But she’s not here.
I swallow my disappointment. It tastes bitter.
Kari’s eyes flick to my chest, to the scar that’s showing at my lower-than-normal neckline. For the first time ever her face softens. ‘I asked,’ she says.
I nod. My mouth is dry and it’s hard to wrap my tongue around the words. ‘Thank you. It’s okay.’
I clasp my hands in front of me, then I fold them across my chest, then I unfold them, then I let them hang by my sides, then I start the whole awkward process again.
‘I’ll get us a drink,’ says Leo. He says it like it’s a question and I know what he really means: Do you want me to give you a moment alone?
I nod and he leaves, pulling Zan away by the elbow, and it’s just Kari and me alone together for the first time ever.
Neither of us speak for ages. There are so many reasons for me to be terrified of Kari: because I almost wrecked things for her and Zan, because I hurt her best friend in the deepest possible way, because she never really liked me, because she knows just how much I wish it was Carmen standing there in her place.
‘I wasn’t sure about coming,’ Kari says. She doesn’t look at me now; she’s watching the people around us. ‘But I have this for you. From Carmen.’
She holds out her hand. A folded slip of paper is pinched between her thumb and forefinger. The words – From Carmen – slap me across the face. Over and over.
Because it’s a letter.
From Carmen.
I swallow around the knot of fear and guilt and hope bunched up in the back of my throat. I let Kari drop the letter into my palm and I watch my fingers close over it, slowly. I take a deep, shaky breath and smile at her.
‘Thanks.’
She nods, flicking her eyes over me. ‘I hope it works out,’ she says, hugging her arms across her chest. ‘I really do.’
I look down at my closed hand.
Before I can tell her ‘Me too’, Zan’s back and Leo is hovering by my side with an apologetic smile.
‘Come on,’ says Zan. ‘Let’s grab some food before Marlowe’s mum bins all the sausage rolls.’ She leads Kari away, giving me a fist bump on the way past. I guess that’s how Zan hugs. I kind of like it.
Leo pulls me closer, my mother be damned. ‘Are you okay?’ he says.
We don’t get time to talk about it, though, because the speeches start. I’m not sure what there is to say anyway. I wish Carmen had come but I understand why she didn’t.
Some things are out of my control.
And I have to own my mistakes.
And in my hand I have a message from her that I’m too nervous to open.
Four people get up to speak, one after the other. And it’s not like hired speakers or anything, its real people. It’s loved ones of donors and it’s recipients and it’s living donors and health care workers and every one of them speaks from their heart.
‘Four years ago a liver transplant saved my life,’ says a woman about my mum’s age. ‘I wasn’t wishing for someone to die, I was wishing for someone to say yes to organ donation.’
I don’t realise I’m crying until Leo wipes my face with his sleeve.
‘I have to stop being snotty and gross around you,’ I say.
‘You cleaned up offal because of me,’ he says. ‘You can be as gross as you want.’
I look down at the small piece of paper in the centre of my palm.
I unfold it with trembling hands. On it is round, loopy cursive handwriting that feels instantly like Carmen.
Don’t write, please. Not yet.
Yet.
I close my eyes.
Yet.
I can live with ‘yet’. ‘Yet’ might be the single most beautiful word in the English language.
I open my eyes and reach out for Leo’s hand.
And I feel sad but also happy.
And hopeful.
I’m not going to fix things with Carmen in one big moment – there’s no costume or song or grand gesture that can undo what I did. But maybe there can be little moments, one after the other after the other.
________
Later that night, my feet dangle over the edge of the couch on Zan’s rooftop lounge. The stars sparkle overhead, but none of them are falling. No wishing tonight.
Zan lies the full length of the couch opposite; I have to share mine with Leo. Not that I’m complaining. Sure, we’re kind of tangled up and it’s not the most comfortable position in the world but there’s something nice about being this close to another human being.
Leo nudges my foot and grins at me when I kick him back.
Zan clears her throat as she stands. ‘I’m going to get snacks,’ she says. ‘Want anything? Other than to gnaw on each other?’
‘Just the gnawing for me,’ says Leo.
‘Carnivore,’ I scold, but he looks proud of himself.
Zan rolls her eyes and lopes off. She might act all moody and cynical and anti-romance, but I know for a fact that she’s hopelessly, terribly, unbelievably in love.
Leo scoots up closer to me.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi,’ I say.
He wraps both arms around me and I grab hold of his hand, running my fingers along every line of his palm.
‘Are you going to tell your dad you want to go back to school?’
I feel his chest stiffen, but he says nothing.
I grab his index finger in a fist and waggle it about. ‘Are you?’
‘I’ve tried,’ he says. ‘But I get to the part where I’m supposed to say, “Dad, I love you even though you’re an arsehole and I’m grateful that you want to support me by giving me a job but that’s not the kind of support I want,” and I chicken out.’
