Paradise City

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, he’s busy and these are getting cold.’

  ‘Can I just duck in and see?’

  ‘Staff only. Jesus, what are you, some kind of stalker or something? If Dean finds out you’re back here he’ll fire Ballantine on the spot and don’t think he wouldn’t.’

  I didn’t doubt it, not for a second. ‘Look, can you just please go and tell him that Lexie is out here, and tell him it’s important. If he doesn’t want to see me then I’ll go, but if he wants me to wait, I’ll wait.’

  Lucy sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Lexie,’ I said quickly, excited that Lucy was reluctantly moving away from her bid to get rid of me.

  ‘Here, hold these,’ she said, shoving the baskets into my hands, before heading back and pushing her way through to the kitchen. ‘Oh, Ballantine,’ she called.

  I waited for what seemed like an eternity, just me and the Fisherman’s Baskets oiling my hands. When the door opened, I straightened in anticipation.

  Lucy had pushed her way through the door with less dramatic flair this time, her walk was less hoity-toity, and her demeanour had somewhat changed. She took the baskets from my hands, her gaze struggling to meet mine, until of course it did.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but he doesn’t want you to wait,’ Lucy winced.

  ‘What did he say?’

  Lucy was beginning to look uncomfortable now.

  ‘Did you tell him my name?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ she snapped. ‘He said you were just some chick from school.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t want me to wait because he’s working a double shift?’ I was trying to voice the possibilities for his reasons, but when I looked into Lucy’s face I didn’t need to press any further; her eyes told the story, even Lucy Fell-on-her-face felt sorry for me and that was the most tragic thing of all.

  I nodded my head, letting the reality sink in. I was numb. Numb and stupid to think that Ballantine was any different. He didn’t want anything other than a quick one time feel-up in the dark, and come the time when things got tough, he bolted.

  I scoffed. ‘That’s okay, at least he’s going to make it easy on me.’

  I turned, taking long, determined strides back to the landing.

  ‘Hey, Lexie,’ Lucy called after me.

  I paused briefly, looking back to see her standing in the same spot.

  ‘You’re better off without him.’

  Yeah, well, I hadn’t picked that up from the way she had practically sucked on his face at the bus stop the other day. I turned around, continuing my walk of shame back to the main bar.

  You’re better off without him, she had said. Yeah, tell that to my heart.

  •

  I found Laura at the booth, tipping the dregs of ice into her mouth and crunching on the shards. She didn’t see me at first but when she did, she straightened from her casual sitting position, her eyes alight with interest, until of course she saw the sullen, flushed look on my face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way out.’

  ‘Did you see Ballantine?’

  ‘Laura. Please.’ My voice was shaky, I was on the verge of losing it, and I really didn’t want that to happen here in front of Sherry, or Lucy, or a lurking-in-the-shadows Dean. I just wanted to get the hell out of the Wipe Out Bar and never come back again.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, sliding out of the booth.

  As we quickly walked out, I could feel her watching me every step of the way, afraid I was going to lose my shit at any moment. Maybe I was? I sure felt like there was something building inside me, something that even scared me.

  I knew it was killing Laura not to speak, not to continue assaulting me with one hundred and one questions, but somehow she knew better. We walked briskly through Arcadia Lane, towards the bus stop for the long journey back to the ’burbs. Laura struggled to keep up with me as I worked on putting distance between the bar and us. Well, between Ballantine, arsehole extraordinaire, and me.

  We came to a stop at a pedestrian crossing, my mind working frantically as I shaded my eyes from the sun.

  ‘Laura.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  I turned towards her, looking down at her wildly inquisitive expression. ‘You put whatever you want in that diary; I have only one stipulation.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  The pedestrian crossing gave us the go ahead to walk, but before we did, I looked Laura straight in the eyes. ‘Make it bloody good.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A good rumour has a general gestation period of around twenty-four to forty-eight hours to take effect. In this instance, where information is as good as hand delivered to Boon, you give it two point five seconds before the first whispers begin.

  Today was Friday, last day of school for the week, last day of detention, last day of the most turbulent week of my life. I had no real expectations that Laura’s diary entry – whatever she had decided to write – would generate such an instantaneous stir. But I felt it the second I got out of Aunty Karen’s car. The atmosphere seemed different, the air was thick with a sort of speculation, a certain murmur. I thought perhaps I might have been paranoid, yet I know Amanda felt it, too.

  We walked through the gates, side by side, the crowd that hovered before us, parted with whispers and stares. This was exactly the kind of grand entrance I had hoped to make on my first day, but now it was happening: like, really, really happening.

  What the hell had Laura written?

  We lingered at the bottom of the steps to the main building. I casually adjusted my school bag with a devil-may-care attitude until I caught Amanda staring at me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘What have you done now?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  I had decided against telling Amanda about anything to do with Ballantine. The only people who knew were Laura . . . and Uncle Peter. I was still seriously pissed off with him for ruining what could have been, but then I wondered if I should be grateful to him for preventing me from going God knows how far I might have gone with Ballantine. But at the core of it, if Ballantine was only after one thing, he was messing with the wrong girl.

