There was a girl in my class that for some reason I felt like Id really get along with.

She was quiet and non-participatory, like me, and spoke really quietly when she was supposed to answer questions. She wore button-up cardigans and frilled skirts. She had very red lips, the shape a stroke of colour on her freckled face as if smudged on by a painters thumb, and she looked all very fucking indie. She wore actual boots and looked like someone who would have The Smiths on her iPod, which amused me terribly because I mean, come on. Being a little pretentious is awfully fun if we can laugh at ourselves for it. I love using pretentious adverbs like awfully. I kinda feel like its pretentious to be pointedly unpretentious. You look dumb when you take anything too seriously. I figured I should just go up and talk to her, so I did, while waiting outside class for the previous group to leave. She had headphones in her ears. I walked over by her and smiled. She smiled back and pulled her headphones out, letting them rest on her shoulders. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out. I stifled a giggle. Hey. Hey, she said. The Smiths? Yep. Hows the whole making friends thing going? She laughed. Not that great. Not a single friend in college so far, I said. Huh? I mean me, I dont have any friends yet. Oh, she said. Neither do I. Okay, well, unless you consider people I talk to in class sometimes but dont know outside of that as friends. Same. She smiled vaguely. Hey, I said. I know this is really odd but its like, I think wed get along. I mean, if we became friends. That wed hit it off. And well I figured I should just go up and talk to you sooner or later and maybe wed get along and whats your name? Jade, she said. Yours? Rahel. Well, nice to meet you, she said, mock-formal, and stuck out a hand. I shook it. One of the other kids waiting outside class whistled. Did you live abroad? No. She laughed. I have this accent because I am English. I did high school in Melbourne though, and Im here now. We didnt sit together in class, but she waited for me outside. She waved as I stepped out, and grinned. We walked out onto North Terrace. The wind was brisk, rising gusts that bit at the tip of my nose and sent autumn leaves skipping past our shoes. Do you have any classes right now? None whatsoever.

Im free for the day, I said. Same. You wanna go grab a coffee? Most definitely, she said. Its unreasonably cold. I honest to God thought today would be kinda warm. Me too, she said. This skirt was very definitely a bad idea. Ive lived here long enough to know that Adelaide weather is very bipolar. We went over to the Cibo by ANZ Bank in Rundle Street, across from university. She had her coffee black. I got a mocha. We talked for an hour. She wrote her number on a napkin and gave it to me. I texted her on the bus home. I hope Im not being too shameless, she wrote in one of her replies that night, but we should hang out after class next week too. We very definitely should, I said.

We texted each other regularly most nights. Not short, constant texts, which carry a whole different kind of meaning, but the kind of relaxed, long questions-and-answers texts that you reply fifteen minutes to half an hour apart, so theyd stretch out over the evening, until one of us fell asleep. We both liked texting as a medium of getting-to-know-each-other. Theres none of the pressure for an immediate reply that instant messaging has, nor the connotation of taking time out specifically for a person. Phone calls have both those too, as well as the general expense and vague awkwardness. Being able to circumvent all that is a good thing when youre not the most socially capable pair of people in the world. You can write back while putting in the laundry, or cooking, or watching TV, or lying in bed doing nothing (or pretend to have bit more of a life than you actually do, if all you do do is just the lying around doing nothing). You can slow down or speed up your replies, and they follow the same rhythm. You can talk exactly and only as much as you want to talk. And you never have to end the conversation, you just fall asleep and then the next evening you continue, and that lets you escape the trouble of starting conversations too. Texting is pretty great that way. I dont think Id really be able to say what we talked about then, if pressed. I guess the usual stuff. Complaints about everyday life things that we had to face up to now that we were living on our own for the first time, conversation about the shows that we mutually liked*, complaints about our schoolwork, existential despair. The works. We both used proper English when texting, but then again, thats hardly new. As far as I know, txt spk died when phones got decent keyboards and spell-check and it took less effort to write correctly than to spell out words sans consonants, and now exists only in teen movies and messages from my mom. Even people who cant spell to save their lives still use full words**. I never used smileys with noses. All her smileys had noses, and she used smileys to sign off her textswith a comma after, as if smileys were substitutes for phrases, whereas I saw them as surrogate facial expressions. Colon hyphen right bracket comma Jade, and soon enough, colon hyphen asterisk comma Jade. (*Doctor Who, mostly, so discussing mutual pain and anguish, mostly.)

(**Most visible on Twitter. My friends from collage are such hippocrates They always take me for granite. Etc.)

And sure enough, hanging out after classes Mondays and Wednesdays was soon a routine. We usually just got coffee and then talked in the campus Hub, but this one day, a couple weeks in, we decided we should look around outside campus. So we went and got ourselves ice cream bars at the Blue Lemon opposite university, and decided to explore the Renaissance Arcade off North Terrace. For some reason neither of us had ever been there before so we figured, hey, why not. This turned out to be an inspired choice for Jade. She walked in, saw the vinyl record store across from the entrance, and positively ran over. I followed her. She looked up at me, full of excitement. Look! Its a vinyl record store! I noticed, I said. Isnt it brilliant? Ive never been in one before. She stared. Wow, really? Yeah. She turned back to the racks. There was one I loved back in London. I used to go there pretty often, for a while. She gazed longingly at a Nirvana record. I cant afford to buy any right now So we left the store. We decided to go in through the back to the food court at David Jones for lunch. I got a sub. She got a little box of leaves from the Sumo Salad. (Hashtag white girls.) Lunch? Yep, she said. So whatd you want to do in life?, I asked her finally, because even though for some reason over the past two weeks wed never had to turn to the obvious questions, there is a need for those obvious questions if you want to get to know somebody. Teach, she said. Travel, hopefully. Be an English teacher, if it lets me travel. Cool, I said. You? I dont really know, I said. Something with a good shot at climbing a career ladder, I guess. Id go nuts at the idea of keeping on doing the same thing for like, years in the future. Like, Id feel completely aimless without something close to aim for. And Id want something that pays well. Id like to have enough to travel too. And just a touch of glamor. Just a dash. I dont know. I want to be traveling to like, conferences in a nice suit with a really glamorous date at least sometimes, I guess. I dunno. But I guess thats what everyone wants, so I guess that means I actually dont really know. I dont think thats what everyone wants, she said. I think you can have a fulfilling life even without having a promotion in sight all the time. Or without having a lot of money. Im just okay with being happy.

Okay, what most people want, I said. I think money will make me happy. If I had to put it that bluntly. Id be able to do things I want and not have to worry about paying the bills and pinching pennies to do anything, right? Thats one way to look at it, she said. I laughed. Youre such a hippie. She seemed a little taken aback. No, I dont think I am, she said. Just because I think we shouldnt let material things govern- I was joking, I said. I dont mean that literally. Oh. Yes. She pecked at her salad. You just seem like someone who walked straight out of a movie, I said. Im just finding that funny, because, you know. Thats not something you run into every day. Is that a good thing?, she asked. Yes, I said. I mean it in a good way, at least. Youre very, you know, entertaining to spend time with. Interesting, I mean. Not laughing at you like, more just interesting. She looked befuddled for a second but then took it in her stride. Okay then, if its a good thing. Another song came on. I didnt know the artist at this time, Id only heard it on the radio once or twice. The song was Somebody That I Used To Know by Gotye*, which I would go on to hear at least a few hundred times everywhere over the next few months. She looked up at me and rolled her eyes. Everyone and their dog are Gotye fans now that he had a big mainstream hit. I loved his music all the way back from Learnalilgivinanlovin. At this point I just gave her a little nod and stayed very quiet and tried to keep a completely straight face. I still laugh, thinking back on how delightfully lacking in self-awareness a clich she was, even while being visibly charming in her own right. She took herself pretty seriously. It was endearing. It was also really funny. (*You can find a cover of that very song by us- or more accurately, her, I just tapped out the beat with a zucchini- that wed put up a couple months after on YouTube).

We spent time discovering interesting things about each others lives. Did you know that Jade once sang for the Queen of England? Well, not actually, but so the story goes in at least one high school in Melbourne, Victoria. Did you know that I once sang for the Queen of England? she told me once. Bullshit. Thank you!, she said. Yes, I didnt actually. But a lot of people think I did. Did I ever tell you the story? I dont think you did, I said. Well, she began, when I was first in high school I didnt have an awful lot of friends. I dont really know why, cos I mean, Im pretty great, you know. Of course you know. Well, some time in senior year we had this thing in class where we were supposed to say something about ourselves, and I wanted to

like make a little joke about being British so I said I once sang for the Queen, and I had no idea but apparently they took it seriously and soon everyone knew me as the girl who once sang for the Queen as a kid. Yeah. What would make them think you were serious? She shrugged. People are pretty thick sometimes, to be honest. Do people even sing for the Queen? Not-superstar people? I dont know, she said. Ashley Tisdale did. Not for the Queen, but she sang for the President at the White House when she was like a little kid, so I guess they do, right? Hmm, I said. So all this must feel pretty shit after Buckingham Palace, huh? Pretty much, she deadpanned. The funny thing is, people actually seemed to like me after that in school. I had people to hang out with and shit. Stupidest single comment of my life, in hindsight. You know, thats actually how I first got a boyfriend? Later that same week the moron walked into my classroom during break and hes like, youre Jade, right? And I said, yeah. And he said, could you sing something for me? And I said, Do you have any connection to a royal bloodline? I dont sing for peasants. And he laughed. The boy laughed. He got me, or so I thought, and then we went out for icecream after school and I did sing for him after a week of getting sundaes off him and then he kissed me. It was wonderful. So what happened? Asshole happened, she said. We were silent for a while. She was the first to speak. So what about you? I mean I know youre on your own here, but like back home. Do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, we never discussed respective sexual orientations and I dont want to continue propagating heteronormativity by- Girlfriend, I said. Heterosexual. Ah, she said. Cool. Cool cool cool. So Nah, I said. No girlfriend back home. No girlfriend anywhere. Never had one, actually. Oh. Why? I dont know. I mean like, Ive dated a few people in the sense Ive gone out with a few people and like, done the usual kind of date things. Catch a movie, grab dinner, make out, stuff like that, I wasnt crazy about any of them as things stood, but there were a couple times where I think I could have gotten to really as in really liking her if things had been different, as in like, Id have said yes if theyd asked me if I wanted to move things to like a relationship and be girlfriend-boyfriend, but none of them did? I guess maybe people didnt really like me enough, so I just havent run into someone right yet then, I guess. Nah, I dont think so, she said. I sometimes worry like, maybe, was I a terrible kisser or something? I mean I tell myself that people did continue kissing me for the spell of time they were around and they were always really super nice while we went out and I mean, you could even think they actually liked me, but it always turns out apparently not, and they probably think Im completely unbothered cos Im really stoic about it but I was kinda disappointed- But you never expressed in any way that you were interested in? No! I mean you only express it when you feel confident they like you, right? Not just out of the blue.

Maybe they did, like, drop hints and try show that they wanted something, she said. I have this odd feeling that you were probably just really oblivious. Why would they leave then, though?, I said. As opposed to just ask me to be sure, or something? Maybe they felt like you werent interested at all, from your lack of responses, which were due to you thinking she wasnt interested, and just, you know, cut their losses, she said. Youll probably end up dating someone who is really open about liking you and like, would make a move on you herself, and stuff. Thats good then, I said. I think Id like someone bold enough to just be open about their feelings. I dont think its ever really that simple, she said.

Did you guys know that I was once a viral video star back home? She looked ready to burst with glee when I told her this. Really? That is brilliant. Its not, though, I said. Its a pretty much nothing and at most occasionally mortifying. It never got me anything. So what exactly was this viral video about? Did it involve some form of embarrassing public nudity? What makes- no! Well, what happened is like, when I was a kid, we had a talent show back in school. Okay, its probably dishonest to call it a talent show, because honestly it really wasnt about any talent or creativity of us kids per se, and I guess that sucks, the teachers just drilled each class into something or the other, that was pre-written, and pre-prepared, and we just had to do our parts and I feel like that is such a typical Asian schools case of missing the point of talent shows as a custom entirely- To the point, she interrupted. I just want to know what you did. I promise I wont laugh. I, umm I basically froze mid-sentence, stared at the camera for like five seconds, and then ran screaming off the stage all the way down the entire hall past the aisle where all the parents sat and all the way out. The local TV station was there to have a little feature on the school event but that meant I ended up on the news and not nice. Not nice at all. Thats she stopped, and burst out laughing. Okay Im sorry but I have to laugh. That is brilliant. I was a kid then though, so nobody recognizes me, at least, I said. Thats what you think!, she said. I will introduce you at every party as The Boy Who Flipped The Fuck Out And Ran Screaming Down The Length of An Entire Frickin Hallway. Jokes on you, I told her, since when did we ever have any parties to go to?

This was strange. In high school most of my friendships and relationships had begun through taking things so universal that wed surely have them in common, generic topics from music to television to books, and slowly probing from there on to see how alike our tastes were. Interaction was essentially running through a list of loves and matching them up, with a sufficiently high score possibly being Promising, or Date-Worthy, or maybe even Soulmates. That sounds weird when I write it down (and maybe it is), like its reducing human interaction to essentially an algorithm and that takes some kind of human element, whatever youd call it- chemistry?- out of the equation, but I guess theres some logic

to it. If you like a lot of similar things you have a lot more to talk about and bond over, and that could be perfectly solid fuel for a relationship. This was very different. It wasnt quite as trivia-based, for starters. From the first couple times we went out for coffee together we mostly talked anecdotes, little things thatd happened in our lives yesterday, or three months ago back when we hadnt met, or when we were twelve. I dont know why. Maybe this is just how people interact at our age, revealing titbits revealing ourselves in mosaic to whoever we were talking to because we wanted to be known for more of our personality than is only revealed through lists. I dont have enough of a sample size to be able to tell you for sure. Maybe we were some kind of soulmates and Meant to Be friends, so some subconscious bit of us clicked when we finally met each other. Or maybe it was something as simple and selfish as just months of pent-up conversation flooding out, now that we both finally had someone listening after a long time being mostly alone and having nobody to talk to, and if either of us had talked to some other reasonable person first theyd have listened and wed have listened and wed have gotten really close instead*. So much in life pivots on such little things. (*Sorry: spoilers, in re us soon becoming close friends. But surely that wasnt much of a surprise.)

Not too long into our friendship we decided that we needed to apply ourselves more to culture, and so decided to go to the cinema every week. The Palace Nova a couple blocks from university seemed art-house enough for us to indulge ourselves in this particular fantasy. It had foreign film posters and dimly lit dcor with racks of wine behind the ticket counter, and fancy bathrooms, and was empty enough in the afternoons to feel to us like a place largely undiscovered, and all in all it seemed very much the kind of place that sophisticated college students should be going to regularly. Wed dropped by a few days ago while walking around town, and took to it straightaway. We went there the very Monday afternoon that we thought up this idea. Neither of us were really good at patience. The very first thing we did was check out the ticket prices and immediately go back on our agreement. So every fortnight? Yeah, thats probably best. If youre just starting college, know that this will become a pattern in your life when it comes to pretty much everything. So wed sit at one of the little tables under the dim orange lighting and sip on iced coffees and talk for an hour or so while we waited for the movie to begin, and then wed go to one of the halls where wed usually make up about one-third of the total audience and thus get brilliant seats at the very back with enormous cups of popcorn, size Small. We learnt to order the smallest after having plumped for a Regular the very first day and being unable to even get through half of it between us. We assumed the Large was probably enough to feed a small village. We never tested this assumption. That first Monday we watched a subtitled Norwegian movie based on a Jo Nesb novel and decided, as a rule, to try keep the ratio of English to foreign films at about 1:1. For the further curious: 8 out of 13

movies passed the Bechdel test, 2 out of 13 had gay characters*, and 3 of the 7 foreign-language films were made in non-Western countries. *Three, if I were to take posts under the Avengers tags on Tumblr at face value.

One night she called me up instead of texting. Hey, Jade, I said. Hey, she said. She sounded very serious. You sound very serious, I said. What frightens you?, she said. Huh? I want to know. What frightens you sometimes when you arent doing anything and your mind wanders and comes up against a possibility that feels like hitting a brick wall and you just feel terrified. Being irrelevant, I said. Tell me how. Its I always worry that Im going to- I worry that I may end up going through life having done nothing worthwhile. That my existence would have had no net effect on the world and that when I die itll just have been a tree falling in a forest and Im mixing my metaphors, I think, but that. Im terrified of going through life not having really meant anything to anyone. Not having changed anything. My teenage life was two things, it was frustration at being unable to do anything in life, and the hope that soon things would change and life would open up and Id be able to do so much and change the world, but sometimes, when Im by myself waiting in line for coffee or trying to go to sleep, my mind goes to what if? and starts thinking about how just statistically speaking its more likely for you to be completely average and going through life in a desk job and struggling with a mortgage and distracting myself with minor things from the constant undercurrent of dissatisfaction, and how I could possibly be able to survive that because at least now I have the prospect of being a somebody in the future to live for but what if Im old and I look at myself and I hadnt managed to do anything worthwhile? And that just feels like suddenly staring into a gaping hole when you have a fear of heights and I just find some minor thing to distract myself from the thought, and wonder if life in the future will be always dancing around the edge of an abyss, always refusing to look. I know how you feel, she said with a surprising amount of passion. I know that feeling and I hate it. I fucking hate it. I feel that same horror. I worry about being a nobody. I worry about no longer having a road ahead of me to look at and feel hopeful about because sometimes that feels like the only thing keeping me going. And I worry about being marginalized. I think Ill be the most boring senior citizen in the world, you know? If kids come up and show me weird modern music or something I wont react in a way that would get views on whatever the future equivalent of YouTube will be. Ill keep a fucking poker face and say no comment. Little snots. I dont think its mean-spirited. I dont care, she said. I am a person and I dont ever want to be anything other than completely visibly a person in the eyes of whoever looks at me. I dont want to be a funny old person clich. Im

going to secretly get hold of all the technology and stuff myself and learn them and keep super up to date with current opinions on news and stuff, so people cant laugh at my befuddlement at any of those things. I hate the idea of people laughing at me. People will always laugh at something, I said. Youre such a passive conversationalist sometimes. She laughed. Youre brilliant when I have tons to say. Anyway, thats the thing, though. Maybe theyll laugh at my fastidiousness or just the weirdness of a granny being so well-versed in modern affairs, but thats not something that would easily slot me into a particular trope that they may already have in mind, and thats what matters to me. They have to think of me as a person. They cant marginalize me the person when the visible elements of me dont fit the narrative that they have of what I should or would be. Theyll be forced to try fill out all the blanks of who I am in a way that fits it together. We were both silent for a little while, which is strange because we were on the phone, but the silence was comfortable and I recognized that fact with a little thrill of pleasure, because a comfortable silence is a rare thing. I think I let that govern my life, she said finally. People thinking of me that way. In just one way. I think thats why Im so vain, you know? Ive always had trouble phrasing it, but its like. I want so much to look beautiful because, well, people see beautiful people and think they could be anyone. Maybe not intentionally. Its easy to ascribe poetic backstory to beautiful people. You can even not know which poetic backstory, because theres a whole multitude of narratives for the beautiful girl, because theyre the main character of every story, and people who look particular ways get thought of as particular tropes but a beautiful girl could be anything. And people more often actually bother to find out. To see for themselves which anything. I want people to see me and think I could be anyone, because I am so many things. I know its so wrong, but its true though, isnt it? I dont want people to see me as this single shallow set of things because I look like a trope for a side or stock character, and selectively sort the little that they learn of me into that, and fill in the blanks from that. I want to capture their imagination and make them know that I could be so many things and not know how to fill the blanks, and to learn about me, and piece me together out of all my possibilities. And I know Im stupid to care so much about that. But I do. I think Im piecing you together. Filling in the blanks. Its a bit of an adventure. Just finding out about you. But I think I know you pretty well, even by now. Sort of. You do. She groaned. All this effort and so far only one person takes me up on it Hey! Okay, a pretty great one person! Im glad that you called me, I told her the next day. I mean, I know its stupid, but, I always feel like people dont actually really like me and theyd only talk to me to be polite, and texting could be just being polite but when someone bothers to call me it feels like, yeah, they do want to talk to me. Dont be silly, she said. I like talking to you. Thats good. Im sorry, she said. I do want to reply. Im just not very verbose sometimes cos I dont have much to say. Whatd you mean?

