‘I’m coming,’ she says, ‘but I’m freaked about the interrogation. All those questions — Where are you from? Who are you here with? What are you doing next year?’ She twists her hair around her fingertips. ‘It’s a lot. I don’t have all the answers.’
‘Who does?’
‘You. Kiko.’ Dahlia shrugs. ‘You’ve got the hairdressing traineeship, she’s got computer programming.’
‘And you’ll be an au pair.’ Florence crinkles her nose, highlighting the soft smattering of freckles. ‘It’s a start. And it’s okay not to know past that,’ she adds, giving Dahlia’s shoulder a little squeeze. ‘Take your time, lady.’
Dahlia exhales. ‘I’ll try.’
‘So, as someone who does have some of the answers, I’m begging you to let me run a conditioning treatment through this cute little mop when we get home,’ Florence says with a grin, playing with Dahlia’s pixie cut. ‘It’s crying out for TLC.’ She peers at the back of Dahlia’s head. ‘Lady, I’m not coping — you have knots within knots!’
Dahlia laughs. ‘Fine, deal. And hey, can you maybe not tell Kiko I was freaking out again? I don’t want to scare her away before we even know what we are.’
‘As if you could. Look, I’ll do whatever you want, but our girl likes you — all of you — and she has forever. The worst-kept secret is out of the box.’
Dahlia lowers her head, blushing. ‘It blows my mind. She’s Kiko. Everyone loves her. Why me?’
‘No idea, but like I said, it’s been forever,’ Florence repeats. ‘Come on, let’s find her.’
Inside the mixer, music pounds and lights sparkle. Dahlia tells herself that one day she’ll enter a room without wishing Stevie was there to egg her on and drag her onto the dance floor, but today isn’t that day. She rolls her shoulders down and walks in anyway, smiling as Kiko greets her with a kiss on the cheek.
A loud horn goes off, creating screams of excitement, and the mixer begins. The music only plays for thirty seconds before a boy with dyed orange hair sits down in front of Dahlia and starts talking. He tells her he recognises her as Bubblegum from the beach party competition and wouldn’t have been caught dead on stage himself. How he’s staying in a five-star resort on the other side of Saldana Strip but wants to experience another side of life tonight. He’s halfway through a story about why everything would be easier if he was an Aries when the horn rings out again. He waves goodbye despite never saying hello and dances off into the middle of the room.
Dahlia swears. ‘That was exhausting.’
‘Did you even get a word in?’ Florence asks with a giggle.
‘Nah, he was the worst. But on the plus side, I didn’t have to answer any questions.’
‘I could hear his voice yapping over my guy, who thinks he aced his modern history exam by the way,’ Kiko adds with a grin, raising a glass in his honour. ‘Good one, Johnno.’
The horn sounds for the next round.
A girl slides in opposite Dahlia with a nose so sunburnt that the skin is peeling off. She talks quickly and Dahlia misses her name twice, but hears that she’s heading further up the coast to pick fruit until she works out what’s next. Her plan is to spend her spare time writing songs. She sings a few lines out of tune and with sappy lyrics, but Dahlia flashes her an encouraging smile. When the horn sounds, the girl asks to swap social media details but Dahlia fibs and says she isn’t online.
The girl walks away and Dahlia slumps down in her seat, sipping her drink. She watches Kiko and Florence locked into chats with strangers, smiling and nodding and asking questions with such ease. Stevie had been the same. No topic was off limits. Dahlia had once watched her discuss the pros and cons of picking a pimple with a plumber who was trying to fix the taps in her parents’ ensuite.
‘Hating this too?’
Dahlia looks up to see a boy with long hair and a bold Hawaiian shirt grinning at her from a wheelchair.
‘Only with my entire being,’ she says. ‘How about you?’
‘A guy just ranted at me about the time he got food poisoning and now I want my memory erased.’
‘A reasonable response.’
He laughs. ‘I’m Steve. You?’
Dahlia freezes. ‘Hi,’ she says, breath catching. ‘Sorry, what was your name?’
‘Steve. Or Stevie. Stevo. Stephen if I’m in trouble with Dad. And yours?’
‘Just Dahlia,’ she manages, still stuck on his name being so similar to Stevie’s. ‘So . . . are you having fun?’
