Dangerous Games (4 page)

But then again, what would I know? I'd never had a boyfriend.

Once Draz was no longer a secret, Soph could not stop dropping him into our conversations. Everything she said and thought seemed to be filtered through what he said and thought. We heard all about how skateboarding was an art form and should really be in the Olympics, why Draz didn't need to do homework because he was going to be a pro-skater or a rock star and he'd have an entourage to do all the complicated stuff for him, how he was saving up to buy his own car, what that car was going to be, the merits of that car vis-a-vis other kinds of car, especially in relation to drag-racing (his brother Miro was into drag-racing). It began to feel like Draz was the invisible eighth member of our group and that we spent more time listening to him, even though it was second-hand, than we spent talking to each other.

More worryingly, Soph's opinions about everything seemed to be shifting into line with Draz's opinions. For example, Soph no longer loved
Summerdale High
, which used to be her favourite TV show. Almost overnight it had become tragic, pathetic, lame. And her new favourite show? That one with a whole bunch of skater dudes competing to see who could do the sickest, weirdest, grossest, most destructive or most potentially life-threatening stunts they could think up. Draz's personal favourite involved snorkelling in a gigantic vat of untreated sewage. Soph's taste in music had changed
too. Gone were the lip-glossed pop princesses and spunky boy bands who had previously covered her bedroom walls. Soph no longer wrote the names and stuck the stickers of her favourite singers on her belongings, because that was just totally lame and adolescent too. Soph liked punk now, but she didn't have to write it on her schoolbooks. It was all about the attitude. She'd changed all her personalised mobile phone ringtones too, in line with her new musical tastes, so now they were punk ringtones. In my opinion, personalised ringtones are intrinsically pop, not punk, but I didn't say that to Soph.

Soph now spent her entire school week telling us about how she was longing for the weekend. School, she sighed, was so
boring
. Her life was so
boring
. Being fourteen was so
boring
. Draz, despite being only sixteen and therefore too young to drive a car or buy alcohol, was already living the fast and exciting life of an adult. Draz had friends with cars. Draz had been drag-racing. Draz got drunk on a regular basis. Draz smoked (although Soph was trying to get him to stop because, she said, it tasted so disgusting when they snogged). Draz knew people who could get him into clubs. Draz went to parties that lasted
the whole weekend
. Draz knew surfers, skaters, gang members, bikies, drug dealers. The way Soph told it, Draz lived in an almost unimaginable world of dangerous fun and he was ready and waiting to whisk Soph away to join him there.

My friends listened to all this with a mixture of admiration and fear. Other teenagers, we knew, did live these wild and hectic lives, driving for miles in the middle of
the night, crashing parties, falling down drunk. They weren't people
we
knew, but you heard about them. But it wasn't until Soph started regaling us with stories about what Draz liked to get up to – and how much she wished she could join in – that it occurred to any of us that this was something we might even consider.

As the days passed and Soph told us more and more about the amazing adventures of Draz, I began to feel a kind of sinking sensation inside. Because the thought of hanging out with someone like Draz and his pack of appalling friends filled me with dread. I didn't want to get so drunk I fell down and choked on my own vomit. I didn't want to ride on the top of trains. I didn't want to go to a party that lasted all weekend and ended up with the house burning down.

But the more Soph talked, the more glamorous it began to sound, and I began to get a creeping feeling that the fact that I wasn't into any of this stuff meant that there really was something wrong with me. Soph was growing up fast, and I was being left behind. The various pleasures of my life – like cricket, and soap operas, and girly pop songs – began to seem silly and childish. And even though I knew there was a good chance that Draz was just big-noting himself and didn't do half of what he said he did – and even if he
did
, Soph would never do it with him because her parents wouldn't let her – a little worm of unhappiness began to gnaw at me. Because it was beginning to feel like Soph and me were drifting apart.

A
nother Saturday night rolled around. A long evening in front of the telly with Mum, Dad and Jason beckoned. I was just about suffocating with boredom when the phone rang.

It was Soph. ‘Hey,' she said, ‘it's me.'

‘Hey,' I said, feeling my heart lift. Maybe Draz was working tonight. Or had fallen off a cliff. ‘What are you up to?'

‘I've got a favour to ask,' Soph said. ‘A big, big favour.'

‘What is it?' I asked, my heart sinking again.

‘Draz has asked me to go to a party with him, but you know what my parents are like, they're going to want me home by eleven and the party won't have even started by then. Can I stay at your place tonight?'

‘Sure, but – how's that going to help?'

‘It's simple,' Soph said, a touch impatiently. ‘I come to your place, sneak out your bedroom window, go to the party with Draz, sneak back in your window at the end of the night, and no-one's any the wiser.'

‘But what am I supposed to tell my parents?' I asked.

‘Shut your door and play loud music. They'll never know I'm not there.'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Well, okay.'

‘You're a legend,' Soph said.

She came round not long afterwards, comfortably dressed for a night in, dragging her pillow and a bag filled with nightwear and toiletries as well as party clothes and secret make-up stash. We retired to my room and Soph immediately started getting dressed for her big night out.

