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  "Would be rude not to, I guess." And he walked through the door.

  Once inside, I was keenly aware of how strange it would appear to anyone who didn't actually know my mother. Each of the walls in the lounge was a painted mural. The north facing wall depicted a view of the lake, complete with real stones and driftwood Mum had collected from the beach. The other walls just had items painted in patches; a tightly wound koru fern, the stem of a foxglove, clouds, white and fluffy in a blue sky, and a paua shell reflecting the colours of the ocean.

  Judah's brows lifted high as he looked around and he whistled low and long.

  "Mum thinks she's an artist," I said.

  "She's good."

  "She's okay, I guess. After you live here for a bit you kind of switch off to it. I barely notice them anymore." I dumped my bag on the kitchen table. "You want something to eat or drink?" I opened the fridge and scanned the contents. There wasn't a lot to offer, unless he wanted lemon and ginger infused water.

  "I'm good, thanks." His voice drifted through from the lounge where he stood, still transfixed by the paintings. I couldn't tell from his expression if he liked them or was appalled by them.

  "I've been here before," he said. "I knew the people that lived here before you. The house was different back then, though. It was less…" He paused. "Less colourful."

  I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite before going back into the lounge and collapsing onto the couch. He wandered around the room, taking his time to examine each of the paintings. I watched him carefully, and when he stood in front of one of the painted walls and ran his hands through his hair, little goose bumps erupted over my skin. The conversation was stilted and awkward, but somehow it didn't matter.

  He stopped at the patch of paint where my mother had camouflaged my likeness into the lush greenery of the forest and traced the lines with his finger. "I like this one the best."

  I couldn't take my eyes off him.

  "Bathroom?" Judah asked.

  "Down the hall, second on the left."

  I leapt from my seat as soon as I heard the door click shut. There was a large mirror above the fireplace and I took the opportunity to check my reflection. My hair, as usual, had flown in all directions from the walk home. I hastily took a hair tie lying on the mantelpiece and twisted it until my hair hung in a messy ponytail.

  Judah cleared his throat behind me.

  I jumped, my heart pounding as I turned to face him. I took a few moments to regain my composure, the heat rising to my cheeks at the thought of him watching me attempt to improve my appearance, even though I knew it was a pointless endeavour.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He took a step towards me, an amused look on his face.

  "You didn't," I said too quickly.

  We stood in silence for a few moments. He stared at me unabashedly until I couldn't look back any longer and dropped my gaze to the floor.

  "Guess I better get going," he said finally. "Would it be okay if I walked you home again tomorrow?"

  I couldn't help but smile shyly and shrug my shoulders. "Sure."

  Chapter Eight

  Lennon

  I read romance novels. I knew how it was supposed to work, the butterflies in your stomach, the exhilarating happiness that occurred every time you looked into each other's eyes. It had just never happened to me. I was too wrapped up in the practical. Where some people saw golden locks and charming smiles, I noticed the way one eyebrow curved differently than the other, or where spit collected in the corner of someone's mouth. People were people. I didn't get carried away by the packaging.

  So why were things so different with Judah?

  I changed out of my uniform, grateful to pull on some old track pants and a comfortable tee shirt, and pulled the lawn mower out of the garden shed. It took three tugs before it spluttered to life. It didn't take long to mow the lawns, but the whole time my mind was muddled. I couldn't get the image of his mournful eyes out of my mind, or the hint of happiness that seemed to appear when he spoke to me. Maybe it was just as he said. No one talked to him anymore, and he was just grateful for a friend.

  Mum pulled up the drive just as I was dumping the grass clippings into the compost heap, or rather, just a glorified pile of organic rubbish.

  "Help me with these, would you?" She tugged at the grocery bags and gave me a pointed look. She had only bought groceries yesterday. For all the times she went to the store, it was strange that we never had any decent food in the house. I wandered over, took the bags and carried them inside.

