Samira stays with Harry, who’s humming to himself and lost in a daydream. Their knees touch, but they don’t make eye contact. It suddenly clicks that she’s in nothing but a wet bikini and sarong. She pulls the material a little tighter around her waist.
‘So, um, thanks again for the flowers,’ she says. ‘They added to the day’s overall loveliness.’
Harry shrugs. ‘All good. You deserved them.’
‘I don’t know about that, but today turned out kinda great.’
‘So great,’ he says with a smile.
They’re closer now and Samira fights the urge to sweep his wet curls off his face.
‘Guess I’d been dreading it for nothing,’ she says.
‘Guess so.’
‘Um . . .’ Samira hesitates, breath quickening as she searches for something to say. Without thinking, she leans towards Harry and brushes her lips against his.
He kisses her back, fingers grazing the back of her neck, and she sinks into it for a moment, before pulling away, cheeks reddened.
‘Omigod, sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know why I did that.’
‘Obviously my raw magnetism and charm,’ he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Impossible to resist.’
‘Apparently,’ she confesses with a smile. ‘Probably best not to. I’m still a bit of a mess.’ Her mouth stretches into a grin. ‘That kiss was good though.’
‘Agree,’ he says, settling back onto the sand.
‘I’ve made things awkward, haven’t I?’
‘Nah.’ He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘We’re friends. It’s cool.’
Samira blushes. ‘Thanks.’
‘Hey Peachies, get in here!’ Tilly calls from the water’s edge, oblivious to what just happened. ‘Last chance for a dip!’
Samira and Harry swap smiles as they join the others.
Samira stares at the shimmering ocean, realising it’s the first time she’s stopped to savour the view since they arrived on the island. Her shoulders soften as she breathes in the infinite blue.
Tilly splashes water in her direction. ‘So what were you two secret squirrels whispering and plotting up there?’
Samira’s and Harry’s voices overlap in their hurry to speak. ‘Nothing.’
Zoë
Day 5: 5.20pm
Zoë checks her phone. There’s the usual flood of notifications from the group chat, plus two missed calls and three unread text messages from Greta. She glares at her bowl of gnocchi with enough intensity she could shoot laser beams through it, then glances up and notices the group trading looks.
Violet groans. ‘You already hate me so I’ll be that person,’ she blurts out, while the others stifle sniggers. ‘What happened, Zo? The police? We’re dying over here! You’ve been hiding in your room all day.’
Zoë rolls her eyes. ‘I lost my wallet. I got a lift back. The end.’
‘She speaks! But that summary skips over the power-nap in jail,’ Luca says, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. ‘You had to sleep it off in a cell block.’
‘Shut it, Luca.’
‘See anyone get arrested, Zo?’ Akito asks with wide eyes. ‘A drug bust? A sniffer dog?’
‘Or any hot cops?’ Violet asks. ‘We need details! Paint us a picture.’
Prakash stretches across the table for a piece of garlic bread. ‘Everyone give her a break. No more questions.’
‘What are you, her publicist?’ Luca teases.
‘Manager,’ Prakash says with a smirk.
‘He wishes,’ Zoë says. ‘Look, it was nothing. Seriously nothing.’ She pauses. ‘But everyone taking and sharing pictures of me like the paparazzi was messed up. I want to forget about last night and move on.’
‘That was Violet with the photos and social media stuff,’ Akito chimes in. ‘Don’t blame the rest of us.’
Zoë raises an eyebrow. ‘Social media?’ She turns to Violet, whose head is lowered. ‘Did you put those photos online? Tell me you didn’t. I didn’t say you could!’
Violet sighs. ‘Calm down, Zo. I put everything online, I always have.’
‘That doesn’t make it better.’
‘You with the cops was a tiny speck in my night! I put a hundred things up. Maybe more. People scroll so hard they barely take any notice, plus everything disappears in twenty-four hours.’
‘Get rid of the photos now!’ Zoë says.
Akito fake-coughs. ‘Videos too.’
‘I can’t believe you did this, Violet.’
‘You can’t?’ Luca asks. ‘Remember when she saved all those not-safe-for-parents photos from my eighteenth on her laptop and the aunties saw everything? Believe it.’