Taking ages with replies and stuff, sometimes. Oh, I said. I didnt even notice that. I mean, it seemed normal enough to me. Oh, she said. So I was worrying about it for nothing. Well. Now you know. Its okay either way, I told her. I dont really get it cos I have so much I always want to say, but thats okay. Okay, she said, I lied. I do have plenty to say. I just worry that if I talk too much and people get to know me too well theyll discover what Im really like, and I just kinda want to hold off that happening, cos I dont like myself very much. I dont want you to stop liking me. I dont think I could, I said. Youre already pretty much my best friend. She smiled really wide, the almost a little giddy kind of smile where you cant stop smiling yourself just seeing it. Youre pretty much my best friend too. Only close friend, really. And the best.

That same Thursday I asked her if she wanted to maybe hang out in the city with me over the weekend. Im free most of Sunday. So, you wanna meet up sometime in the morning? Cant do morning, she said. Church. Oh. I have a better idea, she said. Lets hang out at the beach. We can meet at the King William tram stop early evening and get there while its still light. Have some Kbenhavn ice-cream. Watch the sunset. Just walk. That sounds great, I said. Ill see you then, then. It was still pretty light when we got there, so we just milled around for a while. She showed me the icecream place she was talking about. We both got ourselves double chocolate cones. I made fun of her for calling it Kbenhavn ice-cream. Why not just Copenhagen? The Danes call their city that, she said. I think theyd know best. But youre pronouncing Kbenhavn wrong, too. Really? She flushed. Wait, how would you know? Football, I said. I remember FC Kbenhavn from the Champions League. Oh, okay, she said. Kbenhavn, then. Just call it Copenhagen! Why? This place is fricking called Royal Copenhagen Ice Cream! She looked up at the signboard again. Oh. Lets go to the pier now, she said. So we walked all the way to the end, past families with grinning kids in strollers and a canoodling couple by a pair of fishing rods and an ice box. They were a pretty couple, probably in their mid-twenties, both in oversized plaid shirts, and she had dark glossy hair and the silly little smile you have when youre happy enough to forget that theres anyone else in the world

to see. You dont see that smile on anyone feeling even a subconscious iota of self-consciousness. Its always lovely to see. The ocean was a dull teal, going all the way out into the horizon, and for thousands of miles beyond that, up til icy Antarctic shores. The beach stretched out on either side of us as far as the eye could see, long stretches of a light sienna, children playing among the waves that broke on the shore shapes that seemed partly shadow in the sepia-tinted landscape the sinking sun had painted out for us. Thats how I remember it, at least. She pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures of the sunset. Instagram? I stared at her. Of sunsets. Wow. Really? Yep, she said. Follow me there if you have an account, by the way. She showed me her username. Wait, lean down a bit. Face that way. I want some pictures of us. She did take some of us, some six or seven really dark pictures with red skies in the background, a confused guy, and a girl flashing a very bright smile and a peace sign. The skies turned purple and the world shifted from sepia to tints of blue and the ocean turned impenetrably dark, and we left the pier and walked slowly out on the beach. She looked up at me and smiled. Happy? Content, I said. Some little part of me feels at home. The sea? The sea. She smiled. And you, I added after a few moments. Huh? You. You too. Its nice having a friend after so long. And such a friend too. Youve really blown all expectations out of the water. She looked a little taken aback, then giggled. Youre not bad yourself. We walked a few steps further in silence, listening to the rush and roar of the waves crashing onto shore and falling back. A sudden gust of cold wind blew past us, whipping up the hem of her dress in a little dance around her calves. She shuddered, then looked up at me and gave me a little smile. I smiled back. Its kinda cold, she commented unnecessarily. Yes. She nodded. You can have my jacket, I said. Oh no. She laughed. Ive lived in Australia for years, Im pretty used to it. Youll freeze. Poor boy. She looked up at me with considerable sympathy. Yes, I said dryly. Aww. She reached over and slipped her arm through mine, holding on to me and taking a little stumbling step forward across the sand, then pressing herself close into me. We walked a long way quietly. I liked feeling her against me. I liked the little instability of walking hanging on to each other. I liked the warmth as the wind bit into my skin. It felt comforting and the contentment I was feeling seemed to be seeping into every bit of me, like it was dyeing me over and

over in waves that swept over me until I was content to the very bone and would be for a long time, something that wouldnt fade easily. So why are you here by yourself on a Sunday night? she quipped, a little while later. Couldnt a nice young man like you get a date? Or are you just too picky? She giggled. Are you one of those ridiculously demanding boys? Im not very demanding, I said. All I want is someone who will sing Carnival by the Cardigans to me nicely. Oh. She grinned. Oh. She pulled her arm out of mine and walked a little way further, towards the water, then turned and silently beckoned at me with a hand. I took a few steps towards her. She smiled at me, eyes flashing, a mischievous smile. I will never know, cos you will never show, Come on and love me now, come on and love me now She stopped, feet from the surf, and looked at me expectantly. I looked at her for a moment. No, go on. She kicked off her shoes and beckoned again, and I followed her with slightly raised eyebrows as she walked backwards, shaking her shoulders in a little shimmy. Carnival, came by my town today Bright lights from giant wheels Fall on the alleyway, And Im here by my door, waiting for, you. She had a hell of a voice, smoky, with a richness in the way she rolled her Rs and dragged out her notes. The lights cast flickering shadows across her face, little indentations of shadows that accentuated the light curves of her white dress. Glenelg was a waterfront. It even actually had a giant wheel, with bright lights. But where we stood there was only muted, almost indiscernible wafts of music from over where the lights and the people were, the soft rise-and-fall roar of the waves, and her voice like a mug of hot chocolate as we shivered a little in the biting breeze. I hear sounds, of lovers Barrel organs, mothers I would like, to take you Down there just to make you Mine in a, merry-go Round! I walked over to her and she gave me a sultry little look, flutter of lashes, ever the performer. Come on and love me now, come on and love me now, Mmm, come on and love me now, come on and love me now.

She looked up at me and I grinned, because I was so happy for some reason, because I loved the song and I loved the place and because her cheeks were suddenly flushed a deep red and she looked a little embarrassed and she was just so impossibly perfect, because just now was one of those moments straight out of books and movies and our own little individual fantasies, one of those moments where in this little stretch of sand far away from anyone else for a few minutes wed slipped into a little enclave of another world and then painlessly back out, and you feel different afterward. Wow, you can really sing, I said. I could listen to you sing all day. She looked genuinely delighted at the compliment. Well you will be, if youre going to be spending time with me. I sing all the time. Ill sing you any song you want, actually. In moderation. Any song? Hmm, she said. It has to be good. Any good song. Except Florence. Florence Welch is sacred. She is not human. Im serious, she is literally an angel. Thats what I believe, at least. I dont even play Florence out loud when anyone is around. Shes, you know, one thing thats mine. Any quality song but Florence.

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Id constantly felt an odd sort of pointed melancholy, the kind that didnt really have a particular cause. It wasnt really anything in particular that caused that empty pain, so you couldnt ever really explain it, or even get the kind of closure that you would from having it put into words and laid bare in front of you. I dont think it was the presence of any particular thing in my life that caused my pain, but rather an absence. I think the root of so much of our pain is that we look for romance but find it so utterly absent in our lives; not romance as in romantic love but romance as in the quality, as in narrative, mystery, magic, meaning; and that leaves you with a hollowness that is ever-present, like you are flesh and you are skin but you feel empty where your bones should be. Its almost like we live in two worlds that overlap, one of reality and one of fiction, one a world of matter and sunlight and practical realities, one of metaphor and narrative and possibility, and without some romance in our lives the layer of us that exists in that other world feels unwritten and we walk around the world feeling only half-complete. Maybe thats what people mean when they use the same metaphor about finding love- its not the other person that completes you but how they write narrative and possibility into your life, and suddenly, for as long as it lasts, that other part of you is all filled out and brought to life. Maybe thats what the books and television and music that you really love do- they write a part of you into existence and you feel whole and full and utterly, richly human. Maybe thats what soulmates are- the people that can constantly keep writing you into existence, the rare people with whom you can constantly keep on writing each other into full, rich, giddily human existence without ever running out or running dry. I didnt feel that pointed melancholy when Jade was around. We wrote each other into being, constantly, with the heady excess of lonely, disaffected, ostensibly cultured young people high on the feeling of no longer being alone, high on the delight of just feeling after the long stretch of initial collegiate loneliness that leaves you entirely out of practice. I was flesh and skin and bones and possibilities.

She didnt judge. Neither did I. Even as we told each other things about ourselves that wed have kept from almost anyone else just because wed have felt uncomfortable talking about them, things that may have been innocuous enough but affected us in ways so deeply personal that it wouldve been terrifying to tell anyone about them, terrifying to ever run the tiniest possibility that someone would laugh or just not get it and inadvertently belittle it. And with something so personal even that inadvertent little thing cuts you to the core, but you cant show it, because itd seem ridiculous, and itd seem like you were a little bit crazy to be so bothered by something that looks so little on the outside and you want to seem like a normal person, so you dont, and you just dont ever run the risk. But with each other there was no risk. We both understood. And we understood each other. We could care far too much about things. We could feel irrationally about things. It was never a problem. I told her about a football team that I loved way more than made sense and a man that had become my hero, things Id never said out loud before. I told her about waking up at 3am back home to watch football games from over in Spain with the volume down low enough to not wake anyone else up, putting on my FC Barcelona jersey, making hot coffee for the league games and ordering pizza and coke for the Champions League or whenever we played Real Madrid, and how even with my final school exams coming up I never missed a game. About the motto of mes que un club- more than a club- and feeling part of something so much bigger than myself, as ex-captain and local hero Pep Guardiola became manager and then over the past three years they won everything there was to win several times over, and it was amazing. I know that a football coach and club isnt exactly a normal place for people to be learning values and life, but well, it kinda was that. That side was inspiring, the kind of whirlwind of once-in-a-lifetime inspiring that moves you to change. They were inspiring in a way that blew away any cynicism or doubts you could have about yourself, because you saw the power of something to turn a tide and change the world when its supposed to be impossible, especially when its supposed to be impossible unless you compromise your idealism and play dirty on the same level as everyone else. It wasnt winning at all costs. They stuck to sentiment, they harped on about a message, they played pretty and played to please. They took ideals that essentially had no real practical rationale except the very slight possibility that it might change football and the world, and kept at it by themselves until what would you know, they actually did. And in that way it was mes que un club, even mes que un idea. Its hard to even express how huge that team and Pep Guardiola was to me. They were proof that even in a world where it feels like everything is sold out and you cant go anywhere without compromise, and negative change is entrenched and influence is only a direct product of money and power, and social Darwinism prevails to always inevitably choke out anything as vulnerable as idealism, that one man could have an idea and a belief, make a small group of people believe in it as strongly as he did, and then go out and change the world. I told her how it told me that if you had a dream that dream had a point, that its not something to give up on just because power seems so entrenched and change seems so hard. Id long wanted to change the world. Its supposed to be impossible, but a football club made me believe it could be done to an

extent that I dont think I can un-believe it. And in that sense Pep Guardiolas Barcelona wasnt just a something to me, it was an everything. Do you know how ridiculous that is to tell someone? People dont get their morals from a soccer team. People would just find it bizarre, or think that I must have been somehow so blinded by partisan fandom that I misattributed my moral sources to them, or just think a whole multitude of things other than taking it at face value as something perfectly normal because different people find their inspirations in different things. But she got it, she made fun of me over it and I made fun of her over her song choices and we made fun of each other over everything but she understood or she was willing to understand and she was okay and that is so, so important. I guess it kinda makes sense that the one thing I love is a football club, I told her during a phone call once, sometime way back. How? See, I dont love, I said. Thats the thing. Why? Im just that way, I said. I know it sucks and I know that in theory better to have loved and lost etcetera, but I just cant. I cant ever let myself start feeling for anyone because all things end, and I know its morbid but its how I am. Its weird. It is, she said. I think having a series of pets in my early childhood that all died ruined me for life. Ouch. I looked after all of them and they all died within the month, and at first I thought it was just bad luck, but then at some point I figured that maybe it was me having them as pets that made them die. Me having them in cages and loving them and feeding them and. I still feel really bitter when I think back to it and I just try not to think about it at all, but its like. Things die. People die too. I cant love something that dies, you know? The average human life expectancy here is about eighty, you know, she said. And I mean, people. Theyre not likely to die anytime soon. They might, I said. I cant open myself up to that kind of emotional risk. Jesus H., she said. It doesnt have to be immediate, I said. Id still lose them, sooner or later, you know? I dont know how I can live with that. I know Im excessively morbid, but if I loved something I dont want to know its going to end. Thats the great thing about loving institutions. Sporting or cultural. Football clubs and beautiful books. They last. You just may be onto something, she said. Football teams and great books wont be jerks or leave you. Theyre always around whenever and however you need them. I think I might have to renounce boys and follow your lead. Youre welcome to share Barcelona with me, I said. I could practically hear her smile through the phone. I dont think I could do that as a North London girl.

She showed me her poetry, even the crappy ones from years back that she could laugh at but that shed rather die than have anyone else laugh at, and then she made fun of herself as we sat together over her old notebooks and I was allowed to laugh at them because I was laughing for the same reasons as she was, because I knew her so well that looking back at past hers was funny. Its odd how the people you know best are allowed to laugh with you at things about your past that you find funny yourself, but the exact same thing hurts for a long time when someone else does it. I guess when you know someone else really well you know how they tick, and what they are and what they arent, but if youre still piecing someone together and dont have all those pieces then you dont know the context, and you take things that are humiliating or horrifying in themselves and think of them as pieces that make up that person, and it seems like you find them a laughable person, and that cuts in a particularly deep way. When you think someone found you laughable, its hard to ever open up to them again. I wont put her poetry down here. Even though you know Jade as well as anyone, better than anyone but two or three people in the world if youve read this story, and even though I think youd love her as much as I do because how could you not? And even though youd understand. I think you would. How much more can you bare your soul to someone than through writing? Youd only laugh with us. But therell be no works attributed to hilarious mid-teen Jade in this story. I will write her fifteen-year-old self a poem in reply, however: i am a boy with roses black roses spiked hair. sad poses I feel alone in the world it closes in (around me) (i mean metaphorically) i play bass in. a band. guitars are not my thing (too mainstream) will you come sing we can both be sad (and pretentious) together. and rejoice see? my poems also have erratic rhyming.

She decided one day to talk about our respective dreams for the future. Dream, she repeated for emphasis*, not career. I dont really know, I said. There must be something you- when youre looking at yourself in the mirror and giving speeches with your hairbrush- I dont own a hairbrush- Hypothetically. What would it be for? I dont know, I said. Bullshit, she said. We all let ourselves drift off and fantasize about some dream- I mean I dont know if mine has any, like, public award gala kind of situations so I dont really know how to fantasize about like, any big speech or anything. Ooh, she said. So what is it, then? Writing, I said. Bestselling young adult author, and only barely out of his teens! Thatd be fantastic, she said. Whatll you write about? I dont know, I said. Im not sure. But something thats not, you know, Pretty White People Problems. I know thats a bit harsh, but its like, there are literally tens of millions I think even hundreds of millions of young literate internet-savvy involved young people from India to Libya but we dont really have any books with people like us, you know? I mean, with brown or Muslim or whatever characters having normal YA book lives and stories, like school and growing up and friends and girls and life. We just have a whole lot of nothing and then a couple about just, like, culture clash or stuff. And that feels like us only existing in teen lit through an outside viewpoint, like in how we interact with American or whatever life. Which sucks. Because we have the same lives and the same problems and worries, really, you know? All we have now is stuff like Mulan. And were excessively fond of them but it sucks, doesnt it? Thats a good point, she said. I never really thought about that. You should go for it. I wish, I said. I dont think Im anywhere near good enough to actually get published. Shut up, she said. Thats so defeatist. You could be good enough. Maybe you already are, you wont know until you try, will you? And if not you can only get better. I guess, I said. Does it bother me that this first novel I write is one where Im the only brown and Muslim character, and that doesnt even play a big part in the story? To be honest, yes. It does. At least this isnt an examination of how my whole story is dictated by my identity marker. Its about a rather normal life. Which is what most of us have, after all, and which isnt written. But I still feel like its so lacking in overt and visible pride. I like who-slash-what I am. I dont think about it all the time, but I do, and it bums me out a little that the first novel proper that I seem so far on track to finish is not what I intended for my (imaginary, most likely will remain imaginary) writing career. I promise my next novel will be set in an Asian country that Ive lived in, and have a cast that is something like me and my friends from said country, and, you know. Itd be fictional, too. But thats once this story is done. Finishing this story is important. In writing this story I am burdened with glorious purpose.

