‘Are you hurt? Talk to me.’
‘No, I . . . It’s silly, really . . .’ Samira’s voice crackles with emotion.
‘Darling, what’s happened? That’s it, I’m coming to get you right now! I already have a suitcase packed.’
‘Mum!’ Samira can’t help but smile. She hears Teta yelling out for answers in the background. ‘I love you, both of you, but that is not happening. Besides, you hate driving at night.’
‘I hate hearing my baby upset even more.’
‘Listen to me — I’m alright. But I need to tell you the truth.’
‘You always can.’
Samira pauses. ‘Can you take me off speakerphone?’ she asks. Then she confesses everything, barely drawing breath and sparing no details. The break-up on the platform only minutes before the train arrived. Meeting Tilly. Being pushed over by a stranger at the foam party. The exorcism. Being third wheel to Anoush and Dan. Overhearing the girls bitching about her. Running away to the train station. The widening rift in their friendship that eventually cracked wide open. Becoming the Warrior. Anoush forgetting her birthday. The lighthouse, the boat, the island. Zain wanting to get back together. The spontaneous hotel sleepover with Tilly. She even tells her mother how she’d convinced herself she was ready to lose her virginity to Zain, but is relieved she’s waited after seeing him swoop from girl to girl all week.
As the words spill out, raw, unfiltered, Samira feels herself stand a little straighter. When she stops, she feels lighter from sharing the load.
She braces for an onslaught of questions, advice and judgment, but despite sounding stunned her mum absorbs it all and assures Samira she is proud of her for opening up.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before,’ Samira says. ‘I didn’t know how to say everything has fallen apart.’
‘You say it like that, darling. You say: “I don’t have the words yet but I need you.” I never want you to feel this alone again. Never. Come to me, always.’
Samira wipes away a tear. ‘I think you’d like the Peachies, Mum,’ she says. ‘They’re good people.’
‘They sound it. But I’m still coming to get you.’
‘No, Mum. I want to finish this on my own. I need to.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘I’ll text you from the train tomorrow, okay? I’ll be home so soon.’
The bathroom door bursts open. ‘Sammy! There you are!’ Tilly squeals, waving a torn VIP ticket. ‘I got lost but I’m here to save you.’
Samira presses the phone a little closer to her ear. ‘That’s Tilly. She’s great, huh? Everything is going to be okay, I promise.’ She grins. ‘And think of the upside: you won’t have to meet Zain’s mum after all.’
Her mum sighs. ‘Oh, Sammy, you and your funny, busy brain. Call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. I love you.’
‘Bye. Love love love you both.’ Samira hangs up the phone and turns to Tilly. ‘Hi.’
‘Hey! All good?’
‘I’ve never been better. Are we late?’
‘Not at all.’ Tilly passes the ripped ticket to Samira, then presses her stamped hand against hers. The red VIP imprint is smudged but passable. ‘There’s still another DJ and a singer to go before she’s on.’
Holding hands, the girls run against the crowd through a maze of walkways, following the sound of the pulsing music. They reach Gate 1 and show their tickets to a bored-looking security guard, who ushers them through into the blackened stadium.
Glow-in-the-dark wands light up the space, and giant inflatable ice-cream cones, peaches and rainbows bounce around in the audience.
‘You ready?’ Tilly asks, gesturing to the long walk down the steps to the front of the mosh pit.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Wait!’ Tilly fiddles with Samira’s cape so it sits evenly on her shoulders. ‘That’s better. How’s my crown?’
Samira leans in to adjust the angle. ‘Fit for the Queen.’
Dahlia
Day 6: 7.02pm
‘I’m more pancake than girl right now,’ Dahlia says, dusting crumbs off her T-shirt. ‘I’ve lost track of how many we’ve eaten.’
‘Free pancakes three times a day adds up,’ Kiko says with a groan, snatching another pancake from the paper plate wedged by their feet in the sand and smearing it through a tub of sugary syrup.
Florence gives a thumbs-up to the volunteers manning a tent on the sweeping lawn by the beach. ‘Brinner is the best.’
‘Brinner?’ Kiko asks. ‘What’s that?’
‘Breakfast for dinner,’ Florence says, taking a bite of her pancake. ‘Brinner.’
