My Best Friend Is a Goddess Read online

  Dylan’s going to have his work cut out for him. But I’m not going into a whole ‘love left you traumatised’ thing right now. Instead, I bow and say, ‘I have a bronze medallion for swimming, thank you. And I can tread water for hours.’

  ‘I don’t mean to scare you,’ Ade says, looking guilty. I swear guilt is her primary emotion. It can’t be healthy. ‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’

  ‘I’m pretty resilient,’ I assure her. ‘Plus, the lack of eligible guys in our year means I’m safe from Cupid’s arrow for the time being.’

  ‘You haven’t had a crush since I left?’

  ‘The guys in our year continue to be primates. That’s insulting to monkeys come to think of it.’

  ‘Yeah, when faced with the jungle versus Jefferson dilemma last night, I was thinking the real monkeys weren’t all that bad.’ Ade’s giggling now. ‘But seriously, there’s been no-one crush-worthy since I left?’

  ‘You know how it is. If you’re not a Ten or a big-boobed girl from Instagram showing half your ass, you’re invisible.’

  Unless a guy takes a moment outside his habitual routine to throw an insult at you. The week before the holidays started I had some weird spring cold, so I went up to the front of the class to get tissues from the box on Mr Bannerman’s desk. Jerry Walsh, always reliable for inane comments, yelled out, ‘Need a top-up in the breasticles area?’ while pretending to stuff his shirt. Mr Bannerman threw him out, but the whole class still wound up snickering at me.

  I feel myself frowning and force my features back into a smile. ‘Seeing as I’m looking for someone I can actually talk to, there’s not a lot of hope. I want a real conversation, not the feeble series of grunts any member of the monkey chorus can come up with.’

  I’ve made Ade laugh again, and grin back at her as I go on.

  ‘I want someone into art and history, someone who’s passionate about things, and by things I don’t mean his gym routine.’ I sigh. ‘With that criteria, I figure my soul mate won’t show up till university. Here’s my latest scenario, by the way. So, I’ll be taking an art class and I’ll be so immersed in my drawing that I won’t notice when he takes the easel next to mine. It’s only when he makes some insightful comment — so compelling that it blows clear any type of artistic muse — that I finally look up and notice “him”.’

  ‘Dangerous stuff, that imagination of yours,’ Ade says.

  ‘Just cause you use yours to imagine all number of horrible fates. Some of us are using ours to go on hot dates with art majors.’

  Mum’s car pulls up. Daniel is with her. Ade and I tumble into the back, laden with packages.

  Daniel stares at them. ‘Did you leave anything in the stores?’

  ‘That’s the epitome of a lame Dad joke, you know.’ Ade makes a sympathetic face as she pats Daniel on the shoulder.

  ‘How did you guys go with the gutters?’ I’m trying to sound casual about their version of a date.

  ‘Pretty well.’ Mum smiles at Daniel as the car stops at a red light.

  Daniel turns to face us. ‘While sweating it out on the roof, Isobel and I started talking about ways to reward ourselves — specifically, the baking of desserts. Seeing as we’re both culinary artists that was a heated topic, especially when it comes to the ultimate sweet treat.’

  ‘Mum’s pecan pie,’ I automatically answer.

  ‘Dad’s triple-layer chocolate ganache,’ Adriana shoots back.

  ‘Exactly our thoughts,’ Daniel says.

  ‘I told Daniel that although his ganache is ridiculously good,’ Mum says, ‘he’s never tried my pecan pie.’

  ‘So a new challenge begins,’ Daniel says, speaking like a commentator at an Olympics event. ‘Two chefs. Two baked treats. Who will be the ultimate champion? Tonight we find out!’ He starts singing the theme song from Rocky.

  ‘Tonight?’ Ade and I say in unison.

  ‘You shall be the judges,’ Daniel says. ‘Isobel and I will share the same kitchen, use the same oven, and you two will sample the desserts and deliver your verdict. Isobel has the advantage that it’s her kitchen, but it’s good for her to have a bit more of a fighting chance against my ganache. Heaven knows she’ll need it.’

  Mum gives Daniel a mock fierce look. ‘I may hand you the salt container instead of the sugar, you know. I can fight dirty when it comes to a bake-off.’

