You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (best fiction novels .TXT) 📕

extra shifts to cover sicknesses or other absences, Megan is rewarded with four days off in a row. Her mum goes from not seeing her at all to falling over her at every turn. Does Daniella feel wrong-footed too?

In the car, Megan turns the heating and the radio up high. Lucas is ahead of her as she exits on to the road but they turn in different directions at the first intersection. After a few minutes her phone rings, shutting off the music. It’s Roslyn.

‘Hi, love. Just checking where you’re at?’

‘Just left five minutes ago.’

‘I’ll put the dinner on, so. We’re having fish.’

‘Anything you want me to pick up on the way?’

‘No, we seem to be fine for everything.’

Mother and daughter have regimented roles. Roslyn does the cooking and gardening, Megan takes care of shopping and cleaning. Tomorrow Megan will call into their local real estate agent, to see if they can get out of this rut. The longer it goes on the more strangulated she feels.

Roslyn hangs up and the music comes back on. Megan likes the song, it’s new and catchy.

The phone rings again.

‘Yes, Mum? Forget something we needed?’

‘Megan, it’s … it’s … Dylan O’Shea.’

The shock is intense. Her chest tightens. It’s hard to draw air. A red light looms out of nowhere. She slams on the brakes at the very last moment.

‘Megan, I’d like … I’d like … Can we … can we meet …? I just want to talk.’

Speak. Answer him. Tell him what you think. Speak, for God’s sake.

‘No.’ An explosion from her mouth. Her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white and protruding.

‘No,’ she repeats, because she wants him to hear loud and clear, because she wants him to know that she has learned to speak up for herself.

‘I do not want to meet you. I do not want to talk to you. Not now or ever. I’ve told you this before. Do not call this number again.’

Megan ends the call. Then the shaking starts.

14

JESS

Thomas Malouf and Dylan O’Shea: their names are like invisible scar tissue. Year-twelve students at Barwood College, a school for rich and privileged boys (Jess’s school was for rich and privileged girls, so she can’t exactly criticise). She met Thomas through friends of friends. Floppy hair, dimples when he smiled. The kind of boy who wore shirts instead of T-shirts. The kind of boy who sauntered rather than walked.

The party was in Thomas’s house, in September. Those last few weeks of school, when assignments and trial exams were behind them and study leave for the real exams hadn’t yet begun. They were stir-crazy from a year of hard work combined with very little play. Freedom had never felt so close or so far away.

‘Sixty?’ Jess gasped when he told her how many people were going to the party. Her group of school friends were hanging out with his group at the local shopping centre. ‘Your parents okay with that?’

Jess’s parents had an open house when it came to friends calling round or sleeping over, but any requests for parties had been met with a flat refusal.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Thomas smirked. ‘My parents are in Melbourne for the weekend. As far as they’re concerned, I’m studying and looking after Leo.’

Thomas’s younger brother was fifteen, but Jess didn’t know that at the time. She was imagining a much younger boy; little did she know what a pivotal role Leo would play in the whole debacle.

‘What if your brother tells your parents?’

Thomas’s laugh was the nasty kind. ‘He wouldn’t dare. He learned a long time ago what happens to squealers.’

A warning sign she should have heeded. Questions she should have asked: what happens to squealers? Do they get hurt? How far do you go to get revenge, Thomas? Is your brother afraid of you?

At this point, Jess and Thomas hadn’t kissed, but there was an expectation that something would happen at the party.

‘Can my friend Megan come? She’s from another school.’

How Jess wishes she could go back in time and retract that question.

‘Only if she’s good-looking.’

He laughed when he said this, but Jess should have seen it for what it was: another warning sign. Girls were commodities to Thomas Malouf.

‘Hey, O’Shea,’ Thomas called to one of his friends. ‘Might have a girl for you. From another school, so she won’t know you’re such a dumbo.’

Jess knew Dylan vaguely. Pale-skinned, an extremely nervous speaker. She was pretty sure Megan wouldn’t find him attractive. Megan didn’t have much experience with boys. Neither did Jess, beyond a few casual hook-ups, but she was ready to step things up a notch with Thomas.

‘Saturday night, then,’ she said, adopting some of his swagger. ‘See ya there.’

It’s excruciating to look back on it. Jess wants to shake that girl, scream some sense into her.

Open your eyes. Can’t you see he only wants one thing? Choose some other boy. Choose someone who’s not as cruel or vindictive. Choose someone who’s not going to ruin your life.

There’s no going back, though.

Jess smiled at Thomas and her fate was decided. Megan’s, too.

Youth classes run from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m., Monday to Thursday. It’s an eclectic group of kids. Eight boys and two girls, aged between twelve and sixteen. A few of the kids are agile, strong and show real potential. One kid, Andy, is overweight and being bullied about it; he’s here to gain some respect at school. Another kid, Tyler, is as uncoordinated as he is unenthusiastic; he’s here because his parents want him here. As per usual, some of them have forgotten their mouthguards. As per usual, Jess and Vince take a tough stance: no mouthguard means no sparring. Discipline, discipline, discipline.

‘Okay, we’re going to punch off now. Up top, fast … Underneath, slower … I want to hear those bags being hit.’

Fifteen minutes later everyone is thoroughly warmed up. They split the class, one group heading towards the ring with Vince and the others – the ones without mouthguards – staying with Jess to do activities