Dahlia laughs. ‘I love anything free right now.’ She pauses, noticing groups of people moving in one direction along the footpath and stretch of sand. Many are dressed up in costumes; others sing at full volume. ‘Wonder where they’re headed?’
‘I bet it’s that pop star’s concert,’ Florence says. ‘There are billboards everywhere. Alana Peach or something.’
‘Alotta Peach?’ Kiko asks.
‘Same, same.’
‘Hang on, I won tickets to that,’ Dahlia says, rifling through her tote. She pulls out a crumpled envelope with torn edges. ‘Four of them.’
‘Jelly-wrestling spoils!’ Florence says. ‘Although Hostel Bandit didn’t want them so is that a bad sign?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Kiko says. ‘I don’t know her stuff.’
‘Let’s try to sell them,’ Florence suggests. ‘We can bump up the price and make some money.’
‘Scalp them?’ Kiko’s jaw drops. ‘No way.’
‘We should go to the concert,’ Dahlia says. ‘It’s free and we need to find something to do before Florence gets us arrested.’ She checks the tickets again. ‘The pre-show’s already started. We better hurry up if we want to make it.’
She stands up and dusts sand off her legs, noticing Kiko and Florence swap surprised looks as she strides across the grass towards the footpath.
* * *
Thousands of people swarm towards the stadium gates. Dahlia checks their tickets. They want Gate 9. ‘It must be further along,’ Dahlia says, pointing ahead and around the corner. ‘Let’s go.’
Florence grins. ‘Yes, boss.’
The girls pass food trucks, people selling merchandise and best friends taking selfies, but they can’t find Gate 9.
Kiko stands on tippy-toes, straining to look in each direction. ‘There’s Gate 1. Gate 2. Gate 3. Gate 4 . . .’ she recites.
Dahlia swears. ‘Maybe it’s in the other direction? I can’t see Gates 5, 6, 7 or 8 either.’
‘Let’s find someone to ask?’ Kiko suggests.
Florence yawns. ‘Or go back to the hostel?’
Dahlia wishes Stevie was with them right now. She always claimed to have an internal compass, which she assured Dahlia would be of endless use when they worked overseas as au pairs.
She looks around and notices a long alleyway stretching along one side of the stadium. It’s blocked off so there are no screaming fans, just the throbbing sound of music from inside.
‘Let’s try through here,’ she says. ‘Could be a shortcut to the other side.’
She limbos beneath the red tape roping off the area and starts off down the empty alleyway.
‘Are we meant to be doing this?’ Kiko calls out from behind her.
‘This being trespassing?’ Florence giggles. ‘You bet and I’m here for it.’
‘We’re not trespassing,’ Dahlia says. Then she notices the Do Not Enter and Wrong Way, Go Back signs. ‘Well, maybe we are.’
‘I like this side of you,’ Florence says, skipping along beside Dahlia.
Kiko glances over her shoulder. ‘I’m terrified of it. What’s come over you, Dahlia? I thought Florence would be the one to get us in trouble, but it might be you.’
Florence laughs. ‘Shotgun the biggest cell when we’re tossed in jail.’
‘There’s no-one else around,’ Dahlia
says. ‘We’re fine.’
They walk on, past garbage bins, empty tables and chairs, and more warning signs.
Suddenly, a woman storms out of a stadium door and into the alleyway. She’s wearing a full-length peach unitard, flowing peach wig and peach platform heels that could snap an ankle. Her bright red lips form a tight line as she presses one palm against the outside wall of the stadium, and the other against her hipbone. The girls watch as her hand moves to her chest and she inhales and exhales on repeat. She begins a vocal warm-up, but her voice cracks. She sighs, closes her eyes and reverts to taking long deep breaths.
‘Is it her? Alotta Peach?’ Florence whispers. ‘We should go before she sees us.’
Kiko’s eyes widen. ‘I don’t think she’s okay.’
Dahlia is frozen. She can’t look away from the pained expression etched across the singer’s face. Dahlia sees herself in the other woman’s distress and feels an ache of empathy. She’s been lost in worry herself more times than she can remember.
Alotta’s eyes snap open and she steps back when she notices them in the alleyway.
