How To Save A Life (6 page)

Seeing
Kat on Monday morning is a shock. It's almost as if all my memories from the weekend come flooding back to haunt me—her confronting me, her all but stripping in my car, asking to lick Duke's chest, telling me she's in love with—

Ugh
.

That.

So when I get the note from Kat, passed from the opposite side of the classroom during Math, asking me to meet her by the oak tree in the courtyard after school, of course I say yes.

We cross the near empty courtyard from opposite sides, our eyes only on each other. Most of the school buses have come and gone, and now it's just the truly dedicated to school and the truly dedicated to each other left on the premises. A few people say hi to me as I pass, but I give them polite smiles and nods, determined to get this confrontation over and done with.

When we're finally just a step away from each other, Kat opens her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, her hands moving forward at the same time as if to embrace me, then pulling back last minute.

"S'okay."

I throw my bag to the bitumen and sit on the wooden school bench, leaning back against the wood that's warm from the afternoon sun. Kat joins me, and we watch the cars drive past—those on their learner's licence going slower than a pensioner, those on their partials flying past the school. A train calls a lonely horn, and the shuffle of wheels on tracks plays the rhythm of routine.

It's then I realise.

She didn't say what she was sorry for.

She really is in love with my boyfriend.

"When did you know?" I barrel my gaze into her, unflinching.

She winces and looks at her hands. They twist and untwist in her lap. "When I was eight," she finally speaks. "He gave me half a Cheezel, and said he was proposing to me with the thing he loved most next to me." She gives a rueful laugh. "And I guess I've kept that with me ever since."

"You have a ten-year-old Cheezel?"

"No!" Kat laughs. "Oh, hell no. I meant, my feelings for him."

Once more the soundtrack to suburbia engulfs us. Questions keep running through my mind, but none seem appropriate to ask. Finally, I settle on, "How come you never made a move?"

She shrugs. "Most of the time he had a girlfriend. And he was always so ... always used to say how stoked he was we were friends.
Friends
." A bitter laugh, this time. "He didn't seem to realise it was the worst compliment he could give me."

My next line is easy. "Then why now?"

Pioooawwwww.

A car zooms past, the noise competing with that of another incoming train.

"I guess I just … with high school coming to an end, and you kind of keeping secrets from us—”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend, Lia. We both know there’s something you’re not telling us.”

Blood thunders in my ears as I try to keep my breathing even. They know? What do they suspect? Is it just what I keep hidden under my shirt, or is it more? Is it
everything?

“I didn't mean to hurt you, Lia." Kat looks at me, and tears glaze over her eyes. "I really like you. I was just ... I was drunk, and I made a mistake in saying those things. I do ..." A deep cough escapes her throat. "They do say drinking brings out your honest side."

I bark out a laugh. If only that was all it did …

"Say something," she begs, and I swivel in my seat, tucking one foot up under my thigh, my skirt fanned out over the pale flesh there.

"I ..." And that's when it hits me. I have no idea what to say. Because I'm not mad, but
why aren't I?

It's because you're the one who has Duke, not her, the logical side of me answers.

But there's this little voice inside my head asking,
what if there's something more?

I'm leaving town in 150 days. Will Duke and I really manage a long-distance relationship? Even if he decides to come to Melbourne, is our relationship strong enough to survive that? To graduate from high school as we will ourselves?

Yes.
I need Duke. And I need him to be happy. And I want Kat to be happy. I want them to be happy togeth—

The thought catches me off guard, and I shake it off. I love Duke. I
need
Duke.

"We're in our final year of school," I say, and now tears are welling in my eyes, too. "Who knows what the future holds?"

And with that, Kat throws herself into my arms, and we cling onto each other like two best friends who do indeed subscribe to the whole 'mates over dates' rule. I hold her tight not only because I feel bad for getting something so easily that she's wanted for so long, but also because I know that without her and Duke, my last few days in this town will be so damn difficult. They're where I go to escape. The only ones who know the "new" me.

We’re friends forever, if forever is the next 150 days.

I
sit in my car outside the doctor’s office, my head resting against the back of my seat. 2:59, the digital display reads, and I don’t have to check my phone to know there won’t be an apology text. Because Mum and I, we’ve been playing this game every few weeks since I decided I had to leave. She agrees to go see a doctor about her drinking, her depression, and her damn lack of hope for life. Then I wait in the car, and she doesn’t show up.

