I touch her arm again. This time she throws it off so violently my fingers hit metal shelving on the way back. I wince. ‘Harriet …’
I hear a click.
Someone’s coming in.
In the whole history of our secret storeroom meetings, nobody has ever come in.
Harriet turns in surprise. I glance around the storeroom. A pile of leftover neon pink arrows is on the shelf in plain view. Our cartoons are up on the wall. We’re here as well, among it all. Whoever walks in the door in five microseconds, four microseconds, three microseconds, will know everything at a glance. They’ll know who we are. They’ll know who Amelia Westlake is. Harriet Price and Will Everhart in a storeroom together: it’s so unlikely there’s no other possible explanation.
Unless.
Two microseconds. One.
The door opens and in comes Duncan Aboud and I throw Harriet Price against the wall of cartoons and kiss her on the mouth.
Chapter 20
HARRIET
Madame Chair, adjudicator, audience.
Today I will be arguing the topic: That My Life Is Over.
‘My’ pertains to me. ‘Life’ refers to the general or universal condition of human existence. ‘Over’ in this context means ended, finished, utterly extinguished.
My life is over because three weeks ago it was ruined by the actions of one selfish and possibly deranged person called Will Everhart.
First, Will Everhart involved me in an elaborate hoax. Second, through this hoax she implicated me in an illegal enterprise. Third, to disguise said enterprise she placed me in a compromising situation. The consequences have been irrevocable. Put simply, the life I once led is done with.
Ladies and gentlemen: in contemporary society, great emphasis is placed on academic success, sporting prowess and the maintenance of stable relationships. Three months ago, I had all of these boxes ticked. Today, my school marks are average at best, my sporting goals are unlikely to be reached and I have no relationship to speak of.
I ask you: who is to blame? Is it my teachers, who have made it their life’s work to educate the youth of today? Is it my tennis coach, who has trained me in the art of the backhand and the volley? Is it Edie Marshall, future prime minister and love of my life?
Distinguished guests, the answer is no. Will Everhart is the reason for all of it.
My life is over because Will Everhart cajoled me into a ridiculous series of activities that distracted me from my life goals.
My life is over because she then decided it would be a good idea to kiss me in a storeroom in the presence of a school journalist.
My life is over because, unsurprisingly, news quickly spread that Will Everhart and I were having an affair.
My life is over because as soon as the news reached my girlfriend, she broke up with me. BY TEXT MESSAGE.
I ask you, Madame Chair: how much havoc can one person wreak? When is enough enough?
But it doesn’t end there. The day after Edie dumped me, she messaged to say it would be best for both of us if we were no longer Doubles partners in the Tawney Shield. Instead, she has partnered with Queensland’s Under-16 champion, Bianca Stein.
As a result, my lifelong dream of winning the Tawney Shield Doubles, something I have been working towards for the last six years, has been completely obliterated.
I come now to the arguments put forward by the opposition. While I acknowledge his point that I am still technically breathing and consequently my life has not in fact ceased, I reject this argument on the basis that it is a truism and therefore invalidated by the rules of this debating contest.
My opponent further argues that kisses are a metaphor for life, as in ‘the kiss of life’ featured in such fairy tales as Sleeping Beauty. He reasons that I should therefore interpret Will Everhart’s kiss not as an ending but a beginning. In response I refer him to Ralph Vaughan William’s three-act opera, The Poisoned Kiss, to Michael Corleone’s ‘kiss of death’ in The Godfather II, and to the ‘Kiss of Judas’ described in Matthew 26: 47–50 which led to the demise of Jesus Christ.
Besides, how is anyone to take anything my opponent says seriously when a) his key goal in life is to play guitar for a garage punk band and b) he is, since Wednesday, literally in bed with the enemy, Natasha Nguyen – the head of Rosemead’s predatory student media who aided and abetted the prime culprit to ruin me forever?
In conclusion, as a result of the actions of Will Everhart and her accomplices, my life is totally and completely fucked. Thank you.
Chapter 21
WILL
I should have let her keep the art pen. That’s where this all started. That day in detention, when she held it ransom, I should have upped and walked. Instead, like an idiot, I did a deal with her – the devil in pastel – a stupid deal about a stupid cartoon. And now, here we are.
Did I mention how shitty my life is? Here’s another tale. Add this to the long-winded name, the pet fatalities, the faulty hair dryer, the charlatanising parents and the flying phobia: I kissed Harriet Price.
It’s not your sympathy I’m after. What I need is a life raft.
We kissed, and it was wonderful.
Please send help.
Chapter 22
HARRIET
‘Harri, can you hear me? Harriet!’
I open my eyes onto broken light. The world is a shadowbox and each square holds a different thing: a flying bird, a wavering palm, a scrap of sky. Someone is tapping their foot in another room. Or is it a hand slapping my cheek?
I stretch my legs the full length of the banana lounge and remove the straw hat from my face.
‘Harri,’ says Arthur, peering down at me. ‘Are you drunk?’
His head is freshly shaven at the sides. Gel glistens in the ferrety bit running down the middle of his scalp. He looks worried, but I don’t care.
‘Go