Violet purses her lips. ‘You two are so melodramatic. People love it.’
Zoë reaches for her phone and starts flicking through the apps. ‘What people? What have you done?’
She finds Violet’s profile and watches the first video. Instantly she’s there, her face crumpled as Inglis opens the car door for her, head lowered as she walks alongside the police officer to the resort’s entrance. Violet has added bright stickers and hashtags over the top to jazz up the clip: OMG! WTF? and #badgirl flash on screen.
‘Delete it,’ Zoë tells Violet. ‘All of it. Now.’
‘If you were more online and not so boring, you’d appreciate that you’re getting in the way of me documenting a full and truthful story about the ups and downs of life,’ Violet says. ‘People are captivated.’
‘Translation: she’s getting loads of traction, likes and comments,’ Luca adds. ‘Not to mention more followers.’
‘Fine, that too,’ Violet says. ‘But stop stirring the pot, Luca.’
‘So much for people scrolling by and not taking any notice,’ Zoë says. ‘How would you feel if I posted terrible photos and videos of you? Where anyone can see?’
‘The oldies follow my other squeaky-clean account,’ Violet says with a shrug. ‘They don’t know about this one.’
‘You’re unbelievable.’ Zoë shakes her head. ‘Delete everything I’m in.’
‘It’s gone,’ Violet sulks, tapping at her phone. ‘Although I’m unclear about how you go to jail and I’m the bad one.’
‘I didn’t go to jail.’
‘Anyway!’ Prakash interrupts. ‘Let’s move on.’
‘Good call,’ Luca says, shovelling in a mouthful of gnocchi. ‘Talk about a week you’ll never forget though, right, Zo?’
‘If only. Is it too much to ask for things to fall into place? Seriously, by this time of the year, Greta had been—’
‘Accepted into the Gifted and Talented Program,’ Prakash finishes. ‘You’re on a loop with this, Zo, and it’s bumming you out. Forget her.’
Zoë’s chest tightens as her brain fills with empty lined essay pages and imaginary red squiggles. ‘You’re right,’ she says, trying to curb thoughts of Greta’s overflowing collection of academic trophies. ‘Guess my brain’s fried.’
Violet raises her glass. ‘Welcome to the club.’
‘Cheers to that,’ Akito says, clinking beers with Luca across the table.
Zoë groans as the others top up their glasses. ‘Count me out, the last few days have trashed my liver. Let the record show: my relaxing week starts now.’
Dahlia
Day 5: 6.01pm
Dahlia’s gaze locks on two men in tuxedos holding hands and smiling for photos on the boardwalk. Their beards glint with flecks of grey and gold.
She turns to Kiko, who’s stretched out beside her on the bench in a wet bikini. ‘Stevie wanted that, you know?’
Kiko leans over to squeeze out her hair. Droplets rain onto the grass. ‘To be a silver fox?’
Dahlia snorts. ‘No! Well, yes, probably, but I mean that. Love. Soulmate. Marriage.’
Kiko slips on her singlet. ‘Marriage seems so non-Stevie. White picket fence, super traditional, kinda boring.’
Dahlia looks back at the men, who are laughing with their photograph
er as they look at the pictures on the camera. ‘They don’t look bored at all.’ She shrugs. ‘Getting hitched was on Stevie’s list. I don’t remember it all, but I remember that.’
‘Are you a closet romantic?’
She scoffs. ‘Nah.’
‘Do you love love?’ Kiko jokes in a breathy tone, flicking her black bob from side to side.
‘Come on.’
There’s a pause. Dahlia dares to look over. Kiko is watching her.
‘So, have you ever been?’ she asks.
‘What?’ asks Dahlia.
They both know but Kiko pushes on. ‘Have you ever been in some kind of love?’
The weight of the question hangs in the air. Dahlia’s words stay trapped in her mouth.
Kiko raises an eyebrow. ‘Well?’
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Dahlia says with a smile, hoping her cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. ‘I can’t bear it.’
‘My face is that hard to look at, huh?’ Kiko winks. ‘It was just a little, tiny, minuscule question.’