  I look at Ade. Our parents are steering Operation Parent Trap in a positive direction all on their own, and the result is a smorgasbord of dessert? This. Is. Awesome.

  ‘Someone help me.’ I lie on the living room rug, clutching my stomach. ‘Food coma reaching critical level.’

  ‘I’m flatlining,’ Adriana moans, lying next to me.

  ‘That was unfair, you know,’ I say to Mum and Daniel. ‘Forcefeeding your kids slice after slice of dessert while demanding they name their favourite and knowing they’re torn by parental loyalty — it’s dangerously close to child abuse.’

  ‘We’ll never know the true winner,’ Mum says.

  She’s slung herself down on one of the couches, and Daniel is on the other. We’re all in a collective food blackout.

  ‘We should have roped in a neighbour to end this thing once and for all,’ Daniel says. He has chocolate marks at the corner of his mouth.

  Mum laughs. ‘The nearest neighbour is a kilometre away. But if you want to trudge through the cow field, you’re welcome. Make sure you video Ben when he gives his answer. If you don’t produce evidence, I won’t believe you if you come back crowing you’ve won.’

  ‘Do I look like a liar?’ Daniel stares incredulously at Mum. ‘Dr Andersson, respected professional —’

  ‘I’m under no illusion,’ Mum says. ‘On that couch is a man who snuck up behind me to check the ratios of my pastry. Girls, you saw him. He should have been disqualified at that point.’

  Daniel lets out an outraged sound. ‘Oh-ho! Who was it who moved my cake to the bottom of the oven when I took a bathroom break?’

  Mum shrugs. ‘I don’t think the Michelin chefs take bathroom breaks. You’d better harden up.’

  ‘Just you wait till next time,’ he says. ‘I won’t go so easy on you.’

  I waggle my eyebrows at Adriana. Next time!

  I turn to look at Daniel. ‘It’s two days till the power goes on at your house. Maybe tomorrow we could have an Italian cook-off?’

  ‘Daniel’s back at work tomorrow,’ Mum reminds me. ‘I’m sure he’s got back-to-back appointments.’

  ‘I’m still capable of producing a culinary masterpiece after a long day,’ Daniel says. ‘But if you want an excuse to shy away from a challenge —’

  Mum interrupts. ‘Let’s make this fair. We need third-party judges. I’ll ask some of my colleagues from the gallery over. I’ve been meaning to do that forever — I get stuck in hibernation mode sometimes.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ I say. ‘Thank god you guys are here, it’s way too quiet sometimes.’

  ‘That’s why I don’t want to go to our new place,’ Ade says. ‘It’s too big for two people.’

  There’s an awkward silence. Daniel’s and Mum’s faces have turned serious.

  Mum gets up from the couch. ‘You girls had better get ready for bed. I’ll pop the plates in the dishwasher.’

  ‘Let me help you.’ Daniel jumps up and grabs the dishes from the coffee table.

  ‘Daniel, you’re a guest —’

  He bustles over to the dishwasher. ‘I insist, Isobel.’

  ‘Daniel, I mean it.’ Mum’s voice takes on a sharp tone.

  Daniel slowly puts the dishes down. ‘Sorry,’ he says, looking awkward. ‘I’ll let you have some breathing room — I should review patient notes before tomorrow’s appointments. Sleep well, Isobel.’

  Mum nods at him, then turns on the kitchen tap, ending any further exchange. Daniel heads down the hall to the guest room.

  Sometimes Mum makes me so mad the way she keeps a force field up. The moment someone gets clos
e, she panics and radiates ‘keep your distance’ vibes. That’s why I’ve given up on asking her about my dad — she goes as hard and cool as the marble she carves out in the studio.

  I give Adriana a look and we trudge up to my room.

  Adriana sits on my bed. ‘Why did I say that stupid thing about not wanting to go to the new house? I made your mum and my dad get all weird.’

  ‘Mum’s the one who made it weird.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Maybe this whole setup is hopeless.’

  ‘Dad’s persistent though.’

  I nod. Daniel is like a puppy — so enthusiastic that even if you’ve sworn you aren’t going for a walk because it’s raining, within a few minutes you’ll be putting on your gumboots.

