That's Why I Wrote This Song Page 2

  Mum waves Angie’s father away as we sprint towards the bedroom. Her voice follows us down the corridor. ‘Hello, Angie.’

  She calls back, ‘Hello,’ as she throws her bag under my desk, nearly knocking over my CD collection. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You should be.’ I smile as I put on Insomniac Road’s new album, Passages of Living and Dying.

  It hurts like death

  Wars erupting

  People dying, crying, lying

  ‘Too much.’ Angie shudders. She usually pretends to like Insomniac Road, but not tonight. ‘It’s a party, Pip.’

  ‘Their music is about real life, Angie.’

  She screws up her face into an expression of pain.

  I can’t help smiling. ‘Okay, you win.’ I put on one of Mum’s old CDs. I call it The Laugh Collection. ‘Love Is In the Air’.

  We both laugh but secretly Angie likes the song. She’s a romantic at heart. Her voice tinkles through the room. ‘That’s better.’ She flourishes her make-up bag.

  ‘You’ll never change, will you?’ Make-up equals living or dying to Angie. Sometimes I wish I was like her.

  I slump onto my bed, facing my new built-in cupboards. Mum wants me to have mirror doors so my room looks bigger. Imagine getting up every morning seeing floor-to-ceiling me, on both doors. Not enough that I have to worry about the world, my father, life and death, but I’d have to face me every day in magnavision too. Mum tells me I am perfect the way I am. ‘Sure, sure,’ I say. I wish I didn’t have my bum and breasts.

  My boobs are the worst. Hereditary boobs. They are not like my room, which is small. I’m always bulging out of tops, with the buttons ready to explode. When guys talk to me, they fixate on my breasts. It feels like violation. I fold my arms in front of myself. It stops me from slapping their faces. Sometimes I wish we didn’t have bodies at all. We’d just be spirits meeting. It would be so much easier.

  Suddenly Angie whacks my bum. ‘Hey, are you there?’

  I jump. ‘Just thinking.’ I rub my bum. ‘Be careful of damaging the goods.’ My bum. That’s a tragedy too. Why can’t it be smaller? I look at Angie. Wish I had her bum. But no. Breasts and bum. That’s me.

  The music hums while Angie whizzes around the room. ‘Love Is In the Air’ finishes at last. ‘No more, no more,’ I beg as Angie goes to press Play again. Angie giggles, making me giggle too. Compromise. I put on some soft rock while Angie shows me endless pairs of earrings. I point to a gorgeous silver waterfall of crystals.

  Jewellery and clothes cover my bed in a clutter of colour. It’s fun, but I have to stop Angie from trying on another set of earrings. ‘We’ll miss the party. Then no one will see any earrings.’ Angie jangles some green beads in front of my nose. I grab them. ‘We’ve got to get ready. It’s on tonight, not next week.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ She smiles.

  I give the earrings back to her. They sparkle in the light as she runs her fingers through her long dark-brown hair. A stab of jealousy makes me close my eyes for a second. I shake the feeling away because I love Angie.

  ‘Boyfriend or die?’ Angie spins around. She takes my hands and I spin with her.

  ‘Boyfriend or kill,’ I call out.

  That sends us into a hilarious fit. We fall onto the bed, knocking over Fluffy Rabbit who always lies on my pillow. I grab Rabbit, plopping him between us as we lie there laughing. It’s pretty obvious that we’re really nervous. It’s called camouflage.

  Suddenly Angie jumps up. ‘Eye shadow?’ She fossicks in her make-up bag and flashes every shade known to the world in front of me. ‘Which one?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘We’ll be beautiful together. Which one? Which one?’

  Beautiful? I never feel like that. ‘Okay, okay. Sparkles. Silver.’

  Angie spreads sparkles across my eyelids and under my eyebrows. Then she does her own eyes. She gives me a sideways glance, blinking her dark lashes at me. Then she attacks me with mascara. Too much, of course. I blink my eyelashes at her and head for cover. I slump onto the floor next to the CD and put on another disk.

  My dressing table is groaning under her truckload of lipsticks, gloss, blush, foundation, eyeliner and mascara. Angie’s make-up bag could supply a supermarket. She’s upgraded from princess when it comes to make-up. She’s the cosmetic queen. Not that she needs it. She’s gorgeous, with her wavy brown hair, green eyes and long legs, and everyone can see that she has no bum. Lucky Angie. Unlucky me.