  I waited for her to comment on the lawns but I don't think she even noticed I had cut them. "I need you to give me a ride back to school."

  She pulled out some whole grain buns and free-range pork sausages from the grocery bag. "Elmo?"

  I nodded.

  "Battery?"

  I nodded again.

  "Let me have a shower first. Can you take care of this?" She nodded to where she had left the jumble of food on the table. "I won't be long." By then she was already making her way down the hallway towards the bathroom. I looked at the groceries scattered over the table then followed her. The steam was already pouring out of the partially open door.

  "Do you know the Mitchells?" I yelled through the open crack.

  "Ahhh …" The stream of the shower muffled Mum's voice. "I went to school with the mother, Nava Vagen was her name back then. Why do you ask?"

  "I was just curious. I met one of the sons." I tried not to sound too interested.

  "She married into money, something to do with a hotel chain, I think. One of the sons died last year. A car accident." The shower turned off, and Mum poked her head around the door, a towel wrapped tightly around her chest and another around her head. "Why the interest?"

  "He was at the cemetery."

  Mum adjusted the towel around her chest, frowned a little and then dismissed my questions from her mind. "I'll be ready in five."

  By the time I finished putting the groceries away, Mum was ready, hair still damp but makeup bright and gaudy. We jumped into her car and drove to school where poor Elmo was sitting forgotten and lonely in the carpark. Mum took the jumper cables from where they always remained in the boot of her car, ready for such occasions as this, and I attached them to the battery. Elmo burst into life first try.

  I took a detour on my way home, driving down Stone's Throw Road. I knew I shouldn't, but I simply couldn't get him out of my mind.

  The Mitchells' house was down a long, tree-lined driveway. I couldn't see much from the road, so I pulled over to the side, hopped out and began to walk down the drive, careful to remain near the trees so I could hide if I heard a car. The entire time I was inwardly telling myself off and almost laughing, or maybe it was crying at myself. The driveway was endlessly long and a number of times I considered turning back, but something pulled me towards the house. Call it curiosity, call it insanity, call it stalking, but regardless, I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to stop myself. There was something in me that was drawn to him.

  The Mitchells' house was more like a mansion than a house. The driveway ended in a circle enclosing a pond, complete with a fountain of a naked boy peeing water back into the murky green depths. The gardens were perfect, not in a manicured way, but with tumbling trees and vines, splashes of colour and wisps of mystery. The house itself stood large and imposing with ivy creeping over the walls. White columns framed the entrance way and the stone walls were covered in small windows edged with ivy. There were so many windows that I couldn't imagine the number of rooms inside. Everything spoke of money and opulence.

  As I crept closer, I could hear music, head bashing music, coming from the garage, which, not surprisingly, was about three times the size of our house. I hid behind a tree when I saw Judah bent over a car, wiping the bonnet until his reflection glimmered back. The car was jet black and had a shiny silver emblem on the front. It must be his father's. It looked too formal and expensive for any teenager to own.


  Judah sang along to the music as he polished the car, occasionally stopping to play air guitar to the solos. He had on a white singlet top, low slung jeans and a beanie pulled down over his hair so only the dark ends stuck out from under it, and his jeans were smudged with black grease. He turned to look down the driveway and wiped his brow, leaving a grease mark across his forehead, and my heart beat a little faster, thinking I had been discovered. Feeling a little disgusted with myself, I turned and made my way back down the driveway, unsure why he had this effect on me.

  Later that night as I lay in bed, I tossed and turned under the sheets. Sleep eluded me. The image of Judah kept replaying over and over in my mind until I seriously wondered if something was wrong with me. I simply couldn't shake him from my mind.

  I must have fallen asleep at some stage because I woke up with ragged and desperate breath, my curtains fluttering in the breeze. My dream was beautiful. Beautiful and terrifying.

  I was sitting on the swing at the playground down by the lake. It was deserted, apart from Judah and me. We were alone in the moonlight, and it was raining. The swing creaked as I rocked back and forth and waves gently licked the stones.

