Dare You (7 page)

The TV was on, but neither Khaden nor Taj were paying attention to the bad Sunday night movie. Taj was texting. Khaden stared at the space above the TV, thinking about Sas, and Ruby.

The three of them had been best friends since Year One, when Sas punched Zac Robard for teasing Khaden about hanging out with girls. From then on, they did everything together.

In Year Five, after Sas fell off the monkey bars and broke her wrist, he and Ruby had waited in the sick bay with Sas until her mum arrived. In Year Seven, the three of them had talked the sports coordinator, Ms Jonas, into choosing them to represent the school at a tenpin bowling competition, even though none of them had played competitively. They lost every game.

From the time they were in Year Two, Khaden, Sas and Ruby had sleepovers at each other’s homes most weekends
and over the holidays. When they turned eleven, Khaden had to sleep in a different room to the girls, but they still managed to talk and play games until four in the morning.

So why had everything changed between him and Sas and not between him and Ruby? And why now? Khaden first noticed something was different a few months ago, while they were watching a chick-flick Ruby had insisted they see.

Sas cried silent tears for the last half of the movie, which made something flutter in Khaden’s stomach. Ruby had cried too, loud sobs and sighs, but that just made him smile.

Ruby was his friend—the one who helped him out with maths, laughed at his
Ferris Bueller
quotes and always brought an extra snack in her school lunch for him. But Sas...

He couldn’t stop thinking about Sas—her laugh, her sleek silhouette shimmering beneath the pool surface, the way she flicked her hair back when she was concentrating.

What did Ruby do when she concentrated? He’d never noticed.

Khaden sighed.

‘Crap movie, isn’t it. Want to watch the next
Matrix
movie?’ said Taj.

‘Again?’

‘Never get enough
Matrix,
Khade.’ Taj glanced at Khaden. ‘So, what did you get up to today?’

‘Nothing. Hung out at Sas’s place, painting her room.’

Taj grinned. ‘You and Sas—is she your girlfriend now?’

Khaden shrugged.

‘You’re blushing.’

The front door swung open and banged against the wall, a full stop to their conversation.

‘Here we go,’ hissed Taj.

‘Hey Dad,’ said Khaden, trying to sound normal. ‘Whatcha been up to?’

Mike stood in the doorway, his shoulders seemingly filling the doorframe. ‘What do you reckon? The only thing I ever do—work. Not that you two bums care.’

Khaden turned down the TV volume with the remote. When Mike was like this, the simplest thing, like a loud ad, would set him off. The plastic tarp over the family room window snapped in the night breeze.

‘What the hell is my tarp doing on that window?’ said Mike. It had been there for days and he hadn’t commented on it until now.

‘It was my idea,’ Khaden said before Taj could speak. ‘A sheet wouldn’t protect the carpet and stuff if it rains.’

‘Wouldn’t protect his precious computer,’ said Mike, dumping his keys on the table by the door. ‘Who went into my shed?’

‘Me,’ Khaden blurted. Taj’s glare burned into his skin. ‘It was my idea to check in the shed.’

Mike’s pupils were large and his face ruddy. He stood over the sofa where Taj and Khaden sat, backs now straight. Mike pointed at Khaden. ‘I’ve told you before, keep the hell out of my shed.’

Taj stood. ‘Ease up. It’s not like you were using it. It was dumped over your beer stash.’

A flame flickered in Mike’s eyes.

The room exploded with yelling and pushing. As Khaden
squeezed between his father and brother to keep them apart, pain, red and barbed, flared in his already bruised cheek. Khaden fell and curled into a ball. Everything was silent for a moment, then Khaden’s ears began ringing.

‘Khade? You okay?’ Taj stood over him, his face a mask of fear. Mike was behind Taj, fists clenched.

Khaden stumbled to his feet, ears now squealing more than ringing. He tried to work out where the pain was coming from—his eye, ear or cheek? A voice exploded from him. ‘I’ve had it with you psychos! I’m so sick of your bullshit!’ Rage pulsing through every cell in his body, Khaden sprinted out the open front door.

Khaden leant against the brick fence, panting. Even though his heart beat flat-out and his vision was blurry, he knew where he was—outside Sas’s home. The pain had focused, like a torch beam in a dark room. His cheekbone and eye hurt like hell and he could still taste blood, though not as much as before. With his tongue, Khaden explored his mouth. The inside of his bottom lip was lumpy and tender.

Who had hit him? Dad or Taj?

Once his heart slowed, Khaden crept down Sas’s drive—not in a weird, stalker way, but to see if the lights were on. He’d have sent her a text if, in his rush to escape, he hadn’t left his phone at home.

