Pieces of Sky

by Trinity Doyle

  ‘You said drink,’ Simmo shouts. ‘Pay the cup.’

  ‘So did you, idiot.’

  A large Maccas cup sits on a rock. Simmo grins and pours some of his rum and coke into it. Tara follows with her beer.

  I nod at the cup. ‘Cup of Champions?’

  ‘Of course,’ Simmo says.

  ‘You’ve changed it.’ Cam always banned words starting with S and if you got someone to say school they had to drink it.

  Simmo pulls out something from his pocket and chucks it at the fire. A series of loud pops erupts from the flames and makes me jump.

  ‘Jesus!’ I push my hand to my chest.

  Simmo laughs.

  Last year Simmo poured out the remainder of his drink and yelled, ‘You know what I hate? Fucken schooool!’ and downed the whole thing.

  Last year the cove was packed. People everywhere dancing, making out, boys lighting smaller fires and trying to jump them. And my brother in charge of it all. Tonight there’s only a handful of people left—I guess most have moved away already.

  Darkness seeps down around us, light from the fire burning out a small circle. Casey holds his torch in his lap, aimed at the sky. It’s a big one—good for spotting roos—and he flicks it off and on like some Morse code message to the stars.

  Then the music dies and he gets up to fix it.

  Without the music to cover everyone’s voices, people go quiet. Loud stomping comes towards us from the track. Tara grabs Casey’s torch and points it into the bush.

  ‘Ah God, blind me much.’ Steffi Greggson walks towards the fire, shielding her eyes from the bright light. Behind her is Evan.

  Simmo bounds over and wraps her up in a hug.

  I finish my drink and find another. Simmo seems to have abandoned me for Steffi so I sit by myself and stare into the fire. When I look back up Casey is watching me. He smiles and drops his eyes.

  I am nothing like my brother, but I carry the thought of him everywhere I go.

  The music swells, crashes into the cave and echoes back to us. Shadows flicker over the rock walls; I down my drink and watch them dance. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and the alcohol warms my veins.

  ‘We should tell ghost stories,’ Steffi says, joining us near the fire.

  I hold my empty bottle up to Simmo and he grabs me another.

  ‘Going hard, hey Lu?’ Steffi says.

  I lean forward and give her the finger.

  ‘Classy.’

  Casey pokes a stick into the fire and flames shoot up. The smoke burns my eyes and the music pounds through my blood.

  ‘We should dance,’ I say, taking my drink from Simmo.

  ‘Hell, yes.’ He knocks my bottle with his. I twist my arms in the sky. The music pushes into me and I push back. Simmo punches air but no one else dances. I make eye contact with Evan, he’s not drinking, smoking, anything—just sitting there with half a frown on his face—and it makes me too aware of myself. I sit back down, leaving Simmo to dance alone.

  Steffi makes eyes at Casey. ‘I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Drink this.’ He pretends to spit, or really spits I can’t tell, in his bottle and passes it to her.

  ‘Pay the cup,’ Simmo shouts and his voice rings in my ear. Steffi empties the bottle into the cup.

  Cam was the party—Cam was laughter and dancing and things happening. This isn’t the party, this is the dregs.

  ‘So what’s the word?’ I ask Simmo.

  ‘What word?’ he says.

  ‘To drink it.’ I smile and pick up the cup, its brown contents fizzing from Casey’s drink. I empty my bottle into it. ‘Drink, drunk, drinking, drank.’

  ‘Lucy.’ Simmo’s voice is unsure. But I remember his triumphant face before he spewed and Cam’s laughter.

  ‘How about dranking?’

  I screw my face up, hold my breath and drink.

  ‘Holy shit!’

  ‘Go Lucy.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  Everything burns and keeps burning. My eyes water and my stomach desperately wants me to stop. I hang on as long as I can until I can’t stop coughing and throw some of it back up. I hold the cup up, pour the rest of it onto the ground and take a bow.

  They cheer.

  ‘Now dance!’ I pull up Casey. The cave tips and he steadies me. More people join in and press around me. We’re bodies dancing round the fire, we’re the shadows on the wall and the call in the night, we’re—

  Oh shit. I push out of the group, find ground and throw up. My hands press into the hard earth and my arms shake. The music sounds far away and I’m not sure how far I ran.

