Friendship on Fire

by Danielle Weiler

  ‘Oh. Did she say anything?’

  ‘No,’ I replied in a quiet voice.

  ‘Then what are you worried about?’ she asked, frowning at me.

  ‘We were best friends the whole of high school, Mum, until now. She would barely look at me. I didn’t have to say anything to her; it was written all over her face.’

  ‘Do you miss her friendship?’

  I shrugged miserably. ‘In some ways more than others. I miss our history, our understanding. I’m glad I know what she’s really like now, though.’

  ‘Daisy I’m going to tell you something you might not like to hear. You do realise you could possibly be friends again, don’t you? It might not be how you want it, or the same as before, but would you rather have her as a friend than not at all?’

  I glared at her, although none of this was her fault. ‘How could I forget what she did to me?’

  ‘I’m not saying you should. I’m asking you so that you are clear in your head about the decision you made not to speak to her anymore. Yes, she wronged you, but it was your decision to cut your ties with her. Do you want to be her friend?’

  She watched me wrestle over possible answers.

  I thought about the prospect of being friends with Rachael again. It could be done, if I was willing to give up what happened in the past. I opened my mouth to speak, but paused again for a moment, chewing on my lip before coming to a permanent decision.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then don’t worry about seeing her or her ignoring you,’ she said, so simply. ‘She was in your life for a season, a time when you both needed each other and you were mutually friends. Now you have Sarah and Shana as your best friends.’

  ‘You’re right, I know you are,’ I moaned. ‘So what about Roman? Was that only a season as well?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you still have that decision ahead of you,’ she said, winking at me.

  I nearly choked on my next question. ‘What if he wants nothing to do with me?’

  ‘It’s as I said before. You make your choice, do your best with it, then let him take responsibility for his part in it.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Thanks Mum.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  A weight was lifted off my shoulders as Mum pointed out to me what I found most hard to accept. I can’t be responsible for everything. And everything can’t be perfect, even if I thought it should be.

  ‘Better go study sweetheart. Exams start Monday and we’ve got a busy weekend with family. I’ll tell you when dinner’s ready,’ she said, smiling warmly and kissing me on the cheek.

  Barely two weeks later, I found myself standing outside the exam centre that had become disgustingly familiar to me.

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ I whispered to Shana as we lined up outside the history exam room, our final exam as high school students.

  I’d done four exams in the fortnight and it was a gruelling time for all of us. After each exam we would go to St. Peter’s Bakery and treat ourselves to a sugar high of hot chocolate and banana muffins. So I held fast to that vision as I prepared myself to be put under exam pressure once more. This was a true test of mind over body. Or spirit.

  I was over it all. With a sudden sense of alarm, I realised my sentimentality from the start of the year had gone. It had shifted toward having an innate need to become more independent. I was over exams. I was over the pressure and stress of studying material I didn’t care for.

  I wanted to finish this exam, have my Formal and graduate.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Shana replied soothingly. ‘Remember this moment and think: last one. Then we’re free.’

  ‘You’re right. Three months of bliss after this.’

  ‘Then prepare ourselves for the next lot of people to boss us around,’ she added, giggling.

  I scowled at her, wishing she hadn’t said that.

  She rubbed my arm empathetically and scanned her history notes for the last time before dropping them on the carpet just outside the room. Then we were called in to start, where I prayed my study would pay off for my favourite subject and I wouldn’t disappoint my favourite teacher.

  rinks and dancing for the pre-Formal celebration started at Sarah’s house, just the girls. We were dressed to the nines; hair and make-up done courtesy of each other and dresses strapped perfectly into place. I was beyond excited. I’d been dying to wear my dress and I got to show it off during the fashion parade we had during the party. Taking turns with the camera, we modelled our dresses and posed with our masks like idiots to kill time before eight, when the Formal started.

