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

‘Why are you telling me this? No, actually, why are you still here?’

‘She doesn’t have time to help you, she’s cramming. It’s nothing personal.’

‘I’m not taking it personally!’ I say, too loudly. I stomp down the corridor. I feel foolish for not knowing the first thing about Bochen’s life, despite our friendly conversations, when apparently Natalia knows everything about her. She even tried to warn me, which only makes me feel worse.

‘Your folio is really good.’ Natalia follows me. ‘You’ve done a lot of work.’

‘Doing a lot of work doesn’t matter if your ideas are shit.’

‘Who said your ideas are shit?’

‘Shouldn’t you find your minions? Or are you coming to the tuckshop with me?’

She ignores my questions. ‘Turn to that page with the crime books.’

I hold my defiled folio tighter. ‘I know the one you mean.’

Dead Girl Walking. When She Left. The Wife You Knew.

‘They remind me of that TV show, Devil Creek? Do you know it? My minions love it.’

I’m quiet but listening. I slow down.

‘Devil Creek is totally dead girl porn. A bit like some of those covers. We should watch it together some time.’

I let that weird invitation slide. But the name, Devil Creek, sounds familiar.

‘What about me?’ says Natalia. ‘I’ll be your model if you ask nicely.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

Too posey, I think, too obvious. I think of the dark and delicate and subtle things I want to express and Natalia is not any of them. I jangle my tuckshop money in my skirt pocket as we walk. ‘Why do you want to help me?’

We stop and I stare at her innocent angel face, which hides the personality of a demon. I try to figure out if she’s making fun of me.

‘It’s not about helping.’ Said as if it’s a dirty word. ‘You’re going to do this thing, it’s going to win the art prize, and I’ll be part of it. I’ll bask in your glory, or whatever.’

‘I’m not doing this for the prize.’

‘What? This is going to be good, I can tell already. You should go for gold.’

We’re on a collision course with Sarah and Marley, linking arms near the stairwell down to the tuckshop. Ally is practising some seriously filthy dance moves on the banister. She looks like obscure European royalty but she doesn’t always act that way.

Natalia fixes her supernatural eyes on me.

‘I don’t know if you’ve got the right look.’ I bite my lip. Who am I kidding? My vision for the photo keeps dissolving every time I try to grab onto it.

I try to look at Natalia objectively, and mentally adjust what I’ve been picturing.

‘You look otherworldly enough…but too dangerous for what I’ve got in mind. It’s supposed to look like a fairytale gone wrong. You’re more of a mean pixie type, or the old sort of fairy. The kind who tangles mortals in wishes and promises, and tricks them into eating fairy food so they can’t return to the human world.’

This alone should be nerdy and insulting enough for permanent excommunication, but instead something flashes inside Natalia, an extra spark of interest. Up until now I could have sworn she was playing with me.

‘All of those girls come from in-between places.’ She points at my folio. ‘Dead and alive. Heaven and hell. Or some other place and the real world.’

‘Yes, that’s it,’ I say with shock in my voice. That’s better than I could have described it. Maybe that’s what I’m aiming for.

‘Give me your phone, Cardell.’

She calls herself on my phone, while still keeping a close eye on her friends.

‘You know what makes me sick?’ she says. ‘Everyone skating along the surface and not talking about what’s really happening.’

She’s lost me. ‘I need to think about it more. I’ll let you know.’

She hands me my phone. ‘Well, when you decide yes, I’ll be waiting.’

‘Right,’ I nod. ‘Okay.’

She joins her friends and they pour like oil through the corridor in the way that they do.

DAY 34

Mum beckons for me to join her in the lounge room. The six o’clock news is just starting, and the anchorwoman is saying something about Yin.

My heart stops. ‘Did they find her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

I sit close to Mum on the couch, my heart beating again.

Yin’s parents appear on screen, looking a little stunned. They’ve both aged in the last five weeks. You can tell from the camera flashes and the clusters of microphones that the press conference is jammed full.

This time it isn’t Mr Mitchell that speaks. Yin’s mum reads from a sheet of paper held in shaking hands. The faintest trace of an accent runs through her words.

‘Yin was born on this day sixteen years ago. She was my first child and I was so happy to meet her. She was a perfect baby with a full head of black hair.’

Mrs Mitchell starts hiccup-crying. Her husband’s arm sneaks around her shoulders.

‘Oh, man.’ Mum grabs my hand and starts kneading it.

Mrs Mitchell swallows, continues.

‘Dad, Mum, Nelson and Albert wish you a happy birthday, Yin. Wherever you are. Tonight we pray that you will return to us soon. To the man who has my daughter, please be kind to her on this special day. I think you are a good man who can do the right thing. To the public—thank you for your kind words and thoughts. We announce that we are offering a reward of one hundred thousand Australian dollars for information leading to the return of our daughter. Please, we are begging you, if you know anything that might help the investigation, please contact the police. You can be anonymous. Help us find Yin.’

A reporter shouts a question, but a woman in a suit steps in and takes over the microphone. The footage cuts out and the newsreader takes over.

‘Police have released an updated photo of Yin Mitchell, which may be closer to her current appearance.’

The photo they show is more recent, maybe even this year’s school photo.

‘Again, if any member of the public believes they have any information related to Yin’s disappearance,