‘We covered that. No. You?’
‘Also no.’
Dahlia tries to think of something to ask, but she’s lost for words. If Stevie was here instead, she’d be leaning forward and firing questions, and answering them too, probably landing herself an invite to hang out with Steve another time.
‘You alright, mate?’ Steve raises an eyebrow.
‘Of course,’ she lies. ‘So, ah, tell me about yourself. I like your shirt, by the way.’
‘Thanks. You go first though.’ There’s a gentleness to the way he smiles and nods for her to go on, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘Something up?’ he asks when she doesn’t speak.
The tightness gripping her chest relaxes. ‘I miss my friend,’ she admits. ‘A lot.’
‘They couldn’t make it?’
‘No.’
‘That’s a bummer.’
‘Yeah. She was meant to be here and, not to get too deep, I still can’t believe she’s going to miss a lot of stuff. Everything else that there is actually.’ She pauses. ‘Sorry, that didn’t mean to come out. I’m a real emotional vampire tonight.’
Steve’s expression softens. ‘Nah, not at all. You mean your friend . . .?’
‘Cancer. It’s shit.’ She nibbles at the edge of her thumbnail. ‘I bet food-poisoning dude doesn’t seem so bad now, huh?’
He clears his throat. ‘I obviously don’t have a clue how you feel but . . . I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘That’s really kind.’
Dahlia is impressed by his empathetic words. If she mentions Stevie’s death, people are often stunned into awkward silence or say something misguided and tactless like, ‘Everything happens for a reason’ or, ‘It must have been her time to go’. But not Steve. He stays quiet, nodding for her to continue.
She swallows. ‘It’s been a year. I keep thinking it’ll get easier, but then this week hits, when she should have been here, and it’s like finding out she’s gone all over again.’
He swears and shakes his head. ‘That’s rough, mate. She clearly meant heaps to you.’
‘She was my best friend,’ Dahlia whispers, then gestures to Florence and Kiko. ‘They loved her too, but they’re strong, resilient. They slipped back into their real lives so much easier than I’ve been able to. I feel out of my body almost all the time.’ She clasps her hand over her mouth. ‘Why am I telling you all this? We’re at a party! What a downer.’
‘Nah,’ Steve says. ‘You’re all good. Sometimes it’s easier to chat with strangers, right? And your mates would be missing her heaps too, I bet, just in their own way. When my pop died, I was blubbering like a water fountain but my sister didn’t cry for months. Grief hits everyone differently.’
‘I never thought of it like that.’ Dahlia glances at the girls, wondering if they’re struggling beneath the lightness shimmering on the surface. ‘Steve, you’re one wise dude. You must hear that all the time.’
He grins. ‘Never. But I’ll take it.’
The horn sounds.
‘Time’s up, mate,’ he says. ‘That completes our therapy session, please see the receptionist on the way out to pay your bill.’
Dahlia smiles but tears spring to her eyes. It’s something Stevie would say. For a moment, as she dabs her eyes with a serviette, it’s almost like Stevie is there with her, filling the room with light.
5 Ways Stevie Lives On (Right Now)
Steve’s humour
Florence’s untamable spirit
Kiko’s co
mpassion
My sensitivity
She pauses, struggling to think of a fifth addition to the list. Her lips crack into a smile as she remembers the jelly-wrestling photo and article displayed under the Hall of Fame sign.
My courage
‘So Steve, what do you like to do when you don’t have strangers emotionally dumping on you?’ she asks.
He laughs. ‘Nah, horn’s gone, I’m off the hook with the questions. But do you fancy a dance? I’ve been taking lessons.’
‘Oh yeah? You should know, I suck.’
‘Perfect,’ he grins, reversing the wheelchair towards the dance floor. ‘Leaves more of the limelight for me.’
They twirl and twist on the spot, succumbing to the disco lights and retro pop music.
‘This is so embarrassing!’ Dahlia shouts over the music, but she doesn’t stop moving to the beat.
Kiko and Florence salsa towards Dahlia and Steve, waving over a handful of strangers to join them. Kiko’s hands find Dahlia’s hips and a conga line quickly forms behind Steve, who sings at the top of his lungs and snakes them around the room.
Day 6
Dahlia
Day 6: 9.01am
Kiko’s panicked words wake Dahlia. ‘It’s gone! It’s gone!’
