Zoë blushes. ‘Still working on it.’
She calls Prakash who answers with, ‘Where have you been? We’ve been calling and messaging all night!’
As she tries to explain, he excitedly talks over her, telling everyone in the suite to do another shot because Zoë’s ready to party again. She hopes Kolovelonis can’t hear him.
‘Prakash, listen,’ she says, cutting off his animated rant. ‘This is important. I need you to tell me our resort address.’
He laughs. ‘Paradise Road, Paradise, baby!’
‘No, I’m serious,’ she hisses. ‘What’s the name of our resort? I need your help!’
There’s crackling and heavy breathing followed by raucous laughter.
‘Prakash,’ Zoë begs. ‘I need the name or number. Now!’
‘It’s me!’ Luca’s voice rings down the line. ‘Where’d you go? Prakash and I waited by the back exit forever.’
‘Back exit? Why were you . . .’ Zoë rolls her eyes at the miscommunication. ‘I’ll explain everything later, but I need the—’
The phone cuts out. Zoë’s chest pounds as she imagines having to spend the rest of the night in the cell.
Kolovelonis raises an eyebrow. ‘Get it?’
‘They’re checking,’ she fibs. ‘I feel fine again so I’m happy to get myself there.’
‘Sorry, house rules,’ Kolovelonis says with a shrug.
‘Maybe I can get them to come here?’
‘Sure. But if they show up over the limit, then no luck. If you get the address, we’ll organise a lift for you, okay?’
Zoë nods. When Kolovelonis’s back is turned, she calls Prakash again. It goes straight to voicemail. She swears under her breath.
Suddenly her phone bursts to life.
‘Tiny Sloth!’ Luca announces. ‘Prakash’s battery died. Where are you by the way? I’ve got a drink with your name on it. Wait, no, I’m mad at you. You ditched us!’
‘I didn’t!’ Zoë sighs. ‘Luca, I need the name of the resort.’
‘Huh? It’s the Grand Southwell on Saldana Strip. Oh, guess what — Akito saw Darius earlier and someone stole the couch from his suite! It just disappeared! They graffitied all this hardcore stuff on the living room wall too. Isn’t that intense? Can you imagine the damage bill?’
Zoë rolls her eyes. ‘Akito’s still hanging with him?’ She lowers her voice. ‘What about the shoplifting?’ She glances around the cell, cheeks flushing at the irony. ‘Whatever, I’ll see you soon.’
Forty-five minutes pass before there’s a free car to drive Zoë back to the Grand Southwell. Her head pounds, but this time it’s from exhaustion. Constable Inglis is driving; Zoë doesn’t catch the older police officer’s name. She slouches in the back seat, staring at the dazzling lights of Saldana Strip flying by. Unable to resist, she reaches for her phone. She scrolls through her unread mail but there’s only a flood of newsletters she doesn’t remember signing up for.
She sinks even lower as the police car pulls into the resort driveway. When she reaches into her bag for the card to let her into the resort and suite, she swears out loud. It’s in her wallet, and she has no idea where that is. She texts Luca to meet her in the lobby.
Inglis flashes Zoë a kind smile. ‘You’ve had quite the night. I’ll walk you in.’
The other police officer steps out of the car and lights up a cigarette.
‘Don’t get too comfy,’ Inglis says. ‘We’re heading back to the Strip after this.’
In the lobby, the man working the front desk glares at Zoë. She sinks onto the couch, wishing she could disappear into its soft folds. Inglis makes small talk with Zoë about the weather while checking out the resort brochures and the fish in the oversized glass tank.
When Luca dances out of the lift holding a beer, his eyes widen at the sight of Zoë with a police officer.
‘Ah, hello, what’s going on here?’ he asks, slipping the drink behind his back as he sidles up to her.
‘Long story,’ Zoë mumbles. ‘Thanks for the lift, Constable.’
‘You bet, now get some sleep and look after each other,’ Inglis says, before walking off.
Luca leans in close. ‘The police? What’s going on? Tell me everything.’
‘It’s simple. I lost you two, and couldn’t find my wallet and—’
‘Prakash has it. You left it on the table at the bar.’
