Silhouette (19 page)

Jack passes me with barely a glance and leaves the room.

‘Sally?’ says Mr Winchester. ‘Please draft up a media statement saying that the student in question has been suspended until further notice … Yes. And make it clear that it all happened outside of school hours and away from the Academy. Try to distance us from this as much as possible.’

Mr Winchester hangs up the phone. ‘I’ll call your mother,’ he says, lifting it again.

‘Wait. You don’t need to do this, Mr Winchester. Please, I promise you. That’s all finished for me.’

‘I’m sorry, Scarlett,’ he says dismissively. He speaks into the phone. ‘Sally? Could you get Scarlett Stirling’s mother on the line for me?’

Mum on the line. What will she say? How is this even happening? Panic churns and spreads inside me. Then it finds focus. Grant.

I spin around and push out into the corridor, carried forwards like a heat-seeking missile. I reach the theatre and scan the bodies in warm-up poses. I don’t focus on any of them.

No-one out here is Grant. Change rooms next. I go straight through the one marked MALE.

Lachlan is on a bench, wrapping a bandage around his ankle. Beside him,
smiling
, is Grant. ‘Well, I sure didn’t expect to see you in –’

‘What the hell did you do that for? Geez, Grant! I had it all
under control
.’ I clench my fists, trying to control the anger. ‘What gives you the right to tell them
anything
about me?’

Grant just looks at me blankly. ‘What are you talking about? Had
what
under control?’

‘You told Winchester I was taking drugs!’ I explode.

Lachlan’s jaw has dropped.

‘What? I never said anything –’

‘You never said anything? Then why am I
suspended
?’

Grant’s still holding his ground. ‘I didn’t say anything! It wasn’t me.’

‘Really?’ I have my hands on my hips. I nod sarcastically. ‘Then who else could it have been?’

Voices from outside the door make it clear others can hear. Not that I care. Not that it matters. The change room door squeaks as it opens. ‘I didn’t
need
this, Grant. I didn’t need to be saved.’

‘I’m telling you, Scarlett, it wasn’t me!’ Grant yells back.

‘I can’t believe this! You’re going to deny it?’

‘You better believe it!’

I’m spluttering through words to yell back at him when I hear a voice behind me. ‘Scarlett.’ Frustrated, I turn to find Paige holding the door open.

Her eyes meet mine. ‘It was me.’

SEVENTEEN

‘I found a tablet hidden in a magazine when I was at your place. But anyone could see something was going on. You’ve been coming to school hung-over, with your hair smelling like smoke,’ Paige says evenly.

I tell myself not to move. If I do, I’ll explode. ‘And you think that’s a good enough reason to destroy
everything
for me?’

Paige’s eyes widen. ‘You’re doing a good enough job of that on your own, don’t you think? I was worried –’

‘Worried!’

‘They were asking everyone! All I did was tell the truth.’

My stomach tightens. ‘Kind of convenient, isn’t it?’

Paige steps towards me. ‘You don’t know what it’s like … watching you throw everything away.’

‘I haven’t thrown
anything
away. You’re the one who’s done that for me!’

‘Not before you did it to yourself! All year I’ve sat back and watched –’

‘That’s it, isn’t it
?’
I shout. ‘You’ve just watched while I’ve been doing all the things that you wanted to do. If you had the chance –’

‘What?’ Paige snaps. ‘You think I want to sit around smoking weed? You think I want to throw myself at some
… seedy musician?
’

For a moment our eyes meet and it’s all I can do to stop myself screaming at her. The tears in her eyes somehow make it worse. Can’t do this anymore. I head for the doorway, past Paige, making a point to look straight ahead.

Voices call my name as I take a fire exit out of the theatre, but I don’t stop to find out who.

Sunlight hits me outside. Before the door shuts, I start running, past the main wing to the edge of the school grounds. I reach the side fence and climb over. I don’t head for the bus stop, just keep moving, dodging around a group in business suits, tearing past office blocks, running out the rage.

Ahead, a bus slows and comes to a stop beside a shelter. I speed up. I’m up the bus steps in a flash, not caring where it’s going. Hopefully to the moon. I find a space up the back and sink low, feet hooked up on the seat. I rest my chin between knees.