  Our transport to the venue depended on how ‘able’ we were to organise ourselves. We didn’t want our parents to know of our pre-Formal plans, so they were definitely out of the mix of chauffeurs. My parents almost seemed disappointed they couldn’t drop me off to the Formal. I was packing my ‘essentials’ bag that afternoon while my parents talked to me about the evening and curfews and all that embarrassing stuff and I think they just assumed they would take me. I let them down gently, but it was hard to tell them that it wasn’t the done thing to be dropped at the front door of your Formal by doting parents.

  Considering our choice of transport was getting smaller, it was left up to the boys to decide if we were going with them. If they weren’t able to drive us, then we girls would have to catch a taxi. We figured the whole masquerade theme would help cover the glassy texture of our eyes when we arrived at the venue so Mr Head wouldn’t freak if he saw his school captain ‘happier’ than usual. I wasn’t a big fan of getting totally sloshed, but if my friends were planning to force me to dance all night, I’d need a little to drink.

  Sarah’s mum was an old-fashioned hippie, who looked like she should have been a teenager in the sixties instead of the seventies. Her light brown hair was long, straight and uncoloured, and she wore high-waist jeans and a t-shirt with a peace sign on it. She acted our age and she could have been if only for the fact that she had Sarah at eighteen and hadn’t grown up one iota since. Shana, Sarah and I appreciated the fact that Mrs Williams wasn’t averse to teenage drinking under her roof and, thankfully, she offered to drive us to the Formal. She was way cooler than my parents and we didn’t need the boys after all.

  Fluttering in my stomach distracted me as we pulled up to the busy venue. It was a modern one-storey building, lit up with lights at all angles like a hundred candles.

  Red carpet was rolled out the front steps where Sarah’s mum dropped us and Sarah giggled as though we were royalty while she linked arms with Shana and me. As I walked up the stairs I caught a glimpse of Skye and the Brigade, decked out in mixtures of black and white, blonde hair straight and as fake as ever. They were clearly drunk, laughing and clinging to each other desperately in their platform heels and tight dresses. Shana shook her head at them but they were too in their own world to notice any of us.

  From slightly behind Skye I could see Rachael, completely changed from the girl I once knew; now looking exactly the same as the rest of the girls. I felt more sorry for her now than I once did for me.

  The boys were waiting for us out the front and I stood with my back to them on the front step gazing out into the car park as they presented their girls with corsages and compliments. Rummaging in my purse, I produced my ticket and stepped forward to hand it to the greeters at the door. They informed me photos were being taken behind a wall immediately to the left of the indoor entrance. I trotted round there, careful not to step on my own feet, and every few seconds I’d hear ‘smile.’ and see a giant flash go off. Couples would come out from the other side of the wall rubbing their eyes and blinking wildly.

  I stopped short of joining the line. Now here was a dilemma. Was I going to have photos with Sarah or Shana?

  Or by myself? I wouldn’t have pictures to remember of a proper couple, you know, with a guy, and partner photos with the girls was out of the question.

  My palms started to sweat.

 
‘What is it?’ Sarah asked, joining me behind the line and prodding my stomach with her elbow.

  ‘I don’t need any photos,’ I said, taking deep breaths and nodding to myself.

  ‘Of course you do. You’ve got to remember for all time how hot you were at eighteen,’ she grinned, trying to take the light-hearted road.

  I shook my head wildly. ‘I have plenty of other photos from earlier to remind me of that. These will be really expensive anyway. I’ll wait for you guys inside.’ I started to move past her.

  Sarah poked Shana and pulled her close to form an impenetrable wall shoulder-to-shoulder. I tried to push past but they stopped me. Shana looked confused, but blocked my path in good faith for the reason Sarah would give her later.

  ‘Let me past,’ I whispered hotly, tipsy temper flaring.

  ‘Not until you tell us what the real problem is,’ Sarah said, folding her arms in defiance. ‘She doesn’t want any photos,’ she added to Shana. Shana gasped.

  ‘I have told you,’ I whined. ‘I need to pee. Let me go.’

  ‘Nope. Keep talking.’ Both girls glared at me. I rolled my eyes.

  We were only a few couples away from being photographed; the boys had joined behind us and I had to escape now or run the risk of being humiliated in front of the line of endless couples behind me.

