘Didn’t he hurt you though?’ Harry asks.
‘Hear, hear!’ Kris adds. ‘He sounds like a douchelord.’
‘Quiet, you two,’ hisses Tilly.
‘I don’t know, I guess,’ Samira says. ‘But I had this perfect week planned out for us. It was even colour-coded with themes. And matching stickers.’ She sniffs, half-laughing, half-crying. ‘No wonder he dumped me.’
‘I, for one, love a good sticker,’ Tilly says. ‘But it’s time for a new plan. With new colours! If you’re ready to move on, rip up that photo of Zain and throw it in.’
‘For real?’ Samira asks.
‘You don’t need it any more.’ Tilly switches to a softer, more ethereal tone. ‘Rip up the photo, throw it in the fire and let these words wash over you: “Burn, Zain, burn. Burn, Zain, burn”.’
‘But I don’t want him to actually burn.’
‘No, this is, like, metaphorically,’ Tilly says with a grin. ‘You’re burning him from your heart so something majestic can rise from the ashes. A life you truly want!’
Samira nods and tears through the photo until it’s just a scattering of tiny pieces in her palm. With a lump in her throat, she sprinkles the shreds into the fire. They shrivel into blackness, until they’re nothing but a pile of ash.
Dahlia
Day 3: 2.31am
The smell of salt is heavy and there’s only a hint of light from the moon shimmering behind a mass of charcoal clouds. Dahlia and Kiko trail along the sand behind Florence, Seiji and Mitch as soft waves lap against the shore. The boys laugh and joke with Florence, the trio taking turns piggybacking each other.
Dahlia and Kiko have settled into a slower pace, their fingertips gently brushing as they swing their arms. Even the slightest touch makes Dahlia feel like she’s plugged into a power socket. Electricity crackles through her body. But there are no clues in the dark. No way to decode Kiko’s expression, to know if she feels it too.
‘What’s the plan, Florence?’ Kiko calls out, shattering Dahlia’s dreaming. ‘Have you got us lost?’
Florence bounds over and stops between them, splitting them apart. Even in the darkness, Dahlia sees the glint in Florence’s eyes.
‘Something’s brewing,’ Dahlia says. ‘I know that look.’
She first saw it when Florence dared the girls to join her in mooning her cranky old neighbour after the street’s Halloween party — and Stevie was the only one who got busted with her underwear around her knees. Or the time Florence was headed to a senior’s house party on a Friday night but told her step-mum she was going to a school book club. She even wore her uniform. Despite Florence’s eyelids heaving with glitter, her step-mum believed her and spent the next fifteen minutes blabbing about the novel on her bedside table. Stevie, Kiko and Dahlia muffled giggles behind their hands, but Florence never cracked; she smiled and nodded at her step-mum in all the right places, never losing the glint in her eye. The second she was in the back of Kiko’s car, she stripped off her school uniform and slithered into a miniskirt. Florence’s glint always leads to something intoxicating. Something rule-bending. Something unforgettable.
Now, Florence gestures around the deserted beach. ‘Isn’t my plan obvious?’
‘Obviously not,’ Kiko says with a shrug.
‘Skinny-dipping in the ocean.’
‘No way!’ Dahlia’s hands race to the sundress skimming her thighs.
The girls giggle at her reaction.
‘Mitch and Seiji are in,’ Florence shares with glee. ‘Are you two?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Dahlia replies, breaking into laughter. ‘No way.’
‘Your loss.’ Florence sweeps off her top to reveal a red bra covered in strawberries.
‘What if someone sees you?’ Dahlia asks.
‘It’s pitch-black, so if someone is squinting to get a look then they’re the Pervy McPerve not me,’ Florence says, sliding off her shorts so she’s left in her underwear.
Kiko looks around. ‘It is dark, Dahlia.’
‘And the dark hides many secrets,’ Florence says. ‘It’s just a body. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and neither do you. We’re all skeletons getting around in fleshy skin suits.’ She grins. ‘If I was in charge of this country, I’d let people walk around naked.’
Kiko flicks Florence’s bra strap. ‘You’d really want to see your step-mum and dad walking around with their bits out?’
‘Whatever. I’m proud of my body, imperfections and all — and you should be proud of yours.’
Dahlia laughs. ‘I get that, and I am, but can we be proud of our bodies in our hostel room or something?’
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ Florence says. With a high-pitched shriek, she flings off her bra and drags down her underwear, covering her lower half with one hand before sprinting towards the water.
Mitch and Seiji bellow with laughter as they strip down to nothing too, their bums glowing luminous under the moonlight, and follow her. Florence dives beneath a rolling wave, while the boys edge in slowly and splash each other.
‘Our girl,’ Kiko says. ‘She can’t be tamed.’
‘I wish I was more like her,’ Dahlia says as Florence’s laughter rings out from the ocean.
Kiko raises an eyebrow. ‘You wish you were in your birthday suit with two nerdburgers right now?’
‘Maybe not that, but Florence is fearless. She doesn’t worry about consequences or what people think. She doesn’t worry at all. I’m praying the police don’t lock her up for public nudity — meanwhile, Florence doesn’t even care where she flung her bra.’
Kiko lets out a little snort. ‘She’ll care if she can’t find it later.’
‘I don’t think so. I want to be more like that. Stevie was like that. Brave.’
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