Someone switched on a lamp. Tatiana was screaming because I’d thrown up on her side of the bed, and it was in her hair.
‘Oh my god, Adriana, that’s disgusting! Mum!’
The other girls hopped away from me in their sleeping bags, holding their noses.
Tatiana’s mum raced in and took me to the bathroom. My pyjamas had vomit on them and were wet against my skin. I felt so disgusting I started crying, my nose streaming.
Mum arrived and bundled me into the car, where she’d laid down towels. By morning, she was throwing up too.
‘It’s obviously a bug,’ Dad said. ‘It happens to everyone, honey, don’t worry.’
On Monday, I was so sick at the idea of school that I wanted to throw up again. Mum let me stay home, but by Tuesday she said I had to go back.
When I entered the classroom I saw Tatiana had moved her desk next to where the twins sat. At lunchtime, when I went to sit with the other girls on the grass near the slide, Tatiana jumped up.
‘Don’t come near me!’ She made a face. ‘My whole room stinks from your throw-up. My mum had to get the carpet-cleaners in.’
My eyes got teary. ‘I’m sorry.’
She glared at me. ‘You ruined my party so you can’t sit with us any more.’
After that, any time I tried to sit with the other girls at lunch, they all ran away from me screaming ‘Germs!’, and whenever Tatiana passed me, she whispered, ‘Adriana Puke-a-rama’ under her breath, until everyone started saying it and it was no longer a whisper but something that people shouted out whenever a teacher wasn’t paying attention.
After that, nobody wanted to be my partner for library and I found myself sitting alone at lunch.
Until one day Emily — who never sat on the monkey bars and hadn’t been at Tatiana’s party — asked me to help with her mural. I wondered if she didn’t know what had happened at the party, and was scared that when she did find out she’d run away from me too.
‘Be careful Puke-a-rama doesn’t throw up on your painting,’ Tatiana called out one day.
My stomach started hurting like it had at the sleepover.
‘Grow up,’ Emily shot back at Tatiana. She turned to me. ‘Don’t listen to her. Everyone throws up, it’s no big deal. She’s a bad friend. Every couple of weeks she chooses a new girl to be her best friend. She invites them round to her place and then afterwards she acts like they’ve done something wrong and moves on to the next person. That’s not being a best friend. If you’re best friends, you stick it out.’
‘Do you have a best friend?’ I asked.
‘Not yet. I want a special one,’ she said. ‘Like, you know how people always say “best friends for life” but they don’t really mean it? I want to mean it.’
‘Best friends for life,’ I repeated. ‘That would be pretty awesome.’
‘Can you help me with the jellyfish?’ Em asked, smiling.
16
ADRIANA
‘Do you think we’re the only girls left who haven’t watched a YouTube makeup tutorial?’ I say.
Emily and I are side by side on her bed, watching a vlogger do a Gigi Hadid-inspired look on her iPad. It’s Sunday and we haven’t moved from this position for the last three hours.
‘That’s ten products she’s used to highlight and we haven’t even got to the bronzing yet!’ Emily exclaims. ‘She looks awesome, but wouldn’t people be able to tell you’re wearing a truckload of makeup in real life?’
When we get to the contouring videos, Emily and I get out all her makeup. Even though we don’t have the exact products the vlogger does, we still want to try it.
‘I look like I’m striped!’ Emily’s laughing. ‘And your cheekbones are so harsh you look like Angelina Jolie in Maleficent. Your cheekbones are everything anyway — you don’t need to define them further.’
Trying to overline our lips is even funnier.
‘Um, yours look amazing, but I look like a drag queen who’s been drinking and knows nothing about makeup and just started scrawling all over her top lip.’ Emily shakes her fist at the iPad. ‘You promised me Kylie Jenner lips!’
‘Do you think everyone’s spending ninety minutes every morning on this?’
‘The Tens, yes. But I think everyone else is just trying to get more sleep.’ Em swipes her cheeks with her brush, then sighs. ‘I’m giving up. This make-your-nose-smaller contouring technique is an epic fail. It’s obviously for people with just a little-bigger-than-average noses, not big ugly beaks like mine.’
