Black Warrior

by Tiffiny Hall

  We meet Cinnamon out the front of Stallini’s, as planned. She is in jeans and a T-shirt like me. Lecky glares at her lace-up runners, then consults the book she is carrying under her arm.

  ‘What’s that?’ Cinnamon asks. Her hair is wild and bristles against the glass of the shop window like red branches.

  ‘My Glamour Manual. I was just checking the best looks to suit your hourglass shape,’ Elecktra says. She drapes an arm around each of us and turns us towards the stunning black lace dress with a royal-purple slip in the window. ‘Now today, remember to be yourself. Everyone else is taken. Oscar said that.’

  ‘Oscar the grouch?’ Cinnamon asks jokingly.

  ‘No, I think you’ll find it was the other Oscar,’ Lecky corrects her. ‘Designer extraordinaire, Oscar de la Renta. He said to be yourself in clothes. You know, wear the dress, don’t let it wear you. Everyone else is taken.’

  Cinnamon and I laugh. We both know Oscar de la Renta never said that; it was the writer we are reading in English.

  ‘It’s all very serious, Lecky. Really, who cares what you wear?’ I giggle again.

  Elecktra snaps her head towards me. ‘I’m probably the only Fashionista who knows the Statue of Liberty wears a size five hundred sandal. I can tell you that every woman will spend more than one year of her life trying to decide what to wear. Who else knows what that tiny pocket is used for inside the big pocket in your jeans? People judge only seven per cent what you say, twenty per cent body language and the rest is how you look! And you don’t think this is serious? I’m seriously the best at this job and it is dead serious.’ She stares me down, her brown eyes swallowing me up.

  ‘What’s it used for? That tiny pocket?’ I ask, genuinely interested.

  ‘It was designed for a pocket watch on a chain, but they went out of fashion before the pocket did,’ she says earnestly.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘It is serious.’ I wink at Cinnamon.

  ‘Very.’ Elecktra nods, then sweeps us into Stallini’s.

  ‘I don’t think these dresses will fit me,’ Cinnamon whispers to me. ‘I usually shop upstairs in the bigger clothes department.’

  ‘Can’t forget we have a date at the Heel Bar,’ Elecktra says.

  Cinnamon looks confused.

  ‘I think she means shoe shop,’ I clarify.

  ‘This is only the beginning,’ Lecky calls, a pile of gowns already in her arms. ‘You can’t buy everything from the one place.’

  After what seems like forever trying on dresses, Elecktra and I wait outside Cinnamon’s change room. I’ve found nothing I like.

  ‘Maybe once we try some make-up and your face is done, you’ll find the right dress,’ Lecky says.

  ‘I only wear make-up on Halloween,’ I say.

  ‘We’ll change that.’ Lecky bangs on Cinnamon’s door. ‘Come on!’

  Cinnamon makes a weird choking noise. ‘I don’t think I can —’

  Lecky dives to the ground to look under the door. On her knees she orders, ‘Get out here this instant. You look phenom!’

  Cinnamon slowly unclicks the door and swings it open. I feel my jaw drop to my chest and almost dislocate.

  ‘I’m a regular size,’ Cinnamon whispers.

  I can’t stop smiling, smiling and smiling — it feels like a rainbow blazing across my face. I’m in awe of Cinnamon.

  ‘Now we can really tell how much weight you’ve lost,’ Lecky says. ‘You look so beautiful. That was easy.’ She turns her bright eyes to me. ‘See, I can do good if you trust me.’

  I trust Lecky. I do. Cinnamon’s dress is black lace and heavily boned. It buttons up in the back elegantly with tiny hooks. The black lace is layered over a rich purple slip that ties at the back of the neck with a black leather strap.

  ‘It’s different to the dress I had picked out. I would never have tried this on,’ Cinnamon says. ‘Are you sure I look okay?’

  ‘Glamouflage,’ Lecky says. ‘You can hide all your insecurities under that much glam. You look brilliant. It’s only your head telling you otherwise,’ she adds firmly.

  Cinnamon pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin, then winks at herself in the mirror. I smile.

  ‘This dress is what we call an Entrance Enhancer,’ Lecky says. ‘I dare people to look away from you. Dare them!’

  Cinnamon beams. Her scarlet hair against the royal purple is so striking. She twirls in the dress. You can tell how hard she’s working at eating healthily and playing sport.

