The Gaps by Leanne Hall (classic literature list .TXT) 📕

‘Ha ha.’ Marley throws a Tim Tam at my head, and misses.

Marley’s parents are rock-and-roll royalty without actually being musicians. They own practically this whole factory block—the warehouse, the rehearsal rooms and the recording studios—and for all we know maybe they do deal pot on the side.

I smooth on more BB cream to cover the red marks on my chin. Too much of my brain is taken up with wondering why the media is calling him Doctor Calm. It’s a messed-up name—it makes me think of surgery masks and bright lights and big syringes.

‘Why’ve you got so much eyeliner on? You look like that goth from Art.’ Sarah tries to hand me the vodka bottle but I wave it away.

Marley’s makeup is spread all over the vanity. Her mum buys the expensive stuff, the kind that comes with toiletry bags full of free gifts. Usually Sarah is in charge of eyes, because she’s got the steadiest hand, but she’s already too smashed. Her lipstick is wonky, but I don’t plan on pointing that out to her.

Sarah pushes Ally’s feet away from her. ‘When are you going to change those?’

‘They’re my good-luck socks,’ Ally protests. ‘I can’t take them off, they could be the only thing keeping me alive.’

‘Well, just so you know, you’re killing me with the smell.’

My makeup inspiration for the evening is: Teen Crystal Warrior Queen. I’ve used about five different types of highlighter to achieve the Opal clan’s updated look. ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ I say mildly. It’s embarassing to go around looking the same as your friends anyway. I leave the zip on my stolen satin jacket at half-mast to maximise my boobs. Nice.

‘Have you seen this Report Card thing? People rate their teachers. Balmoral’s on it, there are twenty-three teachers listed.’ Marley reads from the screen. ‘Mrs Wang, Ms Baker, Ms Nouri…Ms Nouri needs to get some waxing strips immediately—ha! Interesting fashion sense because she dresses like a medieval peasant. That’s accurate. Mr Purdy, Mr Scrutton.’

‘Read about Purdy.’ I had him last year and it’s fair to say we had a major personality clash.

‘Mr Purdy blocks every website on the internet when we’re in the labs, plus he’s moody—oh, that’s an old comment, he’s been at the school forever. Hang on. Mr Purdy is creepy, he sits with his legs wide open to show off his family jewels.’

‘More.’ Sarah is agog. She feeds off the comments section.

Marley continues. ‘At first I really liked having him as my teacher but then he started creeping me out…people like him because he’s slack and tells us what’s on the test but sometimes he says inappropriate things. Um, then there’s: This one time when he was handing back my exam he deliberately brushed my hand and I’d bet anything that he’s Doctor Calm.’

Sarah is enraged by this.

‘What? Noooo! It’s Tyrone, the hot serial killer photographer. Gimme that.’

She grabs the iPad. ‘I’m making an entry for him. Tyrone Martell is the school photographer and he’s a sex manic and perv and if anyone should be the main suspect of being Doctor Calm, it’s him. If you search his house you’ll find photos of the students with the most developed breasts. There. You should all put comments too.’

‘Maniac,’ contributes Ally, ‘Not manic.’

‘He doesn’t fit the police profile.’ I’m gripping the mascara wand so hard it might snap. ‘No one we know does.’

‘Is Mrs Mancini on there?’ Ally asks. ‘She promised that we could watch a movie on the last day of term, then she wouldn’t let us and I complained, and she goes, “Don’t put lies in my mouth, Allison.”’

Marley swings her fancy Bao Bao bag. ‘Tal, shouldn’t we get going soon? Mark and Ben and the others said they’d meet us there.’

For a second I can’t take how immature it all is, and then I imagine the girls from Picnic at Hanging Rock superimposed over my friends, imagine that they’re excited about a wholesome picnic in the bush rather than getting groped by Grammar boys at Shelter.

The illusion doesn’t even hold for a second. Sarah is splotchy from booze, Marley’s under the impression that she’s wearing pants when in fact she’s not, and Ally looks like an adorable little girl. I hug her. She smells of Marc Jacobs Daisy and fierce liquor and arranges her thin arms around my neck like a toy monkey.

I whisper in her ear. ‘I saw you sniff Marley’s pillow. Pervert.’

Ally squeals and pushes me away. ‘Taaalll! I did not!’

She’s traffic-light red, burning up with guilt, even though I made the whole thing up. I’m full of a bursting mean, poking feeling. I want someone to ask me about Yin so I can tell them to shut their faces. I’ve been waiting for someone to finally inevitably actually be brave enough to say something to me about her out loud.

‘We’ll go to the park for a bit,’ I announce, ‘then Shelter.’

They don’t dispute the schedule, they never do.

‘I’m cold,’ complains Ally. ‘And bored.’

Her whining is irritating, even though I agree with her assessment. There’s fog hanging low on the grass, and clouds billow from our mouths.

Sarah is flat-out on the merry-go-round, kicking at the ground to spin herself around and checking her phone at the same time. ‘What are we still doing here?’

‘No one gets there that early.’ I sit at the top of the slide and can’t imagine why I was ever scared of sliding down it.

‘I hope tonight’s better than Grace’s,’ says Ally.

‘That won’t be hard,’ Sarah says, even though all the pics she posted of Grace’s party online made it look like she was having the time of her life.

The park perches at the top of Bleecker’s Hill, and the whole city is visible as a glowing strip along the horizon. I still haven’t had a drink, but no one has noticed. I’m tilted sideways as it is, a couple of degrees off, followed around by shadows and reflections.

Mum and Dad didn’t want