  ‘He’ll make tomorrow seem so casual that Isobel will feel silly if she tries to call it off,’ Ade goes on. ‘It is casual anyway. It’s only you and I who are seeing this as a date. To them, it’s just cooking a meal and having Isobel’s work friends over.’

  I hope she’s right. The whole Mum and Daniel castle in the sky I’ve been building is already large enough that I’ll be totally bummed if it collapses this early on. As always, I’m unable to stop myself getting the idealistic and the impossible mixed up.

  Secret Thoughts of Adriana Andersson

  My last day at Jefferson High wasn’t even a day. I never went to class. In fact, I never stepped through the school gates.

  The jasmine was in full bloom along the school fence that morning. I remember Emily burying her face in it as we approached the gates, and me tugging at her arm. It was only seventeen hours on from the Dylan incident and I didn’t want to interact with flowers of any kind. I just wanted to get this Friday over with, so I’d have two days at home alone to try and deal.

  I’ve never been able to smell jasmine since without feeling socked in the stomach by memory.

  Emily squeezed my hand, which, instead of making me feel better, hurt. Every part of me felt bruised. Especially my chest. I remembered how Emily and I had once accidentally clicked on a video of the running of the bulls in Spain. We hadn’t realised how graphic the images would be, and were horrified to see a bystander trampled and gored by a bull. That’s how I felt now, like my lungs were squashed flat. There wasn’t enough air.

  Every part of me was focused on getting through the day. Until I got to the gates.

  I was used to people laughing at me. Used to being the target of comments that seemed funny to everyone else, but stung like crazy for me. I was used to people staring at me, waiting to see how I’d take it. The whispering when my eyes got red. But what happened that day was different. It was like a rapid-fire chain reaction, like each person who noticed me was a domino, and their murmurs and suppressed laughter tumbled onto the next, till a collective scornful hum travelled all round the yard, filling up my ears and drowning out all my other senses. All I could hear was my internal panic siren going off. What was this about?

  Olivia, a friend from art class, ran up and thrust her mobile at us. ‘Someone’s uploaded a video of you.’ She was breathless. ‘Tatiana’s shared it on Facebook, with the comment “Rejected much?!”’

  I remember saying ‘What video?’ but my words were fuzzy, like I was trying to shout underwater.

  Emily grabbed the phone and hit play.

  There I was on camera, standing on Dylan’s verandah, the white rose in my hand, pacing up and down.

  I remembered the prickling feeling I’d had the day before, the sensation someone was watching me. I’d brushed it off as paranoia. It hadn’t been. Tatiana had been there, filming it all.

  I looked at the time span of the video. Five minutes. They had everything then — my confession to Dylan, the attempted kiss, the crying. It would be shared and reshared online, completely out of my control.

  My next breath was a wheeze. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t obey my brain. Any torture Tatiana had inflicted on me had always been at school. Outside of school had been my refuge. This moment proved I wasn’t safe anywhere.

  ‘I’m going to kill her!’ Emily said.

  She ran through the gates, heading straight for the pines, where Tatiana was standing with Dylan. She was holding both his hands and smiling up at him. As if she felt my gaze, Tatiana turned and gave me a look. Her lips were pursed with triumph.

  I felt like doubling over.

  At that second, something small and black spun at her and hit her collarbone. Her face crumpled up in pain, her shoulder twisted inwards and she stumbled into Dylan.

  ‘Oh my gosh, Emily’s thrown my phone at her!’ Olivia yelped.

  Dylan was cradling Tatiana against his chest, his right arm held up in a ‘back off’ gesture as Emily ran up to them, screaming. Dylan shook his head and moved Tatiana behind him, away from Emily, who had her arm raised like she was about to hit her.

  That was all I needed to see. Everything Dylan had said about caring about me, about being my friend, was a lie, because here he was, literally standing by Tatiana as she obliterated me. After everything, I didn’t even have his loyalty. I was nothing to him. I was nothing to anyone at Jefferson, except Emily.

  And so I ran, away from the smirks and snickers, the looks that ranged from pity to outright amusement as everyone watched me, and Emily, and the video playing endlessly on their phones.