  I roll onto my back and cool air kisses my face. The night sky is lit with stars, masses of them squashed together and exploding out. I reach out my fingers to trace them.

  Someone calls my name, sounds like Tara or Steffi—either way, I don’t want to go.

  Fire crackers sound off and someone shouts. Then the music dies.

  He isn’t here. Not in my foggy head or in the friends he left. There’s no trace of him in this night.

  ‘Lucy?’ It’s Tara so I don’t respond. Cheater.

  ‘Hey, woah, you okay?’ She stands over me and I fling my arm over my eyes. ‘Come on.’ She grabs at my arm to pull me up but I make myself a dead weight.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘You need to get up. You need to go home.’ She tries again, pushing at my shoulders and making me sit up. The night spins. ‘Real smart drinking the cup.’ She hauls me through the scrub back to the fire. ‘Wouldn’t want to be you tomorrow.’

  ‘Get off . . .’ The words are thick and I can’t feel my lips. I stumble forward and someone catches me.

  ‘Jesus. She okay?’ It’s Simmo.

  ‘Get off me.’ I jerk away.

  ‘Lucy.’ He gets in my face. He should’ve been with Cam, he should’ve stopped him, he . . . ‘Lucy, oi!’ Stop shaking me.

  My eyes open—Simmo’s so close I could spit on him. ‘You weren’t there. You weren’t fucking there!’

  He doesn’t say anything.

  A beam of light hits me in the eyes. I look away and sway towards the ground.

  ‘Is she all right?’ I don’t know that voice.

  ‘Come on. I’ll take you home,’ Simmo says. I shake my head and pull back till I’m sitting on the ground. ‘Lucy,’ he says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t think she wants to go, mate.’ It’s Evan. He stands next to me. I pat his shoe and lean against his leg.

  ‘Who asked you?’ Simmo squats and grabs my shoulders, his breath in my face. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know and I’m sorry. Now stand up and I’ll take you home.’ I lean back against Evan.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fine.’ He stands. ‘Just . . . fine.’

  ‘Beach!’ someone shouts.

  Evan moves forward and I lose my balance. ‘I think you should go,’ he says.

  ‘I’m trying to help her, asshole.’ Simmo shoves Evan and he steps on my hand. The pain is a far-off distant thing. Someone, Steffi, grabs my arms and hauls me out of the way. She points her torch at Simmo and Evan. They stare each other down.

  Simmo’s eyes flick to me and Tara pulls him back. ‘Whatever,’ he says, shaking her off and stalking to the beach.

  ‘Great plan,’ Steffi says. ‘How the hell is she gonna get back up the top?’

  Evan snaps his fingers in front of my face. ‘Can you walk?’

  Steffi laughs. ‘She’s paralytic. God.’

  ‘We can’t leave her here. She’s . . . she’s . . . in our English class.’

  ‘So? Fine. But what are you gonna do? Carry her?’

  ‘Are you guys all right?’ Tara asks. ‘I could help get her home.’

  ‘Yes. We’re fine,’ Steffi snaps. ‘She’s in our English class.’

  The night blurs and the ground feels really inviting. Someone pulls at me, says something but I can’t open my eyes. I think I might be being carried but I’m not sure.

  ‘What are we
gonna do with her?’ Steffi. ‘I’m not taking her home.’

  ‘My place is empty.’ Evan. ‘You can both stay there.’

  ‘Lucky you live close. Glen coming home tonight?’

  ‘Nah, he’s gone till Tuesday.’

  I’m down.

  ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘Argh, she stinks. Put her in the shower.’

  I’ll put you in the shower, Steffi Greggson.

  ‘Just get her up the stairs.’

  5

  Morning light burns pink behind my eyelids and I swallow hard against the taste in my mouth. I try to open my eyes but the fog in my head pushes them shut. Scraps of memories from the night before filter through my mind. Cam’s friends. And me. Drinking the cup. I try to push past it, to find what happened next, but all I’m hit with is a blank space. How did I get home? Am I at home? Something stirs in the bed beside me and I edge my foot towards it.

  ‘Ow,’ a female voice says. ‘Did you kick me, Lu? What the hell?’

  Okay, definitely not at home—Oh God, my parents are gonna kill me. I concentrate on opening my eyes and blink past the sting of daylight.