What about you?, I asked her. Wait, let me guess. It definitely is something with a public awards ceremony. A Grammy? No, she said. I just like singing, Im not that into the whole musical industry thing. And Im not Grammy-talented anyway. Just slightly above average easy on the ears. Guess again. Umm X School Teacher of the Year 2016? She burst out laughing. Come the fuck on. Then? A Nobel Peace Prize, she said. Ooh, what for? I dont know yet, she said. But something education related, I guess. Can you see it? And the Nobel Peace Prize goes to Elizabeth Jade M.- Wait, I interrupted. Your first name is Elizabeth? Yes, she said. Jade is my middle name. But Ive been Jade since I was fifteen. In middle school I decided I didnt really feel like a Lizzy, so Ive only ever introduced myself as Jade since. Its no big deal, okay. Can I continue my monologue now? Yes, I said. Do go on. She cleared her throat. And the Nobel Peace Prize goes to can-you-do-a-drumroll-please-okay Elizabeth Jade M., for invaluable contributions towards arts education, gender equality, and the dismantling of rape culture in a cultural shift brought about through advocacy for educating children and fixing these problems at the source. In various countries around the world! How does that sound? Sounds pretty good, I said. Its a lot more unachievable than yours is. Shut up. Dont be so defeatist, I said. *EMPHASIS.

She had a karaoke machine at her place. We ended up spending a lot of time there, taking the bus straight to hers once our mutual classes were over. Shed vigorously belt out old songs and after five or six numbers force me to take the mike, then Id butcher a song with lots of hip-twisting enthusiasm and pointing. And you, and you, and you, will loooove me! After a few sets wed plug her laptop into the speakers and have her playlist on as we did our homework on her dinner table, and cooked together, and made fun of the fact that she insisted on buying organic pasta and that I was maybe just maybe starting to get chubby. And then her roommate would come home, give me a friendly smile, and make a pointed comment to her- which was funny really, because Im obviously not stupid enough to not know what raised eyebrows and an archly uttered Had fun? means, and Jade was obviously supposed to know the intended message, so it was really one of those things where it would make just as much sense to say it outright. I told Jade as much one day. She seemed very amused. Thats just how things are, Rahel. But its so pointless.

But so many things are pointless that way, she said. Like in high school when a guy and a girl like each other and they spend ages just dancing around the topic, and they talk all day and they approach the topic of each other and very wilfully tiptoe around it. Actual just-friends dont actually do that. Maybe we maybe were good friends of course friends yeah of course Her imitations were so earnestly exaggerated that it was hysterical. I mean, might as well fucking scream it to each other, you know? But that just wouldnt be nice. Its not the done thing. Of course She fluttered her eyelids for a good five seconds longer than wouldve been what you could call coquettish. Yeah Just She looked at me earnestly. Pizza We both burst out laughing. Lets not even get started on sex, I said. Do you want to maybe Little giggle. She scooted over. And small talk as I play with this loose thread on my skirt, and she did, twirl it around my fingers distractedly Can I help? I said. She turned to me and nodded violently. I moved my hand over to hers and rested it on her thigh. Gasp! She clapped her hand over her mouth. Thats electric! Sexual as fuck, you mean? I drawled. Not as sexual as-, she let out a little hiccup of a giggle and stopped mid-sentence, expression all very serious again. We stared at each other very intensely for a few seconds. She cracked up first and swatted my hand away, and then we were laughing hysterically.

---

Shed loved the new Doctor Who since it first came out in 2005. I was pretty #New to Who. But we both had a strangely intense relationship with a television show. Id started watching it when I was still completely new to college, before Id had any friends, when I was all alone in a new country with no family and nobody to talk to or spend time with. I related with the Doctors utter loneliness. And in an odd way it just made me feel okay, I dont know, but it was someone who was immortal and someone who wasnt human and outside of being human but he still thought we were brilliant enough to save and special enough, and that felt like some wonderful form of affirmation, that people are brilliant and that you are special. And I guess it filled some kind of spiritual void, in seeing someone outside of us that still loved us and thought us worth saving and being able to believe it, and by extension being able to believe a little stronger that maybe theres a Someone out there that knows us and loves us too. I think she felt a lot of the same things, but I also think a lot of it was the idea of being a companion, getting to be something where time essentially stood still alongside someone that never aged and

always stayed the same, in a fairytale full of adventures that lasted forever. I think she was always looking for a Peter Pan. And I was that, I think, for all too little a while.

It was crazy, man. So whatd they do then? This guy started sawing up the branch with a chainsaw- Did he die? No, all these beans started coming out- I have literally no fucking idea what that was about, but thats the conversation three guys that walked past were having*. I was waiting to take a replacement math test. There were 32 full-sized pages with tiny type on the notice board across me, pinned up in four rows of eight pages, all about the unsustainability of capitalism and the return to a scientific resource-based world community as outlined by a Zeitgeist Movement. Someone had edited lines such as Robots Are Stealing Your Jobs and A World Without Pollution with a sharpie into Robots Are Stealing Spaghetti and A World Without Spaghetti. Which, to be fair, seems an appropriately terrifying result to jolt us into action towards a new world order. The whole thing gave me an enormous amount of joy. College was supposed to be about being protest and activism and standing up against The Man, you know, and whether or not I agreed or disagreed and whether or not I thought those ideas were sensible or stupid, people making a stand and reading about different ideas and being passionate (and sometimes hilarious) about things feels like such an important part of a college culture. Itd have been really sad if we hadnt had anything like that here at Uni Adelaide. I love the entire institution of universities. Its a place with the sole raison d'tre of teaching people things and finding out new things about the world, and its a place where youre constantly reminded to think about stuff and know your sources and look beyond face value. Its a place where you run into a whole world of new ideas, and for a lot of us its one of the few stretches in life where youre surrounded by liberal arts and humanities students and people whore learning that whole variety of things from philosophy to poetry to particle physics and people arent obsessed with money or a career in the immediate, and even if its just an interlude its still a beautiful thing to have had in your life. I hate college sometimes when Im at home slogging my way through doing Harvard referencing on a research paper, but college itself is just an eternal thrill. It feels like the closest Ill ever get to a place like mutant academies or wizarding schools from movies or books. Its literally learning something you love and know matters for the whole of your life from brilliant people, surrounded by brilliant people. Social life or anything is really just incidental. Hopefully a really great incidental, but still, no pressure. College isnt amazing because you party more than you would elsewhere; its a sheltered chance to just learn something you care about and actually probably even enjoy it at least half the time and definitely not resent the way you often do your academics in secondary school, and entertain new ideas and just bask in being around people the likes of whom you may not be around for much of the rest of your life, how amazing is that? It just feels like a beautiful institution of an idea that I finally got to be a part of, and Im really glad I got to.

I walked in for my test half an hour later. It was a nightmare. I spent half of it staring at the paper and mentally repeating to myself that I hated college sometimes. (I got a Credit, I found out next week. I loved college.) *I mean, seriously. Beans? Death? What the fuck?

I asked her if she wanted to come and watch a Bara game with me sometime. She did. So one night she came over armed with a carry-on, toothbrush and pyjamas and I dont really know what else. I made the bed for her and she made tea and we played gin rummy in the living room and talked, and around ten we watched The Breakfast Club for the third time since wed first met, and then Say Anything for the fourth time, and by the end she couldnt keep her eyes open so she went to my room to go to bed and I curled up on the couch and remembered to set five different alarms five minutes apart to make sure Id wake up in time. I brushed my teeth and washed up first, then went to wake her up. She pulled the covers up over her face. Go away. The game is starting soon, I said. I know, she said. Im getting up now, I was asleep Im gross let me wash up first before you see me. You know I dont really care- I do. Okay. So I closed the door behind me, stuck the pizza in the microwave, and waited. She came out a while later, hair brushed down all straight and mouth a dash of deep red. I feel really self-conscious right now, she said. I didnt have the time to do any more than just lip gloss. My face feels so naked. You look nice, I said. She did. She had light, blotchy skin with a line of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. She did look nice. Shut up, she said. I have terrible skin. I think you look pretty, I said. My dad thinks Im the second prettiest thing alive, she said. Well, thought, at least, I havent heard it much since I dyed my hair and turned into an all-black mega-bitch in middle school, and Ive probably been relegated to third or fourth now that he has another kid to dote over that cant be any bitchier to her family than like, vomiting on them; but back when I was the lovely little girl. Whats your point? I said. Im not the second prettiest thing alive is my point, she said. Objectively. Thatd be, I dont know, Milla Jovovich or someone. Im not even actually pretty. Thats my point. Its my prerogative to disagree, I said. Okay fine, she said. You have the right to think otherwise. Nothings stopping you. Please lets not get into the game in a bad mood? I said. She softened a bit. Sorry, she said. I just feel kinda insecure like this and I react by being a bit bitchy. Im sorry for bringing up stupid stuff.

No, its fine, I said. We barely talk about respective family things anyway, its not exactly like Im sick of it- I am, she said. Are they in Melbourne? My mom is, she said. I stayed with my dad back in England for a while, hes married now, but then I decided to go with my mom when she left to Melbourne- Your stepmom didnt make you feel too welcome? Actually, no, she said. She was in her late twenties and she was really nice and. I didnt want to like them. Principles, you know. Standing my ground. So I went with my mom instead, and told myself itd be great and a new fresh start in Australia and everything. And Im super, super glad I did, even though my time in high school wasnt so great, because now. Im super glad. I am too, I said. Sorry for bringing this topic up, she said, I was just having a bad mood spell. I didnt mean to. No, its fine. And then neither of us had much more to say, so I got the pizza out and she turned up the volume even though the game hadnt quite begun yet, and then she stood up and went over to get drinks for the two of us. I still think its so cute how all you people get so excited about a game sometimes, she commented as she plopped herself down on the sofa with a bottle of carbonated juice. I took the Coke. I mean, I know its more than just a game, and your folks are more than just a club- Hey!, I said. We are, okay? We- Okay, youve told me before, she said quickly, pouring out the drinks into two glasses full of ice. Im just teasing you. Theres a reason Im up at 4am here, right? You just love me that much? I joked. Shut up. I laughed. I came for the pizza, she said. And the footie. Its not like Ive never watched it before, Ive always closely followed- she paused and looked a little uncomfortable- England at the World Cup and Euros Aww, poor baby. I smirked. Oh look, the pre-match stuff is about to start now. The camera panned over the full stadium, over individual supporters, zoomed in on some of the cleverer flags and signs that made up a vast, shifting mosaic in the colours of the senyera. Live games look like so much fun, she said. Id love to go to one someday. Maybe there in Barcelona. Really go the full stretch, jersey and paint my face and carry one of those signs asking Xavi to marry me. Why? Youre not even a Bara fan. But itll be fun. Its a good clich. An experience, I mean. Its one of those things I see but Ive never done, and I cant even really imagine it, so itll be a nice new thing to do. We try doing those kind of things all the time, dont we? Little things that we cant even imagine that dont really feel like a real part of this real world to us, and then we do them, and its like we lived something we only read about or saw on TV. It kinda feels a little like escaping into another world for a few hours, doesnt it? The alternate reality of books and films and TV and dreams. Thatd be nice. I love that feeling. I can never get enough of it. Thats actually a really good description of-

Pretty much how the two of us have lived our lives, she finished. Since we met. Yeah, I know. I only just figured how it goes into words, but thats what weve always done. Like weve spent so much of our time finding those little windows, like in the His Dark Materials books, and being able to believe we were somewhere other than the plain and predictable real world. Its like a drug. I can never get enough of that feeling. I dont really like the real world an awful lot. It lacks magic and mystery. That feeling, its like finding those little enclaves where stories and created worlds have made moments to overlap with our own. And we try to live out little stories in everything we do, like scenes out of movies, imagine our favourite characters into existence so theyre real- Yes, she said. We get to slip into their skins for a little while by living out little scenes from their stories, so they never die, and were never alone. Thats whats wonderful about books, isnt it? And whats wonderful about us. We arent just Rahel and Jade, were Rahel and Jade and Alaska Young and Leslie Burke, and Lyra Belacqua, and Holden Caulfield, and Lloyd Dobler and Kathy H and Augustus Waters. Maybe we let stories govern our entire lives. Maybe thats not how youre supposed to live. But its how I like living. I wouldnt want anything else. We sat in silence for a while as talking heads talked in a muted drone that neither of us really noticed. Even now, I said. Feels pretty story, I mean. Living alone. Watching a game late at night with pizza in a cardboard box with a best friend. Just as if we were right out of Friends or How I Met Your Mother or something. Though Adelaide is hardly New York. New York will come someday too. Mm hmm. This is what I always wanted from college. She smiled. Mm hmm. I guess its one answer, to fears of ending. Our whole lives are governed by narratives, and narratives are ultimately stories, and theyre ultimately stories of people, collective stories, and humanity is an entity that moves forward through time driven as a whole and in individual tendrils by those cumulative mythologies that are our own daily lives, and everything we feel is a reliving. In our insecurities we channel things that kept up much of humanity long before us and all around us, and in our love stories we mirror their clichs and their thrills so each first feels so familiar because it is familiar, and each burst of feeling that feels too big to have possibly come from within us is because were just receptacles, magnifying what so many before us discovered, and in our grief we let the pain of so many before us fill us up and push up against us so we feel ready to burst. Its like our lives flow forward in time through paths of least resistance, and narratives are the grooves and swells edged out in that path so we pool and collect and trickle ahead, flowing down in particular patterns, and as we move we carve those grooves in deeper, and that is all life is, flowing ahead in time through patterns marked by stories and etching them in deeper as we go. And so we dont ever really die, even when our names are forgotten. People keep following paths you helped chip out a little, following your path, for years and centuries ahead, just like you follow the stories of lovers and friends and mourners from long ago. And your sorrows and your joys and your loves all keep on repeating. Were all stories in the end, arent we?

Do you guys know something I cant stand? I cant stand how people laugh off the idea that teenagers can have intelligent conversation. Every time I check out the reviews for a John Green book or something, half of them are, like, old people saying teenagers dont actually have conversations like that. It makes me really mad. Nobody would bat an eyelid at 21-year-olds talking that way, so I guess we just magically fucking discover a dictionary sometime between the ages of seventeen and twenty, as opposed to, say, the completely radical notion that perhaps just like every other group of humans in fucking existence teenagers are not a homogenous entity (of dull, hormonal Neanderthals). But thats silly now, isnt it? Presumably a realistic conversation involving teenagers on a perfectly regular day would go along these lines: I am soo hung over!, I said. I am soo drunk right now from all this alcohol that I have been drinking in copious quantities. Bitchin, Jade said. Fuck the haters. Yolo. She passed me her joint. I took a drag. School sucks balls! Also: fuck nerds! Jade nodded through a cloud of smoke. I snorted seven lines of vodka off the belly of one of the multiple scantily clad extras. This sure is one of the more fun parties out of the seventy-two college parties weve partied at this year, isnt it? I said. Definitely, Jade said. We both stopped to egg on a guy who was drinking an enormous amount of alcohol upside down through a particularly uncomfortable-looking tubular apparatus. Ninety-eight! Ninety-nine! Hundred! The somewhat hairy kid got back on his feet and pumped his arms in triumph. Lets go upstairs, I said. Lets get it on to an ostensibly popular current tune. This is a swag song. Swag, Jade said. You so fine!, I said. You blow my mind. And not in the way the class I totally failed today did. Youre so cool, sexy dude man sex-god. Im in a band, I said. We stopped to vandalize the staircase by spray-painting it with some vulgar graffiti on our way upstairs as a song with a heavy bass beat played. Lets fuck, Jade said. Do you have any some contrived slang for condoms? I got some baby-stoppers, I said. Got some chlamy-thwarters. Got some chromosome-pwners. Synonym for great that I dredged off Urban Dictionary while researching script, Jade said. Yolo. Now let us get down and fuck and show off the nubile body of the young hot actress playing me because after all, young college-aged women do not actually have personalities beyond being bitchy and drunk or having lots of sex with questionable judgement, also while being drunk, much like young men of the same age do not have actual personalities beyond being misogynistic frat boy types or manipulatively attempting to lose their virginity also while being misogynistic. Unless you have a one-dimensionally portrayed substance issue. We screwed noisily. I looked down and saw blood all over my hands and looked back up to see a man in a mask holding an inconveniently large weapon.

You forgot being chopped up while being naked and drunk in exploitative serial killer flick, sequel XVI!, he said, and cut through my head with a chainsaw. I dont get why people have to deny us talking the way we very well might. Its eternally entertaining to keep up conversations playing verbal games of slipping in references and pop-culture and inside jokes and one-upmanship in wordplay and subverting conversational clichs, and then tangling conversation into further knots of self-referential humour, and the secret language between friends of the virginal made-up words within their conversational histories which describe things better than any existing words with all their weight and connotations do, and of testing-waters pressing-at-limits and give-andtake. Other artists get their moments of chemistry by performing together. Singers in emotionally charged duets, actors or dancers in the performances loaded with sexual tension (see: Dirty Dancing, Glee). Literary young people should get a shot at emotional rapport via and within our art too. And when our art is words its conversation that is our avenue for chemistry, and conversation is where we can spontaneously live out the excitement of challenge and the sheer pleasure of words and language as something malleable and demanding and gorgeous and limited and just full of joy or feeling. Language is fucking beautiful and its still new and theres still so much to learn and so much to discover, and its fun to play with and test out and butcher and experiment with, and given that, shouldnt the surprise be that people think we might not talk like this? Also, while were on the topic of things I hate. I am so sick of rich, sensuous Asian novels with rich, lush, sensuous descriptions of colours and spices and sticky fucking sweetmeats. Why do books about Asia or by an Asian author have to be thick and high-saturation and sufficiently exotic as to be the version of a faraway Orient that people want, anyway? I refuse to conform. If establishment western literary canon gets the full range of styles from Nabokov to Chandler I will full well be as sparse or as colloquial as I want and fuck you if you think you can stop me. You could always read another book. I recommend some Edward Said. Speaking of conventions, Im also so very glad that this isnt yet another young adult book with a love triangle, thank God. Im so glad to be just writing a story that is entirely about a friendship.

She was the one I called a little past 8pm on April the 27th. Hey, she said. Hi. Whats wrong? Could you come over? So she did. Of course she did. She always did. I heard the key turn in the lock and she was sweeping in the door. That was fast. I took a cab, she said. And I feel so gross, I showered this morning but I still feel wrong being out without showering. You sounded serious.

I beckoned her over. Thank you. Its no problem, she said. Peps press conference starts in a little while, I said. She looked confused for a moment, then her face fell. Oh. No. Hes not I think he is, I said. She walked over and hugged me tightly. Ill watch it with you, she said. She always knew the right thing to do. He did announce he was leaving. The night is a blur. I think I cried enough for it to have been mildly embarrassing. I probably ruined her shirt a bit. Given how fastidious she is about her clothes, I think that is something I didnt express enough appreciation for at the time. It felt oddly like something signalling the passing of an era in my life, if that makes any sense. The Guardiola era began the same time I began high school, pretty much to the month. It was ending as I finally adjusted to college life and living by myself, and I still felt a little in over my head with everything, and I guess it felt like one of the last constants in my life was gone and now all the major things in my life were completely new, and I felt thrown in off the deep end all of a sudden.