Life is for the living. She spends her days trying to die.

I reach for the ignition to flick the keys over to start the car, looking in my rear-view and—

Two women, standing there. One of them points at me, speaking behind her hand and I know. I know that they recognise me, that they know about what happened.

This is what I’m running from. It’s why I changed schools, deleted my social media, and got a new number. It’s why I have to get out of here because I am so sick of those looks, of always being
that girl.

One of the women walks over to my car, her green paisley dress flapping about her calves. There’s a look of determination on her face, mixed with the expression I hate most.

Pity.

I jerk the car into reverse, and the woman still behind it startles, darting to the safety of the pavement. Already I can see her mouth opening, no doubt to add to the mix of stories they tell about the Stanton family and how poorly they’re recovering from what happened. It makes me sick.

As I speed down the road toward the scout hall, I dial Mum.

“Baby, I am so sorry. Was the doctor’s today?”

A huff of air escapes my lips. “Yes, Mum.”

“I’ve missed it now … I’ll make it up to you, though. We can go another time.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. Because with only 146 days to go, I worry that soon there won’t be enough “other times” left.

***

The lights were on at the bar on Wednesday and again tonight, but no one came to the door and commented on the sadness of my song, or offered me a job. Instead, I played and I played until my fingers started to cramp.

When I finally arrive home, it’s after eight, and I’m tired to the bone. My arms are weary from lugging around my backpack plus my piano bag, and my head ready to explode from another week of late nights spent studying and early mornings spent on the house. Cleaning. Buying things to eat. Making my mother sandwiches in the hope that she'll eat them.

I pull up in the drive, my little car shuddering in relief as I turn the engine off. Straight away, I know things aren't as usual. Usual Friday night affairs in the Stanton household involve loud music, lights on, and occasionally, the odd Whitney Houston-cry-herself-to-sleep number.

They don't ever involve rap music.

Or more than—
one, two, three, four
—I count at least five bodies moving behind the curtained front window.

"Frick," I mutter, slamming the door on my car and hightailing it down the drive. The door is locked, and I fumble with my keys, trying to get in as soon as possible, but none of them seem to fit.

Finally, I swing the door open, and am met with four men and two women, including my mother, all gyrating to this horrid snarling beat. It's so loud, I worry my ears will bleed.

"Lee Lee!" Mum cries, throwing her hands up in the air. The drink she's holding sloshes dark brown liquid over the sides and it trickles down her arms, but she pushes past Smith and throws her arms around my neck anyway. She smells like sugar and smoke, all at once, and I wipe my jaw where her sticky residue was left.

"Mum, what's going on?" I ask, a smile plastered on my face.

"Having a gathering." She nods sagely. "These are Smith's—Smith!" Mum screeches, and he turns around. His eyes light up when he sees me.

"It's Lia the lady," he yells, then barrels toward me, wrapping me in a lumberjack hug. "This li'l lady cooks like a bloody demon, you lot!" He brandishes one arm toward the others, leaving one still firmly wrapped around my shoulders, and then all the attention is on me. The iPod takes far too long to change tracks.

"Hi." I give a small wave. The sweat from Smith's shirt dampens my skin, and I try not to shudder.

"I'm Julietta." The woman with too-blonde highlights and too-black roots stumbles over and air-kisses my cheeks on both sides, or I'm sure she would have if I were a little taller. Instead, she tries to bend in her six-inch heels, and only succeeds in meeting my forehead.

"Steve."

"Elmo."

I pause. "For real?"

"Be polite, Lia." Mum laughs, and it's light and happy and everything I like to think of when I think of my mother. It's Mum
before
it happened. Only, with about a quarter of a bottle of bourbon in her system.

Thumping bass fills the room and Julietta squeals, lassoing her arm in the air. "I fucking love this song!"

She jumps up on the coffee table and drags Mum up with her. I rush to turn off the overhead fan before these two rock stars lose their damn heads (although, at least it would solve Julietta's roots problem).

The guys all congregate and dance on the floor around the two women, and I pinch the inside of my arm. Is this really happening? How did I end up with a frat party for fifty-year-olds in my lounge room?

"I'm going upstairs to study," I mumble, grabbing my two bags where they fell on the floor and hiking up to my room.

Only, I don't study. If I'd thought trying to read while Mum did her best love-song dedications was hard, this is a million times house-shakingly worse. I even consider calling the police to make a noise complaint, but I know that with Mum's history, they may not look upon any even minor infringement too lightly.

