‘So, how was your day anyway?’ he asked, turning on the oven. ‘Hey, you’ve still got my jacket on. Looks cool.’
‘Thanks, I really owe you one,’ I blushed. ‘I couldn’t have pulled off this morning without you and —’
I stopped talking as someone else walked into the room. A girl. A very attractive girl with long, wavy blonde hair and tanned skin. Not a cringe-worthy fake tan either — this girl was a sun-kissed surfer babe. She looked like she could catch a wave, teach an ashtanga yoga class and whip up a fresh orange juice all before breakfast.
‘James, babe, is everything alright?’ she asked, before turning to me.
‘Yeah, just making us an early dinner. Spinach lasagne sound good?’
‘Sure. I’ll get a snack for our guest then, shall I?’ She joined him in the kitchen, her hair swishing as she walked.
‘Okay,’ shrugged James, chopping onion as she rifled through the fridge.
‘No, that’s fine,’ I insisted. ‘I don’t want to interrupt your plans and I’m just about to leave anyway, so …’ My voice trailed off as she assembled cheese and biscuits on a platter. ‘I’m Josie, by the way.’
‘Of course. I’m Summer, James’s girlfriend. You’re Tim’s cousin from the country, right?’
I nodded.
‘James has told me all about you and your fancy internship. Nice work.’
Funny, I thought, he hasn’t mentioned you once.
Girlfriend. James had a girlfriend. And she was stunning.
‘You’ll have to forgive me for being a little flaky,’ Summer went on. ‘I’m still in holiday mode after being away with my friends, so I just swung past to see what my boy was up to. Loaning you clothes by the looks of it?’
I forced a laugh, ate a few cubes of cheese to be polite then excused myself to pack, leaving James’s old leather jacket hanging on his bedroom doorknob.
‘Trish Martin got one and so did Hannah Jones. I totally reckon Stephanie Simpson did, too, but she’s keeping it a secret to surprise Akmal for his birthday,’ said Kat.
I was lying on my bed listening to my sister rattle off the list of girls in her year who’d had Brazilian waxes. Okay, I wasn’t actually listening — I was moping. I nodded along to her chatter while my mind drifted off again. I still couldn’t believe James had a girlfriend. And not just any girlfriend: a stunning, blonde girlfriend who served cheese and biscuits, ate spinach lasagne and probably wore his faded leather jacket all the time.
Kat sighed. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yeah, um …’
‘About the Brazilians?’
I paused, forcing myself to concentrate. ‘I guess … I … What were those girls thinking? It sounds kind of desperate to me.’
‘They like it.’
‘They like their you know what looking like a red, plucked chicken?’
‘Gross, it doesn’t look like that.’
‘And you know this how?’
Kat raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh my god.’
‘Nick dared me,’ she said.
‘Right. That’s okay then … Wait, who?’
‘My boyfriend.’
‘What happened to Tye?’ I asked.
Kat shrugged. ‘I heard he was about to break up with me so I got in first. Couldn’t let him ruin my run of no-dumps.’
‘Does Mum know?’
‘As if.’
I shook my head. ‘Brazilians are so wrong. Like, wearing-leggings-as-pants wrong.’
‘You’re just scared,’ Kat said.
‘I’m not.’
‘Go on, then, do it.’
And there it was: the challenge. Kat had coerced me into doing a bunch of stupid things over the years, most ending with me regretting the day my little sister was conceived. There was the time she dared me to jump off the five-metre diving board at the local pool. I did and she cheered. But when I hopped out of the water, I saw the lifeguard holding up my bikini top, which had untied itself on impact with the water. There was the minor shoplifting attempt at age fifteen (I got busted for stealing a pencil sharpener, burst into tears and handed over the money) and the time I let her straighten my hair. With an iron. On an ironing board.
‘Hey, your phone’s ringing,’ Kat said, pointing to my handbag, which was vibrating.
I lunged for it, but it had already rung out. Seconds later a message beeped through from Angel: Forget that tosspot Holly’s birthday. Better invite. Party tonight, wear something hot. Pete Jordan will be there. You in?
