Underdog

Home > Other > Underdog > Page 19
Underdog Page 19

by Tobias Madden


  Rose hasn’t posted anything, but she’s in lots of other people’s photos. Her arms draped around her friends, big smile, striking silly poses, laughing, carefree, thoughts of study so far from her mind. Olive wishes she knew what that felt like.

  Twenty minutes pass and Rose still isn’t home. It’s not the first time she’s missed curfew. Olive notices a new live stream in her Instagram feed. She clicks on it to watch a close-up of a guy from Rose’s year grinning at the camera. He’s pretending to be a news reporter, commentating on who hooked up with who at Tom’s party. Olive doesn’t want to waste brain cells filling her head with gossip, and is about to flick past it when a voice off camera interrupts. ‘Shit! The cops are up ahead.’

  The guy in frame turns, dropping his ‘reporter’ character as he looks away from the camera. ‘Is that an ambulance too?’

  Olive’s stomach immediately tenses. The camera now jerks as the car visibly slows down. Her heart begins to beat faster as she sees the flicker of red and blue from a police car. But then the live feed goes dark when the phone is dropped into its owner’s lap. Olive’s stomach churns as she listens to the muffled voices.

  ‘Whose car is it?’

  ‘Dunno. It’s so mangled.’

  There’s movement on screen as the owner picks up the phone again, but then the feed just stops, automatically scrolling to the next Insta story. Olive flicks back, desperately watching the footage again. She tries to see if it’s Rose’s car. Their car. But the footage is too dark.

  Her hand begins to shake as she exits Instagram and clicks into her contacts to call Rose.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up.

  But each long ring is left unanswered.

  Lead sinks in Olive’s stomach as her panicked breathing flutters in the back of her throat. Her fingers fly over her phone. ‘Where are you? Saw there was an accident on Ocean Drive. Ring me!’ Then adds, after a moment, ‘Please!’

  Olive stares at her phone, waiting, willing Rose to call her, message her, anything. She clicks back to her Instagram feed to see if Rose has posted anything.

  Nothing…

  Until there is a knock on the door.

  Hope fills Olive’s mind as she imagines herself running to the front door, finding out that Rose got a lift home with someone else because she lost her keys.

  But Olive just lies there, too scared to move. What if it isn’t Rose at the door?

  She hears her mum move down the hall.

  Olive bites down on her lip, terrified to let her breath escape.

  The murmur of strange voices cements the fear that’s been growing in the pit of her stomach.

  An ear-piercing sob.

  The rush of her dad’s footsteps.

  More words exchanged.

  Olive hurries now and makes it down the hall to see her mum collapse onto the floor, wailing in unnerving pain. Through the front window, Olive sees the haze of red and blue lights from the police car.

  All the Days After

  There’s a blur of people at Rose’s funeral. Phrases like ‘lost too soon’ and ‘she’s one of the angels now’ keep floating through the air. Olive has to stop herself from screaming at the words. Don’t these people realise she doesn’t want Rose to be with the angels? She wants her to be across the hall cutting out magazines and being happy with her big dreams.

  Olive stands next to her mum and dad, who thank people for coming, with tears in their eyes. Her parents nod as everyone tells them how wonderful Rose was, about the spark she brought to any occasion. That she was loving and fun and adored by all. Olive mindlessly thinks about what people would say about her. I didn’t really know Olive Atkins, but she got very good grades. Smart girl, dedicated to her studies… Before all this, Olive probably would have felt that kind of reflection would be admirable, but now she just feels disappointed in herself.

  People hug her to them, but she feels limp in their arms. She knows they’re trying to offer her kindness, but she just wishes they’d go away.

  She can feel people watching her, but she averts her eyes. Her mouth has no taste for words anymore. She quietly slips away from the crowd and hides herself behind some large potted plants at the end of the funeral home verandah. She tries to steady her breath as she pushes away images of the afternoon she shared with Rose at the beach only a week ago. Rose’s words, ‘We’ll just take a snapshot in our heads, so we can remember it forever,’ play on repeat. The image is so clear that for a split second she can pretend Rose is still here. Olive hadn’t felt as happy as she had that afternoon since she was a kid, and now she can’t imagine ever being happy again. Going over every detail of that afternoon is like having one leg in scalding water, the other under a refreshing waterfall; she can’t quite figure out whether it brings her more pain or more relief.

