Life in Outer Space

by Melissa Keil

  Before I am ready for it, October arrives on my doorstep, bringing with it a blast of unseasonable hot weather, the beginnings of exam panic, a last-minute outbreak of Spring Dance dramas, and also, my seventeenth birthday.

  My friends organise a surprise after-hours party for me at Schwartzman’s. Given Adrian is involved, this turns out to be one of the worst surprises in history. Still, I pretend to be astonished when I walk through the doors to find the cafe decked out in red streamers and balloons, and a cake in the shape of a blood-dripping axe that Allison has made. The tables have even been moved to create a dance floor, something for which I have zero use but that everyone else seems to like.

  I am, however, genuinely blown away by the turnout. Jasper and Ethan and a bunch of their housemates are there, and James and Noah, who, it turns out, know Jasper’s guys from the pub circuit. Alessandro shows up in a brand-new Korn T-shirt, which is pretty much his equivalent of black-tie. Veronica and Annie and a few other guys from school make an appearance, looking somewhat intimidated by the shambolic musicians. Inexplicably, a couple of the old Schwartzman’s regulars are also there, though possibly only because they have melded to the Formica booths.

  Allison gives me a Michael Myers doll to match the Freddy Krueger one she gave me last year, and a new edition of the Robert McKee screenwriting book to replace my battered copy. Adrian gives me a Batman card filled with Kino vouchers. Mike and Noah give me a subscription to Fangoria magazine, which is one of the most awesome presents ever.

  Since Noah became the official sixth member of our group, I’ve been trying to define the slightly weird feeling I get whenever I see him and Mike together. Noah is cool, and interesting in an understated, mumbly way. He also has his very own goofy grin-thing whenever he’s around Mike. He can spend hours chatting to Camilla about music that no-one else has heard of, but never seems to run out of things to talk to Mike about, even if the only band Mike really knows is Foals. I am not sure if I will ever get used to my best friend being someone’s boyfriend. But when I open their joint present, I realise what the weird feeling is. I am kind of envious of them.

  Camilla spends the night rushing around in a blood-red vintage dress that matches my balloons. She fills people’s drinks, skips songs on her iPod playlist, and makes sure everyone knows everyone else. She introduces Noah to the guys from school as Mike’s boyfriend with no elaboration, and if Veronica and the others are fazed, they don’t show it.

  Maybe it’s the looming reality of our final year of high school, or maybe after five years, they’ve simply run out of material. Whatever the reason, lately it feels like even the A-group can’t be bothered heaping crap on anyone. It renders Bowen Lakes Secondary oddly calm.

  Camilla eventually grabs me for half a minute to give me her present. ‘Sam, so basically I scoured the earth for the perfect thing, but since I couldn’t get hold of a functioning lightsaber, this was my next best option. Hope you like.’

  She hands me a flat black box. Inside is a copy of the official Star Wars illustrated screenplay. ‘Open it,’ she says excitedly.

  So I do. On the first page is a messy black mark. It takes me a moment to figure out that it is a signature. It takes me another eight seconds to realise whose signature it is.

  ‘It is … you got me … it’s signed by George Lucas?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Amazing what you can find on eBay.’

  ‘Camilla! It’s awesome, really, I can’t believe … but, Jesus, this must have cost you a fortune?’

  ‘Nah. Besides, that look on your face was worth it. Hey, remind me to get your autograph on something. Might be worth more than George’s someday.’

  I laugh. ‘Doubtful.’

  ‘Sam, I’m serious. You’re a really great writer. Okay, so you might need to refine some of your ideas, but you know that. And knowing what you need to work on is going to make your great stuff amazing.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Yoda.’

  She nudges my shoulder. ‘Shut up. By the way, I’m still waiting to read the new one.’

  ‘I’m still stuck on that bit where my cyborg and pitchfork killer cross paths. It’s sounding – I dunno. A bit naff. You’ll see what I mean. I think you have an ear for dialogue. Your notes on my other scripts were great.’

  She shrugs. ‘It’s probably a music thing. But sure. Email it to me? I’m away with Dad this weekend.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll email.’