A picture of James with Summer flashed across my mind.
‘Kat, where did those girls get their Brazilians done?’
She grinned.
Angel gave my hair one last yank, pulling the thick, long strands into a fancy updo, then spun me around to take a look in the bathroom mirror. ‘Oh Josie, you minx.’
I stared at my reflection. The severe hairstyle resembled something usually seen on a ballerina or catwalk model. It made my eyes look bigger and showed off my eyebrows, which Sia had neatened for me the other day. It also made my forehead look massive.
‘Are you sure I look okay?’ I said.
Angel rolled her eyes and tousled her own hair. ‘Shut up, you look hot. Oi, Kat, get in here for a sec.’
Kat’s face popped up behind us. Angel turned to her. ‘Well? Approval rating? It’s a ten, right?’
Kat rifled through our new beauty stash from Sia, withdrew a bold berry lipstick and waved it around. ‘Wear this, and you’ll be an eleven.’
‘Urgh, really?’ I cringed at the strong colour.
‘Really,’ said Kat. ‘You should hear yourself. Really? Really, am I pretty? Really? Yes. Just do it.’
Kat, All-powerful Sister and Controller of the Universe, had spoken. I rolled on the lipstick — both Kat and Angel swooped in with a tissue to blot — and I was ready.
‘You’re a twelve,’ said Angel.
‘Hey Angel, did Josie tell you what she did today?’ asked Kat, barely containing her laughter.
‘No, she didn’t … well, go on,’ pushed Angel.
‘A Brazilian,’ Kat announced with glee. ‘Josie got a Brazilian!’
Angel’s jaw dropped. ‘And you forgot to tell me that?’
‘Well, yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s embarrassing and I ran out of time … Anyway, let’s forget it.’
‘I can’t believe it, this is huge,’ Angel’s voice was getting louder by the second.
‘Shhhhh! Mum’ll hear you and seriously, it was no big deal.’
And it wasn’t. Because the truth was, I hadn’t gone through with the wax. Well, not properly. The beautician, Olga, had told me to take off my knickers and, after fifteen minutes of umming and ahhing, I let her wax off one strip of hair. But it turned out one strip was enough for me. I yelped in pain, wriggled into my undies and fled the building. The worst bit? I was left with a bald patch in a very awkward place. Not that Kat and Angel needed to know that.
‘Who are you, Josie Browning?’ said Angel. ‘This is so cool. I mean, do you feel any different?’
‘C’mon, let’s go,’ I said, ignoring the question. ‘And Kat, don’t you dare breathe a word of this to Mum.’
Angel and I walked into the lounge room where it was clear the party vibe didn’t extend to Mum, who was reading a book on the couch. I tried to ignore the stab of guilt I felt for leaving her again, but it didn’t work. She was socialising less and less these days — I couldn’t even remember the last time she went to a movie with a friend or invited guests over for dinner.
‘Mum, are you going to be okay?’ I asked.
‘Yes, love.’ She smiled and nodded toward the coffee table next to her, loaded with a cup of tea, a few biscuits and her phone. ‘Kat’s here. We’ll be fine. Josephine Browning, I order you to go to this party and have a good time,’ she added, half-joking, half-serious. ‘If you don’t, you’re … you’re grounded.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Angel, dragging me out the door.
‘Bye, Mrs B!’
I tried to feel poised as we walked to the party, which was only around the corner. Out the front stood packs of girls in heels and teeny-tiny skirts. A sprinkling of guys dotted the lawn, clutching six-packs of beer or bottles of vodka. Loud, thumping music lured us up the garden path and through the front door. Inside, it was even louder. The hallway was jammed with sweaty, laughing people. We squeezed through, ignoring pinches on our butts, finally spewing out of the pack into an empty kitchen.
‘Wine, my lady?’ asked Angel, pulling a bottle from her massive handbag.
‘Who are you? Mary Poppins? I’m not sure if I’m up for it tonight.’
‘Don’t you worry your pretty head. Just grab us some cups, would you?’ she said, waving her ring-covered fingers toward the kitchen bench.