Zoë sighs with relief. ‘Finally a win.’
‘Now back it up and fill me in, Zo. I’m dying here.’
The sound of laughter echoes through the lobby and they turn to see Darius and two guys amble out of the lift. As they walk to the vending machine around the corner, Darius nods hello in Luca’s direction.
‘Hey, man!’ Luca calls out to him. ‘Just a heads-up — there’s a cop outside. You should tell her about the couch and graffiti.’
Darius’s mouth widens. ‘The cops? You lost your mind, bro?’ He gestures to his pockets. ‘I’ll get a new couch.’
‘Is he joking?’ one of the other guys asks. ‘Mate, are the cops really here?’
‘Chill, just come hang at mine for a bit, we’re sweet,’ Darius tells them, shoving soft drink cans at their chests and heading back to the lift.
Zoë crinkles her nose, waiting until they’ve disappeared before speaking. ‘That was shady.’
‘Says the girl kicking it with the cops,’ Luca scoffs.
‘Nothing happened!’
Luca’s and Zoë’s phones repeatedly beep so they both glance down. It’s a string of phone messages from Violet dropped into their group chat.
Zoë looks closer: they’re pictures of her taken moments earlier from their suite’s balcony. Stepping out of the police car. Standing with the police officers. Walking into the resort, head and shoulders slumped, with Inglis at her side.
Underneath there’s a message in the group chat from Violet.
WTF Zo????
The chat lights up with comments from the others within seconds.
What is happening?????
Fake as
When good girls go bad
Law and Order: Zoë Russo Unit
Can someone explain what I’m looking at
where are your cuffs?
Someone handcuff me
lol, ew
Framing these
‘This isn’t funny,’ Zoë says as more photos of her climbing out of the police car flood in from Violet. ‘I’m going to kill her.’
Samira
Day 5: 7.56am
The morning sun beats through the bathroom window as Samira splashes her face at the sink. She dares to look next door at the beach house she hired: the bright blooms decorating the courtyard; the open balcony; the ceiling-to-floor windows. She sighs. From the outside, things look as perfect as she’d dreamt.
Her phone rings. There’s no avoiding this call.
She puts it on speaker, lowers the volume and whispers, ‘Hi Mum, hi Teta’, before they launch into a loud wobbly rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not until this moment that Samira realises how much she misses them.
Her mother’s voice is wispier than usual and Samira knows that means she’s stopping herself from crying.
‘Is it everything you wanted, my darling?’ her mum asks.
‘It’s been memorable.’
Samira hates keeping secrets from her family, but she doesn’t dare tell them about the messiness of the week. Instead, she lets their love fill her to the brim.
‘Oh good! And how are you, darling? How’s Zain? And Anoush?’
Samira dries her face, puts in her earbuds and lies down on the couch. ‘They’re . . .’ she begins, skipping over the first question, ‘they’re doing everything they want.’
‘Wonderful. Well, I hope you’re all taking care of each other.’ Her mother’s voice cracks. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
In that second, Samira’s mind races over everything that’s happened. Anoush bitching about her with the girls. Zain breakin
g up with her at the train station. Feeling lonely in a house full of people.
But then she looks around the Peachies’ living room, at their colourful outfits strewn about, the half-empty bowls of snacks from staying up late chatting, her very own sword and shield, and she smiles.
‘I’m with good people,’ she says. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Oh Sammy, that makes me so happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.’
‘That and having you home under her watchful eye,’ Teta interrupts.
‘Quiet down, Mum,’ her mother says. ‘But it’s true, it’s not the same without you here, darling. The bakery, the house. We miss you.’
In the background, Teta scolds her. ‘You promised you wouldn’t guilt-trip her! It’s only a few more days.’
‘Mum, let me feel my feelings.’
A deep laugh bubbles up within Samira. ‘I’ll allow it all,’ she says. ‘The truth is, I miss you too.’
Her mother sniffs. ‘No, no, forget that. We’ll be here waiting for you. Go have fun! We’re proud of you, darling.’
‘Mum.’
‘We are. You planned this week and made your dreams come true.’
‘Yeah.’ Samira glances next door again. ‘Love love love you.’