We were sitting together on the sofa in my living room one day, shoulders up against each other with her head against mine and my hand in hers. I missed intimacy, she said. I dont necessarily miss romance. But I really missed intimacy. I miss it too, I said. Or missed. Past tense. I just realized that I actually havent really missed intimacy in quite a while. She gave me a dirty look. Youre so dense sometimes, Rahel. I think its because we- with us, theres, I mean its like I feel- I have my fill of intimacy, you know? She looked exasperated for all of two seconds before relenting and giving me a smile. Yes, I meant us, she said. Thats why I said missed. You finally caught up! Dont be so harsh on me, I said. Be proud of me. Baby steps. She pushed into me. Okay! Its surprising how okay I do feel, though, isnt it? I guess intimacy is what were all really looking for. I guess, like, the whole reason for the phrase looking for love in all the wrong places, is really about that, thats the love referred to there, intimacy, its that love which you feel so lonely and bitter when you feel empty of it and which I guess people were hoping to manufacture for a moment and feel a bit more okay, and Ive found the secret, havent I? She looked a little amused, and a little confused, and a little embarrassed, and just a little hopeful. Are you saying you love me? As friends of course Of course. Yeah, of course, but- I looked at her. Yes, I do. Good. She laughed. She looked delighted. Is that a big deal for you? I thought it over. Surprisingly enough, it isnt. Seems normal enough.

She looked down. I love you too, Rahel. And I hate how people have ruined that word to the extent where its embarrassing to say it to anyone and it feels like a ridiculously big deal saying it to anyone when it should be just a very simple self-evident truth, shouldnt it? I mean, its super obvious to me that I do, but it still feels kinda awkward to say and- Oh God, I cut her off, youre getting rambly again. She stopped, and giggled. I laughed at her barely-contained exuberance and very visible awkwardness, and to be completely honest, because I felt a little awkward myself.

Whatre you doing in your holidays? I asked her at lunch one day after class. Watching Buffy reruns at your place and making spaghetti with meatballs also at your place, she said. Unless you have other plans. I dont mean July!, I said. The end of year holidays. I dont know, she mumbled through a mouthful of fries. I guess I havent planned anything out yet. She looked down at her hands. Oh my God, Im disgusting. Yeah, why are we eating here anyway? I smirked. Did you get sick of lettuce and decide to break the rules for some real food? I can have one cheat meal every week, as you full well remember, she said primly. Hungry Jacks* seems appropriately unhealthy. And delicious. It will never stop being funny just how much of a stereotype you are. Im not a very successful one though, am I? she said, doleful. I can barely quote Shakespeare or Tennyson or pretty much any poetry, I dont know the tiniest hint of French, and much as I would in theory love to go and protest things Ive never really had the balls to go to any, except sitting in on Occupy that one time, but even then I didnt stay the night. And, like, I could be a bit more proper feminist. She wagged a fry at me. So I will point out now that we bear a lot of pain because of uteri and that deserves some verbal consideration, even if just within our internal slang, so. Not didnt have the balls. Didnt have the uteri. Uteruses. I grinned. The fault, dear Jade, is not in our anatomical bits, but in ourselves, that we dont attend protests and things. I hate you, she wailed. I lifted up my Coke. Cheers to the great collective uterus. She bumped her cup against mine with a flourish. Cheers to the empowered uterus of society! But getting back to topic, I said. End of year holidays. You know what we should do? Oh, just fucking get to it already. We should travel! We get three months free and thats plenty of time to have a nice trip, and you know where we could go? New York!, she said. New York! Oh my God. That is. The best. Idea. Ever. I know, right?!! Yes!, she said.

*Australias Burger King.

At some point we decided that we should have, you know, a horror movies night, because thats what friends living alone in college do, right? Have horror movie nights over at your friends place? So Jade came over to my little apartment with a huge bag of popcorn and a bottle of Pepsi- fuck Coke we always have Coke we needed to mix it up a bit!- and we pored over my laptop for fifteen minutes and finally decided that wed keep with the mix it up theme and order lasagne instead of pizza and have a classy meal before sitting down with popcorn. And then we lugged in pillows and the quilt from the bedroom over to my beat-up sofa and turned the lights down and made ourselves comfortable. We decided on a double feature of The Blair Witch Project and Cheesy Exorcism Flick*. This order was intentional. Id seen Blair Witch Project before, and it scared the living daylights out of me. I hadnt seen Cheesy Exorcism Flick but I heard it wasnt all that, so it seemed like a good way to segue out of proper terror into the more fun kind. She hadnt seen either. (*Im not going to put down the actual name of that movie. I dont want to alienate anyone in Hollywood, I still have some hope of writing a book successful enough to get a film adaptation. Not a shitty one like The Golden Compass movie, though. An awesome one like The Princess Bride.) Her reaction to The Blair Witch Project wasnt anywhere near as fun as I had been hoping. She seemed to be actually enjoying it. She was a lot quieter throughout the second movie. I assumed she was just tired. She yawned as the credits rolled. It was almost midnight. I guess I should be going now You can stay, I said. Its not like you havent stayed over a few times already. Ill sleep here. She looked at me really gratefully, the kind of spontaneous rush-of-feeling look that makes you feel like anything would be worth how seeing that makes you feel. Thanks, she said. I, uh I have a spare toothbrush, I said. I have three, actually. She raised an eyebrow. Im a college student! I buy stuff in packs at Woolies. Okay. She followed me into the bedroom. I rummaged through my closet and handed her one of my newer dress shirts. Is this okay? You can pick up anything else too if you- Her face lit up. Ooh, this is fantastic. Can I really wear this to bed? She threw it over her shoulders. Oh, this is brilliant. Itll be so fun to wear a boys shirt to bed. Id feel so sophisticated. I smiled at her enthusiasm. Now get out, she said. I gotta change into this. I closed the door behind me. Rahel. Dont shut the door!, she said loudly, and it jerked open a few inches. Not all the way! Sure, I said. Of course not.

You can come in now. She pulled the door open and struck an exaggerated showgirl pose, looking at me expectantly. Shed laid her clothes out neatly over the back of my chair, tidied up the bed a bit. I have to admit, she looked pretty good. It was much too big for her and only half her hands slipped out the ends of the sleeves, but mens shirts look amazing on girls that way. It sloped off her narrow shoulders and draped over her, billowy with a hint of clinging, shapeless but in a way that suggested at shapes. She was only a couple inches shorter than I was so the shirt stopped around the top of her thighs, and she had nice legs. She had really nice legs. Theyre my only really good feature, shed often joke, thats why I show them off all the time in these unseasonal skirts, and Id known she had nice legs for quite a while but Id never really got to see this much of them, and I know Im repeating myself a bit but I did think it, four or five times in a row- she has really nice legs. It suits you, I said. I like it!, she said. Its comfy too. I could totally sleep in your clothes. So we dimmed the living room lights and double-checked if all the windows and doors were locked and she went off to sleep in my bedroom, with the door wide open, of course, and I curled up on the sofa with a pillow and drifted off to sleep. I woke up with a start to the realization that something was and had been holding on to my hand. Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Wait, wait its me! Jade? What the fuck? I reached over and turned on the living room light to see her lying on the floor, in this ridiculously uncomfortable space between me and the coffee table. Whatre you doing?! She stood up. I was scared, okay? Why would you lie down on the floor then? Im your guest, she said, I didnt want to wake you up. But I needed, like, some presence. In case anything happened. What time is it? A little past midnight, she said. I dont think youve been asleep that long. Twenty minutes, tops. I sat up, and she sat down and lay her head against me, and I gave her a little hug and she stayed still, head down, and I played with her hair, dark brown by her scalp, deep red til the tips, and she stayed still, and finally I tried talking. Did the Blair Witch thing- No, she said. That film didnt really scare me much. Oh. I probably sounded disappointed. It was the other one. Really? She looked up at me. Yes. It is just a movie, Captain Obvious told her. Its not real, Jade, its all just some stuff people made up and whipped up for the camera.

Thats what scares me, Rahel, she said. Its like, when I watch movies about stuff like that. Not specifically ones from the movie but in general, you know, supernatural things. It forces me to face up to the question of whether they exist or not. And if they do, thats a very good reason to feel afraid. If they dont and maybe theres nothing out there outside of the observable world thats- thats terrifying, you know. I was here holding your hand because I was afraid there may be something outside of us. I couldnt sleep because I was afraid there might not be. Just dont think about it for now, Jade, I said. Lets just try get us to sleep now. Thats every night, she said. Well, not actively, but I just dont think about it, I go about my day thinking about normal things and worrying about normal things most of the time so life is okay and its only things like that that really forces the question on me, and I cant get it out of my mind. I dont want to go back there alone. Come with me, she said, and she took my hand and I followed her to bed. Just stay with me, okay? Please? So I did. Of course I did. And she pulled the covers over us and curled, foetal, up against me, and she drew endless repeating sinusoidal waves on the side of my stomach and I kept brushing her hair in behind her ear and running my fingers over the down at the nape of her neck, and we talked about little things meaningless things distracting things about classes and movies and how the weather would be tomorrow until we ran out of things to talk about; and then we closed our eyes and took turns to spell out words with our fingertips on the smalls of our backs and sleepily whispered our guesses to each other, and got everything wonderfully wrong. For my last word I cheated a little and traced out a heart and a comma, very gently and very slowly and impossible to get wrong, and I waited, eyes closed, for her to whisper recognition into my chest. But my only reply was slow, deep breathing; and when I finally opened my eyes for confirmation I saw she was fast asleep, hair mussed up, mouth a little open, for once completely at peace.

---

She called me at 1am one morning just a week before our exams. What happened? I mumbled into the phone. I think Im getting sick!, she said. Her voice was oddly high, which meant she was in full-on panic mode. Im getting sick! Exams are coming up and Im getting sick! Ill come over, I said. It was pretty late night so I figured well, fuck it, and went downstairs to try get a cab downing a Red Bull from the case Id stocked up for exam week, still wearing the old T-shirt that I wore to bed. I let myself in as silently as I could, and walked over to her room. She looked fully awake. Im sick, Rahel! she said. Fuck life and the universe! Fuck everything! I stay fine all fucking year and I get sick just when its time for exams I mean for fucks sake seriously why now why why why the universe is conspiring against me I swear to God out of all the times- I slumped onto the bed.

Calm down, I murmured into her pillow. Youll be fine. How?!! Shh, I said. First a good nights sleep, just lie down and set your alarm to something reasonable like 7.30am, lack of sleep is going to fuck with you. Okay. She moved the covers and snuggled against me. Wow, youre really hot, I said. She snickered. Merci. I mean like feverish. I know thats what you meant. I was making a joke. She was burning up by morning. I nudged her out of bed and walked with her to the bathroom. Hey. Youll feel better after brushing and a shower. It always helps. I know. She slumped into the sofa. Ill go in a while. Ill get you some panadol, I said, walking over to our kitchen cabinets. And then to the bathroom and the side tables of her bed. Apparently she didnt have any panadol. Or any kind of medicine at all. She laughed when I told her. College life. Clearly Im still pretty shit at living alone. Gimme a minute, I said. Ill go buy you some. Shhh, she whispered suddenly, go quietly and come in now. I dont want them to know you slept here, theyll assume things. Assume things? She sighed. Assume that you made sweet tender love to me to get me through the night and the pain, like in a clich movie scene, with lots of sappy lingering looks and fever sweat and dry kisses. Sounds fun, I said dryly. Oh my God, youre blushing, she said. Dear God. Imagine me having to go through sly comments suggesting the very same for a whole next week. She slumped into the sofa and closed her eyes. Quick, go. Okay, see ya in a while, I whispered. She looked up at me. Thank you. Really. So I went over to a K-Food Express and got some panadol, and nurofen, because honestly I dont know but when youre starting to get used to living and shit alone I figure you have to break out and learn which over-the-counter painkiller is truly meant for you, right? I told myself that this way we could try both and see which worked on Jade better, because for all we knew there was this better alternative that we never used just because we were sticking to routine. And to be honest, because the red box and the all-action font looked cool. Id used panadol all my life, I wanted to be a bit of a rebel. I also got some cup noodle soup, and yoghurt, and juice because I had this general idea that fluids and hydration were important for when you were sick, and she liked that kind of yoghurt so I might be able to get her to eat. And I liked the thought that itd probably cheer her up, me returning with food as a surprise. Shed managed to shower and change into a thin shirt by the time I got back. Hey! You got me food!

I did! And I got you your medicine- I threw the boxes over to the sofa and went to get her a glass of water. Here you go. She looked through the packaging. Ooh, nurofen. Never used that before. She tore the box open and popped a couple pills out. I stayed until afternoon. Jade sat on the sofa and went through her textbooks. I made her tea and let her lean against my chest and close her eyes when she felt too weak to continue, which was often. Ill just run over and get my books, okay? Okay. Come with me, I said suddenly. Stay at my place until youre better and I can always have an eye on you. Okay. She walked slowly off to her room. Ill take your toothbrush and books downstairs, I told her. She turned to give me a woozy smile. Thank you. She took all of five minutes to put her clothes into a bag- not like Im gonna be going out, anywayand walked out, and I took her arm and maneuvered her, books held awkwardly under my other arm, and took her home. The next four days were me looking after Jade and her studying through sips of the tom yam noodle soup that I made for her when she was feeling okay and fed her in spoonfuls when she wasnt up to the task. She comments once, in a sleepy but urgent mumble through sips, that the two of us were a bit Scott and Zelda and a bit Simon and River. You know that? Mm hmm? We are! Except youre much less of a prick to me than Scott was. Thats good, then. Hmm? Yeah And then she decided shed rather go back to sleep, and I let her be. I was very committed in looking after her. I brought juice in a tall glass in the mornings and checked her temperature, which to be honest I really enjoyed, if only for the opportunity to say I make special drink for you today Rhonda and You seem so hot today. Like a sunrise every morning. I went through my lecture notes when she was napping or completely occupied with her books, and hoped the stuff would go into my brain. Jade spent quite a bit of time whenever she felt worse fretting over how things go if she had to go to hospital. I have no idea how that works. Do I go to the emergency place, or to like- what is it, what do you do when you go to hospital? I dont know why I never focused on this shit every time before when I got sick, I shouldve paid attention to whatever was going on in previous hospital trips. If I ever have kids when theyre in their mid-teens Im gonna guide them through doing the procedures themselves if theyre sick- Jesus, youre gonna force your kids through bureaucracy while theyre sick? Thats what theyd have to do when they go off to college, isnt it? Still. Okay, maybe Ill take them on a dry run when theyre not super sick. But honestly it is pretty worrying not knowing this shit. I dont want to freeze up and like, just wait there while I fester and die. But it wouldnt come to that, right? It should be intuitive enough, right?

It is, I said authoritatively. And Ill be taking you so Ill help you. Or guide you through doing the procedures yourself- Do you know how to go through the Adelaide medical system?, she said. Thats brilliant, that really helps me panic less about the possibility. I know how it works, I said. Ive taken myself to the emergency room once before. Which was true. I had, a month or so before Jade and I first met. I dont think I really handled the process very maturely. The doctor asked me to rate my pain on a scale from 1 to 10. I told him that if I assumed that 10 was ultimate human pain, like being burnt at the stake or the Cruciatus Curse, which I would never have experienced yet, and then going on from that 9 would also be something that Id never have experienced yet, but that then going along this path of reasoning the most pain Id personally ever felt, while excruciating, would still probably only be about a 5 or 6, but then following on with that calibration, the pain I felt right now would only be about a 3 or a 4 which didnt seem quite right considering I was in a lot of pain, so perhaps the scale of pain is a logarithmic one which makes sense because I assume being burnt alive would be orders of magnitude more painful than what I felt right now even though on a linear scale itd only be about double, assuming 0 is no pain at all, so considering that and immediacy bias I couldnt really make an accurate guess at a number. So basically, it hurts a lot? hed said. Yep. Then he came back with medication and I talked to him about how crappy I felt right now, but how so little of my life was actually feeling this kind of pain yet I felt so crappy, and the good thing was the comfort of knowing that this was only temporary, and the despair I felt at imagining being in my sixties or seventies where this kind of pain might be a part of my daily life and how I didnt know how Id handle not having the hope of having much of life with nothing causing me constant difficulty or affecting my day to day existence weighing on me. Then he gave me some codeine and I got too drowsy to be able to notice the abyss staring back at me and then I texted a girl that I used to go to high school with telling her that I was facing the realization that Death can swoop down upon one at any time without warning and that Id always thought she had really pretty eyes. I wasnt very proficient at looking after an invalid. What do you do when someone has a fever? I dont know, she said. Every time til now whenever I got sick my mom was always there to look after me. I wonder where they learnt that stuff. Trial and error from times like this, I guess? Hmm. Probably. We should be trying to cool you down, shouldnt we? That makes sense, she said. How? You do like, with little kids you kinda mop them over with a wet cloth or something? Yeah, I said. I guess the evaporation takes heat away from your skin. So we just have to achieve that same effect. So we discussed and eventually decided on what we (okay, I) felt was an ingenious method for cooling someone down in the same way, which of course meant that it was a really stupid idea. Spread your arms.

This feels so much stupider than I expected. This is a good idea! I said as I doused her bare arms with a fine mist of water from the same spray bottle I used when ironing my shirts. There, let me- pulling the neck of her shirt back to aim a blast down her backOw, that is so cold! I smiled knowingly. That means its making you better, right? By some miracle through my occasionally inept but well-meaning care- or maybe in spite of it- she was all fixed up in time for exams and I was quite proud of myself and with a kiss on the cheek she was off on her way back home, presumably to fervently write notes in her tiny handwriting on reams of paper while rewatching all her lectures while laughing off sneaky comments about how she mustve got so scandalously bedded the past few days and earnest commentary on how but you two clearly have all that sexual chemistry going on theres really no point hiding it blah blah etc. Its really sad how sometimes people refuse to understand that love isnt a dichotomy between palsmates-friendship and romantic-lusting-love, isnt it, because when someone knows only two ways to define something then theyd have to pigeonhole anything they feel into one of the two categories, and by defining it to themselves as such the definition essentially becomes what they feel, and I guess thats the power of language, and the inability to accept that there may not be a word accurate in all its connotations for something that you feel, it makes me sad because perhaps those people might also be feeling something gorgeous but then they label it into one of two acceptable words, with all the history and connotational weight that a word carries, and by referring to their feelings as such the weight of the word superimposes on your original feeling and when you think about what you feel its in those terms because thats the only way you can think of it, and you end up with the vast spectrum of human feelings where you say that orange is red and green is blue and I dont make sense because what exactly it is that I feel for and about Jade doesnt really make sense but it was the most wonderful thing in the world and maybe youll be able to lift threads out of the words Im just throwing down on the page straight out of my thoughts and see what it is, and its just, god-fucking-damn it hurts, right now, Jade. I wish things could all be the same again. But at least, read this. Read this and know youll never be irrelevant or average. Read this and know I would never be able to forget you, and that you mean the world to me, and know youd never really be alone. I wish you were here, at this moment, now.