  As I ran, I remembered what we’d learnt in class about the Roman Colosseum. About damnatio ad bestias — the throwing of Christians and criminals into the arena to be torn to pieces by wild animals while the crowds watched on. People thought Ancient Rome was brutal, but nothing had changed. People still loved to see others ripped to shreds in an arena. As long as it was words and not actual blows, it was fine to slaughter someone publicly.

  Apparently the Romans had once thrown a man to the beasts simply for being ugly.

  When that thought came into my head, I stopped at the side of the road and threw up.

  Cars slowed down and the people inside stared at me. Normally I would have been horrendously embarrassed, but today I didn’t care. The whole of Jefferson High was laughing at me — what were a few more stares?

  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I started running again. I ran all the way home, the burning of my lungs burning every thought out of my brain except one. Jefferson High was the Colosseum, and I wasn’t putting myself in the ring any more.

  6

  ADRIANA

  Getting out of the car the next morning is the hardest part. Not that I want Dad to realise that. I was a brat on Saturday, and I still feel bad about it. Dad has been through enough in the last two years without me taking out my anger about Jefferson on him. So, though my brain is on hyper-speed and my stomach feels like a category five cyclone during the drive to school, I force myself to smile and get out of the car as soon as he pulls up in the school’s parking lot.

  ‘So, let’s go get your schedule,’ Emily says. ‘I’m hoping we’ll have art together. When I saw Ms Collins last week at the library I begged her to make sure we were in the same class.’

  Emily is like a chipmunk that’s consumed way too much sugar. She’s beaming like one too, her smile super-wide and encouraging. Her speedy monologue continues as we walk down the path to the school office. As she chatters away, I’m scanning for Tens. Part of me is still convinced that, despite her Facebook status, Tatiana will be here.

  I think of a snorkelling trip off Borneo that Dad and I did together. It was only after we’d put our flippers on and were about to tip ourselves off the side of the boat that the guides mentioned that sometimes they saw reef sharks at this spot. Even though the sharks were mostly harmless thanks to the abundance of fish, I still spent every second in the water frantically scanning for them, my heart pounding. Now, looking for Tatiana, I can hear my heart throbbing through my eardrums in exactly the same way.

  ‘You’re on the lookout, aren’t you?’ Emily’s switched off her hyper-chipmunk mode. ‘It’s first day back — the Tens will be preening in the bathrooms, or near the fron
t gate checking everyone out. They won’t be anywhere near the office.’

  She’s right. We reach the office without a Ten sighting. I go up to the receptionist, Ms Roze, and say ‘Hi’.

  I wait for her to yelp ‘You’re back!’, but she looks at me without saying anything. That’s weird.

  ‘Ms Roze, Ade wants to pick up her schedule,’ Emily says, shrugging her backpack from one shoulder to the other. Her pencil case is hanging precariously out of the top, threatening to tumble onto the floor at any second. Emily never does her bag up properly. If she goes missing, you’ll just need to follow the trail of pencils she leaves in her wake.

  ‘A new student!’ Ms Roze beams at me through her bright purple glasses. ‘So, last name, Ade …’

  Does Ms Roze need a new prescription for those purple frames? I look over at Emily.

  ‘I told you you were unrecognisable,’ she says. ‘Now will you believe me?’

  ‘Ms Roze, it’s Adriana Andersson,’ I say.

  ‘Adriana?’ Ms Roze takes her glasses off, peers at me, then puts them back on. ‘You look like a different person!’

  Has ditching the glasses and braces made that much of a difference?

  She shakes her head. ‘You and Emily must be dying to see what classes you’re sharing!’ She pulls out a sheet of paper and places it flat on the counter.

  ‘Let me find mine.’ Emily swings her backpack off her shoulder and starts pulling items out. A purple jumper spills onto the floor, along with her pencil case and lunchbox. The lunchbox pops open and the contents tip out. An orange bounces across the floor before I can catch it. ‘Success!’ She pulls a crumpled scrap of paper from the bottom of her bag and dumps it onto the counter.

  I’m still searching for the orange — it’s rolled out of sight.

  ‘Ade.’ Emily tugs me up from the floor. ‘Synchronised schedules are more important than locating my lunch.’

  She’s right. We start cross-referencing classes.