After two hours, I scrounge an apple from the bottom of my bag, eat it, and hope sleep will come, even though I'm hungry and stressed about the amount of work I just missed. I could go to Duke's, but him and Kat said they were going out to another party tonight, and I don't know what time they'll be home.

What if something happens?

I swallow down that lump of worry. Just because she said she likes him doesn’t make any difference. He likes me. He
loves
me.

Step number two: Trust in love

It’s what’s held me together since back then. What makes me believe Mum will get better. Sometimes, you just have to trust.

I take my phone from my desk and open a new text.

Love you.

It's two simple words, but as soon as I hit send, I hit my safe place. Duke's arms. Me. Him.
Together.

His reply comes less than two minutes later.

Luv you 2, baby

I stand up, and cross another day off my poster, day 146, then strip down, change into my cami and sleep shorts, and lie on my bed. Knowing there's a time limit on this, and that Mum has some friends down there to help her when I go? It makes it all seem bearable.

I fall asleep to thoughts of Duke, me, and fifty-year-old strippers who do house calls.

***

It’s that same dream scene again …

She walks up the stairs, and straight away my heart leaps into my throat, beating a staccato that raps against my windpipe, the pulse point at my wrist, all throughout my body. I go from steady to strung-out in the blink of an eye.

"Mum," I call, and this time on the staircase, she spins around.

"Yes?" She frowns.

Don't go up there
,

I try to say the words, but my stupid voice won't work. My mouth moves, but no sound comes out, and Mum tilts her head to the side. "Lia ..."

Don't!

I try to scream so loud my lungs hurt, and still, nothing.

Don't go into your bedroom.

You can't see that.

It will ruin you.

"Lia, you're normally such a sensible girl." She sighs and turns her back, then walks up the stairs again.

My voice mightn't work but my feet do, and I charge after her, leaping up those stairs two at a time. She floats down the hall toward their room, and I run, run as fast as I can, and grab onto her shoulder just as she tightens her grip on the door.

"Lia, will you drop it?" She turns to face me. "I'm just going to see if your father is home. What harm could I possibly do?"

My stupid voice isn’t working once again, and as I try to yell at her, to tell her that no, she shouldn't go in there, that seeing what's behind that door will destroy her—

She twists the handle.

She opens the door.

And she screams.

And straight away I'm back on the couch, hearing that blood-curdling noise that chills me to my very bones, that signifies the start of the end of life as I know it. I race up the stairs to try to help her, to try and make it stop, but when I get there, she has collapsed in the hall.

She's broken.

And nothing I do will fix that.

"Shit," I breathe as I bolt up in bed, clutching my chest. My breath comes at a million miles an hour and I consciously try to slow it, to make the beat of my heart race a little less and steady a little more.

"Wanna glass of water?"

I jerk my head up. The door is cracked open, and Smith looks inside.

I pull the covers tighter to my chest.
What the hell is he doing here?

As I gather my bearings, I hear the noise from downstairs is still going, even though it's—quick glance at the clock—after two. Why hasn't someone called the cops?

Because you live in a derelict part of town, and they're probably too busy having their own parties to do much about it.

"N ... no." I shake my head. He steps into the room now, and pulls the door slightly to behind him. My breathing shoots up with my heart rate again as the hairs on my arms stand to attention. "Thanks. I'm just gonna go back to sleep."

I lower myself back down to my pillow and hope he'll take the hint. Every cell in my body screams that
this is not normal
and that no ordinary man would do this, but I don't know what my options are. Technically, he hasn't done anything wrong.

Mum really likes him. Mum really likes him. Mum really likes him.

Downstairs, the music continues, and glass shatters against something. I press my eyes shut, hoping no one gets hurt, then force them wide open. I don't like the idea of this guy being in the same room as me, and me being vulnerable.

Well, more vulnerable than a teenage girl in a freaking cami fighting against a lumberjack who looks like he used to be a wrestler in his younger days already is.

"Well ... g'night." He turns and opens the door again, shutting it behind him.

Footsteps thunk down the hall, and then I hear him yelling at Julietta, or maybe it's that Elmo guy, to turn the sound down a little.

Because I'm trying to sleep.

See?
My subconscious tries to give me a chuck under the chin, to cheer me up.
He’s being thoughtful.

Nice never felt so wrong.