Well, that took a ~dark~ turn, didnt it? But that was skipping a little ahead, and now Im sitting here a Friday later writing this, and the sun is outside. Im playing Is This It. Let us continue the story. Up next was the last week of June and exams. I pretty much survived on Pizza Hut throughout. I bet that one week has caused lasting damage to the linings of my major arteries. The days passed in a vague haze of cramming and staring at papers without comprehending a single line and setting lectures to play as I nodded off with slightly unrealistic hopes of gaining something through osmosis a la omelette du fromage, in the half-awake state of being too guilty to stop studying right now and too panicked to ever really drift off but way too tired to stay awake. And spending a depressing amount of time doing nothing on the internet when I should have been studying. Those never felt like breaks, though, they just felt like

the kind of drawn-out inefficient constant studying where you do nothing but just end up hating yourself. The one break I took out was when Jade came over for the Euro 2012 quarter-final game, England versus Italy, armed with three bags of Doritos and vigorously suppressed hopes. Fuck this shit, she said pretty much every time Pirlo pinged the ball across the field, which was all the time. I found the whole thing pretty amusing. I was technically rooting for England, considering they were pretty much my home team by extension now. I didnt actually like the team much, though, beyond how fun it is to celebrate wins when patriotism is involved. Dont get your hopes up Jade, she repeated under her breath as we approached ninety minutes, and through all of extra time, and when penalties were signalled she tossed her bowl of Doritos onto the sofa and let out a massive sigh of resignation. Thats it. Penalties. Were out. I agreed with her, to be honest, but being a good friend and all I pointed out, Hey, maybe this will be the historic night they do a Spain and break their hoodoo! Theres a difference, she said bluntly. Spain were amazing. We were rubbish. She leaned back and clasped my hand tightly. England got knocked out on penalties. Obviously. She turned the TV off and marched off to the fridge. I need food. Hot food, not proper fucking Doritos. Or ice-cream. Preferably ice-cream. Theres always 2016! She laughed. Yeah. Right.

We were lying in bed talking, with her iPod plugged into her little speakers, playing just softly enough to be our background music, and when a song she particularly loved came on shed sing along just as softly, and then wed talk some more as dark fell until we got hungry and got up to whip up some kind of dinner, or until shed have to go home. I hate how no-one understands she said bitterly this one night. I hate it, its a little thing and most of the time it doesnt bother me but sometimes it just makes me so, so angry. How no-one understands what?, I said. This, she said. Its like, the idea that we can be friends. The idea that we cant possibly be having what we have. Its so stupid! People are so stupid. Why should the only avenue for intimacy and closeness and feeling loved be an arrangement where sex is the major factor? Its like you can have mates only for company and then you only have a shot at all those wonderful things if youre dating someone, which comes with all its own baggage and exclusivity and commitment and just a whole lot of things, and until then people just sort of manufacture the feeling in temporary shots by hooking up with someone. Everyone couples the two. It makes me really mad, isnt that pretty much us people, who should be creating a better dialogue, telling kids that their only shot at feeling loved and some kind of self-worth is by exchanging sex and hoping it works out? Shouldnt a girl be able to be valued as a person, and get love and affection for who they are instead of what they may be able to offer? Isnt allowing that kind of atmosphere wrong of us?

I looked at her. Okay, she said. Its not really about the kids. I just dont like people denying a huge part of my reality. It makes me mad. And its frustrating, because I want to make other friends at some point too, and if Im gonna be friends with someone theyd have to at least accept or understand the few things that are a huge part of my life. You shouldnt give up opportunities at further friendships just because of me, I said. Its not because of you!, she said. I cant just not say it in friendships, its a huge part of who I am, I cant really be friends if they just dont know a huge part of me, can I? Then I understand that, I said. Do you understand me?, she said. I understand you, I said. I always understand you. True. She snuggled closer and nestled her head into my chest. I think what we have is something good, I said. I dont think theres anything odd about two people thinking each other is wonderful. There shouldnt be. I think it should be perfectly normal to think your friend is the most gorgeous person on the planet. She looked up at me. Do you? I think youre a marvel for all the universes. Youre cute too, she said. I snorted. Cute? Okay, knew that, but thank you. Arrogance isnt cute, she said. I grinned. Well, we both know that occasional arrogance is just a front for desperate need of approval. What is cute about me? Your stupid hair, mostly, she said. Other people might say that you have pretty nice big brown eyes. And you have this slightly lost-kitten look half the time, but then in conversation you do that long serious look before blinking thing which looks so earnest, and just those eyelashes that I would quite like to have had myself. And you feel nice and solid to just cuddle with, or talk to. Things like that. But yeah, basically, the real endearing thing about you is mostly how terrible your hair is. My hair isnt that bad! I protested. She sighed. It is. Dont listen to her. My hair isnt that terrible. Okay, its a little chaotic, but its actually pretty normal looking. In my opinion, at least- and Im the writer, which makes it canon, right?

I guess death is an inevitable discussion when youve been close to someone long enough. Sooner or later youre bound to have a morbidly existential period around them that you dont feel like you have the strength to be nice and not pathetic about, and you want to feel some reassurance that someone you care about will sob buckets at your funeral and write up little things to you about how much they miss you even years after the fact. I dont know which one of us brought it up first, but she was the first to expressly ask me how Id react if she died. I dont know, I said. You dont know?

I dont think Id be able to cope. She didnt seem too happy with the answer. You seem so unbothered with the idea. And this set me off, because I didnt like to think about these things, and being forced to do so felt like the inevitability of human ending being all pressed up on me and that scared the living daylights out of me, and I just wanted to end this conversation and talk about something thatd take my mind off the notion of being eighty and receiving word that the last one of my friends had died andWhat am I supposed to say?, I snapped. Maybe seem a bit more emotionally affected, she shot back. This is such a stupid line of conversation! It bothers me, okay? she said sharply. It really fucking bothers me, Rahel, I want to know Ill live on through somebody at least- I just really wanted to talk about something other than people I love dying, and I wanted to turn the tables and make her see how stupid pressing someone like this was and make her see her own inability to form any satisfactory answer, so I threw her question back at her. Well, Im not asking you to tell me how youll cry seven hundred and nineteen tears when you receive word of my death and demanding to know how youd word your speech at the funeral if I died tomorrow, am I? I wont go to your funeral, she said. What? I cant do it, she said. I couldnt. Id just go somewhere far away where everything in my daily life wont remind me of you, and Id convince myself on some level that you were still around and lose myself in religion hoping to feel in my bones that you were still there somewhere, and Id just refuse to face up to it, and run away from things like I always do. Thats not very nice, I said. Im sorry, she said. Im selfish. No, its okay, I said. I want you to mourn me, she said. I want you to deliver a beautiful eulogy and put flowers on my grave every year like Joe DiMaggio did for Marilyn Monroe, and talk to me some nights so if Im alive somewhere I can listen in and see whats going on in your life, and I want you to write gorgeous novels about me that I can read up there and I want people to read those novels and adore me, and people to read your books and then write songs about me. Preferably Ed Sheeran. I want you to write me letters even in old age and keep them in a drawer like Richard Feynman, and I want you to have a daughter and call her Jade. Even though I couldnt do any of that for you. I hope you understand. I dont, I said. I didnt. But okay.

I have a slightly difficult relationship with writing. (I always feel self-conscious writing about myself. I feel like these asides should be shot in grainy, wavering black and white with straight-faced and subtitled French voiceovers and Erik Saties Trois Gymnopdies playing in the background, and I feel like I need to memorize some Nietzsche or Sartre to spice up these monologues with some vague and outof-context commentary on the emptiness of life and the perils of materialism).

I mean yeah, I do it out of love for the art, yes, well at least thats a lot of it, but theres so much more to it than that. I guess a little bit of it is that writers need for validation. For approval. I guess a little bit of it is that writing might just might be a way to get around my own insecurities. Im terrified of losing people I love. I really am. Im terrified of losing friends and loves, of them walking away, of them leaving me as they get to see me and who I am, or just losing people to circumstance, however, whatever. I desperately want some kind of success in writing, desperately. Not a whole lot, just enough to have fans. Because thats something thatll last. It may grow or shrink or change in composition but as an entity itll last, and there will always be people who appreciate me, and itll stay and god that sounds wonderful. Being loved with a certainty of consistency. That sounds fucking beautiful. Its all I want, really*. And if I want people to like me through writing, who do you think Id write about but the easiest to love person I know? And I want a little immortality, I guess. I know there is no such thing as eternal when it comes to art, heck, I dont even know what art will be in so much as my own lifetime. Maybe, what with Moores Law and all, art galleries will be places where you walk in and put on your headset and walk through gorgeous realistic 3D worlds and wed have to rethink our ideas of art the way we did to include movies and photography when the technology for those were invented. Id love that kind of art, walking around in beautiful alien words in a virtual reality headset. I think we could have that in our own lifetime. We should go to one of the pioneering World museums when were old sometime, Jade. I hope they have something like Midnight without the x-tonic radiation, and Spira, and maybe Earth in the age of the dinosaurs. Maybe just Earth cities, like Rome and Los Angeles. Deserted great cities to be our playgrounds. I dont know what people will be in a couple hundred years, perhaps well all live in a Matrix of our design with no overpopulation and no pollution and you cant get raped or murdered because if you see someone coming towards you you can just log out and log back in in a different location, and all their conceptions of everything is completely different from ours. And as time frames grow even longer all the books we ourselves know but the very greatest will disappear into obscurity, and as time frames grow even longer even all those will fade out of memory, so I know this isnt eternal. But maybe in changing or inspiring or moving someone I could leave behind something in the world outside of just myself, that changed the world by virtue of having made a difference in the world that wouldnt have been so were it not for me. Why this particular story, though? Why this patchwork quilt of memories? Maybe I write to hold those disparate pieces together, set them in stone so they dont blow away. Maybe I write to try figure things out. Maybe I write to relive what were my lifes best moments. Life stands still for no-one. You can revisit a book at will. But in the end, I know this particular story is in many ways just a letter to Jade. Its how I can write the things that I couldnt ever really say. And its because I know that there are some things that you cant ever really think or feel on your own but which, when you let a character occupy your mind, and live things out, and think things and feel things, then when you close the book and she leaves, what she thought and felt stays behind; and there is so much that I want Jade, you, to know. So many things I want you to be able to believe. Things that maybe you could only believe through fiction. I want you to see how wonderful you are. To fall in love with you. All of this is a letter to you.

*If one happened to look like Jessica Brown Findlay and bonded with me over our shared love of books and posted obfuscatory-yet-obvious statuses slash tweets slash text posts about a cute boy she recently met who is very obviously me and we fall in love and get married, thatd be just a very nice bonus**. **Im kidding, of course. Im taken, as you all will know by the end of this novel. P.S. You will likely read this current footnote in a rather different light the second time you read this book.

Im trying to figure out whether to keep on staying here or move somewhere else, I told her one day as we lay in bed together watching Doctor Who. Hmm? I only rented it for six months, I said. Its kinda expensive but I couldnt find any other place in time, so I always kinda figured Id move out to somewhere cheaper at the end of the semester. Maybe rent a room with someone else, call up those university notice board adverts or something. I figured I should live by myself in the first six months while I adjusted and got used to studying and stuff, but I cant really keep up paying this. But if youre living with a bunch of strangers its gonna be no fun, she said. I cant spend basically the whole day here. Which I already kinda do. Hard to just laze around in shorts and eat your food when there are other strangers who actually pay rent. You do practically live here, I said. You should pay part of my rent so I can get through! She snorted, then suddenly stood up. Wait. I should. We should be housemates. We can get a really great place together and get our own stuff and everything. Decorate however we want. Would that not be fucking awesome? We can have Dalek fucking salt-shakers- Lava lamps! Our own library of perfection. Bara posters everywhere! A vinyl record player just because! A Tardis sound doorbell. A freaking Tardis sound doorbell! Okay, thats it, I said, that is absolutely fucking settled, we are most definitely going to live together!

And then in July we were moving in together. We signed off on an apartment in the city a few minutes from university. It was on the ninth floor and extremely white; kitchen cabinets, doors, bedframes, everything. A million dust motes materialized in our living room early every morning for their own slow waltz within slanting columns of pale yellow sunlight, circling each other, drawing in and then away, an eternally unfulfilled dance that began every day on the clock as we woke up and heated up our coffee and would be gone by the time wed get back without the slightest trace. The place smelled of unlivedin-ness, the smell of a place where meals had never been cooked and shampoo-scented steam had never billowed out of a bathroom door and windows had never been opened on a stultifying summer

night for the smell of the purple sky and the cries of bats and birds and the lazy sense of possibility in the closed storefronts and the prettily dressed people and the dull provinciality of the 9pm bus stop to be carried in with the light breeze that gives light relief to its sticky, shiny-eyed occupants. That was a good thing. It was new. The story of this apartment would begin with us. Wed be its first, as it was ours. The very first day, we packed our toothbrushes and brought up a massive bag of shopping to sit on the coffee table in front of our TV. Most of our stuff were still at our old places for the week while we shifted but we just pretty much lived in the little apartment of ours, eating bread and Nutella and watching FRIENDS in between short trips to this place and that, posters and lamps and the aforementioned salt-shakers, and Tupperware and cutlery and pillowcases and pillows. We examined various cleaning products at Woolworths before settling on Lysol, and I attacked the grimy windows caked with specks of cement and a yellowish, hardened coat of dust on the outside as she mopped the floors and dragged in quilt covers from the laundry for our respective beds, and we meticulously took multiple gratuitous pictures of each step for safekeeping on the Internet. We both got personalized quilt covers like the children we were, of course. I got blaugrana. She got Van Gogh, and glow-in-the-dark stars for her ceiling to keep up the theme. She was a nightscape kind of girl. When it was night-time we plugged in our lava lamps and lit a bunch of candles and danced to old music off her MacBook. We ate pizza margherita and put the leftovers into our brilliantly white our very own refrigerator. We poured out Coke into cheap plastic champagne glasses wed got on one of our many supermarket trips, and toasted our brilliant new home, and lay on the sofa and just marvelled at it all until we drifted off to sleep. And somehow by the end of the week we had a bunch of empty cardboard boxes in the corridor outside our door and all our stuff was finally here.

---

Im not very good-looking or anything, but I get away with stuff by being cute. I dont even really know exactly what it is. I have little amused half-smiles and the best puppy-dog eyes in the world. I dont personally really like the idea of being cute. I always kinda wanted to be more, well, dashing. Suave and sophisticated. A bit Don Draper. But as it is, being cute is so much of my MO. Its a nice part of life. Im pretty terrified of getting old, because then when youre sixty and you smile at someone and strike up a conversation even if youre very earnest and stumble over your words a little and can be comfortable and charming its not the same as being nineteen and doing the same, if you talk to people or say something very nice it seems like its something odd. Or creepy. Id hate that. I guess its sad that society or whatever marginalizes old people like that, but I dont want to be an artefact in a finite amount of time. The thought scares me. If time is just another dimension of the universe then somewhere along there I exist with no more time to fulfil any unfulfilled dreams and in no state to live all these wonderful, exhilarating things out of novels and movies and not surrounded by beautiful people and beautiful things and the latency of all those beautiful things I could potentially do, and thinking about it in that Tralfamadorian sense terrifies me. It feels too close. Like its all rushing in, even like its all right there. When the thought enters my head I cant stop thinking about it, thinking about a time in the future in which I cant slip into any of hundreds of little moments from books and films and

the great romantic clich catalogue of the greater social consciousness with someone, and keep on feeling the sheer aliveness of travelling at will between so many universes. Every little moment a step into and through the wardrobe, into a world full of possibilities like so many invisible secret passageways you could take someones hand and walk into for a while. Jade was the same. She hated the thought of growing up. When you grow up your heart dies, shed say, quoting The Breakfast Club. You realize how were all so nostalgic towards the 60s, the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe, and all those so many people that so strongly believed in changing things for the better?, she told me as we lay in bed on a warm afternoon, listening to Don McLean define the very generation she was speaking of. We werent even born then but were so nostalgic for it, but you know where those idealistic college kids are now? Theyre out there grumbling about how entitled kids nowadays are for protesting against student loans and crazy college fees. For protesting. They were voting for Rick Santorum. I dont want that to ever happen to me.

I considered getting a buzz cut, you know?, she told me once. Early on in university. I just wanted to feel authentic. As in like, not a sellout. I felt like, you know, having this particular hair was making me be like someone whod have this hair, and if I didnt have any hair or anything to be vain about and just got it all cut off, thatd force me to be some kind of personality that was independent of how I looked. Because it feels like how I look and dress and what I do is all threads of the personal narrative that is me. And I felt like I didnt know if I was slave to the narrative, or the narrative was a representation of Jade, and I wanted to somehow know myself. Im glad you didnt, I said. I did go to the hairdresser, she said. But I just couldnt do it. It was too much part of me. I was just too vain. To be entirely honest with myself. Were you just complimenting my hair? I do like your hair, I said. Thats not the only reason why, though. Its like, I mean, I just realized that maybe wed never have become friends if youd had a little extra burst of wanting that one day at the hairdresser. That tiny little thing. Your hair. I may have never talked to you that day outside class or another day and we might never have become friends and hit it off and moved in together and everything. Our whole lives might have turned out differently. Just because of something as simple as a hairstyle. Its a bit of a mindfuck, isnt it? You only talked to me because you liked my hair? She seemed more pleased than offended. That wasnt exactly my rationale, no, I said. But somehow its like. I talked to you cos somehow I felt like you and I would get along and hit it off and, you know, I dont know, maybe Id have thought differently if youd had your hair cropped really short. Cos I guess we do judge from sight. I guess. I know thats sucky, but I guess we do. I wouldve probably thought youd have liked different things if youd had cropped hair. And I wouldnt probably have found you amusing as a perfect picture of a stereotype. And maybe, okay, maybe without the little bit of extra courage from someone being pretty with really pretty hair I wouldve felt a little too shy to strike up a conversation and wed have ended that semester and gone to different classes for the rest of our degrees. I dont know.

Wow. She sat down. Pretty odd how life goes, huh? I could have done one little thing differently. Had a sudden burst of courage that day. Come to class late. Been grumpy over something and looked just a little imposing. Any of that, and- Und Dann, flash forward, me and you and this apartment and my whole life, just- whoosh.