‘So what happens if your parents ring up looking for you?' I asked, as Soph started putting on her party face.

‘They won't,' she said.

‘Yes, but what if they do?'

‘Tell them I'm in the toilet and then call me on my mobile and I'll call them back,' Soph said.

‘Yes, but what if –'

‘Meliss,' Soph said, ‘nothing's going to go wrong. Trust me.'

By eight o'clock Soph was ready to go. I looked at her, all dressed up in her sk8ter girl gear, flushed with excitement and looking forward to a big night out with her new man, and felt like the world's biggest loser.

‘How late are you going to be?' I asked, knowing I sounded like somebody's mother.

‘I don't know,' Soph said. ‘But it'll be late.'

‘Try and be home before breakfast time,' I said, hoping I sounded cool and sophisticated.

‘I'll try,' Soph smirked.

And then she climbed out the window and was gone.

It was only then that I realised I'd made myself a prisoner in my own bedroom. If I was supposed to be hanging with Soph, I couldn't even go into the lounge room and watch telly with the rest of the family. Boring as that had sounded before, it was infinitely preferable to lurking in my room all night playing loud music and pretending to have fun. But I had no choice about it – I'd promised Soph I'd cover for her.

I tried to settle down and read a book, but my head was so full of resentment I couldn't concentrate. I got up off the bed and went to look at myself in the mirror. There I was, the same boring old Melissa. Same boring hair. Same boring clothes. Same no-cheekbone chipmunk face. How come I hadn't been invited to the party? How come Soph hadn't asked one of our other friends to cover for her? Why was my life so boring?

I could see my future stretching out ahead of me, filled with long, frustrating nights like this one, with Soph out flirting with some guy and living her exciting and glamorous life while I stayed at home, wearing ugg boots.

My parents went to bed at eleven. I turned the music down but stayed up for a while longer, reading. I crashed just after midnight.

I woke with a jolt to the sound of tapping on the window. I rolled out of bed, switching on my bedside light, and stumbled to the window. Soph fell into the room, bringing a blast of cold air with her.

‘I've had the most amazing night!' she announced, in a horribly audible voice.

‘Ssh! You'll wake everybody up!' I hissed.

Soph dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘You should have been there,' she said. ‘It was the best party I've ever been to.'

I would have gone if I'd been asked,
I thought huffily. But I didn't say it.

Soph started undressing, pulling off first one boot and then the other and letting them fall clump, clump to the floor. ‘Draz knows the coolest people,' she said. ‘They all want to be in bands, or they're going to be pro-skaters. They're so cool. And
funny
.'

Soph smelt strongly of cigarette smoke and something else too, a pungent, almost fruity smell which reminded me of the way my parents smelt when they came home after a big night out – I could only assume it was the smell of alcohol. She was lolling on the side of the bed, her head flopping about as if her neck was made of rubber, and the fiddly bits of her clothes were completely defeating her.

‘You're pissed, aren't you?' I said, helping her undo buttons.

‘What makes you say that?' she said, slurring a little, and then she looked at me in alarm. ‘I think I'm going to spew!'

Soph lurched to her feet and I jumped up with her, steering her towards the bathroom and closing and locking the door behind us. Soph stumbled and almost fell face-first into the toilet and then her mouth opened wide and a plentiful quantity of orangey liquid came gushing out of her and splashed into the toilet, across the seat, down the sides of the loo and onto the floor.

‘I don't feel very good,' Soph moaned, when the torrent had subsided.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Are you all right in there?' It was my mum.

‘We're fine,' I said. ‘Soph's not feeling very well.'

Mum turned the handle. ‘I'll give you a hand,' she said.

‘It's fine,' I said, ‘she's feeling better now. You go back to bed, she'll be right in a minute.'

But Mum wasn't ready to give up yet. ‘Are you sure?' she asked. ‘Does she need to see a doctor?'

I looked at Soph. Soph shook her head.

‘No,' I said.

‘I think you'd better let me in,' Mum said.

Soph was half in and half out of her party clothes, with slipping pink hair extensions in her hair and ruined party make-up sliding down her cheeks. If I let Mum in now we were busted for sure.

‘Soph says she'd like to have a quick shower,' I said. ‘She got vomit in her hair and she'd like to wash it out.'

‘But if she's got a fever –' Mum began.

‘She'll be okay,' I insisted, ‘she just wants to get cleaned up a bit.'

I reached for the shower and switched it on. Soph crouched on the floor, shaking her head and whimpering. ‘Get in the shower,' I hissed.

‘I don't want to,' Soph said.

‘Do you want my mum to see you looking like this? Get in now!'

Soph struggled out of the rest of her clothes and crawled into the shower.

‘Are you sure you're all right in there?' Mum asked again.

‘We're fine, Mum,' I said. ‘Go back to bed.'