  She smiles at me. I smile back. It feels a little strange on my face.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Allison signalling to me. Ethan and Kel are scouring the diner for a cigarette lighter. I think I am supposed to cut my cake now. I wave back.

  ‘I should go before someone tries to light the candles with a toaster. But hey, Camilla? Thanks again. For the awesome present. And the party. And … everything.’

  She gives me her customary salute before bolting away to break up an argument between Adrian and Alessandro.

  •

  My post-birthday universe is filled with exam prep and the obligatory end-of-year chaos. Still, I feel somewhat unprepared when conversations start shifting to people’s summer holiday plans.

  Camilla is spending Christmas in Singapore with her mum. It’ll be strange not having her around, but I think I have enough scheduled to keep me busy. Allison and I are going to attempt a week-long sit-in at the Moonlight Cinema in the Botanical Gardens. I’ve asked Ethan to give me bass-guitar lessons, cos I think bass might be more my thing. Noah and James have a bunch of gigs booked, which I am duty-bound to be at.

  And then there is my screenplay. I’m hoping this is the one that doesn’t end up in the back of my wardrobe. I think my cyborg character is cool. But I still have this nagging feeling that it’s missing something. Maybe I’ll figure out what it is over the summer.

  Of course, all of these things suddenly become background noise. School and exams become irrelevant. Because November rolls around. And with it comes the Friday of the Spring Dance.

  Our teachers collectively recognise the futility of attempting a full day of classes, so we are dismissed at midday. Allison disappears to the hairdresser with Veronica and Annie, and James collects Mike from the school gates in his rusty Datsun, since Mike is getting ready at Noah’s. Adrian has his long-awaited appointment with the old-man barber near the station, which he faces with all the enthusiasm of a tooth extraction.

  I am, however, co-opted by the decorating committee to hang fairy lights in the corridors near the gym. Apparently, there isn’t a single other person who can reach the roof.

  ‘It’s the curse of the tall and manly, Sam,’ Camilla says as she runs past my ladder with an armful of crepe paper. She’s wearing a yellow summer dress, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail that swings frantically behind her.

  ‘Manly?’ I call out.

  ‘Oh, right – maybe just the tall then,’ she calls back with a wink as she disappears inside the gym.

  As soon as my manly tallness is no longer required, I am booted out of the school. Evidently, the decorations are wrapped in a level of secrecy rarely seen outside ASIO. I am not sure how much crepe paper and fairy lights will be able to transform the BLS gym. But I figure it’s safer for my health if I don’t question the decorating committee.

  I go home and try to work on my screenplay. I try to study. I try to watch Simple Men for the sixth time. I try to talk to Mum as she runs out the door for a spa weekend with Aunt Jenny and their friends. I am unsuccessful at all of the above.

  I am not sure when, or how, this insanity infested me as well. But I think I might be experiencing something that is possibly, maybe, semi-adjacent to excitement.

  And then it is 6.24 p.m. and I am standing at the entrance to Bowen Lakes Secondary School in an authentic Star Wars Stormtrooper outfit. It is way too hot, and chafes in unexpected places. I feel like a bit of an arse.

  But at the same time, I feel just a little bit awesome.

  Allison is standing on my left, and Mike and
Noah on my right. Adrian gives the limo driver instructions on where to pick us up for the eightieth time, and then slams the door and shuffles to Allison’s other side.

  Two Marilyn Monroes and a King Kong scurry into the school with excited waves in our direction. But somehow, silently, the five of us seem to recognise that this moment requires a brief, reflective pause. It’s cheesy and completely movie-inspired. But it still feels totally right.

  I glance down at Allison. She grins at me. The corsage I bought for her is a little big on her wrists, but I’m glad that I went with the advice of the florist-lady. The pink orchid looks like it was made for her costume.

  She is wearing tight black pants that end just below her knees, and a matching black jersey. Her pixie hair is no longer red, but sculpted into chocolate-brown waves. Mum has made me watch the original Sabrina, like, three times now. Apart from her blue-green eyes, Allison can actually pull off Audrey Hepburn. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed this before.