  From her hiding spot, Olive watches the crowd. There are so many of them spilling out of the funeral home. She knows she shouldn’t compare herself but wonders how many people would have been sad to see her die. If anything, they would have been sad for Rose, they would have come to Olive’s funeral for Rose’s sake. Poor Rose who had lost her sister.

  She takes another deep breath as she sees Rose’s mass of good friends. They’re tear-stained and hugging, arms draped around one another. Some dropped into the house over the past few days, most bringing meals their parents made, all of them wanting to say how much they’ll miss Rose. Her parents asked them questions, desperate to know as much as they could about Rose’s last hours alive.

  But no one knows why there was an accident. The investigation showed that Rose hadn’t been drinking, wasn’t using her phone in the car, wasn’t speeding. But for some reason, her car rammed head-on into a tree on the side of the road.

  Had a kangaroo jumped out in front of her?

  Had another car been involved but fled the scene?

  Had she been reaching for something on the passenger-side floor?

  They didn’t know the answer. Would never know the answer. And for Olive, this seemed unbearable. Every time she thought about it, there was a tightening across her chest.

  Olive sees Tom Henderson and wonders what would have happened if she’d gone along to his Eighteenth. Olive would have driven, not Rose. Would they have made it home? She closes her eyes for just a second, trying to keep the guilt away.

  He must sense that she’s staring at him, because he looks directly up at her. They lock eyes. He looks handsome in a suit. Olive wonders if it’s the same suit he planned on wearing to their Year Twelve Formal in a few weeks’ time.

  He starts towards her. She knows he wants to talk to her but, instead, she turns and quickly walks away, off the verandah and into the carpark. She wonders if he’ll follow her.

  But he doesn’t.

  Days pass. Weeks pass. Olive walks around in a haze. She keeps thinking, This isn’t real. I’m going to wake up from this. She’s numb to everything. She’s cried, of course she’s cried. She’s never felt sadder, but still, she’s waiting for it—for the grief to truly hit her. She can’t imagine a life without Rose. She can hear her voice so clearly and sees her in every room of the house. But Olive fears there will be a time when she won’t hear her voice, won’t see her face, and knows her whole world is going to come crashing down.

  Life without Rose.

  Life without Rose.

  It doesn’t seem like a life worth living.

  While the rest of her year finish their exams, Olive stays at home. While the rest of her year celebrates the end of school, Olive stays at home. She wonders if it would have been the same if Rose was still alive. Olive probably would have celebrated thirteen years of school by reading a book, rather than partying with everyone else. She imagines Rose rolling her eyes, telling her to let loose for once.

  Olive’s results come back. Thankfully, the school principal was able to organise ‘misadventures’ so that she would still receive her HSC, based on her averages over the course of the year. Her marks are good—great, actually, as eve
ryone would have expected. But there’s no satisfaction.

  She defers uni. Her parents tell her she should still go, that it’d be good for her. But she says she can’t, and her parents drop the subject.

  The house is quiet, the walls dripping in sadness. Her parents go back to work, not sure what else to do.

  And Olive is all alone. After always having a plan, she has no idea what to do with herself and all the years stretching out ahead of her.

  Olive regularly looks back through Rose’s Instagram photos. Most of them offer her comfort, maybe even a sense of contact. She spends hours clicking through them. It’s just Rose’s last post she tries not to look at—a selfie Rose took before going to Tom’s party. She’d captioned it ‘Party ready!’ and is pouting at the camera, a cheeky glint in her eye. Olive’s stomach always turns thinking back to that night in the kitchen before Rose left… Her long hair, her floaty dress, her eyes blinking out through a forest of mascara. Why didn’t Olive just leave her books for one night and go with Rose? Why was she so scared of having fun? Of being a social disappointment? Of not being the best at school? The questions haunt her. She wishes she had a chance to redo that night. Maybe things would be different…

  One day, Olive finds herself looking back through her own photos. At first she’s filled with a dull disappointment at the photos that supposedly portray her life. But then, as she clicks onto each one, she sees that @_rose_atkins had liked every single one of her posts. In a world where Olive always felt somewhat alone, she realises she was never alone at all. She always had Rose. Her sister had always been there for her.