  Judah's skin was pale, shimmering iridescently in the dim light of the moon. As he breathed, puffs of air swirled into the darkness.

  "Come to me."

  I stood and walked towards him, the swing swaying with my departure. He smiled, and I put my hand in his.

  "You are beautiful."

  I believed him. In that moment, in the dark recesses of my dream, I was the most beautiful girl in the world. He pulled me to him until our bodies pressed close together. He let my hand slip from his and stroked my face. Our breath mingled as a vapour in the night.

  Slowly, he moved his lips towards mine, but it was an eternity before we touched. My heart swelled. My chest felt like it was going to explode. His lips were cold and sent shivers down my spine. Rain splattered on my cheek. His hands pressed against my back, pulling me closer and closer until the pressure began to bubble as panic.

  I couldn't breathe.

  I tried to pull away, but he held onto me, his lips locked on mine.

  My desperation was real. I was powerless to escape, and the thing that scared me the most was that I didn't want to. Darkness invaded, pulling me deeper and deeper into his kiss. My chest constricted. I needed to breathe, but I was powerless.

  Then, I woke, gasping for air.

  The curtain fluttered in the breeze again, and I sat up, wrapped the sheet tight to my chest and willed my heart to stop pounding. Suddenly cold, I got up and pulled the window shut.

  Chapter Nine

  Judah - the previous year

  My brother was perfect. You would think that would mean I was too, considering we were twins, but nothing could be further from the truth. Ruben was popular. Ruben was talented. Ruben was loved. Somehow, he managed to walk the fine line of a studious head boy while still maintaining his image of popularity. Dad never saw him in a drunken stupor or acting like the arrogant fool he was, and even if he did, I'm sure it would have been twisted in some way to be my fault. Everything was my fault. But it wasn't any of those things that had me worried. It was the way Cara's eyes were searching out his in the reflection of the rear vision mirror. Was he waving his magical spell of perfection around her, too? Surely Cara, of all people, could see through his façade.

  As soon as we walked into the old hall, Ruben was hailed with cheers and drinks were shoved into his hands. Our fellow school mates hung off his every word, as though somehow his perfection would rub off on them. His ever-present posse of friends clung to his side. Pretty boy blondie, brawn for brains, and chipmunk. Or, as they were more commonly known as; Ross, Stuart, and Alex. Ruben waved me over, but I slunk to a room off the side which had a pool table and a dartboard. There were a few people crowded around the pool table, and in the corner, a table was covered with mini pies and bowls of chips and dip.

  At parties I felt lost. It struck me as weird to simply exist in a group for no other reason than to drink alcohol. I needed something to do, something to keep my mind occupied, so I chose to eat. I was midway through stuffing my face with one of the pies when Cara walked in, an empty beer bottle swinging from her fingers.

  "Have you seen Ruben?" she asked. Of course the first words out of her mouth, when we were alone, would be to ask about Ruben. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and extracted another bottle of beer, twisting the cap off and throwing it at the dartboard.

  "Nope." I covered my mouth with my hand to stop crumbs from flying out as I spoke.

  Cara looked over the selection of food on offer and shoved a whole pie into her mouth. Her cheeks bulged as she attempted to chew without letting any escape. I chuckled and was mortified when a crumb flew across to land on Cara's top. Cara simply picked it up and popped it into her mouth, and the thought of something passing from my mouth to hers thrilled me.

  I had been in love with Cara Armistead for as long as I could remember. One of the things I loved about her was that she didn't care whether she was considered beautiful. Not because the thought had never entered her head, but because she wouldn't care, even if it did. I suppose if you gave someone her photo, they wouldn't find all that much beauty. Well, not in the way that beauty is splashed across the magazines. She had long hair that reached down to her waist, a mouth that was a little too big for her face, a nose that was a little too small, and she was skinny. Not runway model skinny, tomboy skinny. Overall, she almost came across as awkward. But to believe that was all she was would have been stupidity. It would be like comparing a still image to an entire movie. She was a blank canvas, and it was what she did with it that made her beautiful. The way she smiled. The way her eyes widened when I spoke, making me believe there was no one else she would rather be listening to. The way she walked as though she didn't have a care in the world but still knew where she was heading. She had a thousand expressions and I loved every one.

