I’ve missed the chance to do appointments for our senior dance but there are some other high schools who haven’t had their formals yet. Even the thought of going to people’s homes is exciting. The chance to stop in other people’s lives for an hour or two, then pack up and be on my way.
“You could do it anywhere,” Maz adds, slowly pulling a joint together, the crumbled leaves so loose he’ll be lucky to get the thing to light. “It’s that what d’you call it? Gig economy.”
I could do it anywhere.
If I can earn money from something I already know how to do, I won’t need nearly as much cash to leave and start again somewhere new. I could do it tomorrow.
Well, not tomorrow but soon. Sooner than I thought.
A worm of excitement wriggles around in my belly. Just a couple of appointments a week would see me right. Even though I’d have to replace items more quickly, it shouldn’t be that much more expensive than keeping a full kit for just myself. I could add new products, set my style. Maybe make a name for myself. Become a status symbol among the high school elite wherever I settle.
Auckland would be perfect for that. I could get lost in the big city, carve out a niche for myself. Maybe work my way up to having a chair at a big-name beauty parlour or hairdresser.
As the idea takes firmer and firmer hold, I grab my school laptop from my car, connect to the neighbours wifi, and research online, looking for examples of how other service providers have set up their businesses. There’ll be things I haven’t thought about, things that I won’t know until I do it, but if I start with a small buffer, things can’t get too bad.
“Thank you,” I say half an hour later, my head buzzing with so many thoughts it’s hard for me to capture any. I smack a kiss on Ratty’s cheek, leaving him with a bemused smile as I clear an area on the floor to research and take notes.
I can make it work. I know I can. Under the table, sure, but maybe I can catch a ride across the ditch and set up in Australia. Even though it’s close, it might still be far enough away that Wilbur won’t chase me there.
This might be the missing part I need to finally break free.
The elation I have at the thought enables me to put the other constraints under the spotlight. The things that always seem too hard to even start to think about. The most important of those is the videos.
My thoughts shy away from them, too shocking, too painful, too triggering. I can’t do anything about them, don’t have the faintest idea of where to start.
But people gain access to data all the time. Why can’t somebody find their way into Wilbur’s hard drive and erase what they find there?
It’s child porn. No matter what I agreed to do, no matter what he paid me. A hacker with a social conscience might be happy to help. Even for free.
Although, if I have a means to generate my income, my bank account is once again at my disposal. Even if I spend it all on wiping those videos from the face of the earth, it’ll be worth it.
I do a few searches, happily trialling out a new reality in my head. One where I can choose where I go and what I do and who I do it with.
In this world, if an annoyingly handsome boy declared he had a crush on me, I might put him off as a tease rather than out of fear a relationship will blow my life to pieces.
In this world, if he kissed me at a party, I wouldn’t have to stop. Not unless I wanted to. I wouldn’t ever have to hear the agonised confusion in his voice as he asked me why.
In this world, he wouldn’t mobilise the entire senior year against me.
There’s a forum with open requests I struggle to read through. My eyes are tired from the screens, and I judiciously use my thumb to keep my focus where it needs to be.
The requests seem to be answered by subject matter experts who assess the service required and quote a price. That seems safe enough. If they can’t help me, I won’t be out any money and if they can…
Tingles run up my arms as I think of that imaginary future. I type out a quick request, paraphrasing and talking around the true issue as much as I can, then post it. The moderation only takes a minute to approve and my request for help with the deletion of digital video files is released to the world.
I close the laptop with my body alternating between the buzz of anxiety and the fizzle of anticipation.
Somewhere in there are the first stirrings of another emotion. Hope.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
EM
There’s an enormous spider in my locker on Tuesday morning. Luckily, it’s fake. Something my brain works out a few seconds after my body does. Far too late to call back the startled shriek I utter when it springs out and bites my hand.
Or falls in a rubbery heap to the floor. I concede it might have been the latter.
I steal a glance in either direction but there are enough amused faces I can’t tell who the prank originates with. The proximate cause of it all is Caylon, but that’s something I’m not in a stable enough mood to deal with right now.