‘Em!’ I’m shocked, because though she sounds jokey, I can tell she’s not. Emily’s never been someone who gets down on herself. Sure she might have a bad day, but the next day she’s painting or lost in a sketch. Besides, I can’t imagine her looking any other way. Her nose is strong, like her other features, like her personality. ‘I love your nose.’
Emily snaps shut her powder palette. ‘I’d better have all my formal pics taken front on. Maybe that should be my tactic for landing a date — never stand side on to a boy.’
‘What’s going on?’ I can tell something’s happened to knock her confidence.
‘Guys are just jerks.’
She scoops up all the makeup and tosses it back into the drawer, and I know she doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering her.
‘You haven’t unpacked your things from the old place,’ Dad says on Sunday night as we sit down for dinner.
Ugh. I don’t want to have this conversation.
I shrug. ‘I think I want some new stuff. My quilt cover looks old, and the lamp is babyish, you know?’
I’m lying and we both know it. I love the lamp, but it hurts me to look at it.
Every other room in the house has furniture that didn’t belong to us when Mum was alive. It doesn’t evoke anything emotional — a vase is just a vase. It’s not a vase that Mum fell in love with during a family holiday up the coast and held like a newborn all the way home.
I want a bed and a lamp that don’t evoke any memories at all.
‘New stuff,’ Dad says. ‘I think that’s a good idea. After all, sixteen is very different to fourteen.’
He and I both know it’s got nothing to do with a change in taste.
‘You should have said something this weekend,’ he adds. ‘We could have gone shopping together.’
‘I want to choose the things on my own.’
He looks surprised, but nods. ‘Okay, why don’t you go to the mall this week after school? The stores can arrange delivery.’ He grabs his wallet from the kitchen bench. ‘Here, take the card.’
When I take it from him, part of me wants to hand it straight back and tell him I’ve changed my mind. It’s easy to think something, not so easy to do it. Taking the card means going to the mall and choosing new things. It means accepting that I’m consciously wiping out memories of her.
I hate seeing notices about people’s deaths and the words ‘survived by’. The word ‘survive’ sounds like something heroic, but it just means you’re still alive when that person isn’t. To be honest, grief feels anything but heroic.
My version of surviving? Removing all evidence of Mum’s existence from my surroundings because a couple of boxes made me feel bad.
Bravo, Adriana.
‘Ready for another afternoon with your crush?’ Emily beams at me as we head towards the gym on Monday afternoon.
I shake my head. ‘Hardly. I barely said a word last time because I was worried I’d come out with something stupid.’
‘Just say whatever! He and I spend all of art class going on about random stuff.’
If I could trade my personality for Emily’s, I’d have a golden ticket in life. It’s hard not to feel jealous sometimes — the way she won’t know someone at all, and five minutes later she’s doubled over laughing with them. I’ll never be able to do that.
As always, putting my hand in Theo’s leaves me feeling so shy I can’t manage eye contact. I wish I could see Theo like Emily does — as someone to talk to, not someo
ne who exaggerates all of my normal anxieties about getting to know someone.
This is making me feel like old Adriana, and I hate old Adriana.
‘So Em tells me she’s planning on painting you,’ Theo says as we try to get into the rhythm of the music.
He’s started a conversation for you. You’re an idiot if you can’t go through the motions now.
‘I don’t know. I’m shy, so …’
What kind of selling point is shy? Nobody likes shy.
‘So having your portrait painted so everyone can stare at it is a bit of a nightmare?’ Theo spins me round.
‘Exactly.’
‘Remember, people looking at your portrait is different to staring at you in real life. In real life, they’re looking at you because you’re beautiful of course …’
He’s said it. He’s said it like Emily told me he did. He’s calling me beautiful, like it’s matter of fact, like it’s unquestionable. Thank god he’s good at leading, because I can’t remember a single step of the dance we spent ninety minutes on last week.