‘Stage fright, anyone?’ she jokes, offering them a tiny smile. But Dahlia can see the edges of her mouth quivering.
‘I’m so sorry, Ms Peach,’ she stammers. ‘We’ll . . . we’ll get out of here and give you some space.’
‘We got lost looking for Gate 9,’ adds Florence. ‘Any chance you could point us in the . . .’ Her voice trails off as Kiko glares at her.
Alotta draws in a deep breath. ‘Not sure, sorry.’ She exhales another breath, then launches into a vocal run. It crackles at the start but then flows into a faultless stream of rising and falling notes. ‘I get butterflies before every show.’
‘But you’re so successful,’ Dahlia says. ‘You perform all the time.’
Alotta nods. ‘Means I feel like this a lot.’
‘Do you do that thing where you picture everyone in the audience naked to calm down?’ Florence asks.
That gets a laugh. ‘Can’t say I do.’
‘Being a star must be exhausting,’ Florence continues. ‘Dahlia is famous too. She was front-page news.’
Dahlia’s eyes widen. ‘Florence.’
Alotta laughs again. ‘Sounds like we have a few things in common.’
‘I guess I get nervous too.’ Dahlia can feel her cheeks burning.
5 Ways To Escape An Awkward Moment
Shout ‘What’s that?’ and run away
Collapse and wait for medics to bring a stretcher
Dig a hole and tunnel out of there
Cover eyes and wait for everyone to feel so awkward they leave
Hitch a ride with a UFO flying overhead
Alotta offers her a smile. ‘Sounds human to me.’
A door behind Alotta swings open. ‘You’re up, Ms O’Connell,’ a woman with a clipboard says.
‘Kate’s fine.’
The girls swap glances. Kate.
‘Of course, Ms O’Connell . . . I mean Kate! I’ve got three people yelling down this earpiece at me to get you back to hair and make-up for a touch-up.’
‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ Alotta turns to the girls. ‘You’re learning all my secrets.’ She adjusts her wig and adds, ‘I guess you want a photo? Peachies always do.’
Dahlia blushes again, embarrassed by their free tickets. ‘We don’t want to hold you up.’
‘There’s plenty of time,’ Alotta says. ‘Plus, this is fun for me too, and what’s the point of life if there’s no fun?’
They huddle into a group and Alotta says, ‘Say peach!’ and snaps a selfie with Dahlia’s phone.
Kiko grins. ‘I’m going to frame it.’
‘See you out there, girls,’ Alotta says, and with a wave she disappears through the door.
‘That was incredible,’ Kiko says, grabbing Dahlia’s hands and jumping up and down.
‘Still want to go back to the hostel?’ Dahlia asks.
Florence holds up her hands in fake defeat. ‘Not a chance. I’m obsessed and her unitard was beyond.’
‘You know what I remembered while Dahlia and Kate were becoming best friends?’ Kiko asks. ‘Stevie had Meet a celebrity on her list.’
‘She did,’ Dahlia says, and holds out her phone showing their selfie with Alotta. ‘And there’s our celebrity.’
Kiko smiles. ‘Now, on a slightly related note . . . where the hell is Gate 9?’
Zoë
Day 6: 8.12pm
The line swells out from the stadium entrance, stretching along the fence and zigzagging down the street. Every few moments someone screams an Alotta Peach lyric into the air, which propels everyone to throw up their hands in a pulsing, rolling wave.
Zoë holds on to the back of Prakash’s T-shirt, clinging tighter every time the crowd goes wild.
Beside them, Greta stands on her tippy-toes, peering around. ‘I can’t believe how many people are here. I don’t even know her songs!’
Prakash laughs. ‘None of us do.’
‘Except for that one track that was used for a car ad,’ Zoë says, adjusting the straps of Greta’s wings. ‘She’s clearly a big deal.’
‘And clearly I need to get out from under my rock more often,’ Greta says, gesturing at the mass of fans.
Just ahead, Luca, Akito and Violet have edged closer to the front of the line and Darius is with them.
‘Hey, what’s the deal with that guy?’ Greta asks. ‘He looks older than me.’
Zoë grins. ‘He must be old then.’
Greta giggles. ‘I’m serious! Why’s he here?’
‘You’re here!’