  There was only one problem with my infatuation with Cara. She was in love with Ruben. He denied it, of course. And I had never actually plucked up the courage to ask, because I was too afraid of the answer. Cara and I were best friends, we did everything together, but I knew I was only the consolation prize while she waited for Ruben. She used me to get closer to him. I knew this. I just didn't care.

  Cara walked over and plucked the darts from the board. It was strange being around her again. She was so familiar, such a big part of my life, but as she stood in front of me, I found myself nervous. I didn't know how to talk to her anymore. She had become a stranger. Even her posture was different. She held herself a little taller.

  "Want a game?" she asked.

  I nodded and took the offered darts. Cara took the first turn, slicing the dart into the wall around the board. She groaned and swore. "Guess I'm a little rusty." She turned and stood to the side, allowing me a clear line of access to the board.

  "Round the clock?" I asked.

  "Like it's going to matter," she replied.

  I let the first dart fly, hitting the wedge of the first number. I grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

  "The Fairlane looks good," she said when my next dart sunk into the second number.

  "It's a work in progress. Your dad's been a big help."

  "He always liked you."

  There were a million questions I wanted to ask, the main one being, why hadn't she called? According to Ruben, she had been home an entire week. The Cara of before would have never waited that long to call, even if it were only a guise meant to check up on Ruben, but I voiced only one. "So, what's it like being home again?"

  Cara turned, letting her head fall back against the wall and rolled her eyes. "Delightful." She punched my arm lightly, just before I was about to throw. "It's good to see you, though. I missed you."

  "Really?" I asked, twisting around to look at her and letting the dart hover in my fingers. Then I wished I hadn't. I sounded desperate.

  "Of
course." She punched my arm again and drank the beer down past the neck. "I missed you and Ruben terribly," she said after swallowing.

  Me and Ruben. Ruben. "Terribly?" I said weakly and threw the next dart, hitting a number that wasn't in sequence. It seemed that desperate was the theme of the words coming out of my mouth. I laughed, but even that managed to sound desperate as well. Something had changed between us. Something was there that wasn't before she left for boarding school. I hoped it was just time and distance.

  "Terribly," she said with mock severity, ripping the darts off the board and taking aim. "But then again, I was at an all-girls school, so I pretty much missed anyone with balls." The dart flew soundly into the first number and she let out a grunt of triumph. The crumbs I thought I had swallowed, tickled my throat and I spluttered. "Come on now, Judah," she said, her eyes blazing with amusement. "Don't tell me that without me around, you developed a shock reflex. I see I've got my work cut out for me." She threw the next dart and it hit the wall before falling to the ground. "I'm over this," she said, turning away. She took my hand and pulled me out the door, finishing the last of her beer and throwing the bottle to the ground. It bounced on the wooden floor but didn't break. "Dance with me," she yelled over the music.

  People danced lazily, bottles in hand and eyes glazed. If you could call it dancing. It was more like group heaving. Even though I could probably name each person that was there, I didn't feel like I knew any of them.

  I shook my head but did little else to protest as she led me to the centre of the room and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her eyes gleamed, and for a moment, I simply closed my eyes and inhaled her scent. She smelled the same. No boarding school could rid her of that. It was a combination of daffodils and something medicinal, or chemical-like. I didn't know what it was, but it was all Cara. I barely took notice of the people stumbling in time to the music around me. She was all there was. She chattered in my ear happily. I missed most of what she said, as the music drowned out her voice, but still, I smiled and nodded and laughed when she laughed. Around Cara, I could be the person I wanted to be, not the person I was.