  Olive’s eyes sting with tears and her whole body aches, the tidal wave of grief pulling her under. She lets herself be taken, the pain dragging her further and further down. She wonders if she’ll ever be free from it.

  Rose’s bedroom door was open on the night she died. But now the door is shut. Olive can’t remember when it happened. Whether it was a couple of days after or a couple of weeks. Her mum goes in there most nights and lies on Rose’s bed, often crying herself to sleep. Olive listens to her from her own room, wishing she could go and comfort her, but she doesn’t want to intrude.

  Olive hasn’t wanted to go in there. She’s been too scared to go in there. But for some reason, today she finds herself opening the door.

  Oh. A small sound escapes her mouth as she sees it’s exactly the same as Rose left it. Clean, though. Her mum must have dusted and placed things back where they were. Jewellery spilled out onto her dresser, a half-read book on her bedside table, even some clothes crumpled on the floor near the wardrobe.

  She sits at Rose’s desk, not wanting to lie in the space that offers her mum comfort. Olive looks up at the pinboard that Rose had been working on. Olive hadn’t paid much attention to it after that first day when she’d criticised Rose’s dream of going to Paris.

  A lump forms in her throat, wondering why she felt like she always had to point out the flaws in Rose’s ideas. Why hadn’t she been able to say something nice?

  The pinboard is full of glitter and bright colours. ‘Weird and Wacky Tour’ is written in thick, loopy letters at the top. The board hosts a map of Australia, with little post-its pinned all over. Olive finds her fingers tracing over Rose’s handwriting.

  Coffs Harbour—Eat a banana at The Big Banana!

  Mount Gambier—Dip my toes in the BLUE Lake!

  Wave Rock—Pretend to surf the granite formation!

  Talbot Bay—Jet boat ride through the Horizontal Water Falls!

  Coober Pedy—Supposed to look like Tatooine from Star Wars!!!

  Wycliffe Well—The UFO capital of Australia! (How cool?!)

  The exclamation marks after every place bring a small smile to Olive’s face, imagining her sister’s excitement as she uncovered all the amazing places she wanted to go. All the dreams she had. All the places Rose had mentioned and so many more. Even the Dog on the Tuckerbox.

  And just like that. Olive knows her dreams have changed.

  Five Months Later

  ‘Would you mind taking a photo for me?’

  The woman nearby smiles, ‘Of course,’ and takes Olive’s phone.

  Olive steps back towards the statue and can’t help but laugh as the woman snaps her photo.

  ‘You look happy,’ the woman comments, handing her phone back.

  ‘It’s a photo for my sister,’ Olive says, her heart tugging as it always does. But as Olive visits each place on the Weird and Wacky Tour she can feel Rose there with her. Rose’s tour has become their tour.

  ‘It’s much smaller than I thought it would be.’ Olive gestures to the Dog on the Tuckerbox. She wonders if Rose realised how small it was.

  The woman nods. ‘Hope it’s not a letdown?’

  Olive shakes her head as she stares at the statue. ‘No way. It’s cool!’ She finally gets what Rose had been going on about.

  The woman walks off. Olive holds her phone up to take another photo, this time a grinning selfie with the Dog on the Tuckerbox positioned over her shoulder. If she stares hard enough at the photo, she can see Rose in the picture too. She tilts her head back, letting the sun warm her face. She closes her eyes, fresh air filling her lungs, a soft calmness sweeping through her body.

  #WorldHereICome.

  About the Authors

  Fleur Ferris (Foreword)

  Fleur Ferris worked sixteen years in police and ambulance services in Victoria and South Australia before pursuing a career in writing crime fiction. Fleur is now the best-selling, award-winning and internationally published author of YA thrillers Risk, Black, Wreck and Found.

  Fleur is pursuing studies in screenwriting and editing her debut novel for the middle grade audience, which will be released by Penguin Random House Australia in 2019.