A short note on our drinking, or lack thereof. We didnt drink at all and much respectively. This shouldnt be particularly surprising seeing as the leads in this story are a Muslim and a hipster*, and I never really thought much of it until I just thought about what this story is and figured that out of the many words I could use to describe it one would be that it was a story of college, freshman year, and realized that when I hear the phrase college story the first thought that comes to mind, from existing narratives, is a lot of alcohol, which this particular story severely lacks. This also gives me an opportunity to pop out a group survey we had to carry out for statistics 101: Sampling location: Central Hub, University of Adelaide Sample size: 80 freshmen and sophomore year students Q: How much alcohol do you drink on average per week? - I do not drink at all or drink only on special occasions: 45% of surveyed students - I estimate I drink 1-6 standard drinks in an average week: 35% of surveyed students - I estimate I drink 7-14 standard drinks in an average week: 10% of surveyed students - I estimate I drink over 14 standard drinks in an average week: 10% of surveyed students Hmm. Surprising results actually, given the narrative of college students being continuously drunk. Perhaps the University of Adelaide just has exceptionally sober students. (Maybe they should put that on the brochures). Or perhaps college students are pretty much no different from high schoolers or adults or pretty much any other class of people. Maybe all the pathetic and immature and confused and messy things in our lives also exist for everyone else, but we all only see everyone elses outside and our inside and feel like we have to go through so much turmoil to just be like everyone else, when maybe everyone is going through the same thing. Maybe that panic you feel at how you feel so much less prepared for the world and adulthood and social image and just living up to expectations is something everyone else feels and hides, and everyone just looks like theyve effortlessly got a grip on things to everyone else. Life is weird that way, isnt it? People are so messy. With fiction you know all your characters so well, as they are, by definition, and its always a bit of a surprise to find out that as you write your own life you dont really know much about most of your main characters and dont entirely know any of them. You dont understand them at all. And with fiction consistency is such a cardinal rule that we begin to expect the same out of the people in our lives, and as we try to know them we try to piece together all the various pieces of them we know into a single cohesive whole, but real life isnt like that at all because people arent one cohesive whole. People are such messy, inconsistent creatures. People act one way one day and completely differently in the very same situation the next day. People have mood swings and rough times, and a whole conflicting set of wants and desires that win out to different extents on different days, and something that applies one day doesnt apply for another. And people change over time, on top of all that. People do things that are entirely fucking OOC. Its such a mess to

make sense of, and its even more of a mess if you try to collage it all into a consistent set of character notes, because people are multitudes, and some of those multitudes are complete opposites of each other. We do the same for ourselves, too. We try to piece ourselves together into a consistent whole, and when we find that we cant, we feel like we must be broken. But were not. Were just human, and being human is being a tumult of contradictions. I dont know why Im writing all this out, but I really feel like I need to know this if Im ever going to figure things out and figure you out, Jade, am I right? *Im not serious, Jade, Im joking, honest. A short note on group projects. You learn exactly three things in group projects. How infuriating other human beings are, how infuriating you are, and a bunch of the actual stuff in the course, which is quite helpful with the whole studying for exams in the future thing. So I guess they arent really as horrible as advertised. They can be a bit of a boon if you have terrible study habits like I do, because it pretty much forces you to both read up on stuff, which Im often too lazy to do, and to write and apply the stuff you read like youd have to on the actual exams, which Im almost without fail too lazy to do. I may be just about the only college student or graduate or well anyone outside of university staff that has something positive to say about group projects, but hey. Theyre terrible, but they do make you learn (to hate people (and also some stuff in the course) (but mostly to hate people)).

So, then, we decided to get ourselves a car. We had no idea how to go about it, so she had to call her mom and ask her how you did these things. It was a little terrifying, but we ended up getting one. The process isnt that interesting. If this was a teen movie youd just see a wide shot from the distance of us standing by a car, talking to a salesman, and then segue right to us discussing what wed name our now-purchased vehicle. So here you go. EXT. SEXY-ASS WHITE CAR (well, us in the car, the car outdoors, so exterior, right?) So whatre we gonna call it? Her, Jade said. Cars are hers. Okay, I said. Whatre we gonna call her? Her eyes lit up. I have the best idea. Ive had it all day, actually. Wait for it Blue Citrus. I stared at her. Are you kidding me? She giggled. Yes, shes not blue, thats why its so funny. No, I got that, I said. But thats so fucking morbid though, do you actually remember what happens in that story? What- oh. She looked crestfallen. Yeah, I didnt really think that one through. That would be pretty morbid to drive around in. Id always be worried that something bad would happen just because surely fate couldnt pass up something so very ridiculously narrative, could it? Yes, I said. Thank you, that would have creeped me the fuck out. How about Tardis? she said.

Oh my God. Wouldnt that be fun? Every time were going somewhere I can be all like. Come along Pond, hop in the Tardis! I really wanted to give her a Nerdfighter name though, she said*. Whenever I thought about being in my late teens with a car of my own and having adventures it was always in a John Green context. We could call her Alaska, I said. It fits so well, shes white- I dont think the race of the character was ever specified!, she said. Not the character being white! The state, its always white on the maps, isnt it? And it snows a lot there or something and I dunno, whenever I think of the state Alaska I think white- That works for me, she said. That which the sea breaks against Isnt that pretty morbid? I think we can largely avoid the Pacific Good point, she said. So were agreed on Alaska? Thats good with me, I said. And now Alaska will live on forever within us. She giggled. I think were within her. I kept a dignified silence. She pointed at the odometer. Look. Miles finally got to be inside Alaska. She was bent over in silently snorting laughter. Please stop, I said. I am not amused. Shut up, that was fucking hysterical, she said. *JOHN. HANK. HI. My best friend loves you. As do I, but I dont matter here; shes the one this book is about.

Breakfasts with me and Jade are a fun affair. We compromised on The Most Important Meal of the Day, by which I mean she brought the healthy and I brought the sense. We had specified roles. Shed make us omelettes with spinach, or baguette slices with tuna and tomato. Id tip out some cranberry Table of Plenty and yoghurt into bowls and make the both of us coffee- milk for me, black for her. (Im sure my breakfasts will inevitably devolve into leftovers and Nutella without Jade around, hint hint. I may get a heart attack or some terrible illness were she not around, hint, hint.) Then wed sit ourselves down primly at the little table across each other and talk throughout the morning. Today we discussed New York. It was still a pretty vague idea back then, and we talked about it because we enjoyed the communal dreaming that was writing out new bits of our lives together, and so far wed been putting off pertinent details like when in favour of just painting little pictures of us in this grand city. We discussed it all the time then. We have practically four months of holidays in which we could go, right?, she said. And that includes... She gave me a meaningful look. I didnt know what she meant, though, but I gave it a shot. Umm the summer months? She rolled her eyes. Wow, Rahel, that is brand-new information! I did not know that. You got some on your dress, I said. Wait, where? What?

SARCASM, I said. Some spilt. Fuck you, she said. I love this dress. I cant believe you just made me freak out for that awful a punch line. So what did you mean, though? New Year!, she said. Think about it. New Years Eve in New York City. Times Square. And Christmas right before that. Yeah, I said. Wow. Thatd be nice. New Years Eve. Think about it, she said. Imagine Christmas shopping, and all the trees and all the lights The End of the World! On December the 21st. We could fit that in too- Oh my God, she said. Yes. Well just go out that night and party like were you know, not us. Sounds good to me, I said. Imagine New Years Eve! Well get a hotel as close to Times Square as we can. Well dress up all formal. Imagine the ball drop countdown, she said. Her eyes sparkled. Us counting down with everyone, ten, nine, eight, and then midnight, and you just take the person next to you and kiss them and It wasnt weird for a second and I let myself think of it, and. This is hard to say because were best friends and I guess I got lost in the magic of the thought but it wasnt a hypothetical stranger that I thought of, Jade. Umm, you finished. Yeah, I said. So the countdown, basically, you said. Yeah, I said.

---

It was early in the night but I was in my room, lying in bed with the lights dimmed, staring up at the ceiling when Jade texted me. We still texted each other from our individual bedrooms sometimes, as a little holdover of old-time text conversations, because texting was nice and what better person to text than your very best friend? Could you come over? , shed wrote. Please? So I did. Of course I did. Shed been crying. Shed wiped her face well, but I could tell. She was lying on her bed, on her side. Id seen her in towels and pyjamas before, but tonight she was wearing just her bra and underwear- black, lacy and frilly and the kind of fragile-looking thing that was exactly the kind of thing youd expect her to wear. Not that Id thought about it much. But if I had. Her skin was pale and blotchy, skin isnt always this smooth block colour, Id long known, its little eddies and currents of peaches and pinks and whites and reds, and a shadow down the indentations that followed her spine down her back, and in the little concentric crater on her shoulder, and rich blacks the colour of silhouette where the fall of her hair and the dip of her shoulder blades formed umbras and penumbras out of the dim yellows of the lava lamps,

and shadow pooled around her eyes which were wiped clear but a little too red. The sheets pooled around the bottom of the bed, covering her feet, and she didnt look up to acknowledge me. I lay down next to her and she looked up at me and we looked at each other and I kissed her on the forehead and she huddled closer, and my hand was on her back drawing little patterns on her skin so she could feel touch, and comfort, and I pulled the sheets up over us so we were warm uncomfortably warm even as we huddled together tightly and she sighed and turned the lava lamp down so we could both close our eyes and be somewhere out of this world only occupied by the both of us, and I held her close, wed fall asleep this way and until then wed talk and everything would be okay, and. I love you, you know. So much. I dont mean it in that way I mean I hope it doesnt sound like Im being romantic or trying to take advantage of the moment or anything but you should know, I really do, youre the world to me. Im so glad you said that. Youre the world to me. The whole world. I mean, I knew you did. But I only mostly knew. And its nice to hear you say it because God, I needed that so much You know, I sometimes think were almost so inextricably co-dependent that its not good for us. And then I feel like I flatter myself beyond belief, because the idea that anyone could feel the way about me that I feel about you feels completely impossible, and I feel alone and unloved like Im a silly girl that could never hope to be felt about the way I feel. I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I feel like Ive grown around and into you like a vine up a tree, and Im okay with that, but if that tree ever disappeared Id just be there. Torn down, collapsed. Uprooted. I wish I was better with words. I want to tell you so many things and I want you to be okay. I just want whatever it is thats making you sad now to be okay. No no, youre fine, its nothing. Im just lonely. In a way that stabs at my chest. In a way I feel in every bit of my skin. Rahel. Yes? Losing my virginity. I feel like you shouldve been there. I wish youd been there. Its not a happy memory now but still for something so personal I wish youd been there, cos anything personal without you feels wrong. It doesnt feel real because I didnt tell you. Even if I didnt know you in high school. All of high school doesnt. And it feels so wrong now because were supposed to share everything and we share everything else and theres the one thing that we cant ever share because its in the past and it feels like this, I hate him for a million things but thats one thing that I hate him so much for at this moment, theres all these things we journey into together- Dont worry about him. Thats not it. Its not him. Well, not now. I just realized cos someone said as much, I mean I guess I knew but I only realized earlier today that soon youll be having your first time. And telling me about it.

Weve signed off on so many good things together. I wanted to have a nice first time in the same future as you, to talk about both our lives together. I dont even really know, though, about sex. I dont know. I dont think about it much, not just because Im pretty happy as things are but because the idea of something personal without you feels strange, anything in our lives thats not together is odd to think about, but It is. It is for me, too. Rahel. I love you. So much it hurts, all the time, every second. I love you too, Jade Hah. We definitely do have an unhealthy relationship, dont we? I dont think people are meant to be this co-dependent. I think society would brand it flat-out weird. Im not inclined to take the word of a society where shut-up kisses and stalky insistence are grand movie gestures and Twilight is an idealized love story about what or what not constitutes a healthy relationship. This is by far the least emotionally abusive human interaction Ive ever had in my whole life. Do you know that? You make me feel valued and worthwhile and okay. I trust your judgement and you love me so it makes me feel like I cant be that awful, you make me feel good enough, and always only ever on my own terms, and if people would think thats weird or wrong then fuck them. Their loss. They dont get this kind of wonderful. I woke up early the next day and slipped off to have breakfast at the caf downstairs and read for a couple of hours, because I didnt want to wake her up with the sound of cooking, and because when youve been sad you need some time on your own to feel okay.

My ex talked to me yesterday, essentially, Jade told me later that day as we ate Tim Tams on the sofa. He was an asshole. Real shocker, I know. I hate him so much, I said. I hope that insect that crawls upstream your piss and makes your various digits fall off does that, to him. Its Australia, were supposed to have at least one wildlife-related injury among all the people we know, right? Isnt it long overdue? He assumed were screwing, she said dispassionately. I pointed out that some males had the cranial development to be able to enjoy a girls company proper. He didnt believe me. I said Im not easy. He said I was with him. I ended the conversation and signed out. I was very polite, and he apparently decided to pop up to pour a heaping spoonful of asshole rain over the parade that is our admittedly constant uploads of our totally awesome lives in our totally awesome home. Clearly Im the bigger person here. I really fucking hate that guy. I didnt know him, but I hate his guts. He looked like a little bitch on Facebook, I said. You looked him up on Facebook? I needed to put a face on my hatred, I said. And I wanted to see if I could take him. I totally could. She patted me on the bicep. Of course you could, Rahel. I dont even know him and I want to kick his ass. He has a stupid face. That he does, she said. I kinda wish Id run into him somewhere here so I could just find a stupid excuse to pick a fight with him and break a fucking chair on his head.

I dont want to run into him, she said. Id really rather just he be as far out of my existence as possible. Even if its me kicking his ass? Im really fucking glad he doesnt live here, she said. And even if for some stupid reason he comes over or something I dont know, if for any reason you see him or anything you dont pick a fight or anything, okay? We are the bigger people here. And Id rather people, him included, just keep on thinking that I dont give much of a fuck and was-slash-am completely unaffected by anything to do with him. Which would also be the truth. Were the good guys. You better not pick a fight. I will be very mad at you if you do. But then that evening she decided to bake chocolate cheesecake which I love beyond all desserts and brought it out for us on the sofa to eat with little forks, and gave me a pointedly massive slice. Nobody does that out of the blue. I got the message. Shed probably be mad at me if I did pick a fight, but she was glad that I was willing to. And she wasnt being subtle about that at all.

One night Jade decided we should go out. Proper go out, she said. As in actually go somewhere. Somewhere with people. A night out on town. Not just mill around by ourselves. Which meant company, advertent or inadvertent, which meant that instead of just tossing on the first T-shirt and pair of jeans at hand, I had to look through my clothes and choose one. One of our rare social social outings! I picked out a button-up for the occasion and waited in the living room for her. She walked out and did a little twirl. I whistled. Someone looks dressed to impress. Im not good at complimenting people. Is that a compliment? Is that freak for you look good? Seriously, though, I said. Is there someone that youre trying to wow, wherever it is were going? She sighed. Its no, were just going to enjoy some music and a night out. I dont know you as well as Id have thought, do I? Yes, you dont, she said. We girls dont always dress for the benefit of men, you know. Maybe I just felt like looking good and feeling good. But thats not your kind of attractive, I said. I mean like its not your usual style like, when youre dressing up you look different, this is this is, like, youre sexy. She positively blazed. Are you saying Im not usually sexy? No!, I said. Thats not what I mean, I mean- why are we, I mean we dont- I mean Im not the guy that can judge if youre sexy, right? I mean were mates and, I dont know, thats not the discussion were, Ithats not how I mean it, I mean like Ive known you long enough to know your styles and- you know what I mean. Maybe I like feeling sexy, then, she said. Maybe I like it when boys who actually have the sense to notice find me sexy. And youre really killing the mood. She glared at me a few moments, and I held her gaze until she softened just a little. I didnt mean it like that, I said. I did dress to impress, she said.

Itll work. Youre both so perceptive and so utterly, unbelievably oblivious all at the same time She sighed. Do you really mean that? Definitely, I said. You look awesome. I kinda want to monopolize you when were out and smirk at how everyone else will be jealous while my ego inflates to fill the room. I mean, I totally would, you know. Well, and she smiled a little half-smile, looking up at me from under her lashes, mock-flirting, then today is your lucky day, because you can monopolize me all you want. Im just out for the music and the feeling, and the highway lights. What about the sexy? They can look but they cant touch, she sang. Im Fergalicious. And thats the point. But dont you go off with someone else and leave me just hanging. So we went to a bar(? club?) on Hutt Street and utterly failed at all conventional definitions of a night out on town, and sipped at our virginal drinks over at a corner. A guy talked to Jade for a little while at the counter. I fidgeted. She came back. We sipped some more. The Strokes came on. You said you couldnt stay Youve seen it all before I know I love this song!, she yelled. Me too!, I yelled back. She moved across a little closer and looked up at me, an eyebrow raised. An invitation? She just smiled. No harm, he's armed Setting off all your alarms She started swaying her head a little from side to side, swaying to the music, hair whipping a little around her face. It was a very pretty movement. Girls are pretty when they do that. She was smiling up at me, a crooked smile, and at that moment I was very aware of the fact that she was a girl. And storefronts rarely changed At least I'm on my own again Instead of anywhere with you Her eyes were half closed and her hands were raised, as if she were trying to block out everything but the music, moving to the bassline like she was trying to find resonant frequency and shift into the song. There was something hopelessly fragile about the way her shoulders sloped and about the contradiction

of intensely half-closed eyes a transitional moment forced into stasis, like she was in a trance where you flew through stars but would snap out of at the slightest touch. And I lost my page. Again I know this is surreal But, I'll try my luck with you She moved a step forward at the chorus and snuggled her head into my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. This life is on my side Well I am your one Believe me, this is a chance, oh, oh I could feel her shoulder blades through the back of her dress. I could smell her hair. She was sad, because sometimes songs make you sad even though theyre beautiful, and sometimes songs make you sad because theyre beautiful. And we stood at the back of the bar and swayed together as everyone else talked and laughed and danced. She swayed into me, and I swayed with her. Oh, it's never gonna be It's sad, but I agree The signals don't seem right They last for just one night, and then I'm sorry that I said That we were just good friends

Afterwards we drove to a Vietnamese restaurant. It was empty except for the two of us and a group of Indonesian kids. We ordered a massive plate for the two of us. She eyeballed the kitchen door nonstop while we waited. God, I am hungry as fuck. I can tell, I said. I could eat a horse. Would you, though. She gave me a dirty look. I didnt say I would, Rahel, I said I could. I totally could. We waited silently a little longer. I felt like something else was bothering her but I didnt really know what, even though Im her best friend so Im supposed to know these things. But since I didnt I still had to try cheer her up somehow. Thats what Im supposed to do. So I kicked her lightly under the table. What? I leaned over and whispered into her ear. Lets do something fun while we wait. Like what? Lets pretend were something outrageous.