‘Huh?’ Florence groans, dragging the sheet over her head.
Dahlia rolls onto her side. ‘What’s wrong, lady?’
‘The envelope of cash, our emergency credit card . . .’ Kiko says, rummaging through her luggage. She throws her bag back on the ground. ‘Even the coins in my spare socks. It’s all gone!’
Dahlia crawls out of bed and rifles through her tote bag, which is strewn over a chair in the corner. ‘Shit! They took my purse of cash. Who would do this?’ She looks around the room. ‘And they trashed the place!’
‘No, that’s all us,’ Kiko says, not joking.
Florence, still in bed, laughs. ‘Room 22 has seen better days! But the door is locked. Dahlia made a big circus about locking it when we got back from the mixer.’
Dahlia yawns. ‘Did I?’
Last night is a haze of conversations, dancing and pastry pinwheels. She recalls seeing Florence and Steve flirting in a corner before he left for his hotel, while she and Kiko danced in a circle of people whose names she’ll never know.
‘You were nagging us hard,’ Florence says. ‘Not that I remember much about the end of the night.’
‘Other than Steve’s tongue down your throat,’ Kiko says.
‘That I remember fondly, mate.’ Florence grins, impersonating Steve’s charming drawl. ‘Nicest guy.’
‘Can you focus for a second?’ Kiko asks her. ‘Our stuff is gone, this isn’t a joke.’ Sighing, she inspects the door. ‘It’s unlocked. Wait, that means . . .’ She shudders. ‘They broke in here while we were sleeping?’
She spots a bottle of lemonade by Florence’s bed. ‘Where did you get that drink?’
‘Vending machine in the hallway. Middle-of-the-night craving. All that dancing left me wiped.’
‘As in you left our room and maybe didn’t lock it when you got back?’
Florence cringes. ‘I thought I did!’
Dahlia holds up her hands. ‘This is no-one’s fault.’
Kiko’s jaw tightens. ‘It’s kind of someone’s fault.’
‘Let’s focus on the prick who snuck in here while we were asleep and stole our stuff,’ Florence insists, jumping down from the top bunk to pick up her bag from the floor. She rifles through it then swears. ‘My wallet’s gone too.’
‘We have no money,’ Kiko says. ‘No cash, no cards. Literally nothing. We’ll have to cancel everything.’
Dahlia gasps. ‘My money belt!’ She lifts up her T-shirt. Her mum’s money belt encases her waist like a sausage skin.
Florence laughs. ‘Did you sleep in that heinous thing?’
‘Twelve dollars, my ID and my juice bar card,’ Dahlia announces, scooping them into her palm. ‘Only one more stamp before a free mango crush.’
Kiko nods. ‘It’s better than nothing if we’re smart about it.’
‘That heinous thing is amazing and wonderful and we love you for wearing it, even when you’re asleep and it seems unnecessary,’ Florence adds with a grin, batting her eyelashes.
‘I’m sure,’ Dahlia says. ‘So . . . twelve dollars. How are we meant to do Stevie’s list now? Skydiving and ziplining cost money. Like serious money.’ Her hands reach up to tug at her hair. She stops herself and draws in a deep breath. ‘We can’t afford anything.’
Florence sighs. ‘We all love Stevie, but isn’t the more relevant question: how are we meant to eat?’
Dahlia shrugs. ‘No idea. And we’ve still got days here. Days.’
‘Breakfast today is covered in last night’s mixer ticket, so let’s start there,’ Kiko says.
‘Good plan. Drink?’ Florence asks, offering the girls the suspect lemonade.
Kiko rolls her eyes, while Dahlia tries not to laugh.
On the way to breakfast, Kiko reports the theft to the hostel staff, who appear less than worried as they write down details in a puckered old notebook. They tell the girls they’ll keep an eye out for any suspicious activity and confirm there’s still no word on Dahlia’s luggage.
‘Twelve dollars.’ Dahlia shakes her head as they file down to the dining hall. ‘Should we call the police?’
‘I thought about that, but what could they even do?’ Kiko replies. ‘There’s no surveillance footage and the hostel staff are hopeless.’
‘Dust for fingerprints? Is that a thing?’ Dahlia shudders. ‘Imagine how many grimy prints are in a hostel room. I bet stuff is stolen all the time.’