Just take me away …

I’m carried along by the hum of the engine, waiting to find myself somewhere I’ve never been. After a while my feet slide onto the floor and I sit high enough to look out the window. It takes only a few seconds to realise that we’re heading into the city. No place new. My throat constricts and I swallow the lump away.

When the bus pulls up at Central, I file off with everyone else and let the crowd carry me along. Faces smile out at me from newsstand magazines.

Before I can hold it back, anger boils out as hot tears. How could she do that to me? A woman glances my way with concern as she passes so I wipe my cheeks with the back of a hand and start walking.

Inside Central station is a huge concourse with shops lining one side. I pass another newsstand, cafes, hairdresser … until I reach the arrivals and departures board at the other end. Cities are listed with platform numbers, departure times.

Perth doesn’t leave until 20.15, with a train change in Adelaide. Brisbane leaves sooner …

All I have to do is step on a train. I have enough money in the bank. I won’t even tell them where I’ve gone. I’ll find somewhere to live, work in a cafe until I can land on my feet. Maybe I’ll change my name.

‘Hi … can we have your autograph?’

Two girls about twelve or thirteen stand with their shoulders jammed together, smiling nervously at me. One holds out a diary. ‘You know Moss Young. We saw you on Celebrity Spotter.’

‘No.’ I step back, shaking my head. ‘You have the wrong person.’

‘But I’m sure it’s you.’ She pulls out her phone, taps the screen and holds it up hopefully.

I don’t want to look.

But there I am, standing beside Moss. He has his arm around me, smiling as if we’re a loving couple. It’s not just Moss’s face that strikes me, but my own. All the hope in my eyes. So much make-up. Wild hair.

The girls are waiting expectantly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Chin tucked low, I hurry away.

Back along the concourse, I pull my hair into a ponytail, dodging my elbows around passersby, twisting it into a messy bun.

The female restroom is up ahead and I burst through the door, finding some small relief when I see it’s empty.

I splash water on my cheeks, my forehead, not fussed about the spills. For a while I stare at my face. Eyes rimmed red. Strands of hair stuck out.

Roughly I pull out the hair tie and start using my hands as combs, yanking hard at tangles, then smoothing back my hair as best as I can. I tie it back with a twist and tuck into another bun.

I hate the girl in the mirror. Can’t look at her anymore.

Instead I spin around and push back out of the restroom. Past cafes, newsstand, hairdresser …

In the middle of the concourse I stop. Through the window I can see a woman sitting with foils in her hair, no-one in the waiting area. Shoulders square, I clench my jaw. The door pulls easily in my hand and I walk straight in.

A middle-aged woman with a short black bob steps briskly from the back. ‘Hi. Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I don’t have an appointment. Is there any space this afternoon?’

She picks up a pencil and scans down at the appointment book. ‘What about right now?’

I nod decisively. ‘That would be great.’

She pulls out an empty chair for me. I shuffle into position as the smock circles my neck. Soon I feel the tug of hair as it’s pulled free from its bun.

For a while the hairdresser arranges my hair around my shoulders, playing, getting to know her medium. ‘This is your natural colour?’

‘Yes.’ It’s the same question, every time.

‘Beautiful,’ she murmurs. ‘And what would you like today?’

‘I want it all off. Number one on the clippers.’

Her hands pause and I hear a tight laugh. ‘We can’t do
that
. Half the people who come in here would kill for hair like this.’ For a moment she keeps playing. ‘Let me try a new style, and if you don’t like it we can go shorter.’

‘No,’ I say patiently. ‘I just want it shaved off.’ She doesn’t realise yet, but she will soon.

This time her eyes narrow as they find mine in the mirror. ‘Just a minute,’ she says.

The hairdresser disappears out the back and I strain to make out the hushed voices. The woman sitting in foils glances up from her magazine. As soon as I catch her gaze in the mirror she looks away.

Soon the hairdresser comes back. ‘How about I make you a coffee? You can take some time to think it through.’

‘It’s okay. I’m sure about this. I won’t regret it.’ I know how regret feels.

Again, there’s a pause, but I know this time that she’s about to say yes. An alarm sounds for the woman’s foils to come off and another hairdresser appears from the back.

