‘Hey!’ Dahlia reaches out to Kiko and Florence, who are still scuffling over the phone. ‘I think someone’s hurt.’
Kiko’s eyebrows furrow. ‘Who?’
Florence scans around in the opposite direction.
Holding her breath, Dahlia watches as people closer to the two girls walk on, either oblivious or too afraid to get involved. An indescribable feeling washes over her. There’s no time to worry or overthink.
‘Quick,’ she says, waving to Kiko and Florence to follow her. ‘We better help.’
Dahlia legs it across the grass towards the girls. The first girl looks like she’s about to throw up. ‘Is your friend alright?’ Dahlia asks her.
‘I . . . I don’t know,’ she stammers. ‘She fainted out of nowhere! She’s my cousin . . . I don’t know what to do.’
The girl on the ground groans. Her right hand shakily reaches to touch her temple.
Her cousin kneels by her side. ‘I’m still here, Zoë,’ she says, stroking the girl’s forehead. ‘It’s Violet.’
Zoë’s lips crack into a small smile. ‘I know it’s you.’ She tries to move, but can’t seem to lift her head from the footpath. ‘I told you I needed a burger.’
‘What do I do?’ Violet whimpers. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’
‘We’ll help,’ Dahlia says, sucking in a breath. Her tone is strong, but her stomach is doing somersaults.
‘Do we move her? I knew I should have paid more attention in first-aid but that instructor was hot!’ Florence babbles. ‘He had that offbeat, broody vibe.’
‘Florence,’ murmurs Kiko, bringing a finger to her lips.
‘No moving,’ Zoë says, wincing.
Violet’s eyes widen. ‘She’d know. Zoë’s going to be a doctor and save the world.’
Dahlia points further down Saldana Strip. ‘I think that’s an emergency tent.’ She squats down next to Zoë. ‘I’ll run over and get help while Violet and my friends stay here. No-one’s leaving you.’
‘I’ll wait here too,’ Zoë says, attempting a weak joke.
Adrenaline courses through Dahlia’s body as she runs along the walkway towards the first-aid tent. Her sandal straps strain against her skin. She arrives at the tent in a blaze, cheeks flushed red and heart thrashing in her chest.
Inside the tent, her breath catches. A boy lies in the recovery position attached to an intravenous drip. His friend holds the IV bag. Two girls sit side by side on plastic chairs, their faces buried in sick bags. Another boy lies on his side on a bed, whimpering and clutching his stomach. He’s by himself. A girl swears as a nurse takes a blood sample.
Dahlia collects herself and hurries over to a first-aid person sorting medicines in the corner. Her words spill out in a rush. ‘Help, it’s my friend! Well, she’s not my friend, but this girl, this nice girl, she’s fallen and hit her head.’ She points back to where Zoë’s lying on the concrete. ‘She’s over here . . . well, over there . . . it’s hard to explain. I don’t know if there’s blood but she needs help. She needs help now!’
The rest happens in a blur. The workers in the tent discuss options, and within seconds a doctor is jogging with Dahlia back to the others.
A small group of people huddle around Zoë. Violet is still whimpering, while a boy is holding Zoë’s hand and drawing circles on her palm. Three other boys stand nearby, all hardened jawlines and furrowed brows. Kiko and Florence hang on the edge of the group, careful not to intrude.
The doctor urges everyone to take a few steps back as she presses a wet washer to Zoë’s forehead.
As Violet wipes away tears, she notices Dahlia and gives her a small smile. A thank you. Dahlia smiles back, then her gaze catches Kiko’s and Florence’s. They gesture for her to come with them, having done what they can.
‘That was intense,’ Dahlia says, exhaling as they stroll along the walkway. ‘Do you think Zoë will be okay?’
Kiko links her arms through Dahlia’s and Florence’s. ‘I do, because she’s in good hands now.’
‘She looked helpless, didn’t she?’ Dahlia adds.
Florence nudges her. ‘Listen, when Zoë retells this story, you’ll be the heroic stranger who sprinted to get help. I bet by the hundredth retelling she’ll have you performing surgery on her on Saldana Strip.’
Kiko’s mouth breaks into a grin. ‘This might be too soon, but does this experience count for Stevie’s list?’ She pulls the list out of her bag. ‘Save a life. I know it’s a stretch, but what do we think?’