  ‘Fine, be like that. I doubt it’ll take me long to find out,’ she said, breaking away from me and heading up the steps into the school building.

  Ha! Hanging with Boon, I had no doubt either.

  It was an interesting thing being the centre of attention. It was something I thought would be cool, something I had craved – being that new mysterious girl in school – but I now realised I’d sooner be the under-the-radar girl who simply snuck out for a night with bad-boy Ballantine. My heart ached at the prospect that I had been lusting after a lie, an idea of who Ballantine was. All unwelcome attention aside, I had never felt more miserable.

  Just one more day, and then the weekend would hit and I could put some distance between myself and them.

  Them.

  As I stood on the highest point of the concrete steps I could see them, seated and standing Kirkland boys under the shade of a tree near the bike shelter. They seemed their usual boyish selves, laughing and fidgeting, pushing and shoving at one another. And there was Ballantine. I couldn’t see his face as he was standing with his back to me. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets as he kicked the edge of a pine sleeper while he listened to Woolly, who held centre stage, miming wildly with his hands and talking about surfing, no doubt. I had hoped that they would all be whispering and speculating about me, that Boon might be consoling Ballantine maybe, but instead they all looked . . . normal.

  I couldn’t help but feel disappointed by that.

  •

  I swear that even the teachers were looking at me differently; even the resident Goth kids were starin
g at me with their crazy eyes.

  I didn’t have first and second period with Laura so I made it my life’s mission to track her down at recess before she was engulfed by the canteen queues.

  I came up quickly behind her, grabbed her arm and dragged her into the girls’ toilets.

  I pushed open every cubicle door, making sure we were well and truly alone before spinning around and facing her. ‘What did you put in the diary?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you said to make it juicy.’

  ‘Good, I said make it good. I never said juicy. Oh God, I didn’t say juicy. How juicy?’

  ‘Well, you said “bloody good” and in my translation, that means juicy.’ She folded her arms in defiance.

  I sighed, closing my eyes briefly and praying for patience. I had to work quickly; I needed a heads-up before someone came in and interrupted us.

  ‘Like I said, it wouldn’t take long for the word to spread at the hands of Boon, the little shit. He must have had a sneak read when I was brushing my teeth last night. Of course, I may have left it on the coffee table near the PlayStation remote, so I’m not totally surprised,’ she said, looking rather proud of her efforts.

  ‘Awesome, but what did it say?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I knew you’d ask,’ she said, as she delved into her pocket and retrieved a folded-up piece of paper, then handed it over to me. ‘Here.’

  My eyes flicked to the paper, uncertainty lining my face, and I gingerly stepped forward to take it.

  Right at that moment a group of giggling girls burst into the toilets.

  Instinctively I walked slowly to a toilet cubicle, closed the door behind me and sat on the toilet lid. Unfolding the lined page, my heart raced at a million miles an hour as Laura’s neat, cursive handwriting appeared in blue ink.

  Dear Diary,

  You’re not going to believe this. I don’t even know where to begin, all I know is that I have been sworn to secrecy, and if this was to ever get out I know that it would make things really difficult and I don’t want that to happen. Despite the possible controversy I am actually surprisingly happy for them. I saw that first hand tonight, seeing them together and flirting like crazy with one another. (Talk about feeling like a third wheel.) Still, good for them, I say. I can’t say I don’t feel a little bit jealous. I mean, I don’t know a girl with a heartbeat who wouldn’t want to go there, and the fact that she actually did go there!! Well, let’s just say she promised me all the details and I can’t wait to find out if all the rumours are true: is he a complete horndog in the sack like they say, with the hottest lips in Paradise City? Okay, getting distracted here. But from an outsider’s view, things look set to be pretty serious. Not sure where to from here but all I can say is, even if I am secretly chanting it, I am a hundred per cent Team Lexie and Dean. One week in and she has hooked up with the hottest of them all.

  Not bad, not bad at all.

  L

  Oh my God.

  By this time I hadn’t even been aware that the voices had come and gone from the toilets; all I was interested in was slowly opening the door and stepping out to an eagerly awaiting Laura, who looked rather apprehensive at my reaction. I blinked, looking up from the paper.

  ‘Do you think Ballantine knows?’ My voice was a tiny whisper as there wasn’t much air left in my lungs.

  Laura stepped forward, taking the paper from my hand before refolding it back into her pocket for safekeeping. ‘Oh, he knows all right,’ she said, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘Because I was watching from a sneaky, safe distance when my brother told him before school,’ she said, laughing at her genius.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage; I could feel my skin become clammy. I swallowed.

  ‘And?’

  Laura was smiling so brightly I thought I might have been blinded by it. ‘Oh Lexie,’ she giggled, ‘he was fucking furious.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I wandered through the halls, my binder clutched to my chest, lost in my own thoughts. An eternal line of worry seemed to be creased between my brows these days.

  Did I want Ballantine mad at me? Wasn’t I supposed to be mad at him?