‘Don’t,’ Dahlia repeats, pretending to hide behind her fingers. ‘It’s a big, huge, enormous question. Colossal.’
The truth is Dahlia doesn’t know what she thinks about love. The other girls have a full history of crushes, relationships and somethings-in-between. But Dahlia rarely dates. She’s kissed five people — a convenient number to fit into her ready-made list template. While the bottom four names switch places depending on her mood, she’s locked the latest addition into the top spot.
Top 5 Kisses of All Time
Kiko (under the stars at the beach)
Lulu (waiting for a train)
Jon (at his house)
Ushi (on the school bus)
Saoirse (after detention)
Dahlia doesn’t know how many people Kiko’s kissed, but she knows it’s more than she has. Kiko isn’t into labels either, but she’s only dated and hooked up with girls, even counting a few of them as girlfriends. But no matter how deeply a girl falls for her, Kiko ultimately ricochets away from them and prioritises Florence and Dahlia. For Kiko, friendship comes first.
The tension is thick in the air as Kiko waits for an answer. Dahlia peeks through her fingers and sees that Kiko hasn’t taken her eyes off her.
She lowers her hands and says, ‘Next question, lady.’
Kiko laughs. ‘Noted.’
5 Things To Adore About Kiko
Her kindness
Her empathy
Her sense of humour
Her hair
Her smile
Dahlia looks again at the couple, now walking towards the beach. They each clutch their dress shoes in their spare hand while their fingers remain intertwined. The taller man stops to brush sand off his new husband’s shoulders.
‘If it makes me a romantic to think they’re cute, then I’m a romantic,’ Dahlia says. ‘They look like they’re meant to be.’
‘I guess so,’ Kiko says.
Her skin lightly grazes against Dahlia’s as she readjusts her spot on the bench. A week ago, such a small gesture would mean nothing. Now, it means everything.
5 More Things To Adore About Kiko
Her skin against mine
Her positive outlook
Her curiosity
Her calming presence
Her honesty
‘You can ask me the question again,’ Dahlia says. ‘The big one. If you want to, I mean.’
Kiko’s mouth widens a little and she sits up straight. ‘Have you ever been in some kind of love?’
Dahlia holds Kiko’s gaze. ‘Maybe.’ A small smirk slips out. ‘Some kind.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Have you?’
‘Been in love?’ She smiles at Dahlia. ‘I think so.’ There’s a loud silence. ‘Definitely.’
Dahlia’s heart thumps. She wonders if that means what she thinks it does.
‘Cool,’ she murmurs. ‘Another one to cross off Stevie’s list.’
Kiko nods. ‘A big one, some might say.’
‘They might.’ Dahlia glances up at the sky, which is blooming with fairy-floss pink and peach clouds. ‘What should we do about the list? Time’s running out on everything.’
‘There’s time,’ Kiko assures her. ‘We’re still in the story. You’re trying to fast-forward ahead, trying to peek at the ending.’
Dahlia knows Kiko is right, but her mind always looks for ways to brace against the worst possibilities. ‘But there’s this big clock ticking in my brain that reminds me this is all going to end soon.’
‘Yeah?’ Kiko replies. ‘Then let’s write up a new list. Make the time we have count. Skydiving, ziplining, all the things.’
Dahlia reaches up to her hair, fingers lingering over the strands. ‘Can we do that? A new list? Will it be enough?’
‘Dahlia. Yes.’ Kiko’s voice is almost a whisper. ‘You live in your head so much! Be here with me now. It’s why Stevie wanted us all to go away. Please try.’
‘This is me trying.’
‘Okay,’ Kiko says, lowering her gaze. ‘Okay.’
Dahlia looks back to the beach. The men have moved on. She cranes her neck until she spots them further along, pants rolled up to their calves and building a sandcastle.
She glances over her shoulder to see if Florence is on her way back with the fish and chips yet, but there’s no sign of her. She and Kiko are still alone.
‘Can I tell you something?’
Kiko sits up a little straighter. ‘Go for it.’
‘I think I lied before.’
‘You did?’ Kiko’s voice catches in the back of her throat. ‘About what?’