  ‘I really like the tough leather with the soft lace,’ I say.

  ‘Contrast,’ Lecky states. ‘And it doesn’t clash with her hair.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’ Cinnamon asks me.

  I shake my head. I feel sick about the dance. It will be my first school social event as Jackson’s date and I really want to look the part, perfect, but none of these dresses suit me. I look too athletic in them or they look too girlie on me. But I trust Lecky and her Glamour Manual. I haven’t given up yet.

  ‘Okay, so next we have to find you the perfect wristlet or clutch bag to go with that dress,’ Lecky says, running her finger down the page of her book. ‘And we’ll have to deal with those VBS, maybe find you some Boulder Holders and can’t forget some PC pants.’

  Cinnamon and I giggle.

  ‘What?’ Elecktra asks.

  ‘You’re talking about underwear, right? Visible Bra Straps, bra and knickers?’ I ask. Lecky goes on all the time about her pet hates: VBS in public and seeing underwear lines that ruin outfits.

  ‘Course I am,’ she says, then leaves us to scout the rest of the shop, like a magpie looking for shiny things. She eventually returns with an armload of colourful dresses for me to try on.

  ‘But doesn’t the dress have to be black?’ I ask.

  Elecktra hangs the dresses up neatly in the change room. ‘Oh, Roxy Rox.’ She shakes her head. ‘Black tie does not mean black dress. You can wear any jewel tone.’ She hands me an emerald dress. ‘Here, try this. We have to find the dress that makes you the star. The dress can only have a supporting role on the night.’ That’s so Lecky. Everyone starring in the movie in her imagination. Then she sighs, looking at all the beautiful dresses.

  ‘Thanks, Lecky. For everything,’ I say.

  Elecktra smiles. ‘Pleasure is all mine, milady.’ She curtsies and escorts Cinnamon with her mother’s credit card to the checkout.

  After no luck with the second round of dresses, we decide to move on.

  ‘I’m starved,’ I say. ‘Can we please go to Pita Wrapbit?’ Pita Wrapbit do the best wraps. I love the Mexican one and the pumpkin salad. Cinnamon only recently started eating them and the breakfast burrito is her favourite.

  Lecky checks her watch. Cinnamon is glowing as she carries her new dress. Lecky found a button missing and managed to get a ten per cent discount. The shop has wrapped the dress in a delicate cotton suit bag with turquoise ribbon ties. Cinnamon is holding it out to the side with a hooked finger, nervously manoeuvring it out of the way of pedestrian traffic.

  ‘We have to do jewels and make-up and you still haven’t found The One,’ Elecktra says to me.

  Cinnamon and I plead with our faces.

  ‘Okay, we’ll do a quick bag drop at the holding area downstairs, then we’ll swing by Foot File to get the right polish for Cim’s dress, touch base with make-up, then eat.’

  Elecktra marches off in front of us. I link my arm through Cinnamon’s and we follow obediently.

  ‘Welcome to the Fab Lab,’ Elecktra says later, ushering us to a counter in the make-up section of the department store.

  ‘You have great eyes. Let’s really try to make them pop with a smoky lid,’ says a girl with heavy eyeliner and crimson lips, leaning in to me. Before I can resist, I’m sitting on a stool as Elecktra and the girl study my face. I nod like I know what they’re talking about, but I have no idea. I sit patiently as the girl selects different tools out of a pouch she wears around her waist and applies the make-up with the pr
ecision of an artist. Lecky is with her on every stroke, following the brush movements with her chin. Cinnamon sits on a stool opposite me, enduring a woman trying to brush her hair into submission. She holds the dress on her lap — it didn’t make the bag drop, she won’t let it out of her sight.

  After a while, the woman gives up. ‘Curls are your thing,’ she sighs in defeat and waves Cinnamon off the stool.

  ‘She’ll take everything,’ Elecktra says to eyeliner girl.

  I look into the mirror. My cheeks are bronzed, my eyes encased in a grey eyeshadow that shimmers into silver at the sides. My eyes look really large. My eyelashes are thick and branch-like, similar to Lecky’s, and my lips have been stained with a rose-coloured pencil.

  ‘Wow, Roxy, you look beautiful,’ Cinnamon says.

  ‘If you have any questions, I’m here most days,’ eyeliner girl says to me.