  ‘Fine. I forgot about the photo part of the Formal, all right. The real meaning of Formal photos. I don’t have a partner, so I’m going to be embarrassed when it’s my turn and the photographer asks for the partner shot.’

  My face became hot after letting out the truth. They blinked at me.

  ‘Does my company as a date mean nothing to you?’ Shana started, big eyes filling with tears on cue.

  I rolled my eyes at the old-fashioned guilt trip. ‘I don’t have time for this Shana.’

  ‘No, I think she has a good point,’ Sarah chimed in. ‘Should I feel embarrassed because I’m not here with a hot male date?’

  ‘Well, no, but you …’

  ‘But I choose to be this way?’ She raised one menacing eyebrow. ‘Daisy. Of course I’d be here with a date if there was anyone half worthy to go with. But there’s not at the moment. Does that mean I shouldn’t go enjoy myself?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘You can borrow James for the photo if you want,’ Shana offered, smiling brightly.

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think he’d feel comfortable with his hands on my hips, even if it was only for a photo.’

  ‘I can ask him,’ Shana shrugged, turning around.

  I grabbed her elbow fiercely and held her still. She gasped and frowned at me, waiting for me to let go. I didn’t.

  ‘Listen to me, lovely ladies. No one is going to step in for me. I’m going to side step around you both now and steal along the wall and into the main room, where I’ll be waiting for you when you’ve finished your …’

  ‘Next, please,’ the photographer called in monotone.

  Like the traitors they are, Sarah and Shana pushed me simultaneously into the light of the photographer where I stood gingerly in my heels. They would have banked on the fact that I’d be too polite to try to escape after I was stuck in the situation.

  ‘Stand in front of the box, please,’ he ordered, positioning himself to take my first photo.

  Box? What box?

  There was no box.

  I looked around my feet wildly and all I could see was the spinning blood-red carpet and the white light and everyone waiting for the girl who was holding up important proceedings.

  ‘In front of the box, miss.’ This time he pointed to my right and I stupidly glanced over my shoulder at the curtain. There couldn’t be a box in the curtain. Could there?

  In desperation I sought Sarah and Shana’s guidance. They were pointing at something right next to me and giggling and through the slow haze of alcohol effects I thought I saw them pointing at the pot plant. That’s clearly not a box, my eyes said back to them.

  ‘Are we going to do this sometime tonight?’ cranky photographer man said dryly.

  ‘Where is the box?’ I whispered at him, feeling sweat creep through the satin of my dress under my arms. Great. Loner pictures with sweat patches. I should have mown my friends down while I had the chance.

  ‘OK. Look to your right, then down, yes, that’s it,’ he said patronisingly as I noticed the pot plant was inside the elusive said box. He could have said that earlier. ‘Now smile.’

  Without having another second to think, I clasped my hands together in front of me and smiled broadly at his lens. The evil flash stunned me and it was all I could do not to smear mascara across my face trying to rescue my eyes.

  ‘Friend photo?’ he asked and I waved Sarah and Shana into the lights. We got pictures of us in a line of three and Sarah and I carrying a petite Shana who was lying across our arms. Then they joined the line again and I was straightening up the silk in my dress ready to join them.

  ‘Partner photo,’ he called, readjusting settings and focus on his camera.

  Smothering any disappointment that threatened to seep through, I said firmly, ‘Sorry, I don’t have …’

  Suddenly Roman stumbled forward from the group with a bewildered expression, having been pushed in the back much the same way I was from my friends. Before looking at me, he glared over his shoulder at his smiling friends and I knew, like me, he’d be too polite to back out now because it would humiliate me further. I had to hand it to our friends. They must have learnt some tricks from the Blonde Brigade after five years of school with them.

  ‘Good. Now stand next to the box again,’ he pointed for my benefit and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him, ‘and turn your bodies to the side, facing each other.’

  Roman’s eyes met mine as he tried to send me an apology with his eyes. I was the one who should be apologising. My lack of a partner got us both into this mess.

  ‘Closer, people. It is OK to touch.’