Florence groans. ‘I really am sorry, you two, but you know how thirsty I get at night — especially after a dance-off like that, which I think we can all agree was an extravaganza.’
That earns a grin from the others as they line up at the buffet and fill their plates high with soggy scrambled eggs, burnt toast, roasted tomato, button mushrooms and wilted spinach.
‘Grab some of those little yoghurts,’ Florence hisses as they make their way to a table. ‘And choc-chip cookies. We’ve got bellies to fill.’
They sit down with their food and Dahlia lines the coins in front of her on the table.
Florence gazes around the dining hall. ‘Who looks guilty? Imagine if the Hostel Bandit’s in here scoffing eggs with us.’
Kiko gestures to a girl with her hair in high pigtails and an even higher, ear-piercing giggle. ‘What if it’s her?’
‘Don’t let that hair fool you, she’s hiding a dangerous secret,’ Florence whispers and the other two suppress laughter behind serviettes.
Dahlia points out a guy they guess is about ten years too old to be attending this week.
‘Arrest him for all the crimes,’ Florence says.
Kiko spots a couple with matching sneakers and backpacks who’ve put nothing on their plates except boiled eggs and apples.
‘Guilty as,’ Florence says, using a piece of bacon to mop up what’s left of her eggs. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stake out our room in case the thief returns.’
‘Translation: you’re going back to bed,’ Kiko says.
Yawning, Florence stands up and kisses the girls on the cheek. ‘We’re out of money and it’s free, right? Just doing my bit to help.’
Florence leaves, and Kiko plays with the coins on the table, rolling them around, piling them up, knocking them down.
‘This meeting of minds is now in session,’ she says to Dahlia. ‘How do we survive on twelve dollars and no credit card?’ She stamps the ground with her heel in frustration. ‘Argh, the credit card! We need to cancel it. I better make the call before I forget again.’
‘Can I help?’ Dahlia asks, spinning one of the coins on its side.
‘All good.’ Kiko’s fingers find Dahlia’s. ‘By the way, I know this changes the plan for Stevie’s list. Are you okay?’
Dahlia shrugs. ‘
The only thing I know is that I don’t know.’
‘I hear you,’ Kiko says.
Dahlia remembers what Steve said the previous night about the girls grieving and struggling in their own way. ‘You . . . you know I’m here for you too, right?’ she adds, giving Kiko’s hand a squeeze. ‘Whatever you need.’
Kiko’s eyes widen, then get watery. ‘Oh. Thanks lady. I, ah, I better call the bank,’ she says.
With both girls gone, Dahlia picks up her phone. Her mind races and she wills herself to resist opening the album of Stevie videos.
5 Things To Do Instead of Watching
A Video of Stevie
Eat more scrambled eggs
Journal on a serviette
Have a shower
Meditate
Literally anything, anything, ANYTHING
But her fingertips do their usual dance and she opens the album and presses play on the first video.
It’s from four years ago. Stevie is skateboarding down the alleyway behind her house. Her eyes are tinged purple with coloured contact lenses because she loved experimenting with different looks. Dahlia is behind the camera, but the focus cuts to her occasionally as she makes sarcastic comments and tries to hide her giggling. She’s softer in the face and sports a high white-blonde ponytail with a shaved zigzag pattern at the bottom of her nape that she’d regretted immediately. The hairdresser had told her it made her look edgy, which he meant as a compliment, but Dahlia worried people would confuse her for someone with a tough skin when she actually felt soft on the inside. Stevie slips off the skateboard, grazing her hands and knees on the concrete, and rushes to show Dahlia the blood. Dahlia squeals and the camera cuts out.
Kiko is still pacing up and down on the phone to the bank. Dahlia finds the play button again.
This time Stevie’s wearing a broad-brimmed hat and has dirt smudges on her cheeks. She’s spraying her parents’ roses and pretending she’s hosting a gardening show. She teases Dahlia, who’s behind the camera again, then squats down to pull out some weeds, deliberately leaning too far over to reveal a hint of her bottom. She glances over her shoulder, grinning, before belly-flopping onto the grass. This was how Dahlia saw Stevie: her friend, the clown, the soft landing.
Can't Say it Went to Plan Page 18