‘Okay, but just a glass.’ I grabbed two plastic cups and Angel filled them, spilling wine onto the benchtop and the floor.
‘Oops.’ She laughed.
‘Josie Browning, is that you?’ I spun around to see a short girl, Phillipa, from my old high-school English class. ‘Wow, I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair pulled up,’ she said.
I gave a little wave. ‘It’s me.’
‘How are you? Heard you’re in the city a lot these days.’
‘Yeah, well, on and off. I’m doing an internship at a magazine there.’
‘A magazine, hey? Sounds flashy. A few months outta school and you’ve already outgrown this dump. Who needs a town like this when the big smoke awaits, huh?’
‘No, it’s not like that.’
‘Whatever. The other girls from school have been “too cool” for this place for ages. It’s inevitable that you caught up and found something better. Good for you.’
Phillipa disappeared into the crowd.
Stunned, I turned to Angel. ‘Did you hear what —’
‘Forget it,’ Angel said. ‘She’s just jealous ’cos she’ll be slicing salami at the deli for the next thirty years. Now, let’s check your lipstick. Hot. Okay, wait here while I find Pete.’
Angel’s transformation into a matchmaking Cupid was firing along and I could barely keep up.
‘Wait, Ange.’
‘Yeah?’ she said, scanning the room for Pete’s trademark shaved head.
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You have to.’
‘Why? Why do you care if I hook up with some random guy from school?’
Angel looked at me closely, so closely I could see the clumpy mascara on her lashes. ‘I love you, Jose. You know that, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then that’s why. Can we leave it at that?’
‘So if I lip-plant Pete it’ll prove how strong our friendship is? I don’t get it.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Just tell the truth, woman.’
‘Fine. I’m losing you.’ Her words sliced the air.
‘What?’
‘Like I lost you last year. You know.’
‘But I never went anywhere last year.’
‘Exactly,’ said Angel. ‘You studied all the time, stopped calling me and bailed on coming around.’
‘What about that night I came over for spaghetti and ice-cream?’
‘You left halfway through because you wanted to finish your study notes. Look, Jose, it’s great — I mean, look at you! You’re doing exactly what you want, your life is going according to plan. Phillipa’s right.’
I shook my head. ‘No, no, she’s wrong. Nothing’s going to plan.’
‘I know you don’t think you’re too good for this town, but you are … You’re meeting all these people in the city with your internship, and who am I? Just some idiot wasting time on an arts degree at the local uni.’
‘Dude, you’re not wasting time — and I go to that uni too! Seriously, you’re awesome. The best person I know.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m awesome.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So awesome I’ve spent the past five tutes sitting by myself. We had to pair up and I was the only one left out — the tutor made me third wheel to two French exchange students who played footsies under the table for the whole hour. It was like high school all over again.’
I pulled Angel into a hug. Despite her dramatics, I knew I’d been a slack friend — somewhere last year I’d forgotten how to have a conversation about anything other than getting good grades, nailing my exams and finishing my assignments. If anything, I was lucky she’d stuck around. Now she was right: we deserved to have some fun.
‘Okay, you want to set me up with Pete? Fine. I’m ready.’
Angel grinned. ‘Good, because he’s here.’
My heart began to beat faster. ‘Oh, really? I lied. I’m not ready. I’m the opposite of ready.’
‘He’s over there.’ Angel pointed. ‘Wait a sec — no, don’t look yet!’
We both stood there, moronic smiles plastered to our faces.
‘Can I look now, oh boss of me?’
‘Yep.’
I turned and there he was, as tall and muscly as ever. His mates — two equally popular guys called Matt and Chris — were egging him on to scull a tequila shot. I watched him down one, then another, until the three of them were laughing louder than Kat on the phone with her friends. Pete didn’t spot the overeager, underprepared nobody watching him from the kitchen.
‘Now what?’ I whispered.
‘Allow me,’ Angel said. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Oh no,’ I muttered as she strode over to the group. I didn’t know how to talk to a guy, let alone be with a guy. I longed to be home, curled up with a novel, reading about a heroine being swept off her feet by a handsome hero. Instead, I was at a party, sipping cheap wine, while my best friend coaxed a guy to come and talk to me. The romance factor wasn’t high.