  ‘Don’t look so serious, Lexie, it may never happen.’

  I blinked towards the voice.

  Clarko, the PE teacher, was directing traffic in the halls today, dressed in his silky-green Adidas tracksuit, with impossibly bright white runners and fetching accessorised stopwatch draped around his neck.

  He smirked, thinking his little wisecrack rather amusing; I feigned a small smile and kept walking, choosing to pick up the pace and head directly to detention. At least it was Friday.

  Friday.

  Thank God! One more day, one more detention, one more . . .

  I yelped. Feeling an unexpected hold on my left arm as my whimsical, daydreamy walk turned into a full-fledged march.

  I was being escorted – no, make that dragged – down the hall as if I weighed nothing. Trying to shake free from the iron-like grip and flashing a murderous glare at my assailant, I couldn’t actually believe Ballantine was smirking, actually fucking smirking, as he dragged me around the corner and towards a door, sliding it open, and pulling me inside.

  ‘After you,’ he said, stepping in behind me and sliding the door closed.

  I could still feel the indentations in my upper arm so I rubbed vigorously. ‘What the hell do you –’

  Ballantine leapt forward, covering my mouth with his hand. Now I was even more pissed off. My eyes were wide and wild with outrage, my nostrils flaring, I mumbled obscenities into his palm.

  ‘Shhh.’ He frowned, cocking his head to the left, craning his neck to listen as shadows glided past the crack under the door. We stood there in silence for a long moment; well, mine was a forced silence. When he was sure the coast was clear, he slowly let his hand drop, letting down his guard just enough for me to push him away.

  ‘Jesus, Ballantine. You’re lucky I don’t . . .’ I paused, my eyes adjusting to the dull lighting of the room we were standing in. At first I focused behind Ballantine, then my gaze circled around me.

  No way.

  An incredulous smile ghosted across my lips, as I took in the hideous line of rainforest wallpaper, the acrid smell of paint and freshly laid carpet.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  ‘Year Twelve common room,’ Ballantine replied, clicking the lock behind him, a sound that echoed in the unfurnished space. The long line of windows was covered with sheets as a means to keep curious eyes from peeking in. It was, at a guess, in an effort to offer some grand-scale reveal, although, to be honest, there was nothing to boast about. The person who designed the room was obviously colourblind. Even though the light was dim you could still make out that every inch of the walls was covered in hideous rainforest wallpaper. I mean, really? Wallpaper? I gave it less than a week and the Year Twelves would tear this room apart.

  Even with the overwhelming amount of wallpaper and black carpet – yeah, black – there was nothing else in the long, narrow room; as my gaze wandered around the space something occurred to me, my focus snapping back to Ballantine.

  ‘Where are your balls?’

  Ballantine’s brows disappeared into his hairline. ‘Excuse me?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You know, the footy, and stuff that gets confiscated.’

  ‘Oh, those balls,’ he said, smiling sheepishly. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Yeah, well, thanks for the tour,’ I said as I moved to push past him.

  Ballantine stepped in my way. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?’ I snapped.

  ‘Well, I do have two very important things on my mind.’

  I lifted my chin. ‘Oh?’

  ‘One: a crazed uncle seems to be wandering the streets of Paradise.’

  Oh God!

  Every time I thought back to the other night I just
wanted to die.

  ‘And secondly, and most importantly, when am I going to see you again?’

  What?

  Okay, so that was not what I’d expected. ‘Fucking furious’ over the Dean rumour was what I’d expected, or maybe ‘we should just be friends, seeing as your uncle is a psycho’. But this? This was definitely not what I’d been expecting.

  ‘You don’t need to look so happy about it, Lex.’

  By this point I’d snapped my gaping mouth shut.

  Ballantine sighed. ‘Lexie, I don’t care about your uncle. I know you’re trying to push me away but it’s going to take a lot more than that.’

  My eyes flicked over his calm, sincere expression and I wanted to punch him in the face. ‘Yeah, well, that’s not what you told Lucy last night.’

  Ballantine’s eyes studied my face as if he was trying to solve the mysteries of the universe; it was a cross between that and a look that said I was insane. ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Don’t pretend like you don’t know,’ I scoffed.

  But when Ballantine’s confusion remained, it was me who started to question myself. Thinking back to the sad, sincere look that Lucy had given me after she told me Ballantine didn’t want to see me; she’d even looked like she felt sorry for me.

  Ballantine sighed, wearily rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. ‘Lexie, what are you talking about?’

  Holy crap.

  Taking in his genuine confusion, it was all suddenly very clear.

  ‘That bitch!’ It was like my stomach plummeted to my feet. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  Ballantine threw his arms up in the air. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘I came to see you at work last night.’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I wasn’t working last night.’

  ‘But didn’t you work a double? I heard Dean say that –’

  ‘I was feeling a bit crook so I switched.’

  Fucking Lucy.

  I could feel my temperature rising, my hands balling into fists at my sides. I didn’t feel relief; I felt a deep-seated anger. I had made a fool out of myself, germinated a wild rumour that made me look like a slut . . . and all for nothing.