Example? Celebrities? Her face lit up. Yes. Not to celebrities, but I have an idea. This could make the time go faster, definitely. She raised her voice suddenly. Whatd you mean you cant take Alex and Jacob to school tomorrow? I help them with their homework and cook their food and take them to soccer practice and you damn well can do this one thing! I- I stopped a moment. I take- I- She broke character for a second to give me a look of enormous pity. But I, uh have a, really important meeting tomorrow. I took them to school the past two weeks, isnt it your turn? But you know that I need to rest in the mornings. I get morning sickness. Wait, what? The group at the other table were staring at us by now. Recall that Im pregnant? Typical man, you dont understand or relate in any way to our- I dont understand? I drove you to a Vietnamese restaurant at 11.30pm just because you were having cravings! She gasped. This is your baby too! I glared right back at her. Is it? What are you insin- she stopped. Oh look, the food is coming! She scarfed the food down. I ate slowly. She made fun of my use of fork and spoon. Theres nobody here, you know, you dont have to try look erudite. Just eat. I pointed out the irony in the statement. Have you seen how daintily you eat whenever we have lunch together? You eat salad with a fork! Thats the healthy way to eat, she said. Ever heard of the slow food movement? Its how your stomach knows that youre full when youre actually full. Its okay to stuff it down when youre hungry, you know. Hippie. Corporate sellout. I just want to take my time, I said. I like the food and I like the atmosphere and I kinda like being out really late at an empty restaurant with someone I like being with. Late nights at empty restaurants with a friend is a typical college thing, isnt it? Were not quite drunk enough to fit a stereotype, she said. So we paid for a few bottles of energy drinks from the fridge in the corner before we left. She took a swig as we walked towards the exit. Gonna get soo drunk tonight! We both burst out laughing as we stepped outside. The roads were mostly empty. The streetlights were stark on the buildings and pooled across the asphalt. The air was biting cold. It nipped at our exposed faces. My eyes watered. She shivered. I was a bit too loud there, wasnt I? Yes, I said. They probably think youre a bit cuckoo. They probably think Im a terrible parent.

They probably think you keep me cowered and the children terrified. I look like I went clubbing. She looked mortified. They probably lost some faith in humanity right there, didnt they? They probably did Oh my God, she said. But thats horrible, though. I mean some laughs is one thing but now I feel like a terrible person, its like I mean people go through life thinking the world is a shitty place and I feel like we should never confirm that, you know? What if we were the straw that broke the camels back and sent them into an entrenched worldview of existential despair? Isnt that the worst thing I could do tonight? Theyll probably think Im going to breed kids with severe foetal alcohol syndrome if I dont go crash into a tree driving drunk. We waited outside a little while. She wrapped her scarf in tighter. We have to go in and tell them, she said. We should tell them we were just kidding around and do something to reaffirm their faith in the human race. She walked back towards the door, and turned around. Come on! Youre not gonna make me do this alone, are you? So I went with her, and we walked in, and we very very awkwardly approached the table with the Indonesian kids. Hey, she said with a little wave so self-conscious that I started giggling right there. She glared, then went back to the group that was now looking curiously at us. Umm. She wordlessly pulled out one of the bottles wed bought. Look, not alcohol! Im not killing a foetus! She beckoned over at me to explain. Shes not killing a foetus- I couldnt go on, so I waved for her to continue and walked a little further away to keep on giggling. I she began. Im not pregnant! We were just kidding, hes not married to me and we dont have any children that I neglect and even if we did I wouldnt call them Alex, come on, and I mean, Im a good student! Im just an arts student with no babies and were really nice people and good friends and we try to make the world a better place she paused- and heres a brand new bottle of V as a gift from me to you, bye. And she turned on her heel and skittered outside. I followed her. Smooth. Shut up. We drove to Windy Point next. You got there through long winding roads all the slow way up the hill, and then eventually you got to this little parking lot. Thered usually be a bunch of teenagers smoking and walking on the curb on the outside of the lot like it was the most reckless thing in the world, and us, and some parked cars I dont really know what. I think theres a hotel or restaurant or something a level above that parking lot, and maybe those cars belong to people who were there. Weve been to this place so many nights but we never actually looked. Or maybe they were just screwing in the backseat with the car parked and we didnt really notice, cos it was dark and they werent as loud as you really should be when youre getting some in a setting as deliciously clich as a moonlit parking lot on a hill overlooking a city.

Wed never even seen how the place looked in the daytime. And we actually came here quite often, late nights when we werent sleepy, to sit on the hood of our car and run through a six-pack of drinks. We even had a Windy Point playlist on her iPhone with songs shed picked out. More accurately, we had two playlists: Windy Point (Warm) and Windy Point (Winter). We got out and climbed onto Alaskas hood, and threw the thin quilt we stashed in our glove compartment for pretty much these occasions over us. The whole of the wider Adelaide metropolitan area stretched out below us. There wasnt any skyline to speak of, but streetlights and homes in suburbs formed vast grids of regular bright dots punctuating blackness from as far left as we could see to all the way right, covering all the land at the foot of the hills where we were. The moon was massive, a bleary yellow. The Milky Way stretched out above us. The stars always make me feel hopelessly small and impossibly alone. You look up at the night sky and know youre looking back through time, at the past laid out in an array in front of you, some from four years in the past, some four hundred, some millions, for all you know at this moment long dead and gone. And you start thinking about how utterly alone in time you are. Because people are the same way. Everything is. Theyre always a tiny fraction of a second in the past. At each moment in time youre completely alone. I guess thats what is wonderful about touch. Touch is the one moment where your skin meets halfway and fires off signals, in opposite directions, to opposite brains. Touch is the one moment you occupy the same time and space. I guess thats the magic in stargazing with someone. You realize how utterly alone you are But then, surrounded by all the universe, someone slips their fingers through yours and breaks into your timeframe, and that is as physically close as you can ever feel to someone. She took my hand under the quilt and nestled closer. It was fucking freezing. I am fucking freezing, she said. Thats your trade-offs for the sexy, I said. Bare legs arent rainbows and butterflies, its compromise that I should totally monopolize the quilt, she said. Its only fair. You got to monopolize me tonight, remember? At least two guys definitely stared with some amount of envy. And some slight confusion and-slash-or disbelief. We should do that more often. I laughed and bumped my head against hers. Trollhattan Jade. She smirked. It is pretty fucking fun though innit?- she shivered suddenly- wow, its cold. I peeled off my jacket. Here. I lifted the sheet off us and nudged her to lift her legs up a little, wrapping my jacket around her calves. There you go. She curtsied, or at least as much as our positions allowed. Much thanks. And now, we are finally settled and comfy. Let the drinking and music commence. Today was definitely Windy Point (Winter), played on shuffle. The playlist started off with these songs:

Samson Regina Spektor Nicest Thing Kate Nash We Found Love Elizaveta Then she took the iPod from me, pressed stop, scrolled down to Albums, Lungs, pressed play, turned to me and buried herself into my chest. Shh. This is good music. Lets listen to this tonight instead. We sipped on our drinks and enjoyed the music and the lights, and maintained a low heart rate, mine slower than hers, deep into the night, barely half an hour, a long quiet deliciously slow half-hour. Note to selves, she said, we need to get a thermos and lug around hot coffee for times like this. Whenever we buy drinks theyre inevitably cold, and cold isnt bad at all in this particular context but hot coffee would be so cosy. We had a little custom for before we left on our nights up here. Wed stand there in the moonlight and shed sing Bella Luna by Jason Mraz. Mystery the moon, A hole in the sky. A supernatural night-light. This was one of her very best songs and tonight was one of her best renditions, standing with her back to the lights and the stars, with cascading hair and deep shadows on her face from steely white-blue moonlight and legs that went on forever and what seemed like all her soul into the words. Youre dancing naked there for me You expose all memory You make the most of boundary, Youre the ghost of royalty Imposing love you are the queen and king Combining everything Intertwining like a ring around the finger Of a girlIm just a singer, Youre the worldAll I can bring ya Is the language of a lover She stood very still for the guitar solo. Some of the teenagers from across the lot walked a little closer and watched us. Bella please Bella you-ou beautiful luna, Oh bella do what you do

Bella luna-a-ah-ah-a-ah, my beautiful, beautiful moon How you swoon me like no other, oh oh oh We were all silent for a moment, but then one of the kids started clapping, and we all clapped a little and she bowed, left right forward, and walked over to me. The kids walked back over to their car as I hugged her tightly. One whistled. Get it, mate! We ignored them. Youre so great, I told her. What did I do to get all this absolute fucking amazing in my life? She smiled, a silly little smile, the kind that makes you melt. Youre really great too, she said. Ive always dreamed of college life and doing things like this, driving places and hanging out and singing and fun. I dont think Id have been able to have all this fun with anyone else. Id have had to be normal. Isnt it so great that we dont have to be normal? Its fantastic. Youre a good song audience, she said. Its cos youre a good singer, I said. Id be totally heckling you if you sucked, as opposing to having a voice like honey-dipped cigarettes and a proclivity for enthusiastic performances of my musical recommendations. You do have decent taste when it comes to out-loud song choices, she admitted. We turned up the heater until the car felt toasty and smelled a little metallic, and stashed our jackets in the back. She slept on the drive home. When we finally reached our apartment block I parked outside and waited half an hour for her to wake up, and at almost one in the morning we stumbled to our flat and crashed right there on my bed without even changing, seeing the next morning that wed forgotten to even lock the apartment door.

---

I had to go for five full days of teaching practicums on Thursdays at a primary school in the suburbs for my education course. I staggered mine out over two weeks. I was terrified before my first day, but it went well. I can understand why people go into teaching. Being around kids is oddly therapeutic. You dont get quite as existential being around eight-year-olds for half your day. The most common vision (and reality) people have of work is the hopeless despair of an anonymous dead-end 9-to-5 cubicle desk job that feels pointless, and beneath you, and like it leads to absolutely nowhere, and if you can gauge how generally unhappy you are by thinking how often in your life you look up at the ceiling after hours of slog a Wednesday afternoon, wondering where it all went wrong and whether the past decade of your life was essentially meaningless, then that idea of where well all end up feels pretty dire. I guess thats what they mean when they say teachers and nurses feel their very demanding jobs are rewarding, and

fulfilling, and all those things. A life whole enough to keep that sheer existential horror at bay must be pretty nice, in its own way. I spent an undue amount of time comparing the kids to myself at their age. Every single one seemed much more well-adjusted than Id been. That made me pretty happy. There was one little girl who decided to take me under her wing, or take herself under my wing, and shed tug me off by the hand to sit next to her and help her through her worksheets and talk to me about various Disney princesses (both our favourite: Rapunzel from Tangled) and the silly things her little brother did and the hijinks her extended family got up to with the playful giant of a pet dog, and ask me what kind of work they made us do in college and whether I liked it, and tried to guess my age (umm sixteen? No, a little older. Umm forty? Is it forty?), and sit by my feet and continually tie and untie my shoelaces. On my final day she came up to me and asked how long Id be staying, and I told her that this was my last day, and she gasped and told me to please, please come the next day too and mouthed please at me all throughout art class. And then, the moment the bell rang and class was over and as some of the other kids said bye, she just walked right out without saying a word. If there is an omniscient Higher Power writing the story of my life, and a lot of the time I lean towards thinking there is, then He sure lays the foreshadowing on thick.

So this particular pivotal night, I was at a party, actually. Yes, I know, congratulations to me, I finally got a proper social life, etcetera, etcetera. A girl I knew from Politics class and was on a first-name basis with but didnt really hang out with outside school invited me to her birthday party. I was pretty nervous, especially since Jade wasnt gonna come because she had an assignment she had to finish for the next day, but I decided I should go, you know. Be social and things. Its odd how much of life swung on that little thing really, thinking about it now. I guess my life as of right now would have been really different if Jade had finished her paper earlier, or decided to come anyway, or any of those things. Youll see why in just a little while. So, as things were, I was by myself at this party- an actual party- and not having an awful lot of fun. There was a really beautiful girl standing by herself in a corner, so I walked over. She looked up. Hey. Hi. Im Natasha. Whats your name? I told her. Having fun? Not at all! Me neither. She smiled. But perhaps I just hit the darkest point. I felt confused and slightly offended, if unsure what I was offended about. Huh?

She seemed as suddenly uncomfortable as I was. That did not come off right. I mean like, dark when I was just here bored right before I had someone to talk to, like dark comes before dawn? Like maybe now is where things start to look up. Oh. I took a sip to try look like I was handling the awkwardness coolly. Ha ha. I was trying to be witty, she said. It did not work as I expected. Nah, its okay, I said. The lameness of the party is infecting all of us. She lifted up her very colourful drink, and I clinked the tip of my Coke against it. To ditching this at earliest possible polite opportunity, I said. To the empty sofa over here where we can spend the night talking in a bit more comfort, she said. Cheers. We ended up talking til 10pm. A couple of her friends came over and told her they were leaving. She stuck her hand out. Gimme your phone. She leaned in over against me on the sofa, her cheek against mine and blond hair smelling distinctly nice. Smile! I made an awkward half-smile. At the time it felt awkward but cute, but the commentary Ive most often gotten for this particular picture has been that I just looked massively confused. She smiled a practiced smile, perfect pearly white teeth and huge pale-green eyes. I sat back down on the sofa as she keyed something in and gave my phone back to me and then walked off, turning around for a little wave as she exited. My phone buzzed not five minutes later, and this very picture of us popped up on my screen as the image for contact Natasha. Hey, this is my number ;) but then again I guess you knew that seeing as well. saved contact :P Emoticons. Thats good. As are ellipses. I felt pretty proud of myself. Hot girl. Wink smiley. Thats good prospects. Jade was snacking her way through diet crackers and green tea when I got home. She looked up from her books. How was it? Lame party, I said. But No. You did not! I did not what? I can tell from your smile something Oh, I said. Oh, no somethings. A girl did give me her number, though. She snapped a cracker in two and dipped an end daintily into the little skimmer she kept submerged in her tea. Attractive? Oh, I said, Hemingway would describe her as damned good-looking. Jade whistled. Whoa. Did you get her Facebook? I want to see what this girl looks like. She took a picture of us on my phone, I said. Oh? Let me see? I showed her. She looked closely for a few moments, then handed the phone back to me. She is really hot, she said. I feel like a potato next to her.

Oh, shut up, I said. Why? Youre nice-looking and you know it. Not really, she said. I mean I put an enormous amount of effort into it, and even then Im just the kind that hipster white girls on Tumblr find pretty, not the type any guys would find hot. Hello, I said. Guy speaking here. Oh come on, she said. Doesnt count.

You try to be a bit manic pixie, dont you? I asked Jade once. I dont know why I asked this. It was a stupid thing to ask. Im sorry. No- She was silent for a moment. Thats not the end product I hope for, but yes. I do try to be something. I guess manic pixie is supposed to be cheerful and dotty and in love with the world, arent they? And Im not that big a fan of the world. I dont think its so wonderful and I dont try to communicate that its wonderful. So that isnt accurate in any sense. Maybe the term youre looking for is hipster. Thats not the end product I was looking for either, its pretty much the opposite, but maybe thats the more accurate trope to what I must seem like on the outside. But I dont like either term, theyre both so reductive and imply such one-dimensionality, and, I dont know, thats the exact opposite of what Im going for. Maybe just the stereotypical dream-girls, the Annie Halls and Clementine Kruczynskis. Even the fucking Zooey Deschanels, if Im being completely honest with myself. People look at them and think that theyre whole worlds, you know? And I mean, you know Im weird when it comes to what people think and I know its ridiculous but I want people to see me and think, like- I know its also another stereotype, sort of, but its one with a narrative of mystery and magic that says theres a whole lot there and a whole lot to find out, and that this girl just might change your life, isnt it? I want to be that narrative. I want to be a character. I want to be someones Alaska or Leslie or Bev, or Sam from Perks. Someone who worlds revolve around. And I know trying to hang a question mark on myself through my image is just another stereotype and the cheap way to go about it and I do wanna wean myself off it, I know its really pathetic and ridiculous- I dont think its ridiculous, I said. I feel pathetic, she said. This is the real me though, you know. I mean the me that you know, and you know me so well. Yeah, I know you well enough to know that. Im this person, and I guess I just Im multitudes, to quote Walt Whitman, and I guess honesty would be just being those multitudes as they come, but I want to curate all that is me inside into some kind of consistent person for everyone else. An outside that I like. Someone that Id want to be. I think everyone curates their inner selves to some extent though, dont we? We all project some amount of normality or consistency instead of being just whatever we are inside at every moment, none of us are a true window to who we really are, are we? Were all fakes. We all fake being a version of ourselves that we like, and in a way I guess that version of us is who we really are out of those multitudes. And you know that and you still love me and this version of me, theyre the same thing to me, and youre my best friend cos theyre the same thing to you.

I grinned, and she grinned back at me. We all fake, that way. Im not any different. Yeah. I do too. She laughed. I do too. Yes! Yes, you do. You try to be like this laconically serious semi-intellectual with a visible enthusiasm for art and a sort of drawling charm. You watch Doctor Who and fancy yourself as the Doctor. Especially when it comes to romance, youre just waiting for a companion to show the universe. We always fall in love with people who make us feel like those versions of ourselves that wed like to be If Im the Doctor, wouldnt you be my companion? Ha! Im just as well-read and well-travelled as you are, if not more. Theres no galaxies you can show me. She crinkled up her nose and nodded. If youre a Doctor Im a Doctor. I feel like I should mention this, thinking about it as Im writing this now, but I think you miss the point completely in all those books you read. I fell in love with Alaska the Burroughsian bundle of flaws. I fell for the silly, moody, tries too hard, nowhere near as grown-up as shed like to think, screwed-up, wellintentioned mess of a girl, not the myth. I think the whole point was the pitfalls in seeing a person as what you want them to be instead of what they are. Im glad that I dont have that to worry about, at least; when it comes to the people in my life right now, what I want them to be and what they really are are one and the same. Well, unless Im so blind as to be shocking, and I dont think I could that blind about the two people Im closest to. Im very sure Im not. You are the perfect friend Id always hoped for and that I see you as, and well, at this point in the narrative, mention of the second would be spoilers. (If youve read this book before, you get a knowing semicolon and right bracket from the author. This writing thing is fun sometimes).