‘Reluctantly,’ Greta jokes, then adds, ‘it’s a bit creepy, right? What if he comes to this week year after year to party with everyone?’
‘There’s something off about him, hard agree,’ Zoë says. ‘But can you switch off your “protective older sister” setting for a few hours? I want a relaxed night.’
‘But how did you even meet him?’
‘Blame Akito!’ Prakash jokes. ‘He met him at the resort on day one and there’s been drama ever since.’
‘How much drama?’ Greta asks.
‘Switch it off, Greta,’ Zoë says with a laugh. ‘Let’s have fun. As far as I’m concerned, Darius ceases to exist.’
Just then, they hear Luca yelling ahead of them at the front of the line.
Zoë and Greta exchange glances. ‘What now?’ Zoë murmurs as they push through the queue towards their cousin.
Violet’s hands are on her hips. ‘What do you mean they’re not legit?’ she snaps at the woman on the door.
‘Our friend bought these tickets,’ Luca says. ‘Darius, tell her.’
Darius’s face is ashen. ‘I . . . yeah, I did,’ he says, taking a long drink from a bottle of water.
The woman cocks her head to one side. ‘I’d be curious to know from where. These tickets aren’t real.’
Violet swears. ‘Like I’ve said a million times, Tiffany,’ she scowls at the woman’s name tag, ‘Darius bought the tickets and—’
‘Miss, please lower your voice,’ Tiffany says. ‘I can’t let you in.’ She turns to Darius. ‘Sir, did you resell these scalped tickets to your friends?’
Violet gasps. ‘What?’
Luca turns to Darius. ‘These are from a scalper?’
‘Nah, bro, I . . . I can explain.’
Akito crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Spit it out.’
‘I thought they were legit,’ Darius says. ‘This happened a few years ago too and it was all a mix-up.’
Tiffany’s lips harden into a thin line. ‘If you could all step to the side while I get the manager down here to look at everyone’s IDs and tickets that would be appreciated,’ she says. ‘They’ll be all too happy to assist with this little mix-up.’
‘We’re not going anywhere,’ Luca says, eyes blazing. ‘We paid for these tickets fair and square.’
Zoë leans in to him. ‘It doesn’t sound like we did though,’ sh
e whispers. ‘I think we should go.’
Luca scowls. ‘No way. This concert will be everything.’
‘You didn’t even know who Alotta Peach was until earlier today.’
‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ Violet says, chin jutted out. ‘Just show her your ID, Darius.’
Tiffany flashes them all a dirty look and speaks into her walkie-talkie, asking for back-up at Gate 5. Their gate.
‘Let’s roll,’ Darius mutters, elbowing Luca in the side to flag all the security people milling around the stadium. ‘This isn’t good. On the count of three, we run.’
‘Why?’ Violet asks. ‘I hate running.’
‘Are we in trouble?’ Greta asks Zoë.
‘Maybe,’ Darius says. Three burly security guards lumber in their direction and he adds, ‘Remember what I said before? One, two, three . . . run!’
Zoë’s sandals rub against her heels as they all sprint through the crowd and out the stadium gates. The straps of her dress slide down her shoulders, but she doesn’t stop running, following Darius down the street, past clubs and stretches of beach and games of night volleyball.
Darius leads them into a laneway decorated with fairylights and painted murals. He dumps his water bottle and wallet on the cobblestones, heaving and wheezing to catch his breath.
‘You sold us dodgy tickets?’ Violet accuses. ‘What the hell?’
Darius doesn’t reply.
‘Answer me!’
‘Don’t be so uptight, it’s never been a problem before,’ he says with a shrug.
‘Excuse me?’ Violet snaps. ‘Uptight?’
Zoë walks over. ‘Enough of this — how old are you, Darius? Honestly.’
‘Huh? I’m . . . your age.’
Zoë purses her lips. ‘Yeah, right. Back at the stadium, you said something about this happening “a few years ago”.’
‘Which suggests this isn’t your first time at this week,’ Greta adds.
Darius sighs. ‘I might be a bit older. Who gives a shit? We’re all here to party.’ He sizes up Greta. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Don’t talk to my sister like that, you walking red flag.’ Zoë glares at him. ‘Your parties are basically a daycare centre — I bet we’re toddlers compared to you.’
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