‘Love you more.’
She hangs up, heart a little sore, then wheels her suitcase towards the front door.
‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Warrior, happy birthday to you!’ a chorus of voices sing.
Samira turns to see Tilly, Harry and Kris waving a half-deflated balloon and one of the glass candles from the bathroom.
Tilly grins. ‘Sorry for the pathetic effort, we only learnt it was your birthday a few minutes ago. Your mum has some serious pipes on her!’ She passes Samira a cereal box. ‘Happy birthday! Look inside!’
‘I . . . I’m speechless,’ Samira stammers, cheeks burning red. She sets her suitcase aside and peeks inside the box to see a chocolate bar, a handful of lollies, and a notepad and pen from the house.
‘Also, this,’ Harry says, passing her a small bunch of flowers. ‘They’re from the tree hanging by the balcony.’
‘He picked them himself,’ Kris teases in a singsong voice.
‘I . . . I don’t know what to say. You didn’t have to do this . . . but thank you for doing this.’
‘We’re going to miss you,’ Tilly says, pushing out her bottom lip. ‘I wish you could stay for longer!’
Samira pauses. ‘Well . . .’
‘Are you staying? Tell me everything you’re thinking at this exact moment.’
Harry laughs. ‘Let her talk, Tilly.’
‘The house I booked is so beautiful. It would be a shame not to get to enjoy it, right?’
‘I like where this is going,’ Tilly says.
‘But maybe it’s too awkward.’
‘At least you’d be feeling awkward in a sweet-as beach house,’ offers Kris.
‘True.’ Samira picks up the plastic sword and twirls it around. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Want a bodyguard?’ Harry asks.
Samira grins. ‘Tempting. Actually, why don’t you all come with me for a visit? Check it out?’
‘For real?’ Tilly asks, eyes widening. ‘So you’ll stay?’
‘Maybe.’ Samira reaches for her suitcase. ‘Let’s see.’
When they arrive next door, sunlight is drenching the lounge room. No-one is up yet so Kris and Harry stretch out across the couches, while Tilly checks out the balcony to admire the view of the Peachies’ courtyard.
Samira plucks a stray piece of broken vase from behind a pot plant in the corner and pops it in the bin, before turning to the fridge. Her itinerary is still stuck behind the flyers and notes. She slides it out and reads it, shaking her head at all the broken plans.
‘You okay, Sammy? Your face looks sad.’
She turns to see Tilly standing by her side.
‘I’m good.’ She offers a small smile. ‘Just didn’t think I’d be back here.’
‘Yet you are. May I?’ Tilly extends her hand towards the itinerary. She scans it then lets out a long whistle. ‘When you said colour-coded, you meant colour-coded. Look at this rainbow!’
‘I never joke about colour-coding,’ Samira says with a wink.
Tilly’s eyebrows narrow as she absorbs the itinerary. ‘Foam party, tick. Limo ride, we got that. Snorkelling?’
‘Cancelled. Meant to be yesterday.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ She keeps reading. ‘Hotel tonight?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘There’s a love heart around it.’
Samira cringes. ‘I thought it was going to be a special night, but I was clearly delusional.’
‘Having hope isn’t delusional. You should still go. Pamper yourself! It’s your birthday.’
‘Might be weird.’
‘Nothing wrong with weird. Ooh, there’s Alotta’s concert for tomorrow night.’ Tilly points at the schedule. ‘Will you be here for it? Say yes and come with us.’
‘I don’t have VIP tickets.’
‘I’ve got the perfect wig you could borrow, Sammy,’ Kris pipes up from the couch. ‘It’s red, powerful and peak Warrior.’
‘I don’t know,’ Samira says. ‘That sounds fun, but I should try to talk things out with the girls. Things have turned pretty messy.’ She looks around, sighing when she sees one of Anoush’s bikinis drying on a door handle. ‘Maybe it was a bad idea coming back here.’
‘What’s up? Is that your friend’s?’ Tilly asks, pointing at the swimsuit. ‘Want me to take it for our next exorcism?’
‘Stay away from the bikini, firebug,’ Samira says with a laugh.
Someone says her name and she looks up to see Zain walking into the room.