  ‘She has me,’ Elecktra says protectively, and I glow on the inside. I love it when Elecktra claims me as her sister; it wasn’t long ago she pretended we weren’t related.

  While Elecktra gives Art’s credit card a workout, Cinnamon and I find a spot to sit at Pita Wrapbit.

  ‘You have the dress!’ I say to Cinnamon excitedly.

  ‘You have the guy!’ she says back. ‘I need the guy and you need the dress.’

  We laugh.

  ‘I’m a bit nervous about going to the dance with Jackson,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be. He really likes you. Look at how much you’ve been through together. Are you excited about your birthday? I have the best day planned.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I say. Although I can wait. I hate being the centre of attention.

  We order a breakfast burrito for Cinnamon and Mexican wraps for me and Lecky, our favourite, with extra beans and guacamole.

  ‘I’m glad you let Lecky do this,’ I say, taking my first bite. ‘She was bummed out about not being able to style my party, so if she can style us for the dance, it’s a nice compromise.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s pretty good at it.’

  ‘She really is,’ I agree.

  Elecktra joins us as we take our last bites. ‘Soz, got distracted.’ She tears a few bites out of her wrap, then says with a full mouth, ‘Take notes for Nikki.’

  Cinnamon pulls her diary out of her handbag and places it on the table. Her Nicola Ferdinand dress has become known as Nikki.

  ‘Apply all beauty products before getting dressed and allow perfume and deodorant to dry before putting on Nikki so you don’t ruin the lace. Fix the dress in a steamy bathroom to iron it out. Don’t use an iron. And night before, cucumber on eyes as discussed and rinse your hair in mint tea to make it shine.’

  Cinnamon writes down the instructions in her neat slanty handwriting.

  ‘Rox, I’ve decided to surprise you with your dress,’ Elecktra says. ‘I’ll take care of everything. We’ll just do Cinnamon today.’

  My heart flutters with nerves, my fingers tensing around my lunch wrapper. ‘Okay, trust you,’ I say.

  On the way to our second bag drop, Cinnamon stops to stare at a shop window. After a moment, I realise she’s looking at her reflection, not the mannequins. She has arms full of colourful bags. Elecktra insisted on a new wardrobe for Cinnamon to keep Nikki in good company.

  ‘I know it’s me, but it doesn’t look like me, hey?’ Cinnamon says. She moves the bags and the reflection does the same. ‘If I saw me walking around the mall, I wouldn’t feel sorry for her.’

  I reach out and hug Cinnamon. Over her shoulder I see my smoky eyes reflected in the glass. Under my thick fringe they almost look like a ninja hood and I understand completely how Cinnamon is feeling. I sometimes don’t recognise myself either. I’m the White Warrior, trapped in a thirteen-year-old girl’s body with thirteen-year-old problems.

  ‘It’s easy to forget who you are,’ I say.

  ‘Gasbags! Hurry up. We’ve got a date with Jimmy,’ Elecktra calls over her shoulder.

  We’re heading for the Jimmy Choo shoes in the department store when a voice stops me in my tracks.

  ‘You’re shopping?!’ Jackson says. He leans down and kisses me on my cheek. My heart flies out of my body. ‘I rang your house.’

  ‘Old school,’ I say.

  ‘I know. I only use my home phone now to ring my mobile when I lose it.’

  Jackson smiles. His smile is infectious. I catch it between my ears.

  ‘Art said you were here. My mum and I are doing some stuff, then we can give you a lift home if you like.’ He glances over my shoulder towards Elecktra, who is tapping her ballet flat, waiting for us. ‘Looks like you have some cargo.’

  ‘Cinnamon found a dress for the dance,’ I say.

  ‘And you?’ Jackson asks.

  ‘No luck yet.’

  ‘You could wear that,’ he points to Cinnamon’s dress bag, ‘and look amazing. I like your make-up. You look all magaziney, but you really don’t need paint. You look beautiful as you.’

  I guess he means I look like I could be in a magazine. ‘Editorial’, Lecky would call it. I blush. I’ve never been good at accepting compliments. There’s that spotlight again. This is the real-deal compliment too. Not the ‘great dress’ that doesn’t actually mean you are gorgeous, but that you were smart enough to walk into the right shop and choose the appropriate outfit within the budget of your pocket money. This compliment feels awesome because it is about me being beautiful. Jackson always makes me feel beautiful. I ignore my stinging cheeks and simply say, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Oi! Jimmy’s waiting,’ Elecktra calls.