  Mike and Noah stand side-by-side in their matching suit-and-fedora-hat combos. Mike hikes his stuffed horse head under one arm, adjusts his glasses, and then takes Noah’s hand. Neither of them can really pass for Godfather gangsters. But regardless, they look great together.

  Adrian shuffles forward and turns around to face us. My laughter echoes through the insides of my helmet, again. I can’t help it.

  Adrian has finally shaved off his troll fuzz, and is as baby-faced as he was when he was twelve. Of course, I know this only in theory. Because Adrian is concealed within an honest-to-god Ewok costume.

  Adrian has been tossing up costume ideas for months now. But when he threw open his front door – once I managed to stop laughing – his only explanation was:

  ‘Meh. I thought about going as James Dean or someone. But dude, seriously – can you really see it?’

  Ewok-Adrian takes a few backwards steps towards the school. ‘Come on, guys. I don’t want to spend the entire night hanging out here like losers!’

  I yank off my Stormtrooper helmet and balance it under one arm. Allison threads her arm through my other one. And somehow, we collectively amble in Adrian’s wake.

  Music pounds inside the building and we walk through the familiar corridors, past our English classroom and our battered lockers and our glitter-encrusted noticeboards.

  The hallway to the gym is hidden beneath a thick red carpet. Movie posters on art-room easels stand behind ropes that line the corridor on either side. Pretty sure they’re the same red ropes used for wrangling junior students into vaccinations, but whatever. The fairy lights I hung earlier flicker in a canopy over the dark ceiling. At the end of the red carpet, the gym doors are guarded by two giant cardboard Oscars, in front of which are a couple of smiling dance committee members with press passes and cameras in hand. The effect is as naff as anything. But at the same time – if I narrow my eyes and blur them a little bit – I can almost imagine we are somewhere other than here. I can almost, just about, see the glamour in the dreary school corridor.

  Three Marilyn Monroes walk past. They coo over our costumes before draping themselves around the Oscars as their pictures are snapped.

  ‘Jesus,’ Mike murmurs. ‘Was there only one actress in Old Hollywood?’

  Allison grins. ‘I think it might have something to do with the undies-baring dress. You know there’s going to be some “accidental” flashing tonight.’

  Adrian giggles. ‘Can I just say – best fancy dress theme ever.’

  I don’t have a chance to respond, because a shrieking blur grabs me by the arms and slams me into a wall. I drop my Stormtrooper helmet and blaster as I experience a brief but vivid flashback to the last five years of my life.

  ‘Sammy! Dude, I swear I knew that was you! I did!’

  Justin Zigoni’s beer-breath gusts across my face. He is dressed, I think, as a Planet of the Apes ape, although his costume is missing an ear and his wig is on backwards.

  ‘Um, that might be because I’m wearing my face?’

  Justin dissolves into snorts. ‘Dude, you are so fecking smart! Seriously, you’re gonna be, like, a doctor, or nuclear physics doctor or, like, accountant. You are!’

  He trips over his own feet as he stumbles backwards. His eyes blur over Mike and Noah. They land on Allison with a start. ‘Hey, hello Angela,’ he purrs. ‘Nice … pants. Hey, maybe you wanna dance later?’

  Allison grimaces. ‘I’m not sure if my dance card has room for a drunken idiot, but I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Hey, cool,’ Justin says with a wave.

  There is a chorus of thunderous shouting from somewhere down the corridor. Justin pumps his hands in the air, and then bolts down the red carpet and body-slams a Charlie Chaplin into the floor.

  ‘And there goes the plague of our existence,’ mutters Mike.

  I adjust my costume and collect my stuff from the ground. ‘Is it just me or is there something strangely unsatisfying about knowing your arch-nemesis is going to end the night vomiting on his own shoes before passing out in the topiary?’

  Noah is still staring in Justin’s wake. ‘Dude does seem a little … highly strung?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘There are stories. We’ll fill you in sometime.’

  Mike shoots me a grin.