I snapped out of my fantasy land to see Pete and Angel darting their way through the crowd and heading for the kitchen. I triple-checked there wasn’t a leggy supermodel standing behind me. Nope. I was the only loser loitering by the dips and chips.
Angel slowed to a saunter so Pete reached me first. ‘Thank me later,’ she mouthed, then walked away, leaving me alone with my high-school crush.
Panic slapped me around the head. I wanted to press pause on the situation to consult an instruction manual on guys. How did these things operate again? My mind swirled with doubts and possibilities, leaving me completely confused.
In the end, that didn’t matter because Pete took charge. He leaned toward me, his arms lolling by his sides. His breath smelled of tequila and cigarette smoke; his T-shirt wasn’t much better.
‘Hey Josephine,’ he murmured.
‘Hi Pete.’
He moved closer. ‘So, ah, good party, huh?’
‘Yeah, the best.’ The best? Oh, be quiet, Josie.
‘I, ah, like your hair. Looks different. And your lips look good, too.’
‘Oh, thanks, my sister loaned me a —’
Pete lurched at me, smooshing his mouth against mine. Within seconds, his tongue had forced its way into my mouth, swirling and swishing with the subtlety of a washing machine. I tried to sink into the moment, to find a rhythm, but there was no moment or rhythm to give in to. I needed to cough. Or gag. Or throw up.
I pulled away.
‘Hey baby, why you stopping?’ he asked, his eyes still closed.
Baby? And that was the moment it clicked: that was the worst kiss of my life. Sure, we’d kissed once, years ago, and I’d never been able to shake the idea that he was amazing and crush-worthy. I’d planted him squarely at the top of my Guys To Lust Over pedestal. But I didn’t really know him. And he didn’t know me.
‘Sorry, Pete, I’ve got to go.’
‘No, wait — I haven’t seen it yet.’
‘Seen what?’
‘It. You know … it.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I really didn’t. What was ‘it’? My innie belly button? The small mole on my right sho
ulder? My one — and only — attempt at Irish dancing?
Pete moved in even closer and lowered his voice. ‘Make me say it, then … your Brazilian.’
‘My … Who told you that?’ I blurted out.
Pete shrugged. ‘Angela or Angel or whatever her name is. I didn’t believe her — I mean, you, Josephine Browning, with a Brazilian? No way. But she convinced me.’
‘She did, did she?’ Angel was a dead woman.
‘Oh yeah. I had to see for myself.’
Unbelievable. Years of pining after a guy only to discover he was a grade-A douche. And my so-called best friend wasn’t much better. I grabbed my handbag off the floor and swung it over my shoulder.
‘Josie, where are you going? Baby?’
‘I’m not your baby,’ I shot back, my skin still crawling from his slobbery, tequila-drenched kiss.
And with that, I stormed away from the party without saying goodbye to Angel. Fury and embarrassment boiled up inside me. What kind of person demands to see someone’s Brazilian? Pete might as well have asked me to flop out my right boob and start a conga line at the party.
The lights were out when I reached home. I didn’t bother turning them on. Like most nights, classical music echoed softly from Mum’s room, while furious typing click-clacked from Kat’s as she chatted to friends online. Exhausted, I crawled into bed fully clothed, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol seeping from my hair and skin onto the freshly washed sheets. My head thumped and pounded and buzzed, but I didn’t care.
‘Love, are you awake?’ I heard Mum whisper from the hallway. ‘How was the party?’
I wrapped myself tighter in the sheet as the door creaked open. Even in the dark I could feel her eyes staring. I faked sleep; silence would have wrapped around us if Kat’s eager typing hadn’t disturbed the gentle hum of the house. I heard Mum creep into the room and plonk down into my chair. It let out a slow creak.
‘How was the party?’ she repeated.
She already knew the answer; I’d been gone less than an hour.
‘JB, I know you’re awake. Your fake-sleeping is terrible. Your breathing patterns are all out and —’
The Intern Page 8