Fair-weather friends maybe, but that’s better than no friends at all. It’s nice to have people to chat with, people who—despite or maybe because of their wealth—don’t judge me.
Tucked away in his small group, Lachlan is a revelation. He’s quick, always ready with a quip or a barbed retort but also just as ready to toss in a laugh track when the mood grows too dire.
He might relegate all his class assignments to other studentsfor completion but the more I grow to know him, the more I realise it’s not because he couldn’t do them himself. He’s smarter than he seems to realise, and his interpersonal skills are incredible.
Introvert that I am, I could happily watch him charm his way through the entire school roll.
I would blush fire truck red if that same level of charm was turned on me but that’s not an issue. After making me welcome the first day, he doesn’t pay much attention, sticking with the looser group within a group of boys rather than the girls.
After an awkward start, even Kari is welcoming. For days, I hide my nerves around her, expecting the promised retribution to fall on my head at any moment. I don’t know if she suspects the reason or just assumes I’m shy, but I don’t sense that I’m a problem for her.
If she can forgive me for publicly ‘dating’ her boyfriend (even though I wasn’t, not from my perspective) then I can forgive her threats. The strained smiles and stiff lines of our forced small talk soon turn into easy banter.
There’s a sharp edge to her teasing sometimes but the more time that elapses from the night I spent with Lachlan—the first one, not the time she doesn’t know about—the friendlier she becomes.
One day in our shared Economics class, we deface the online version of the textbook with increasingly hilarious captions until I’m in absolute hysterics and she isn’t far behind.
The teacher finds it less amusing but since I’m now in Lachlan’s weird protective circle, she doesn’t voice that opinion aloud.
After so long spent being an outcast, fitting into a group, even awkwardly, is a relief. I’m more like the girl I was a year ago. Before we fled Auckland. Before Jack.
Work is also apleasure.
At Patrick’s suggestion, I spend most of my hours in the private rooms, even building a friendly rapport with some of the regular customers. Especially a yacht building client who likes to occupy his time at the club by paying more attention to chatter than he pays to his cards.
His clientele alone would make a tabloid journalist rabid. The stories he tells about them are pure entertainment.
I also discover to my delight that the tip jars dotted around the place are heavily utilised and split evenly at the end of each shift. Despite not being a tip-friendly country, the patrons don’t seem to realise that. So many of them have overseas accents I shouldn’t be surprised but I still am.
When the extra line appears on my deposit statement, sometimes several times larger than my actual pay, I give a squeal of excitement.
My world is completely different. So much better it’s like someone flicked a random button on the television remote and the screen turned to colour instead of the black and white it’s been for so long.
Despite my longer hours, I even see Dad more often. He’s no longer taking pains to avoid me, and I hope he’s accepting help again. I attribute the noticeable change to Lachlan’s interference and pray it’ll be years before his addiction again spirals out of control.
On Thursday lunchtime, I’m sitting near Greta—the girl who first paid attention to me after Lachlan punched Carrod out—and her best friend Issy, when talk turns to the upcoming dance.
“I thought my dress was sorted,” Greta says with a heavy sigh. “Then I discovered I need an extra inch in the hips that can’t be let out of the seams, and now I don’t know what to do. There’s the bridesmaid dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding thatstill fits but it’s chartreuse because she’s an evil witch who didn’t want to be outshone on the day.”
Her expression is so over-the-top morose I have to bite back a smile. “Sounds good to me,” I say, then to cheer her up add, “Mine came from an op shop and took three washes to get all the stains out, so you’ll be better dressed than at least one person.”
She wrinkles her nose, laughing, then Kari grabs her arm. “You should come along with me tonight. Lock’s arranged for a private fitting at a department store, just a second…” She fiddles on her phone, then brings up a photo. “These are a few of the ones she’s selected for me to try on, but you’re welcome to come along and grab something so long as I get first pick.”
“Really?” Greta leans over the screen, squealing with excitement as she scrolls through the display. “Aren’t these couture?”
“Of course,” Kari says in her poshest voice before giggling. “The woman who runs the department—Tandi—can fit anything to anybody, and it only takes her a few minutes to do adjustments, an hour tops.”
Greta duly gushes, and shows them to Issy over her shoulder, who asks, “How much are they?”
Kari scrolls across to the price tag, tilting the screen so we can all see it, and I laugh, thinking it’s a joke, then turn it into a whistle of admiration when I understand it’s not.
Lachlan had told me the price tag for my outfit that first night. I’d mentally assigned the bulk of it to the jewellery but now I see half was allocated to the dress instead. My inner temperature nudges up a degree thinking how he sliced it off me.
“D’you want to come along?” Kari asks me and I take a moment to recover from the intensity of the memory.
When I do, I shake my head. “Bit rich for my blood. Besides, I told you, I’m sorted.”
“Yeah, but you could wear the dress you have to somethingelse.” She must read something in my expression because she tries another angle. “If you’re not buying, you can model them for us. Tandi puts out nibbles and a bottomless champagne glass. Doesn’t that sound fun?” She looks around the group for support and they echo her enthusiasm.