Florence nods. ‘It counts. Tick!’
‘And thanks to the haunted house and Florence’s skinny-dipping, we can cross two more things off,’ Kiko says.
Florence beams. ‘You’re welcome. Tattoos next?’ she suggests, waving towards a nearby tattoo parlour.
As they look over, a girl and guy walk out. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you,’ the girl rages. ‘They didn’t even spell your name right!’ She sticks both her middle fingers up at him and storms off. The boy hurries after her.
Kiko sniggers. ‘Maybe not?’
Dahlia reaches for the list. ‘What else is left?’
They huddle around for a better look.
‘Meditate?’ Kiko suggests.
‘I can already do that,’ Dahlia says. She took a three-day meditation course to try to help with managing anxious thoughts.
‘Then tick,’ Florence says, reading over the list. ‘I can’t believe Stevie wrote Fall in love. No pressure! She may as well have put Learn to levitate because we’d need some serious magic to pull that off.’ She winks. ‘Right, girls?’
Dahlia doesn’t dare turn her head but she feels Kiko’s eyes on hers for a split-second. A tiny smile slips out and the air suddenly feels hot and sticky.
‘Moving on,’ Kiko says, taking back the list and holding it to her chest. Dahlia sees her cheeks have reddened. ‘I think Stevie would be happy with our progress.’
Florence leans over Kiko’s shoulder to scan the list again. ‘And there’s Get married too? Marriage is an out-of-date, unnecessary tradition and I am not marrying some drunk stranger just for the list.’ She pauses. ‘Although maybe I would . . .’
‘Never say never, right?’ Dahlia replies. ‘It could be a hilarious story for the memoirs.’
Florence’s jaw drops. ‘Indeed. And just like that, the student becomes the master.’
Day 4
Samira
Day 4: 2.03pm
Samira grimaces at her tired eyes in the downstairs hallway mirror and touches up her mascara.
A pre-paid snorkelling trip had been planned for earlier in the day, but everyone had been too tired and hungover to care that they’d lose their non-refundable holding deposits. Even Anoush, who’d insisted Samira include snorkelling on the itinerary, groaned and rolled over in bed, dragging the sheet up over her face. Samira had held back tears on the phone to the tour operator as she profusely apologised for cancelling. Afterwards, she had nibbled on a piece of bacon and gazed at the tickets, wondering whether she should still go. Then she pictured being alone on the boat surrounded by strangers laughing and joking together. Her chest tightened in shame and she stuffed the tickets away.
Now, in the afternoon, the others are ready to party again. Anoush has overridden Samira’s plan to go to the beach cinema and clubbing at the all-ages nightclub and instead invited them to a party at Dan’s resort.
Rashida swans past, swirling a drink in her hand. ‘Coming to the soiree?’ she asks in a haughty voice.
‘Yeah, Anoush mentioned it,’ Samira says. ‘If by soiree you mean the keg party with a bunch of bros.’ She giggles but Rashida doesn’t. ‘Um, yeah, so I’ll be there. You?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it. Dan’s friends are h-o-t,’ Rashida says, eyeing Samira up and down. ‘Big afternoon ahead, better get changed.’
‘I’m ready,’ Samira says.
Rashida takes an extra-long sip of her drink. ‘Oh. Well . . . you look fine.’
There’s an awkwa
rd pause.
‘So . . . I’ll, ah, catch you soon,’ Rashida says and snakes away up the staircase.
Samira is simmering at the catty remarks when her phone buzzes. Her shoulders relax when she sees it’s a message from Tilly.
Hope you’re having a fab day!
Samira writes back.
You too. About to head out with everyone x
She tugs at her dress, which is inching up her thighs, then looks in the mirror again to fluff her long thick hair to accentuate the waves. ‘It looks alright,’ she mutters, before realising she’s talking to herself again. In a house full of people, she’s spending a lot of time alone.
She steals another glance at her reflection, self-conscious after Rashida’s sharp comments. ‘Maybe I’ll do a brighter lip,’ she mumbles, turning and climbing the staircase.
As she walks towards the master bedroom, she hears Claire’s and Rashida’s muffled voices rising and falling through their closed door. She holds her breath and listens.
‘. . . I know,’ Claire groans. ‘It’s embarrassing, she’s so out of her depth.’