  I’m facing a white wall. I roll onto my other side and cop a face full of white blonde hair. I’m in a bed with Steffi Greggson. I poke her hard in the back.

  ‘Would you stop? God.’

  ‘Wake up,’ I hiss.

  ‘I’m awake. Who can sleep with all the abuse?’

  ‘Where are we?’

  She rolls over and glares at me with mascara-smudged eyes. ‘How out of it were you?’ She turns back over. ‘We’re at Evan’s.’

  I prop myself up and look past her to the opposite side of the room. There’s a large black couch with the sleeping form of the new guy sprawled over it.

  I slept in his bed.

  ‘Steffi,’ my voice sticks in my throat. ‘Steffi,’ I manage a whisper. She grunts. ‘What’s going on? Why am I here?’

  ‘You were a mess, we brought you here.’ She hits a bunch of stuff on the side table, knocking over a lamp and some keys. ‘What’s the time anyway?’ She checks her phone then shoves me. ‘It’s not even seven yet, what the hell? Well, now I’m awake and I’m hungry,’ she states, sitting up.

  Not even 7am—I might be able to get home before anyone notices I’m gone.

  ‘I’m starved. Bet there’s no food though.’ Steffi picks up a pillow and chucks it at Evan, who grunts and rolls over, still asleep. She grabs a shoe and throws it at him.

  ‘What?’ he grumbles, half opening his eyes. His hair is matted on one side and sticking up all over the place on the other. The couch has left crease marks on his face.

  ‘We’re hungry. Make us something.’

  ‘What do you want?’ His voice comes out all low and sleepy.

  Steffi taps her chin with her index finger. ‘Pancakes.’

  ‘How about cornflakes?’

  ‘How about waffles?’ she shoots back.

  ‘Ugh, do you seriously want to eat that much?’

  ‘Evan, we’re wasting away. Look,’ she says, holding up my arm, ‘it’s about to fall off.’

  I snatch my arm back and Evan smiles.

  ‘There’s cereal. And toast, if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Fine,’ Steffi huffs, lying back down.

  He grabs a backpack off the floor, pulls out some jeans and heads to the bathroom. ‘You girls do whatever,’ he says when he comes back out. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs.’

  Steffi throws off the covers and pokes around his room. I wonder if she’s been here before. How did they even meet before school?

  ‘Evan seems nice,’ I say.

  She glances back at me. ‘Yeah, he’s all right.’

  ‘How long have you—’

  She laughs. ‘He’s my cousin. So, ew. He just moved here from Sydney. You interested, Lu?’

  My face burns. ‘No.’

  Evan’s room is big, with a balcony and a view of the beach. The floor is a mess of clothes and books. The only order is a stack of vinyl records in the corner. Steffi thumbs through them and screws up her nose.

  ‘He has the most bizarre taste.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  She holds up a record. ‘Who the hell are Minutemen?’

  I shrug. Cam would probably know.

  She shoves the record back in the stack. I want to jump out and go through the rest—run my hands over the cover art—learn who else I should be listening to. But that’d be weird so instead I go to the bathroom.

  I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection. I rub toothpaste onto my teeth and try to rinse away the stale taste in my mouth. I glance at Steffi’s reflection walking around in her undies and singlet top. She’s all screw-you blonde hair and attitude, but sometimes I see her: the girl I used to know.

  Dear Steffi,

  I am a bluebottle. Please don’t step on me.

  ‘You should drink more water,’ she tells me in the mirror.

  When we get downstairs, Rage is on and Evan is in the kitchen, searching the cupboards.

  Steffi slumps over the granite breakfast bar in the fanciest kitchen I’ve ever been in. It’s not like the wood-panelled, unrenovated kitchen at home, all jumbled crockery and postcards on the fridge. This is sharp and gleaming, black with red splashes and brushed metal appliances.

  ‘Okay we’ve got Weet-Bix or Nutri-Grain and’—Evan stands up from the cupboard—‘I even found a banana.’

  ‘Lucy hates bananas,’ Steffi says. I stare at her. How does she even remember that? She looks at me. ‘Well, you do.’

  Evan points the banana at me. ‘That is seriously messed up.’

  I shrug. ‘I need to get home anyway, don’t worry about me.’ I look towards the hallway, which probably leads to the front door, and realise I’m still not entirely sure where I am.