  Bums. Eddie teases me mercilessly. ‘Hey, Bum-belina (Thumbelina).’ ‘That was very bummy (funny).’ ‘Hey, the bum (sun) is out.’

  Mum doesn’t tell him to stop any more. She had no luck stopping him when I was nine, so why would she when I’m nearly sixteen? He loves sending me up. I don’t. Sometimes I think I’ll put rat poison in his cereal. Do all males have teasing disease? My father has it badly. Luckily Dad is away most of the time for work. He sends me postcards. There is never any teasing in them, so I know men can control themselves if they want to.

  Angie shovels make-up onto her face. I really don’t mind. It’s comforting watching her line her lips with lipstick, then pencil in her plucked eyebrows. Angie is forever waxing and she’s talking about a Brazilian. I instinctively put my hands in front of my crotch. I am a hairless type of person. I shave my legs and that is it. Angie has to do her arms and nearly to the top of her legs as well as the bikini line. Even Angie isn’t perfect.

  I have medium-length brown hair, dark brown eyes and dimples. My eyes are startling because they are like Mum’s, brown and bright. But my father gave me the dimples. I wish I didn’t have them. When I was little I’d sometimes stop smiling for a day to try and make them disappear. My father’s dimples will never disappear. They are a hereditary curse, like my bum.

  My father. Shudder. He’s away for two weeks this time for work. The house gets angry when he is home. He makes me scared. Quickly I take a breath and shake him out of my mind. I want to be happy. I’m partying tonight.

  ‘Let me do the rest of your make-up.’ Angie traps me.

  ‘No, Angie.’ I try to escape, but she pulls me up off the floor. ‘All right. All right. You win.’ I sit on my bed while Angie layers foundation, powder, lipstick and silver sparkles onto my face, then reapplies the eye make-up. The intimacy feels warm.

  ‘We’re twins.’ Angie holds up a mirror.

  Twins? I don’t think so. I smile because Angie thinks we are. Angie is stunning. She’s already sixteen, like Karen. Sixteen. I want to be sixteen, but my birthday is ages away. It feels like everyone else is sixteen. I’m thinking about having a sixteenth birthday party with music. Lots of music. And boys? Maybe boys, maybe not. Boys. Everyone has or has had a boyfriend except Angie and me. Everyone has gone past second base. I’ve been to first base with a few jerks. Kissing in dark corridors with guys I don’t like. Karen is already at third base. She hasn’t made home base yet, although she’s been everywhere else.

  Angie and I are sick of being the ‘losers’. Angie and I like these two boys. They’ve said hello to us on the school bus. We’ve seen them through the school fence that divides the boys’ and girls’ schools. So tonight is the night. Boyfriend or die. Angie is targeting Christopher. I hope Oliver is mine.

  The decision about what to wear is insane. We mix and match clothes. I finally decide to wear jeans with the slinky black top I bought today. Angie is wearing a black top too, but with green sparkles. Matches her eyes. I roll my eyes, of course. She looks good in her hip-hugging shimmering grey skirt that flips out at the bottom.

  I am struggling in my very high backless heels. If someone knocks me over I’ll end up with a broken leg. What we do for love? Suddenly I shiver, rubbing away goose bumps from my arms. I pose in front of the mirror, focusing on my feet, not my boobs or bum. Think positive. The heels look good and I am going to look good. Will I kiss Oliver? Not that I want him to fall in luv with my shoes, just me would be great. I put on my apple-flavoured lip gloss. I’m going to
taste delicious as well as being very tall.

  ‘You look great, Angie.’ I fiddle with the edges of my top. ‘Do I look fat?’

  ‘Never, Pip.’

  I feel nervous. I play Insomniac Road again. Angie groans. I ignore her.

  I look at the posters stuck on my walls. Angie doesn’t understand them. Doesn’t understand what they mean to me. She can only see the band’s tattoos. It’s not about tattoos. It’s their music. Billy the lead singer has ‘I LUV MUM’ on his shoulder. I don’t know if he really does love her, but I really love my mum. I hum teasingly, ‘Insomniac Road writes the songs that make the whole world sing.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Angie smiles.

  Well, my world anyway.

  ‘Are you ready?’ our chauffeur, Mum, calls to us. She’s waiting in the lounge room with a camera when Eddie bounds through the lounge. He’s got a date and is on his way out. When he sees us, he gives a long whistle. Angie giggles. Even I laugh.