  We stand in front of an Oscar while a beaming Michelle Argus snaps our pictures. An assortment of gangsters, a couple of vampires, a dishevelled Wolfman, and a steady stream of Marilyns pass by. People wave and stop for photos, and there is an awful lot of excited shrieking even though everyone has seen everyone else only hours before. It is chaos. I am not sure if it is supposed to be anything else.

  Allison slips her arm through mine again. I allow us to remain joined at the elbows for four seconds, before I slide my hand down and link my fingers through hers. It feels like the right thing to do. Allison squeezes my hand back. And then we step inside.

  I don’t know if I will ever make it to Hollywood. Maybe I will. Or maybe I am destined for a career writing scripts for crap TV soap operas. But when we walk through the gym doors, and my eyes land on the giant Hollywood sign on a painted backdrop of hills and palm trees and lights – for a split second, I forget where I am. For the briefest moment, I can see myself walking into the premiere of my own movie. It is, unquestionably, a very cool feeling.

  ‘Holy crap,’ Adrian whispers.

  ‘Wow. Did the decorating committee actually get any homework done this year?’ Allison says.

  Star-shaped beams circle the floor from a lighting rig on the roof. Round tables drip with red and silver cloth, candles and giant cardboard film reels and clapperboards. There is an old-fashioned snack bar set up at one end of the gym; I can see Sharni Vane in an unwieldy-looking Scarlett O’Hara costume handing out striped boxes of popcorn, like they serve at the Astor. The gym screens are broadcasting a black-and-white movie; it takes me all of three seconds to figure out that it is the 1940s version of King of the Zombies. It is a sucky movie. But it still looks cool up on the screens.

  Noah whistles. ‘My school does streamers and jugs of cordial. I usually give our formals a miss. This is … intense.’

  Adrian flips back his Ewok head. His curls have been neatly cropped. His face is smooth. He still looks like the same exact Adrian. I am, bizarrely, relieved.

  ‘And they managed to get rid of the smell of BO,’ Adrian says. ‘How awesome is that!’

  We walk along the edge of the dance floor. Music from the very un-Old Hollywood DJ pounds through my legs.

  The centre of the basketball court is covered by an array of PVC stars, stuck down in no particular pattern. I walk over to the closest star. Victor Cho’s name has been stencilled on the top in bold gold letters.

  ‘Everyone has one. We triple-checked.’ Annie Curtis pushes her way through the crowds. She is wrapped in a layer of plastic, her dark curls shoved underneath a short blonde wig. A knife handle in a bloody pool is glued to the plastic on her front.

  ‘Psycho!’ Adrian shouts. />
  She giggles. ‘Damn straight. I so wanted to be Janet Leigh the first time I saw that movie. Until she got serial-killered, I mean.’ She looks Adrian up and down with a wide smile. ‘You look so cute! Hey, thanks again for the ticket. I can’t believe I forgot that committee members still had to buy one.’

  Adrian yanks his Ewok head back on and performs some sort of 1970s disco spin. Annie laughs. She grabs Adrian by the paw and drags him onto the dance floor.

  It will never cease to amaze me how many people are capable of appreciating Adrian Radley. I think it’s a mystery that is destined to remain unsolved.

  Mike and Noah and their horse head disappear to find drinks. Allison tugs at my hand. I realise that my fingers are still knotted together with hers. ‘You wanna dance, Sam?’ She grins.

  I roll my eyes. ‘Maybe later, Allison. When the Cylons take over. But you go. I’ll find you in a bit.’

  Allison twirls in her Audrey Hepburn heels and bounds away towards Veronica Singh’s Wizard of Oz Dorothy.

  I watch her go. My eyes drift aimlessly around the noisy room.

  ‘Well? Does it gain your stamp of approval? You know the opinion of the original movie-guy is the only one that really matters.’

  I turn around. In the dimly spinning starlight, I’m not entirely sure that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

  The voice is coming from what I assume, at first glance, is a giant worm, or a caterpillar carcass. It takes me five full seconds to figure out who – or rather, what – it is.