‘… but when people are studying a painting, they’re looking at other things. Maybe they’re studying the brushstrokes, or the colours in the background. Maybe your portrait reminds them of someone, or your smile makes them recall an old memory. The Adriana in the painting will be different for every person who looks at her.’
I can see why Emily says he’s more than a pretty face. There’s this incredible energy behind his eyes, like he’s a hundred per cent engaged in what he’s talking about and nothing in the world could distract him.
‘I never thought of it that way,’ I say.
‘I think Emily’s chosen the perfect subject. She knows you so well that she’s going to bring all of the complexity of Adriana to life on the canvas. She’s incredibly talented.’
His voice is so warm when he talks about her, and they’ve known each other such a short time. Emily does this to people.
‘Anyway, don’t let me boss you into it, even if I think it’s a great idea.’ He shrugs good-naturedly.
I shake my head. ‘I’m always awful with decisions.’
Yet another great selling point. I’m Adriana and I have so little conviction in myself that I need someone to talk me into saying yes or no.
‘It’s silly,’ I stammer, ‘but I’m always worried I’m going to make the wrong choice.’
‘That’s not silly.’ Theo’s face isn’t judgemental. ‘Making a choice is difficult. I took months to make up my mind about changing schools.’
‘What made you say yes?’
‘I don’t know …’ He looks thoughtful. ‘I felt like everyone at my old school saw me a certain way, and then over a year all of these things happened that made me feel like a different person. My old school felt like a shoe that didn’t fit properly any more. I guess I wanted to see what I could grow into instead of staying somewhere between the Theo of the past and the Theo of the future.’ He laughs. ‘Sorry, I’m referring to myself in the third person, which makes me sound like a complete tosser. I guess it’s hard to explain.’
‘No, I get it.’
I think of old Adriana and new Adriana: how sometimes I feel like the person before I left Jefferson, and sometimes I feel miles beyond that. The moments when I’m angry and brave and think I could say anything, and the moments I wouldn’t dare. Just being back at school and lifting my eyes up off the ground and pretending I’m not terrified — that’s massive to me.
There’s so much I could be, but there are so many steps to get there that I’m exhausted before I begin. I wish I could close my eyes, and when I opened them I wouldn’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks.
Talking about change makes me want to go to the mall that very afternoon. When the bus turns into my stop, I decide not to get off. The route goes by the mall so I’ll text Dad to pick me up there later.
I’m sitting with Chanel and Lana again, because Chanel waved at me when I got on the bus and I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to slight a Ten.
Chanel stands to get off the bus and waits for me to join her. I shake my head.
‘You’re not getting off?’ she says.
‘I need to go to the mall.’
She slides back into her seat. ‘Me too. Lana?’
Lana’s not going to say yes — I’m shocked out of my mind that Chanel wants to go with me. Now I feel all weird about shopping for what I wanted to. Yeah, I need to buy new stuff for my room — you know, because my mum died and my old stuff makes me think of her? Ugh. Hopefully when Lana says no, Chanel will lose interest.
Lana shrugs. ‘I need a new lipstick. An orangey-red one like from Ella’s last tutorial. What brand was it?’
‘MAC?’ Chanel guesses.
I’m still trying to reconcile that Lana’s joining my shopping trip, but I know she’s talking about the tutorial that Em and I watched on Sunday. ‘It’s NARS.’ For once in my life words slip out before I’ve thought them through.
Lana nods. ‘NARS. Okay, I’m in, but first stop is Mecca.’
‘You follow Ella?’ Chanel asks me. ‘I like Azalia better. She’s amaze with contour, and I think she’s the prettiest of the bloggers, don’t you?’
I want to say yes, but what if Chanel’s testing me? What if there is no Azalia and I look like an idiot?
‘I don’t know her.’
‘For real?’ Chanel’s perfect eyebrows shoot up. ‘I’m going to tag you in some of her recent pics to show you how good she is. What’s your Insta name?’
Now I’m the definition of a nerd. ‘I don’t have Instagram.’
Lana’s staring at me. ‘Who doesn’t have Instagram?’