  ‘We’ll go soon,’ Steffi says, pulling out the stool next to her.

  ‘So, yes? No?’ Evan shakes each box of cereal. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  I sit on the edge of the stool. I could pretty much sob with how bad I want a tea. It’s probably too late now anyway—Dad would be up and I’m not there. I pull my phone out of my pocket and it’s dead—just like I’m about to be.

  Evan puts the kettle on and I stick my hand up for a cuppa. Steffi scoffs down her Nutri-Grain and rifles through her purse. ‘Yes!’ She pulls out a cigarette. ‘Knew I had one left.’

  ‘Stef.’ Evan eyes the cigarette.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she says, grabbing her lighter and heading out the back door, leaving Evan and I standing on opposite sides of the breakfast bar. He chews his Weet-Bix, looking past me at the B-52s clip playing on Rage. I sip my tea and start a million conversations with him in my head. But none of them get very far.

  B-52s changes to Kate Bush and I spin around on my stool to see the TV because, ‘I love this song.’

  Evan laughs and does a terrible, ‘it’s me, Cathy’.

  ‘Shut up. Kate Bush is the best’—Cam did manage to impose a love of eighties pop on me—‘and this film clip is insane.’ She’s performing a dramatic dance in a white dress.

  ‘Haven’t you seen this before? There’s a red dress one too, where she swans about on the moors.’

  ‘Really?’

  Evan gets out his phone and finds the clip on YouTube. ‘How can you call yourself a fan?’ He leans close so we can share the screen and I catch a hint of the coffee on his breath.

  I shrug. ‘I don’t get much time to watch stuff.’

  ‘Yeah? Why’s that?’

  ‘I used to swim.’ My mouth struggles over the words ‘used to’ and Evan looks at me. ‘Like, a lot,’ I finish.

  ‘Right,’ he says and I know my excuse makes no sense.

  Between swimming and school I’ve never had much time for anything else—not even YouTube.

  ‘We should go,’ Steffi says, barging back into the kitchen. ‘Don’t want Shelly to pitch a fit.’ Steffi bats her eyes at Evan. ‘Drive us home?’


  ‘You’ve got two legs,’ he says, pocketing his phone.

  I look at Evan. ‘You can drive?’

  ‘Ev just turned seventeen,’ Steffi says, patting him on the back. ‘He repeated Year Three.’

  ‘Gee thanks, Stef,’ Evan deadpans.

  ‘Anytime, cuz.’

  Evan heads out of the kitchen and calls back over his shoulder, ‘Have a nice walk.’

  As we walk down the hill Steffi alternates between stomping ahead and lagging behind. Her uneven footsteps drive into my pounding head.

  ‘Can you just walk normal?’ I snap.

  She sulks into step beside me, swinging her overstuffed tote bag onto her shoulder. ‘So, didn’t know you liked to party like that.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I say, massaging my temples, ‘normally.’

  ‘You got all up in Simmo’s face. It was crazy.’

  ‘I what? What did I say?’

  I remember dancing and his fire crackers and—‘oh, God.’ I sway and steady myself on someone’s letterbox then hurl into a rosemary bush.

  Steffi pushes a bottle of water into my hand. I hold it so it doesn’t touch my lips and slosh water into my mouth. She waits as I struggle to my feet. I pass it back and continue marching down the hill.

  What the hell did I say to Simmo? I’ve never lost time before and I don’t like it.

  We reach the Selfman’s Bay Baths, the tiny car park already full on the hot Saturday morning. Mums hauling toddlers out of car seats and old guys in their Speedos. I tap each of my fingers against my thumb. I want to go in there, I want to see if I can get in the water or if I’ll panic again.

  ‘Coming or what?’ Steffi calls from further ahead.

  I stare at the entrance, the beige arch next to the kiosk, and try to convince my feet to move—but I’m stuck.

  ‘Lucy! Come on!’

  I take a step back and run into a little kid. ‘Oi. Watch it!’ the kid says.

  I mumble ‘sorry,’ and run to catch up to Steffi.

  ‘You gonna vom again?’ she asks when I catch my breath. I shake my head.

  Finally we reach the bottom of the hill and cut into our street.

  Steffi eyes my house from across the road, her arms folded. It was only a few years ago she was standing in my front yard and yelling for me to come play—Steffi hated knocking on doors.