  Jackson’s face clouds.

  ‘Shoe shop, not another guy,’ Cinnamon jumps in quickly.

  ‘Meet you in half an hour,’ I say and kiss him on the cheek, then hurry away. I have to stop myself from skipping behind Elecktra. I don’t need a new dress; I have the best accessory of all. A boyfriend.

  NINE

  Bounce Nation is exactly what I expected it to be — a sore neck from watching kids hit ceilings and bounce back down to the trampolines. I’m on time, 3pm Saturday afternoon, as Cinnamon’s invite instructed. I take in the trampoline park for a moment. Cim wasn’t lying. There are more than one hundred interconnected trampolines and five hundred square metres of foam pits and padding to land on. Kids rebound off the sloping ramps on the walls into the deep foam pits. There are tumbling lanes like trampoline runways where kids are bounding into pools of plastic balls. In one corner of the room there is a game of dodge ball being played on the trampolines, officiated by a Bounce Buddy. Bounce Buddies jump all over the place in yellow T-shirts. Parents sit in a café out the front, waiting for their kids to desist being vertically challenged. I spot Cinnamon’s hair straight away. She is bouncing in the nearest corner of the room, her red hair ballooning in the wind of her jumps.

  ‘Welcome to the bounce universe,’ she calls mid-jump. I’ve never seen Cinnamon jump, not even in a game of hopscotch. She dribbles her jumps to a stop like a basketballer, then leaps over to me.

  I stand at the edge of the trampoline pit. Elecktra styled me, but unlike other times, today I’m in my own jeans, a red V-neck T-shirt and my trusted old Converses. All Elecktra added were a few leather plaited friendship bands on my wrist and a sheen of lip gloss to my lips. It’s the first time she’s let me look like myself, or the first time she’s accepted my look.

  ‘I’ve never been on one of these,’ Cinnamon says, waving at the trampoline. ‘Before, I was terrified I’d fall through it. But now, I bounce back up. And nothing moves!’ She jumps into the air, then points to her stomach when she lands, smiling.

  In one leap, I jump up onto the tramp to hug her. ‘This is awesome,’ I tell her. ‘You’re awesome.’ Cinnamon giggles.

  ‘Elecktra wants you to be all grown-up coz you’re fourteen, but I reckon we should try to stay kids for as long as we can. Come with me, I want to show you the party room.’ Cinnamon bounds over to the opposite corner of the trampoline pit and I follow her, bouncing on the wall
s as we go for fun. She climbs off the mats and enters the room adjacent. Inside are bench tables and chairs, and Cinnamon has decorated the room with streamers, a ceiling blanketed in balloons and a big hand-painted sign that says ‘Happy Birthday, Roxy Ran!’ The centre bench is spread with health food: pita pizzas, open lentil and chickpea hamburgers, lettuce wraps and gluten-free beetroot and eggplant dips with spelt crackers. All Mum’s specialties; she must have helped to set this up.

  ‘I love it!’ I say and hug Cinnamon again.

  ‘I prefer pizza in boxes,’ Jackson’s voice comes from behind me. I turn. He looks amazing in a royal-blue polo shirt, chinos and Vans. He rakes a hand through his hair. I smile at him. He knows I have never had pizza in a box and would love to try it one day. Cinnamon begins to unwrap the plastic from the food.

  ‘What’s behind your back?’ I ask Jackson.

  He smiles and locks his bicep against his rib cage. ‘Noth’n.’

  ‘Please show me,’ I say.

  He shakes his head. I grab his arm and twist it into an armlock. I smooth my hand down his arm to his hand, where I find a little blue velvet box. I take the box and release him.

  ‘Show-off,’ he says playfully.

  I look at him and pout my bottom lip pleadingly.

  ‘S’okay. Open it. Happy birthday,’ he says.

  My breath catches in my throat. My heart pounds. The Jackson Axe has a present for me. Stars speckle my vision. Then I hear Jackson clicking his fingers.

  ‘Roxy?’ Jackson’s soothing voice. I look back down at the box and it’s floating in the air on its own. I flash visible again.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It happens sometimes when —’ I cut myself off.