‘Give me your phone right now,’ Chanel says.
I don’t know what to do, but saying no is weird, so I hand her my phone, hoping she doesn’t go through my photo gallery, which is all saved pictures of Emily and me from our stupid ongoing ‘let’s see who can create the ugliest Snapchat pic’ competition.
‘Okay, adding app,’ she says. ‘Hopefully your name is available. Okay, all good — now we need a profile pic. I’ll just go to photos …’
I quickly take the phone from her. ‘I don’t have any I want to use.’
‘Okay, snap a selfie.’
Chanel is waiting for me to take a selfie on the bus. I’m not going to let her see my gallery because then they’ll die laughing and Emily will kill me. So I turn my camera around and try to feel for the click button.
Chanel gasps. ‘You don’t know how to take a selfie! Here, hit this button and you can see yourself when you take the pic. Now, tilt your head a bit to the side and then your cheekbones are awesome. You want a bit of a pout. You won’t need much as your lips are incredible as is, which I hate you for by the way.’
Lana grabs my braid and I jolt, remembering how many times Tatiana yanked it.
Lana slips off the hair tie. ‘You know the other day when you had your hair out, all the boys were talking about how hot you looked.’
I look at her like she’s joking.
‘She’s so new at this — it’s super-endearing, right?’ Lana gives Chanel an amused look. ‘Tatiana would die if she knew we’ve adopted her.’
Is that why they’re hanging around me, so they can use it against Tatiana?
‘I like it,’ Lana says, sweeping my hair to one side. ‘I’m sick of friends who think they’re all that. You, Maddy, Ally and I, we keep each other’s egos in check.’
‘Exactly, loser,’ Chanel says, and they both start laughing.
I feel like a bird caught in a room with two cats who can’t make up their minds whether to eat me or keep me to play with.
‘Okay,’ Chanel tilts my chin, ‘hit the button.’
The camera clicks and Chanel takes the phone from me. Lana leans forward to see.
‘Your lips are insane,’ Chanel says, and makes a sad face.
‘If I saw it on my feed, I’d hate you, but I’d like it anyway,’ Lana says. ‘Definitel
y Insta-worthy.’
I glance at the photo — I look like the type of girl I’m normally scared of. I think of Emily’s ‘resting bitch face’ comment and realise she’s right. She’d never imagine me taking a selfie with Chanel and Lana, or that I’d let them come with me to the mall.
Having the Tens around might be scary, but being their target is worse. I never want to go through that again. So if I have to take the same bus and share the same classes, I’d rather sit with them than be out on my own, waiting for the inevitable.
At the mall, I let them choose the stores we visit, taking photos of them when they try on dresses and bikinis. I try to act relaxed instead of like someone who’s shaking like a leaf inside.
‘So, we think you should make use of that pool this weekend. You know, invite your new friends over, have a little party,’ Lana says, standing in front of a mirror in a black one-piece that’s more cut-out than material. ‘Should I wear this to it?’
Part of me hopes Dad will say no when I ask him about the party. Then I can go back to Lana and Chanel and tell them it’s not happening. I know they’ll be mad about it because they’ve already bought new swimsuits — and made me buy an orange Brazilian-style bikini that I don’t know whether I’ll ever have the guts to wear — but at least it’ll let me off the hook. But instead of shaking his head, Dad smiles and says, ‘Of course.’
He says he’ll buy a bunch of soft drinks and snacks ready for Saturday and asks how many people I’m expecting.
When I say twenty — Lana and Chanel were rattling off names in the change room — he doesn’t blink an eye.
‘Your mum would have loved that you’re having a party,’ he says.
Emily’s Diary
It’s not like I’ve never thought about trying to track my father down. Ever since I first learnt his name, I’ve googled him, looked him up on LinkedIn and Facebook, combed through endless results for anything that might give me more information. Surprisingly, there are a lot of Olivier Martins out there. And no matter how many times I’ve looked over the years, I’ve never been game to start messaging random men via social media to ask if they’re my father.
My Best Friend Is a Goddess Page 18