Sas’s home was dark and reeked of sleep. He slunk back to the footpath and wondered where he could go. If Sas was asleep, Ruby would be too. Mrs Neri would take him in, but since Khaden was sure she’d called the cops the other night, that wasn’t going to happen.

That just left the last place he wanted to be. Home.

Khaden trudged up the street to the park where he, Sas and Ruby used to play as kids, and where they still hung out. Exhausted, he made for the old tram. The tram had been gutted and the middle seats replaced with a picnic table. Khaden weaved around the table, behind the driver’s cabin, and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. In the moonlight he could see the dark outline of the holes punched in the ceiling. Even though it was a warm night, he shivered.

With a sigh, Khaden curled into a ball. Using his arm for a pillow, he dozed, dreaming of angry voices, pain, blood and burning letters.

Khaden woke to the myna birds’ song filling the crisp air as the sun streamed through the empty tram windows. How long had he slept? Five hours or five minutes? His face hurt, his muscles were stiff and his mouth dry and scratchy. He staggered to his feet, stretched and headed for the drink tap near the car park.

Khaden gulped water and splashed it onto his aching face, gasping at his reflection in the silver bowl beneath the tap. His lip was fat and red, his hair wild, and the bruise on his cheek, huge. He slumped to the park bench and watched the magpies, myna birds and sparrows. Joggers paid him no attention as they puffed and panted past.

When the traffic was roaring like a ravenous beast and the sun was high in the sky, Khaden walked home.

Sas promised we’d only be in the massive craft and furnishing store for an hour at the most, but we were there until the place closed.

The three of us turned off the main road and onto the street that led to Sas’s place. Khaden balanced the rolled rug Sas just
had
to have on his shoulder, and Sas held the ‘perfect’ pink laundry hamper. I carried the purple, fuchsia and lime curtains stuffed into bags.

I’d made a new discovery about plastic bags; they were more than an environmental issue, they were a pain issue. The handles biting into my palms, my burning feet and frustration with Sas’s indecision all combined to make my brain feel like it was about to explode.

‘I’m dying of thirst,’ said Khaden, who hadn’t said much since he met us at the burger place.

I wanted to ask him if he was all right, especially since the bruise on his cheek had grown overnight and his lip
was fat, but something stopped me. ‘We could buy a drink at the supermarket,’ I said.

‘Can’t you wait ’til we get home?’ asked Sas. ‘Mum’s at work and I’m supposed to be looking after the girls and cooking dinner.’

She wasn’t worried about that when she took hours to choose curtain colours.

‘Sas, I’m dying here,’ said Khaden, his smile charming. ‘I’ll be quick.’

The sharpness in Sas’s face evaporated. ‘Promise?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Khaden.

At the supermarket, I stopped outside the automatic doors. ‘We can’t take this stuff in there,’ I said, lifting the bags holding the curtains.

‘Sure we can,’ said Khaden. ‘We have dockets.’ He turned to Sas. ‘You did keep the dockets?’

‘Yeeess.’ Sas rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, as if they’d sell this stuff here.’

‘Fair point.’ Khaden strode through the entrance towards the dairy section at the back of the store. ‘One massive, cold iced coffee for me.’

I screwed up my nose. ‘Do you know how much sugar is in those things?’

‘Have you looked at Khaden lately?’ said Sas, her voice laced with something I couldn’t name. ‘Like he needs to worry about his weight.’

At the end of the cereal aisle, a woman with bobbed, silver hair and masses of gold jewellery ploughed her trolley into Khaden’s leg.

Khaden swore and dropped the rug.

The woman shook her head and looked at Khaden as though he was something gross she’d trodden in. ‘Watch where you are going.’

‘Are you for real?’ asked Sas, hands on her hips.

‘I. Beg. Your. Pardon.’ The woman’s gaze rested on Sas’s pierced nose.

‘You bumped into him.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Khaden. ‘I’m fine.’

The look on the woman’s face said she disagreed. ‘I’ll have an apology, thank you.’

‘Sorry. Didn’t see you coming,’ said Khaden.

The woman
harrumphed
and pushed her trolley towards the All Bran, her gold bangle clinking against her watch.

‘Stuck up old cow,’ hissed Sas, still watching the woman.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Khaden reached for a litre carton of ice coffee and picked up the rug.

The woman left her trolley and strutted around the corner. Sas thrust the laundry basket at me and pounced like a panther. She wheeled the woman’s trolley away from the cereal, past the dips and cheese, and into the pet food aisle.

‘What’s she doing?’ I whispered to Khaden as we followed.

Khaden smiled. ‘Giving that old bag the shits.’

Sas abandoned the trolley beside the canned dog food and strolled to the check out. ‘Diet drinks are this way, Ruby,’ she said, taking the laundry basket back. Her eyes sparkled.