  Mum grabs him for a few photos. ‘Just a couple with the girls.’ Eddie loves a photo opportunity. As Mum snaps us, Eddie makes rabbit ears with his fingers on my head.

  ‘Don’t, Eddie.’ I shove his hands away, but the ears pop up again, on Angie’s head this time.

  ‘A serious photo, Eddie,’ Mum tells him.

  He stands between Angie and me. Mum clicks a few times, then he looks at his watch. ‘Got to run.’

  I laugh at the panic on his face. This must be an important girl, not that he tells us anything. A girlfriend is secret business. Angie saw him down at the beach the other day talking to a blonde girl.

  He disappears through the door, leaving a scent of male aftershave. He must want to impress this girl. Mum takes a few last photos before we head for the car.

  Mum is the official photographer of my life. Embarrassing baby shots of my brother Eddie and me sit on the mantelpiece, next to the Kindergarten Kids photograph. That photo is so cute. Karen, Angie and I were five, Angie with her wavy dark hair, me with my curly brown hair and Karen with her straight blonde hair in pigtails. We’re all holding clanging triangles. Printed at the bottom of the photo is ‘The Most Talented Award, Kindergarten’.

  There are other school photos jumbled between them of Angie, Karen, Irina and me in school concerts. Eddie’s head suddenly appears in a few of the photos. He hates being left out. That’s Eddie.

  As we leave, Mum becomes teary. ‘You both look perfect.’

  I don’t think so. I run my hands over my bum. If only I could lose five kilos. Even with my health program, walking home with Angie every day from school, netball and no chocolate, I’ve lost only one kilo.

  ‘The boys will fall at your feet.’

  I wish that Oliver would fall at my feet, or at least my very high heels. ‘Okay, Mum.’ I give Angie a look. ‘Let’s really go now.’

  Chapter Two

  The party. Mum is trained. She drops us off and zooms away. I’ll phone her when we need to be collected.

  Angie and I stand in the dark at the curb to get our thoughts together. My stomach cramps. We press each other’s hand.

  Karen promised to be here early. I squint, trying to see her. I can’t see anyone I know. What if she’s gone to another party? Karen has become like that, unreliable, since her parents have split.

  I run my hands down my bum for the tenth time, hoping that will make it smaller. What if a guy sniggers and says that I have a big bum? I shouldn’t have worn these jeans. They’re too tight.

  I flick my hair up, letting the strands flicker in the breeze. I take a deep breath. ‘Are we going inside?’

  Angie straightens her skirt. ‘Do I look all right?’

  ‘Fantastic.’ I press her hand.

  About forty kids are hanging out at the front of the house. It is the walk-on-hot-coals test as faces turn to check us out, see what we’re wearing, work out if we are worth hanging out with. If we get barred, the night is over before it begins. But I am prepared. Angie and I are security for each other. Even if we get excluded and our friends aren’t there and it is a rotten party, we’ll still have a good time because we’re together.

  I can’t see Karen. My heart is thumping. She is probably still at her father’s place. She promised she would be here on time.

  ‘Hi, hi.’ A voice bounces between the heads in the dark. I see a waving hand. Karen bounds towards us, then Irina. Girlfriends scream and hug. ‘Your skirt looks great.’ ‘Love your earrings, where did you get them?’ ‘Did you really design that dress?’ ‘Irina your hair looks great.’

  I hug Irina. Relief. More hugging of everyone. My heart stops pounding. A couple of girls say they adore my high-heeled shoes. I wriggle my toes. The shoes hurt already. What I do for love. I think I’m going to burst into ‘Love Is In the Air’. It’d make Angie happy. I smile.

  We huddle into a girl group. The boys are mostly in boy groups. A few girls and guys have broken the lines and are talking to each other. Looks like a normal party.

  Some guys have small bottles of spirits shoved into their back pockets. They knock back a swallow every now and then. Packs of beer and spirits are stashed behind bushes. When the parents guarding the inside of the house emerge, the beers and spirits get ditched. When they leave, it’s alcohol city again. The parents have no idea. A few of the guys are already starting to stagger. Karen passes me a bottle. I take a gulp. Cautiously I look around to see if Oliver is here.

  More kids arrive. I squeeze Angie’s hand. It’s Oliver. I gasp quietly. I’m right. He’s really cute—tall, sandy hair, great smile. ‘Do I look all right? Do I? Do?’ I whisper insanely to Angie.