‘Right?’ Rashida adds. ‘Like, we had the most awkward encounter of my life downstairs.’
Claire giggles. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, don’t make me relive it.’
‘Poor clueless Samira.’
The words hit Samira deep in her chest.
‘Someone needs to teach her how to be less weird, but, like, that’s not our job,’ Rashida continues.
‘Some things can’t even be teached, girl.’
Rashida snorts. ‘The word is “taught”, Claire. That’s true though. She’s a lost cause.’
‘That colour-coded itinerary too. Like, who is she, our teacher?’
‘She doesn’t fit in.’
‘Right? She’s not one of us, no matter how much she wants to be.’
‘Hey, that’s harsh.’ Anoush’s voice cuts through the bitchiness.
Anoush is in there? Samira nibbles on her thumbnail.
‘You were the one whinging after she almost blew your date with Dan with all her awkwardness,’ Claire says. ‘What did she say to him again?’
‘Something about the foam party . . . it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does!’ Claire says. ‘Like, chill out, Samira. Be the wing-woman. It’s not that hard.’
‘I think she was bummed we didn’t do the girls’ day,’ Anoush says. ‘I feel bad that I bailed on it, especially after the mix-up at the Capitol.’
‘Don’t. She’s obsessed with you, Anoush,’ Rashida says. ‘It’s not your fault the teachers paired you up.’
‘Serious stalker,’ Claire adds, giggling again. ‘It’s tragic.’
‘No, she’s nice!’ Anoush says. ‘And a good person.’
‘Bor-ing,’ says Rashida in a singsong voice.
‘She’s just . . .’ Anoush pauses.
‘A loser?’ More giggling.
Samira chews on her bottom lip.
‘No, not a loser,’ Anoush says.
The others snort with laughter.
‘I’m not joking!’ she insists. ‘But I think I’m her only real friend. It’s a lot of pressure.’ Anoush sighs. ‘All this stuff with Zain breaking up with her has made this week extra hard.’
‘I thought he was dumping her months ago?’ exclaims Claire.
‘Me too,’ Anoush moans. ‘It’s such a mess.’
Samira shakes her head in disbelief. Anoush did know about Zain. She’d lied to Samira’s face.
‘Here, Anoush, have another drink. Something tells me you’re going to need it at the party,’ Rashida says. ‘You’ll be babysitting Samira before you know it.’
‘Stop it,’ Anoush says, but Samira can tell she’s laughing.
‘I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,’ Rashida adds.
‘All this party talk reminds me I need a cute dress, like, now,’ Anoush says.
‘Go on then, girl,’ Claire chimes in. ‘You have to look smoking.’
It clicks that Anoush is about to burst into the hallway. Samira rushes into their shared room and burrows beneath the bedcovers.
Moments later, Anoush walks in. ‘Oh hey. You having a nap?’
Samira fakes a whimper. ‘I don’t feel so good.’
‘What’s up? Are you okay to come to Dan’s?’
‘I . . . I don’t think so. It’s my stomach, my head, my back . . . It’s like I’ve been stabbed in the back.’ Samira can’t resist the secret dig.
‘Is it period pain? Do you need painkillers?’
‘No, it’s mainly the stomach and head thing,’ she says, silently berating herself for buying into dramatics. ‘I’ll be alright. I think it’s better if I lay low. Rest up and try to get over it.’
Anoush pauses. ‘If that’s what you think. Can I do anything?’
‘No, you’ve done enough. Thanks.’ Samira’s lip quivers.
‘Want me to come back early from the party?’
‘I can handle it.’
‘If you’re sure, because we might end up crashing there to save on transport,’ Anoush says, pulling on a sparkly dress. ‘Feel better, okay? We’ll miss you.’
Samira gives her a tiny smile.
‘Bye, girl. Rest up.’
She manages to hold back her tears until Anoush has left the bedroom.
* * *
The house is still when Samira finally ventures downstairs. She makes a cup of tea and curls up on the couch, feet tucked beneath her, to drink it. She contemplates calling her mum, only she can’t imagine how to begin that conversation. They’ve never had secrets from one another, but now they seem to be piling up.