He runs his free hand through my hair, ruffling it. ‘I’m not brave like you. You take on anyone, but I can’t even take on my dad.’
‘You’re Leo the Lion,’ I tell him. ‘Who had courage all along. And getting the courage to make a stand is the hardest part. Wizards tend to be smaller and less threatening than you think.’
He laughs. ‘Not everything is just like The Wizard of Oz, Marlowe.’
But I grip his finger again and tug. ‘I’m serious.’
I untangle myself so I can shuffle around and look him in the face.
He runs a hand along my cheek and then cups the back of my neck, drawing me in for a kiss. Long and slow and perfect.
When I pull back he’s grinning at me.
‘What?’
He grabs hold of both my hands and pulls them to his chest. ‘What are you doing tomorrow night? Because there’s this band playing at the Tote and I thought you might like to come with me and pretend you love all six of their three albums.’
I pinch his palm.
‘Ouch.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I promised Pip I’d watch Pride and Prejudice with him.’
‘Oh,’ he says.
Pip is thinking about a Lizzie Bennet costume. But Lizzie Bennet if she’d told Darcy to go stick it and became a spy instead. Lizzie Bennet, 007. There’s no way I can miss that.
‘The next night?’ I say and lean in to kiss him.
He smiles against my lips and I smile too.
I smile because I am complete.
I am understood.
I am me.
You know that moment when you’re standing in front of Bert’s Quality Butchers waiting for your boyfriend to finish telling his dad he’s giving up his apprenticeship to go to TAFE and earn his high school diploma so he can go to uni, and your mum is still pissed at you about the fact that your boyfriend is a omnivore even though she kind of likes him and can see how happy he makes you, and you’re texting your best friend about meeting at her rooftop lounge later, but you’re late to meet your little brother (who’s your hero) at Spotlight where you promised you’d help him pick out some fabric for a vegan cowboy costume?
That moment is perfect.
This c
ould have been a case of the difficult second album. It wasn’t because I’m surrounded by the Best People. So here’s to thanking them . . .
Thanks to the Line Tamers – Rosey Chang, Marie Davies, Cathy Hainstock and Sarah Vincent. As always, your support and advice is second-to-none.
To agent extraordinaire Cheryl Pientka: thank you for taking a chance on me and being such a genuine sweetheart.
To everyone at Penguin Random House – Lisa Riley, Susie Gibson, Deb Van Tol, Amy Thomas, Kristin Gill and everyone in sales, Dorothy Tonkin, Tina Gumnior and everyone in marketing and publicity, Marina Messiha for the amazing cover design, and finally, most importantly, to Michelle Madden, the best editor Marlowe and I could have asked for. Also big thanks to Emma Leonard for providing yet another gorgeous illustration for the cover.
I had a lot of help with the research for this book. I am ever thankful for the advice provided by Bridget Morales, Prue Gildea, DonateLife and Camille Condon. Thanks also to Kate O’Donnell for saying the right thing at the right time.
This book was written with the assistance of Varuna, the National Writers’ House, and their generous residential fellowship program. Thank you also to my favourite bookish cheerleaders at Writers Victoria, especially Kate Larsen and Alexis Drevikovsky.
My love and thanks go out to the Australian YA community – all the writers, bloggers, reviewers, booksellers, festival organisers, teachers and readers. If I started listing you all I’d quickly run out of room but I am so appreciative of how welcoming and supportive you’ve been.
Lastly, all the love and kisses for my friends and family, especially Mum, Dad, Peta Twisk and my cat, Fenchurch (even though she was more a distraction than a help).
________
If you’re interested in finding out more about organ and tissue donation, visit www.donatelife.gov.au (and please, please, please considering registering as an organ and tissue donor. Pretty please.)
About the Author
Shivaun Plozza’s short fiction, flash fiction, essays and poetry have appeared in anthologies and journals including Where the Shoreline Used to Be, Above Water, Text, Vivid and The Victorian Writer. When she’s not writing, Shivaun works as an editor and manuscript assessor. Her critically aclaimed first novel, Frankie, was a CBCA Notable Book, was shortlisted for the Inky Awards and won the YA category of the Davitt Awards.
shivaunplozza.com
twitter.com/ShivaunPlozza
Frankie Vega is angry. Just ask the guy whose nose she broke. Or the cop investigating the burglary she witnessed, or her cheating ex-boyfriend or her aunt who’s tired of giving second chances . . .
When a kid shows up claiming to be Frankie’s half brother, it opens the door to a past she doesn’t want to remember. And when that kid goes missing, the only person willing to help is a boy with stupidly blue eyes . . . and secrets of his own.
Frankie’s search for the truth could change her life, or cost her everything.
PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published by Penguin Australia Pty Ltd, 2018
Text copyright © Shivaun Plozza, 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Design by Marina Messiha © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover illustration copyright © Emma Leonard, 2018
Author photograph by Peta Twisk
ISBN: 978-1-760-14671-9
penguin.com.au
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