‘Ah, hey,’ she manages, heart racing.
‘About that girl you saw, I . . .’ His voice peters out when he notices the others. ‘Anyway, I heard voices so thought everyone was here.’ His gaze finds Harry and Kris, before he returns to Samira. ‘You said you were leaving. Are you back for good?’
She swallows. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure. Have you seen Anoush?’
‘The girls are still out.’ He notices her luggage on the carpet. ‘Did you, ah, did you get my text?’
‘I saw it.’
He waits for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. ‘Okay. Cool. I . . . I guess I’ll leave you to it then,’ he says, before disappearing into the hallway.
Tilly scowls. ‘The audacity. He didn’t even say happy birthday. Next time we see him, I’m telling him that I hope he’s destroyed by a flesh-eating parasite.’ There’s a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Still plenty of time left for that though.’
Samira grins. ‘You’re out of control. Do you have plans right now, dear Queen?’
‘If only we were that organised.’
‘Cross everything and pass me that itinerary,’ Samira says. ‘I’m making a call.’
* * *
The boat cuts through crystal-blue water towards a secluded island. It’s packed with people, but Samira is only aware of the Peachies. Heavy droplets spray over the boat’s sides and they all shriek with laughter.
On one set of seats, Tilly and Kris are fake-reading each other’s palms. Tilly’s eyes widen as she predicts Kris will come into a huge sum of money soon. He pulls her hand closer and tells her she’s going to have the most successful year of her life.
Behind them, Samira and Harry wring out their clothes and exchange wry looks.
‘This is amazing,’ Harry says, gesturing around the boat. ‘Thanks heaps.’
Samira plays with the wet edges of her sarong. ‘Pleasure. Luck was on our side.’
The phone operator at the snorkelling company had recognised Samira from her profuse teary apology the day before and said she and three friends could fit onto a tour if they made it to the wharf within the hour.
Harry passes her a fresh coconut and a plate of fruit. ‘So you organised this for your ma
tes and they bailed?’ he asks. ‘What’s up with that?’
‘No clue,’ Samira says, clinking their coconuts together. ‘Pretty silly on my part, huh?’
‘More like pretty rubbish friends.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She gives Harry a sheepish smile. ‘It’s especially embarrassing because I’d worked on organising this week for us for, like, months.’
‘That’s not embarrassing. You care.’
She shrugs. ‘I guess it isn’t as important to them.’ She pauses. ‘Or it isn’t important if I’m part of their week or not. They’re all having a brilliant time without me and my itinerary.’
‘Stuff them,’ he says, offering her a chocolate that’s already half-melted by the heat. ‘We’re enjoying it.’
‘I’m glad someone is.’ Samira sighs and turns to face him, one leg tucked beneath her. ‘A thing about me is I changed schools this year, and I think I was so busy trying to keep these friends that I missed the fact that maybe we weren’t even friends at all.’ She laughs. ‘I might need a class on friendship. Maybe a tutor. I clearly suck at it.’
Harry grins. ‘You don’t. The opposite.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, bumping their shoulders together.
‘So what else was on your perfect itinerary?’
‘Um, ziplining in the mountains.’ She shrugs. ‘I’ll try to do it another time. Maybe with Mum.’
‘You should. You really should.’
The boat pulls up at the secluded island and everyone rushes to the side for a better look at the sweeping beach dotted with palm trees.
Once their feet hit the white sand, the group scatters. Tilly and Harry strip down to swimsuits and sprint towards the waves. They shout about the chilly temperature but still plunge in. Kris hangs back under a palm tree, rifling through the box of snorkelling gear and flippers. The salty breeze grazes Samira’s skin as she dawdles down to the water’s edge, unties her sarong and wades into the gentle waves.
The afternoon drifts away in a blur of swimming, sunbaking and water fights. Hair sticky with sand and salt, they all curl up on the beach together.
Tilly’s legs lie over Kris’s knees while they apply aloe vera to his sunburnt shoulders and discuss which colour to paint their nails for the Alotta Peach concert. Unable to sit still for too long, Tilly pulls on a pair of flippers, drags Kris to his feet and they lumber towards the water.
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