  Distinctly I felt Roman’s hand slide to the small of my back and press gently to move me closer to him. He kept pressing until our waists and chests were together, and I couldn’t breathe.

  What was I supposed to do with my arms? Or my face? Cheek-to-cheek?

  ‘Put your right arm across his left and your left arm on his hip. Keep your heads closer together please. You aren’t siblings I hope,’ he mumbled sarcastically.

  I stifled a smirk and glanced up at Roman for the first time to check his reaction. On one side of his cheek there was a small dimple threatening to expose itself. I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe it only came out when he tried to stop himself from smiling.

  ‘Look at me please and, smile,’ he commanded, flashing us again. I swear I heard him mutter ‘finally’ under his breath, but I let it slide.

  ‘Now, you.’ He pointed to me. ‘Turn around. And you.’ He pointed to Roman. ‘Put your arms around her middle. Lean into him and smile … and hurry up. You’re holding up the line.’

  I hid a gasp as I felt Roman’s warm hands slide around my waist and join safely at my stomach. It’s nearly over, I told myself. Don’t blow your cover.

  What cover was that? I wasn’t sure if I was gasping because I liked Roman’s hands and didn’t want them to leave my stomach, or whether I simply hadn’t expected partner photos to be this … good.

  ‘And, we’re done. Your individual photo now, sir,’ he said to Roman and nodded for me to leave. Roman’s hands lingered for another second before he let them slide off my waist and drop to his side.

  I ran for cover inside the centre and was grateful my friends would be a while getting their photos done. Breathing heavily, I made a beeline for the cloakroom where I knew it would be quiet and peaceful. I did the whole greeting friends thing on the way and feigned excitement over their dresses, hair and make-up. I didn’t feel the least bit excited anymore. I was sentimental, but not the happy kind.

  Without raising my eyes, I did my usual trick of nearly running into imp
ortant people when I wasn’t watching.

  ‘Easy there, Miss Brooks, or you’ll run into this wall,’ Mr Head’s voice boomed amidst the noise and darkness.

  I jumped, glancing up at the wall, and immediately started to apologise.

  ‘Daisy, can we have a word please?’ Mr Head said solemnly and I secretly wondered if he didn’t approve of my hairdo, or if he could smell alcohol on me. I hadn’t drunk that much. It’d be just my luck to be sent home in disgrace on Formal night.

  ‘Uh, sure,’ I replied with a shrug.

  ‘Follow me.’

  He led the way into the large cloakroom and stood near the shawls and handbags placed neatly in pigeonhole shelving. A few year eleven girls were busy taking people’s belongings and giving them a card to claim them back at the end of the night. The band’s music was now muffled but I felt the bass through the walls as I waited nervously for the lecture I was certain I was going to get.

  Mr Head stood staring at the dark wooden floor, shifting from foot to foot. What was this about?

  ‘Mr Head, I’m not really sure I …’

  ‘Let me be direct with you here, Daisy,’ Mr Head interrupted. I sighed with relief. This would be over soon, now that he was talking. ‘I didn’t think for a minute you’d last the year out being captain.’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve said that once or twice before,’ I mumbled, folding my arms in defence.

  ‘Just wait. I know I can be a stick in the mud sometimes. There are times when principals have to be in order to get the best out of their students. I might have what you consider to be an unconventional way of achieving that, but look how you turned out.’ He swept his arm awkwardly in my direction and tried to look pleased.

  I frowned with a slight smile on my face, waiting for my eyes to open and discover I’d only been dreaming about my narcissistic principal giving me a compliment. I waited, just as Mr Head waited with a similar frown on his face, for me to give any kind of response.

  ‘OK, have it your way. Since gratitude isn’t one of your strong points, let me conclude with hearty thanks for the hard work you and Roman have put into your captaincy duties. Apparently this is the year we’ve had the most tickets sold for a Formal. Nearly two hundred students are here tonight because of your leadership and organisational skills. You proved me wrong and I like that about you. Good luck in the future, Miss Brooks, if I don’t get another chance to say it,’ he said, and turned to leave.