First comes the gentle tug of hair being combed out, then the neat snip of it being cut short. I close my eyes at the harsh hum of the buzzer, feeling vibration against my skull. It’s almost like being stroked, not rough as I was expecting. For a moment I think that she’s just pretending, until I open my eyes to see half my hair gone, the other half still there but somehow absurd.

It takes a while for her to finish off, and tidy up. The buzzing dies away and all is quiet. My own face stares back, eyes more pronounced than before, perhaps, but nothing else worth noting. It’s something I’ve always known; without my hair I’m not much to look at. Entirely unremarkable. I lift a hand slowly and touch my scalp with fingertips. So soft.

‘Thanks.’ I glance away from my reflection to find them all staring at me.

‘You’re okay?’ asks the hairdresser gently.

‘Yeah.’ I nod with strange satisfaction.

She brushes loose hair from my neck and unfastens the cloak. I stand up, holding myself tall because they’re still watching me.

When I’m at the counter I notice the pool of dark red hair on the floor, like a blood stain. There’s so much of it. I want to turn away but I don’t. It’s like forcing myself to look at a corpse so that I know for sure that it’s dead.

Once I’ve paid, I slip back into the crowd. I can’t help glancing at people as they pass, curious about what they see. Mostly they barely look at me.

Back in front of the departures board, I find an empty bench and sit with my legs crossed. I think about buying a ticket, but something stops me. I just watch the world go by, feeling empty inside. It’s after three, only half an hour until the train to Brisbane. The time makes me think of the Academy. They would’ve half-finished the run-through by now. They’d be trying on last-minute costumes before the dress rehearsal.

It’s not as if any of them would miss me. Not Jack, not Grant, certainly not Paige. But still I don’t buy a ticket. I can’t leave without …

What?

The image of Mum comes to me, waiting at home. I can’t leave without facing her.

So that’s where I go.

She’s there as soon as I unlock the door, moving towards me in a rush, before stopping short. ‘Oh my goodness!’ Mum cups my jaw in her hands, her eyes darting over my bare head.

The concern on her face makes me panic. What have I done? ‘I … I’ve been suspended,’ I say, as my throat tightens. Hearing it out loud makes it suddenly real.

For a moment she says nothing, just hugs me. ‘I know. I wish they’d called me first. I should have been there.’

I wish she’d been there too, my fierce mum.

In a daze I follow Mum into the kitchen. I’m right behind her when she spins around. ‘They said you’ve been taking drugs!’

I step back. ‘Just … twice.’

‘Scarlett! How could you? Of all the stupid,
idiotic
things …’ Her words erupt in my face. ‘After all the work you’ve done!’

‘Listen! Let me speak, okay?’ I stand my ground. ‘I smoked pot
once
. Just a few puffs. And I took an ecstasy tablet, but it was just once. And I’m not doing that anymore!’

Her head shakes. ‘How
could
you, Scarlett?’

‘It was easy,’ I snap, meaning to hurt.

My words hit their mark. Mum’s face falls. ‘I suppose it’s partly my fault. If you keep going this way …’ Her eyes flicker to my shaved head as she searches for words.

It’s not what she thinks, about my hair. I haven’t gone off the rails. ‘Mum, it’s okay,’ I say softly. ‘There’s another tablet upstairs, the one that Paige found. I’ve had it for weeks. Do you think it would still be there if I had a problem with drugs? I’m not interested.’

Mum’s fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head.

‘You know,’ I say, ‘I was drinking a lot too, but no-one blinked an eye about that.’

‘There’s a difference,’ she says, deadpan.

We’re left looking at each other in silence.

‘You’ve had it tough these past months,’ Mum says gently. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about your father, at least once you were old enough to understand. I didn’t handle it well.’

‘Mum,’ I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. You don’t have to –’

‘No, but I want to.’ Her face barely changes, other than tightness at the sides. ‘If you’ll let me.’

We go into the kitchen. Chair legs screech against floorboards as we sit opposite each other.

Mum frowns at her hands. ‘When I got the call about your father, I’d just taken you to kinder. It was … terrible. Such a shock. When they told me
where
he was when he died, my whole world just exploded.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry, Scarlett. I couldn’t cope with it myself, let alone explain it to you.’

I reach across the table. ‘But if you’d only spoken to Natasha.’

‘I couldn’t face her,’ Mum shakes her head. ‘She was a
dancer
. Part of his world. How could I compete with that?’