  Christopher is behind him. Angie panics. ‘Do I look all right? Do I? Do I?’

  We swallow our nervousness. ‘Okay, Pip, are you up for it?’

  I nod. We are on a mission. We are not leaving this party until Christopher and Oliver have fallen in love with us and we are deep kissing.

  I sneak a look and see Christopher. Oliver is beside him in a crowd of guys. They have beers in their hands. They’ll probably drink a six pack before they head inside.

  I fiddle with the ends of my hair. This could take forever. I glance at my watch. Our deadline is midnight. We’ve got a while before we have to move on our plan. The music is pounding through the doorway. I look at the guys and shrug. They’re for later.

  ‘Come on, Angie. Let’s have a good time first.’ I drag Angie behind me and we follow Karen inside.

  R & B is blaring through the room. The music makes me breathe more easily. I can’t believe I used to like singing along with those la-la songs sung by artificial Barbie doll singers. Not now. I want real music. I write real music.

  The lounge room pumps with dancing girls. Karen is already gyrating in the middle of a circle, then pulls me into it too. I gulp down diet cola as sweat trickles down my back. Karen is gulping down vodka from a bottle. ‘Krazy Karen,’ I whisper. Parents slide into the room and smile. They definitely have no idea. They are just happy most of the kids are off the street and dancing. They bring in platters of sandwiches and leave them on the side table.

  Guys dribble into the room, hanging around and watching. Some go up to girls. Others skulk at the back door lighting up cigarettes. Guys can’t break into the dedicated girl dancing group. We join the girls as they jump around, singing the lyrics.

  I’m sweltering. I grab another drink and Karen grabs her boyfriend—well, the one she’s with this week. They lock into kissing.

  Angie and I stare at each other. ‘Boyfriend or die,’ Angie whispers. My stomach drops to my knees.

  I take a break from the dancing and head for the back door, dragging Angie with me. We cough our way past the nicotine haze. ‘Do you want one?’ one of the guys asks. I shake my head. I can’t stand the smell of stale cigarettes in my hair. Karen has taken up smoking because her father hates it. I hate my father, but I’m not going to smoke because of him.

  It’s cooler outside. I look at my watch. It’s eleven already. Girls and guy
s are making out in the corners. I don’t know who is rolling in the back garden, but there is moaning going on.

  Crash. There’s something else going on. Angie peers back through the door. ‘It’s Karen.’ She has passed out. A couple of girls are beside her. ‘We should help.’

  We go back inside. Karen has drunk a lot of vodka. She’ll vomit for sure. I don’t want to stand next to her beside a toilet bowl. Not tonight. Irina and another girl are already taking care of her. I blink hard and look away. I lock out guilt. I whisper, stammering over my selfishness. ‘She’ll be all right.’

  Angie and I walk towards the back door, away from Karen. I try to justify it. Karen does it to herself. I’m not responsible for her.

  Thoughts of Karen slowly disappear as I lean against Angie and stare out into the garden. The trees sway like ghosts in the dark.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Christopher slouching on a couch with a couple of other guys. Oliver is walking our way. I take a breath. I refuse to think about Karen.

  Angie heads inside. I wait for Oliver to walk past me. ‘Hi,’ I sing in this high-pitched voice. I sound ridiculous.

  Oliver stops. ‘Yeah, how’s it going?’

  ‘Great.’ Is he looking at my breasts? I cross my arms in front of myself.

  ‘Great party.’ He smells of beer.

  What do I say? There’s nothing to say. I’m desperate. Think of something. Think. ‘Great party.’ Oh, why did I repeat him? Where is my brain? I haven’t got a brain. I’m fat. I abandoned Karen. Irina, who hardly gets out, had to look after her. Guilt. Guilt. Where’s Angie?

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ Oliver flashes a vodka mix in front of me.

  I take a gulp. Two gulps. Three, until it spills down my front.

  He laughs. ‘Thirsty?’ I don’t even know what it tastes like. My mind has evacuated my body. I love Karen but I don’t want to end up beside the toilet bowl next to her.

  Oliver brushes the wet bit from my top and I feel his hand flicker over my chest. I am going to be sick. He takes my hand. My face is burning. My heart beats like it’s leaving my body. He leads me into the dark. I follow, my high heels sinking into the grass.