As I reached for a Coke Zero from the fridge behind the express lanes, a strangled cry sounded. The grey-haired woman stormed out of the breakfast food aisle to the help
desk. When she saw us, she raised her arm and pointed as though aiming a gun.

‘Those bogans have stolen my belongings.’

The beep of the checkouts and squeak of trolley wheels seemed to stop.

Bogans?

My spine straightened. ‘Is it an invisible trolley? Because if it’s not, I clearly don’t have it, and neither do my friends, unless Khaden has rolled it up in the rug.’

The woman gasped.

The store manager strode towards us. ‘What’s going on?’

‘These ... youths,’ spat the woman, ‘stole my trolley.’

The manager looked us up and down. ‘Did you?’

Khaden pulled a face. ‘Why would we?’

‘Because you’re the type who would dump trolleys on street corners,’ snarled the woman.

‘Look, lady,’ said Sas, fluffed up like a fighting cat. ‘We haven’t got your trolley, okay?’ She turned to the manager. ‘I have to babysit my sisters. Can we go?’

The manager looked from us to the furious woman.

A girl, about our age, pushed a trolley towards us. ‘Hey, Alex, this trolley was by the dog food.’ I swear she smirked before lifting items out of the trolley. ‘Prunes. Prune juice. Metamucil. All Bran.’

The laughter bubbling in my throat just about choked me.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ blustered the woman, snatching the cereal pack out of the girl’s hand.

‘Is everything still in your handbag?’ asked the manager, watching the woman check her purse.

‘Apparently so.’

‘Well then,’ he said, ‘seems you just forgot where you left your trolley. May I suggest that in future, you keep your handbag under constant supervision.’

The woman’s face flushed.

‘So we
bogans
can go?’ asked Sas, shooting the woman a filthy look.

‘Sure,’ said the manager.

I cleared my throat and looked at the woman. ‘We’ll have an apology, thank you.’

The manager, girl who’d found the trolley and shoppers waiting at checkouts stared at the woman. Her mouth tightened and her face coloured.

‘I apologise.’ She snatched her trolley and strode into the nearest aisle.

The moment we stepped through the automatic doors onto the footpath, we lost it. Khaden leaned on the top of the rolled rug and laughed, Sas held on to the trolley bay for support and I clutched my sides, the laughter hurting, but impossible to stop.

‘Ruby, you were on
fire!
’ said Khaden after a few minutes. He opened his iced coffee and drank about half of it.

‘Is it an invisible trolley?’ mimicked Sas.

Khaden spluttered and wiped his mouth. ‘That was gold, Ruby.’

He handed the carton to Sas who took a sip.

‘Well, she gave me the shits. Bogans! Who does she think she is?’ I glared through the glass windows.

Khaden grinned and shouldered the rug again. ‘Come on, Feisty—we promised Sas we’d hurry.’

Sas took one of the bags from me so I could drink. I took a swig and offered the bottle to her.

‘Nah, I’m good. And you know what, I don’t care if we’re late. That was worth it.’

‘I swear my palms are bleeding.’ I said, swapping the plastic bags from one hand to the other as we turned into Sas’s street.

‘I hear you,’ said Khade.

‘Oh, suck it up, you two. It’s—’ Sas stopped at her driveway.

‘What’s...’ Then I heard it too. Crying and yelling. ‘Sounds like a major fight.’

‘No, not a fight—’ She dropped the laundry basket and ran before she finished the sentence.

‘Seriously, Sas, I can’t carry...’ But Sas had gone. With a sigh, I reached for the laundry basket.

Khaden shifted the rug. ‘Here, I’ll take it.’

When we reached Sas’s place, yelling and sobs blasted out the open front door. Khaden and I dumped our stuff on the verandah.

‘How did it happen?’ bellowed Sas.

Behind the noises, I could hear the shower running.

‘She was hungry.’ I think it was Madison’s voice, but she sounded so stressed it was hard to tell. ‘She wanted noodles and was sick of waiting for you, so she filled the saucepan with hot water from the tap, and slipped. It wasn’t my fault.’

‘You could have phoned to see where I was! Or just waited! What is wrong with you, Madison?’ screamed Sas.

Khaden and I rushed down the hall.

Eliza stood outside the bathroom, crying.

Khaden squatted beside her. ‘You okay?’

She sniffed and nodded. ‘Grace is burnt.’

I eased around Khaden and Eliza and squeezed into the bathroom. Madison was huddled near the toilet. Sas stood, fully dressed, under the shower with a shivering Grace, who wore a denim skirt but no T-shirt. Her chest and left arm were scarlet and blotchy.

‘I’ll phone your mum,’ I said, my voice low.

She looked up, her face as white as the tiles behind her. ‘Thanks.’