I wouldn't let Soph out of the shower until she'd shampooed her hair and scrubbed off all the make-up. At last she was clean enough to emerge, and she stepped, dripping and sleepy-eyed from the shower.

‘I hate you,' she said, lunging for a towel.

I gathered up all Soph's things while she dried herself, rolled them up into a bundle, and hid them under my baggy pyjama top. When we emerged, Mum was standing there waiting for us.

‘Are you
sure
you're all right?' she repeated. ‘Is there anything I can get you? Would you like something to drink?'

‘I think we'd just like to go to bed now,' I said. I hoped the heavily scented shampoo Soph had used was strong enough to disguise the smell of booze.

Mum put her hand on Soph's forehead to test her temperature. ‘You feel a little hot,' she observed.

‘She's just come out of the shower,' I said.

‘I just want to go to bed now,' Soph murmured. ‘I'm sorry for waking you up.'

Mum studied her, and I waited, my heart in my mouth, to see whether she'd notice anything. For all I knew there were certain sure-fire giveaway signs of drunkenness that a mother would know but which I hadn't heard about yet. But if there were, Mum didn't pick up on them. Instead, she smiled sympathetically.

‘That's all right,' she said. ‘Let me know if you need anything.'

We stumbled back to bed. Once we were safely back in my room, Soph fell onto her bed, still wrapped in her towel. I went and got a spare nightie from a drawer.

‘Here,' I said, ‘you can borrow mine.'

‘I've got my own,' Soph said, her eyes shut.

It was important to maintain the illusion that the two of us had been safely tucked up in bed for the last hour or two. ‘You just vomited on your own, remember?'

I dropped my nightie on her stomach and Soph dragged it over her head then collapsed back onto the spare mattress.

‘Why is the room spinning?' she moaned.

‘You're pissed,' I said.

‘It's moving in a clockwise direction,' Soph moaned.

‘Warn me if you think you're going to spew again,' I said, climbing into bed.

‘I hate clockwise,' Soph said. She was asleep in moments. Then she started to snore. I'd never heard Soph snore before.

It took Soph a long time to get going the next morning. Mum was all concerned when we finally showed our faces in the kitchen.

‘How are you feeling, Sophie?' she asked, as soon as she saw us.

‘Bad,' Soph croaked.

‘Are you sure you should be out of bed?' Mum asked. ‘Do you have a temperature?'

Soph shook her head. ‘I'm fine,' she said. ‘I just don't feel very well.'

‘I hope it's nothing serious.'

‘You said you were already feeling better than you did last night, didn't you, Soph?' I prompted.

‘Much better,' Soph agreed, reaching for the orange juice. She skolled two brimming glasses in quick succession.

‘What would you like for breakfast?' Mum asked.

‘Toast,' I said.

Soph just shuddered. ‘I'm not really very hungry,' she said. But once she saw my breakfast, she decided she could probably manage a couple of bits of Vegemite toast.

‘So tell me about the party,' I said, when we'd both showered and were getting dressed in my room. ‘Was it fun?'

‘Fun?' Soph said dramatically. ‘It was the worst night of my life.'

‘Why?' I asked, feeling rather treacherously pleased that her adventure without me had turned out badly. ‘What happened?'

‘The party was in this disgusting warehouse,' she said. ‘It was freezing and it was dirty and the toilets were like something out of the third world and everyone was pissed and Draz kept bringing me drinks and I didn't realise they had alcohol in them until it was too late and then I got mad at him and we had a fight but I didn't have any way to leave so I had to go back in and wait for him to take me home, and the whole thing was just a horrible nightmare. I swear, I'm never going to do anything like that ever again.'

This is going to sound horrible, I know, but secretly, I was glad. I didn't like Draz, and I couldn't really see why
Soph liked him either, and if last night's adventure helped make her realise what a jerk he was, then all the better.

So you can imagine my surprise on Monday at recess when I heard Soph regaling everyone with the story of her Saturday night – only now it didn't sound quite the nightmare she had described the first time.

‘You've never seen so many fantastic people!' Soph was enthusing. ‘It was in this giant
warehouse
in the middle of
nowhere
and the music was
cranking
and I would've stayed out all night if I could, only Draz had to work the next day so eventually he dropped me off at Meliss's place. Oh, but you should have
been
there, it was the biggest party I've ever been to, it was just
awesome
, the place was going off!'

‘I can't believe you got invited to such a great party and you didn't invite any of us,' Mina said enviously.

Soph smiled and preened. ‘Maybe next time,' she said.

I looked round at my friends, feeling a little stir of annoyance, partly at them, but mostly at Soph.
Tell them about how rotten you felt the next day
, I wanted to say.
Tell them about how you spewed in my bathroom. Tell them what you told me, that it was the worst night of your life.
But I knew it was pointless. All that had been forgotten now. Draz was still the golden boy and Saturday night had turned into a wonderful adventure. And our friends couldn't have been more impressed.

I decided to call her on it as we were heading back to class.

‘What about what you said on Sunday morning?' I said.

‘What
did
I say?' Soph asked, looking confused.