When she places her empty mug in the kitchen sink, she notices her crumpled itinerary stuck to the fridge. Only the top is visible behind the takeaway menus, a certificate stating Mathieu and Zain are in the Stinky Bill’s VIP Club for completing the Big Beef Challenge by eating a two-kilo steak, bread roll, chips and salad in under an hour, and photo booth prints of Claire, Anoush and Rashida. The sight of the photos cracks her open. The group had pleaded for her to organise their dream trip and she’d exhausted herself factoring in everything they wanted. Initially, she didn’t mind how much work it was because she thought they were grateful. But now she knows the cruel things they say behind her back.
She glares at the fridge then heads down the hall to the bathroom. She pauses outside the door to Zain’s room, wondering what would be the worst that could happen if she knocked. The mess began with him; maybe it can end with him too.
But she shakes off the feeling, silently congratulating herself for the self-control, and walks on towards the bathroom. She yanks open the door and a pained gasp slips out.
Zain is locked in a steamy kiss with a girl against the bathroom sink. The girl’s sharp fire-red nails rake against Zain’s back and she’s wearing nothing but the oversized T-shirt that Samira bought him for his birthday.
Zain pulls back, eyes widening in shock. ‘Samira?’
‘Get out!’ the mystery girl snaps.
‘I . . . I didn’t know you were in here,’ Samira stammers, stepping back so quickly she bumps into the hallway table. A small vase filled with flowers crashes to the floor, shattering glass over the tiles.
‘Omigod,’ she gasps. ‘There goes my deposit.’
‘Samira, wait.’ Zain steps towards her. ‘It’s okay.’
The girl’s eyebrows narrow. ‘Is this your girlfriend, Zeke?’
‘No,’ he mumbles, without correcting her. ‘She’s not.’
‘I’ll go,’ Samira says. ‘I’m going.’
Emotions pinball through her as she storms into the kitchen to grab the dustpan and brush. The sound of Zain and the girl arguing stings her brain as she kneels down in the hallway and sweeps up the shards of glass.
Cheeks burning, Samira pours the glass into the bin, then pounds up the staircase and into her bedroom. She calls her mum, but there’s no answer, so, fighting tears, she collects her
make-up bag from the ensuite and drags her suitcase onto the bed.
Dahlia
Day 4: 4.07pm
Hundreds of people dance on the sand while inflatable palm trees bounce in the air above them. Music pulsates and the crowd swells.
Nearby, at the beachside pool, the girls are stretched out on a daybed. Dahlia adjusts the denim shorts Kiko lent her, savouring the feeling of the sun on the back of her calves. There’s still no news from the airline about her luggage, even though she’s been checking in every day.
‘This bed is bigger than our room,’ Florence says, rubbing sunscreen onto her nose and cheeks, which are softly dusted with freckles. ‘Worth every cent.’
‘I’m never leaving, we have everything we need to survive,’ Kiko says, gesturing to the oversized striped umbrella above and the bowl of sweet potato fries between them.
‘Totally worth emptying the kitty and living off canned tuna for the rest of the week,’ Dahlia jokes, not looking up from her phone.
The screen is hidden from the others, so she opens up the album filled with videos of Stevie, puts on her headphones and presses play. The shot zooms out to reveal Dahlia sitting on the edge of a pool, her feet dangling in the water. She looks at the camera and asks how many days to go before they’re overseas. From behind the lens, Stevie tells her six hundred and thirty-one days. Dahlia whines that’s too many, and Stevie tells her to be patient.
The video crackles and blurs as Stevie sits down next to Dahlia. Suddenly Stevie flips the phone camera and their faces fill the screen. She kicks the water, spraying droplets over them both, and they burst into laughter.
They lean in close so their heads are in the frame and argue over who’s going to be the best au pair the world has ever seen. Dahlia thinks it’ll be Stevie because she’s hilarious and entertaining. Stevie thinks it’ll be Dahlia because she’s kind and funny and everyone loves her, even if she doesn’t realise it. A little smile sneaks out the corner of Dahlia’s mouth as she reminds Stevie everyone loves her too, even though her feet stink and she never flosses.
Stevie brings the camera up close to her face and sticks her tongue out. Dahlia does the same then says the world isn’t ready for them, but Stevie says it’ll have to be. She pauses and everything goes quiet, before she tells Dahlia it’ll be the best thing she’s ever done, made even better because she’s doing it with her best friend. Dahlia rests her head on her shoulder, then Stevie cracks a joke about her breath and they break into laughter again. The footage cuts out.
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