  Sofia Casanova

  Sofia is a writer, editor and blogger based in Sydney. She works in publishing and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. Her writing has been featured on Meanjin and Junkee, and she frequently tweets @sofiaecasanova.

  Cassi Dorian

  Cassi is a Melbourne author who is currently studying Creative Writing at a Masters level. Her journey towards studying writing was an odd one, and in her undergraduate years she swapped out of a course for Aerospace Engineering to pursue her passion for the arts. She is a proud Slytherin, and in her spare time enjoys watching reruns of The Simpsons, which she often quotes to the annoyance of everyone around her.

  Find out more on Cassi’s Instagram @cassidorianbooks

  Michael Earp

  The book industry has claimed Michael’s career. Between being a children’s and YA specialist bookseller and a sales and marketing representative for a children’s publisher, he has passionately worked with children’s and YA books for more than half his life. A teacher who never taught because he couldn’t bring himself to leave the book industry, he’s a bit of a fanboy of Queer YA.

  His writing has appeared in The Victorian Writer and Aurealis. He also established the #AusQueerYA tumblr to coincide with the #LoveOzYA campaign. He is the editor of Kindred: 12 Queer #LoveOzYA Stories, due out in 2019.

  michaelearp.net, @littleelfman

  Jes Layton

  Jes (23, she/he) is a geek with a hat. Born on Gulidjan land, now living on Wurundjeri. Jes writes about and draws queer-nerdy things. She is the Administration Officer for the Melbourne City of Literature office, a freelancer, and a YA writer/advocate. Her work has been published in The Victorian Writer, Reading Victoria, Others: An RMIT Anthology, and online (under several dozen pseudonyms). He has appeared at several lit festivals around Melbourne discussing fanfiction and online fan culture. Try as he might, Jes is unable to keep his houseplants alive for very long. Send your condolence GIFs to @AGeekwithaHat (Twitter/Insta).

  Sophie L Macdonald

  Sophie is an English author who uses her background in psychology to delve into the darker corners of her characters’ minds. She has a love of all things twisty, beautiful, weird, and une
asy, and will probably be a suspect if anything criminally strange happens in her local village.

  She writes short stories for both print and online publications, and her debut YA dark fantasy novel, Theatre of Illusions, will be published in 2019 by 1231 Publishing. You can find her short stories in the anthologies Futurevision, Obliquity and The Evil Inside by 1231 Publishing, as well as in Seasons of Discontent by Needle in the Hay.

  sophielmacdonald.com, Twitter: @SophieLMac.

  Tobias Madden (Editor)

  Tobias is a writer, editor, and proud Hufflepuff. Originally from Ballarat, Tobias has spent the past 10 years working as a singer/dancer/actor, touring Australia and New Zealand with musicals such as Mary Poppins, CATS, and Guys and Dolls. In recent times, he rekindled his childhood passion for writing, and shifted his attention to the world of publishing. In 2017, he was given the opportunity to edit an indie short story anthology called WOLVES, and to typeset another, called Seasons of Discontent, both for Needle in the Hay. Feeling as though he should use his new skills for the powers of Good, Tobias set to work on the Underdog project. Underdog is Tobias’s first commercial undertaking as an editor, and he hopes that what started out as a very humble idea will grow into something much bigger: a platform for unpublished #LoveOzYA writers to showcase their work and have their voices heard.

  tobiasmadden.net

  Insta: @tobias_madden

  Stacey Malacari

  Stacey is a Queer writer from Perth, Western Australia. She is the founder of Get YA Words Out, a platform supporting the reading, writing and publishing of Australian Queer YA fiction. Stacey loves dystopian fiction, vegetarian cooking, coffee, wine, being hilarious, spending time with her family, cool socks, going on adventures, and all things Queer-culture. She cares strongly about fighting social injustices, particularly in the Queer community, taking care of people, our planet and animal rights. The Bees was inspired by, and co-edited with, her partner, Paris. It is a reflection on the complexity of families, on appreciating what you have and choosing love over fear. More simply, in the words of Frida Kahlo, ‘Viva la vida’.

 

‹ Prev