‘When I said I was running out of time.’
‘To do the new list?’
‘Yeah. What I really mean is . . .’ Dahlia leans in so the tips of their noses touch, ‘I hate that I’m running out of time with you.’
Kiko’s mouth breaks into a grin.
‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Because I hate that too, and I’m glad you said it first.’
Kiko cups Dahlia’s face in her palms and kisses her softly, tasting of sea salt and boysenberry ice-cream.
Samira
Day 5: 6.18pm
Everyone crosses paths in the beach-house driveway. Samira and Tilly are splayed out on the warm concrete as Claire and Rashida blow kisses to them and saunter towards the taxi waiting on the street. Mathieu trails behind the girls and grunts hello, while Harry and Kris stroll back inside their own house to play video games, apparently oblivious to the awkwardness.
Zain and Anoush are at the rear of the group. Zain, sunburnt, his nose red, shiny and angry-looking, spots Samira first while Anoush fiddles with locking the front door. It’s impossible to miss the catch of his breath when he sees Samira wearing a bikini and sarong. He offers her a short, sharp nod, before disappearing into the back of the taxi.
Anoush struts down the driveway, fumbling with the tiny handbag bouncing off her hip. ‘Samira!’ she says. ‘There you are! It feels like forever.’
‘Were you looking for me? Did I miss a message?’
‘No, I . . .’ Anoush breaks into laughter. ‘It’s the most boring story, girl, but we were at Dan’s party yesterday — which was off the hook by the way — and things got out of control, and I ended up dropping my phone in the pool. It’s dead now. I’ve tried everything to fix it but nothing worked, so I’m, like, off the grid or whatever.’
‘That sucks. Wait, so you never got my text?’
Anoush cocks her head to one side. ‘I don’t think so. What did it say?’
Samira pauses, then looks over at the taxi. Claire is leaning out the window, waving Anoush to hurry up.
‘It’s all good. No rush,’ she fibs.
‘Okay.’ Anoush pauses. ‘Do you want to come with us?’
Samira’s heart stings at the offer. Anoush is saying the right words, but Samira can tell it’s an afterthought.
‘You go, I’m go
od. I . . . I think I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight. The one I booked for, um, you know.’
Anoush raises an eyebrow. ‘By yourself?’
‘Maybe. It’s paid for so . . .’ Samira shrugs, knowing it’s impossible to forget what she originally hoped might happen there. ‘Hey, are you still on for Alotta Peach tomorrow night?’
‘Is that tomorrow? Shit.’ Anoush bites her lip. ‘I want to be free, but I don’t think I am any more.’ Her voice falters — a giveaway that she’s lying about being disappointed. ‘Dan and his friends are talking about us all going rollerskating, and you can totally come too of course. Anyone’s welcome.’ Anoush blushes. ‘I mean, I’m not the biggest Alotta Peach fan so it’s probably for the best, right?’
Samira nods. ‘Sure.’
The taxi beeps and the others yell at Anoush to hurry up.
‘I should . . .’ she says.
‘All good. Go.’ Samira gives her a little wave and Anoush smiles and totters down the driveway.
Samira goes to call out to her to wait, then realises she doesn’t know the right words to admit what’s been weighing on her. She exhales, shoulders slumping.
Tilly stands up. ‘It’s Sammy’s birthday, by the way,’ she calls to Anoush. ‘Just in case anyone forgot.’
Anoush’s eyes widen. ‘Of course it is,’ she says, swearing under her breath with embarrassment as she teeters back to Samira. ‘Happy birthday, girl.’
Samira feels Anoush’s arms wrap around her but the distance between them has never been so wide.
After the taxi pulls away, Samira elbows Tilly in the side. ‘Why’d you say that? It was so awkward.’
Tilly sniffs. ‘I can’t handle all the unsaid little somethings.’
‘I hate conflict.’
‘Fair. But there’s nothing wrong with standing up for yourself.’ Tilly pauses. ‘She wasn’t wrong about one thing though.’
‘Anoush?’
‘Yeah. That story about her phone was boring.’
Samira laughs. ‘Hey, do you want to come to the hotel with me, Tilly?’
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