Natasha and I texted over the next few days. She suggested we go out sometime, so I decided to call her and ask her out to dinner proper. She said yes. So this evening I was here at a French restaurant in the city with Natasha, out on our first date. She looked really good. She was wearing a tight black dress that finished just above her knees, and she had her hair piled up on her head in a very soft and shimmery looking way. I dont know what the style is called, but it was very floaty and had a certain air of instability to it, where you could just look at her hair and imagine that pulling out one little hairpin could make the whole do cascade down in soft glossy curtains falling around freckled shoulders. We were at a little corner table deep inside the restaurant, and she looked gorgeous in the dim yellow light. Whenever Jade and I went to cafs wed always sit at one of the outdoor tables, leaning back into our chairs and laughing at each others jokes with crisp breeze in our faces. Somehow Natasha seemed a lot more like the kind of girl you had dates in little corners of restaurants with, leaning over the food and talking quietly, a candlelit dinner kind of girl. But then I realized that Jade would probably also sit in the little dimly lit tables where the sound felt muted and lean over her knife and fork to talk to a boy when she went out on dates. Just not with me. And the realization made me feel a little sad and left out, even though on this particular night I was here with a pretty date and she was home watching TV and probably ordering some crappy takeout. Jade and I were supposed to share everything.

The waitress came over to us. It was a little French place, and Natasha ordered her meal in very charmingly accented French. I said Id have the same. And a confit de canard, I added. Takeaway. She raised her eyebrows a little. You shouldnt have to feel shy. I really eat my food. Oh, thats not for me, I said quickly. My housemate, shed just be eating crappy takeout tonight so Im just gonna tell her to wait for some decent food instead. She gave me a long, fixed look. Oh, someone already made up their mind that they wouldnt be staying the night anywhere else? Oh. I stopped. My brain blue-screened for a moment. I thought She burst out laughing. Dont worry! Im just fucking with you. I am not going to invite you over on the first date! I looked up, probably still looking a bit embarrassed. She smiled sympathetically. No really, I think it is really cute that youre looking after for your friends. You should call her now, before she orders! Oh yeah. I picked up my phone. Sorry. I flashed her a quick smile. She smiled back. Hello. Jade sounded confused. Hey, its me. What happened? Concerned now. Did the date go badly? Did she show up? Its going well, I said. Im at the table now, actually. So whyre you calling? And say hi to her from me. Just to tell you to not order anything. Im bringing you some dinner when I go home. Confit de canard. Your accent is terrible!, Natasha interjected. She sounds sexy, Jade said. Wait, dont tell her I said that! Jade says hi, I said. My greetings to her. You heard that, right? Yes, she said. So you said you were getting me food you mean, tonight? Youll be home? Yes, I said. Oh okay. Ill hang up now then. Go back to your date. Blow her away! She hung up. Does you and she study the same course? Natasha asked. Yeah, I said. Teaching. Shes doing History and English, though. Im doing International Studies, which you know. What about you? Business, she said. U Adelaide? UniSA, she said, and leaned in conspiratorially. Look at us. Were like Romeo and Juliet. Look at us flagrantly slipping away together. To hell with the enmity between our parent universities. And if it is said that this cant work- I shook a fist towards the general direction of the door, a couple across us stared at me- then I defy you, stars! You are such a show off, she said. These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and water, which as they kiss consume. She laughed. You are not even in context! Thats just showing off!

It was a roundabout way to ask for a kiss, I said. Oh. She raised her eyebrows. Then, that is context. That is a good context. She leaned across the table and we kissed, a little kiss that lingered. She had soft lips. They tasted nice. Something fruity. Something like raspberry. It was a nice kiss. Her eyes sparkled. She looked beautiful in candlelight. We didnt talk for a little while, just flashed little smiles over at each other, not making a whole lot of eye contact, just looking up at each other occasionally so our eyes caught and holding it- a second- a little hook- and then back down, taking little sips of our drinks. The waiter came over with our dishes. We started off our meals, silent besides the little grating sounds as we sawed daintily at our steaks. Did you grow up here? I said. No, Im Russian. She giggled. I was told I have a very noticeable accent. Didnt you notice? I laughed. I did. I like the accent. Whend you come here? Last year, she said. Well, look at that. A whole story set in Adelaide and we dont have a single Adelaidean in the entire narrative. So, are you doing the Bachelors in Business? Yes, she said. Why Australia, though? I wanted to go abroad to study, she said. And the unemployment rate is really low here compared to U.S. and the other European countries. I dont want to damage my career by being unemployed for a first few years. I was familiar with the concept from education classes. It was basically the idea that our generation of teenagers graduating into recessions were screwed for life because being unemployed for a long time meant you had trouble beating out fresh graduates for future jobs and had to settle for inferior jobs long into your career and ended up pretty much part of a fucked-over generation. I was probably part of said fucked-over generation as things stood, given that I couldnt really enjoy Australias job climate upon graduating. My scholarship said Id have to go right back to my home country, which is Eurozone-level economic dire straits right now, the moment I graduated. Oh well. I usually just never thought about life beyond the next couple years of college, and even when I did only in a really vague manner, but I wonder if having the three years from 23 to 26 of my life essentially sewed up, when thats about as far forward into my life as I can even very vaguely think about, was part of the reason for what was my rather fatalistic outlook on my own life. Are you working now?, I asked her. Yes, she said. Just internship, though. To get a head start on things. Im just focusing on my studies, I said. Which was bullshit, but hey, Im a humanities student. Were very much allowed to not be thinking about our immediate careers. The date actually went really well. I didnt say anything stupid, or so I think. We had dinner and then we kissed for a while outside, and then we walked outside a bit more and I drove her home and we made out a little more on the steps and I got my hand up her shirt and she kissed me harder, and then she extricated herself and flashed me a smile and went up to her apartment, and I sang along to Foster the People at the top of my lungs on the drive home.

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I dont really like myself all that much, Jade told me once. I dont. I dont think that people unreservedly like me, or that they can unreservedly like me. I feel like theyll always have some little thing at the back of their heads making them not really quite like me, always feeling a little like, yeah, sure maybe shes nice most of the time but you can bet shell always have that one bitch moment thatd make you re-evaluate everything, and they cant really trust me not to. Or like they think they may like what I seem or look like a bunch of the time but would still always feel like Im just fake and think its kinda pathetic, and they just know it all the time and whenever they talk to me theyre kinda thinking like, we know, and she knows, why is she even being fake, the poor thing. I dont know. I feel like that. I do like you somewhat, I told her. Quite a bit. A fair amount. To some degree. But all unreservedly. Im mildly fond of you too, Rahel, she said. I believe you. But I am pretty fake. We both kinda know it and I dont think you mind it at all, and yeah sure like we rib each other about stuff but at the bottom of the ribbing remains that I am fake. I mean, I am who I am, I like the stuff I do and I do have this sense of humour and stuff and Im not really actively putting on an act all the time, and I could maybe convince myself sometimes that that meant I wasnt really that fake, but I am. Im fake to the bone, Ive become it, its like I have this idea of a what that I wanted to be so much that it colours all of me and I grew into and through it, and I read what I read to be it, and listened to what I listened to, until I became this persona that I wanted to be. Im the worst kind of sellout. You know, I used to be goth in middle school? And that was one kind of fake but at least it was a proper honest kind of fake, it was a symbol of striking out that I did feel. I wasnt getting anything for it. I was just wearing the identity like a flag for a belief I did have, and even though it wasnt anything original, it was just appropriated. It wasnt being a sellout. High school me was pretty much a sellout. And now Ive become a person that I read or saw somewhere and liked and decided to become, havent I? In the end? I read stuff to be literary and then eventually grew to love it and I liked certain music because they were bands with connotations that I wanted to carry on until I actually fell in love with them and maybe all of the attendant personality followed on from those stuff. And in the end its like every single thing about me is manufactured. Its not even that I feel like Im distant from who Id have been if Id just stuck to whatever I felt like and done none of those things, its that I dont even know who Id have been if I hadnt, because that person- this person- is so very much all of me. Everything about me has its source in fake. Everything good about me is originally fake, everything you like about me was originally fake, and its like Ive lost myself so deep that I dont even know what I am, except that Im fake, and it fucking kills me, it rips deep into my soul and kills me. Shut up, I said. She looked up at me. It wasnt just that my schoolmates were thick, you know. I mean, the Queen thing was a joke at first, but when I found out that people believed it I didnt really discourage it at all. I kinda encouraged it, actually. To be honest. Sellout. The very first fun tidbit you knew about me was fake. And thats yet another instance of me revising history to be interesting and fit the personal narrative of being this interesting person. Isnt that bitter?

I didnt really know what exactly to say to comfort her, so I thought it over for quite a while. Retconning isnt always bad, I said finally. DC retcons their universe every now and then, and people still love them. Seriously, that was the best I could come up with. Comic book retcons. Id never even read a DC comic. She sputtered out a cough of laughter. Youve never even read a DC comic. People still think theyre great, I insisted. She just raised her eyebrows at me. Doctor Who does it too!, I said, suddenly enthusiastic at having more familiar material. The Angels. In Blink theyre all froze up because they looked at each other, but then in Flesh and Stone theres a whole fucking army of the things walking in the same direction and they dont seem to freeze each other up now. If Doctor Who did it She smiled just. For a second. Youre missing the point, she said. And its night-time and you had to talk about Weeping Angels, thanks a lot, Ill be having nightmares now. No you wont, I said. Ill be right there with you and you wont have any nightmares. My pecs drive away nightmares. Great, Rahel. Add to my nightmare fuel. I still love you, I said. I dont care about any of that stuff, and I think youre being way too hard on yourself. Were all a little revisionist when it comes to ourselves. Its nothing wrong. She smiled weakly, but this time it stayed. Thats good, she said. She still seemed pretty miserable so I just hugged her and held her close for a while, because, you know. I may not really know the right thing to say, but being held close always makes you feel better. It makes you feel a lot more okay. And she stayed and breathed quietly for a while and I felt her heart still racing but she sunk into me and seemed a lot more okay, like shed let the bad feelings flow out and now she was drained, but almost-there content. Finally, she lightly untangled herself and looked up at me. She looked oddly wistful, and she looked almost like she was studying my face and committing it to memory, the way you do before a long goodbye. It scared me a little, and I felt a sudden rush of panic enough to try get some reassurance from her that she wasnt going to go. Are you planning on tragically killing me? She laughed mirthlessly. No. We both know Id die before Id do that. The way youre looking at me scares me a little, I said. She kept looking at me, and finally spoke. You know, considering our love of narratives and who wed like to be in this little story of us me wanting pathetically to be some kind of story dream girl, and you thinking of yourself as this erudite, practical man person. Its funny who the actual manic pixie dream in our story is, isnt it? The one that just comes into your life and changes it in every way and makes you love yourself and the world and be the things you wanted to be. Cos thats you. Youre pretty much the same person you were when we met, I didnt change you, I only made your life nicer. You came into my life and changed it completely. Thats not true, I said. How more can you change someone than by making their life wonderful? She smiled. Thank you. But youll understand what I mean someday.

I think I understand enough, I said. This conversation worries me. Theres nothing for you to worry about, she said. Dyou know the thing about manic pixie dreams in the movies? They dont grow up. Youre a real person. She sighed. You changed me. Im just a friend to you, ultimately. Youll leave me someday.

I have a fatal weakness when it comes to writing; I cant face up to pain. I cant ever really think about or talk about or write about pain, even as I obsess internally over it. I spend so much time coming up against pain in my head, running up against it like a brick wall and then turning around and viciously ignoring it, refusing to think about it, refusing to acknowledge it. The very writing itself of these words comes hard to me. I cant just sit down at a typewriter and bleed. I feel clogged up and clotted inside. Sometimes I feel about to burst and it feels like itd be easier if I could just make a little break and let it all bleed out, but Im afraid that if I make that break itll be a flood that runs on for miles and swallows up all that is me and this fragile existence that I can live with, so all I can do is turn my back and distract myself and just try not imagine this enormous wave poised behind me and live life as if everything was just fine. Im poised on the edge of the abyss but Im always facing outwards so I can make-believe that Im on safe ground. At night when Im trying to sleep and have no one to talk to my mind wanders and my chest hurts and I run over the days events to try occupy my mind and it doesnt work, it feels like Im being chased by this shadow and I keep running through things faster and faster and then stop because pain is there just out of sight just at the corner of my eye always there and then I just think about something sexual just to dull my brain enough to stave it all off and drift into sleep. And the only places where I can bleed is in fiction, in books and film, in feeling the pain of characters that let me project feelings without having to ever actually face up to them. I read books and watch things hoping for pain, hoping for beauty to move me and feeling to draw me in and pain to cut me so deep I can bleed. Im sitting here and I want to bleed, I want to bleed all over these pages but Ive been just putting it off and Ive put it off for a paragraph longer than a paragraph should be by now, I have the knife poised but Im too scared to move it down because I dont want to bleed so much it washes me away and ruins me and makes me tear up this document and go to sleep and never engage with myself again so I live an eternal dance of self-destructive seeking-distraction never bleeding never living just racing away from the shadow behind me just at the corner of my eyes. I can only ever be wry and dry and talk about things lightly and thats how I think and thats how I talk and thats how I write and thats how I am most of the time, but I need to bleed sometime. I dont know how to do this and Im so terrified and now its almost a page and I still havent been able to make the leap and just write words that will cut me to think and cut me to see in page almost as if writing them created them and I dont know. Ill start with something easy. I loved you. You were everything I wanted. Maybe this wont be so hard. I always saw- I loved you. I always saw how youd post little stories on your blog and you told me that it was your personal blog and nobody would ever read it and you hated them anyway, but I notice that you put a link to yourself as the source, and you dont link to a source when you just post any old thing, and I know youre proud of them but dont want me to think you value them and its something that seems like a part of your life which Im not in and a dream that I dont see and its fleeting and little and it breaks my heart every time because youre fleeting and beautiful and self-conscious and dumb and it

breaks my heart and all fleeting beautiful things break my heart, feelings and moments break my heart, young love breaks my heart, a wonderful night after a great show breaks my heart, first kisses break my heart because Im so obsessed with the inevitability of ending and things you cant ever have again, and it just hurts. And every time youre proud of something but you laugh it off stabs at my heart because I dont know why but it reminds me that as all things end so will you and that terrifies me to my core because you cant end and I dont want you to ever end even if its decades into the future thats too soon and if its life being cruel like it often is and coming for you much too soon its just so, so cruel, itd be so cruel, and Id never have spent enough time with you for it to have been enough, especially now. And moments fly and moments become things that you cant have back. I hate. I have paused here for three songs and wanted to die. I hate thinking about you being with him and I hate thinking. About. I hate thinking about you being with him because he is a horrible human being and undeserving and I hate him and I hate thinking about him kissing your breasts and I hate thinking that youd look up into his eyes and nod an assertion and he is so undeserving and I hate myself for thinking about it and I hate myself for writing it, and now its all out on the page, and I just want to die. Im bleeding and I dont know how Ill stem the flow if I let myself bleed anymore, so should I take the cowardly path and stop because Im scared and Im hurting so much and I just want to close my eyes and think of something else and go to sleep so I can wake up slightly normal again? I want to put more down but I can already feel things clotting because Im not writing about pain anymore Im just writing empty words distractions again to escape to stop cutting deeper. I think about age and just life, and all the hundreds of things that keep people apart and it all hurts, it hurt when you were here and it hurts when youre not. I think about dying and ceasing to exist and I think about people around me and people I love ceasing to exist, and I think about what if there isnt a life after this one because there is so much I want to do and so much time I want to have with people I love that one lifetime isnt enough, and I think about how right now hope for the future sustains me and keeps me sane away from the horror of the notion of irrelevancy but what if in the future my present is irrelevancy, what if my present then is alone, what if my present becomes pain, or paralysis and terminal illness, or old age, or knowing me a rush into brinksmanship as I age to try and pre-empt the pain of impending maybe-not-existing by being reckless and self-destructive and hoping for some sudden end so I never have had to think about it, or spiralling into deeper distractions when current ones no longer suffice, and it all killing me? And I didnt feel those things with you, Jade, maybe it was an eternal distraction, our little fairy-tale, maybe it was the best possible distraction in being one so perfect that I never noticed the shadow out the corner of my eye while I was in it and I could lose myself in it, and do you know what hurts the absolute most? That I shattered it and now its gone forever not for me but for you and I never thought about that and never thought never even thought and it feels like I cut you open and cut you apart and that hurts more than anything in the world, it hurts so much Id never admitted it to myself but there it is out in the open and I hurt you the worst of anyone and maybe you dont blame me, I dont even really know exactly how but I did, advertently or inadvertently. It just makes me want to die. Im numb. I cant bleed out one more word.

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Me and Natasha met occasionally during her lunch break. We usually got ourselves ice cream or milkshakes and sat on the North Terrace grass, and talked at length in the lazy late afternoon heat, and to be completely honest, spent a fair amount of time making out. Her hair was almost white in the summer sunshine, her eyes a translucent emerald, skin the lightest hint of rosy pink. She was a pretty pale girl, really. Natasha was beautiful in an aggressively youthful way, the way that makes you almost wilt under it with a strange mixture of feeling awe and feeling threatened, where they positively blaze with health and possibility and you feel a little anaemic in their presence at first, a little old, a little obsolete, even though she was only around a year and a half younger than I was. She was voluptuous in the way that suggests a firmly drawn charcoal sketch; composite of hard, flowing curves down the page painting out the fall of her hair, full lips, very overtly sensual curves. I liked being around her. That kind of vitality is contagious. And you dont get tired of just looking at someone really beautiful. Youre really beautiful, you know, I told her. You could have been like, an elf in Lord of the Rings. Pfft. She laughed heartily. Oh, no. Have you seen them? Theyre all so slim. Im too fat to be one of those elves. She pinched a roll on her belly between her fingers. See? Galadriel has no love handles. Okay then, I said. Just gorgeous, then. No characters. Just you. She beamed. Thank you. We talked a lot about absolutely nothing at all. She told me about her day at school or at her internship, and I talked about classes, and sometimes Id talk to her of politics or books and shed be rapt and ask questions and Id feel really good about myself. We talked about what wed do the next week. We talked entirely about the present and the immediate future, about her and me and real life, and it was nice. It actually was. I felt very much like a typical college guy in a movie, dating her. You know the ones- LA campus, nice typical (Hollywood standards, remember) college girl as a girlfriend, days mostly spent being cutesy and making out and bitching about work and enjoying the sun. Thats how life is supposed to be, isnt it? I liked life being like this. I liked my life being able to be like this sometimes. I feel like Im not really doing my duty as narrator by not putting down more of our conversations here, but honestly, I cant remember what exactly we talk about. Dating Natasha was all a bit of a haze, with all the more pleasant connotations of the word- warm, sleepy, blurred, light- where much of the weight of life seemed non-existent. I remember only the occasional lines and the general sense I had of her, of being attracted to her easy confidence and pushed by her drive and a little overawed overall. I wonder if thats illuminating. I wonder if it says something about us and our relationship, that we lived so much in an immediate present with no eye on posterity or putting it down on memory, right? I think it does. And strangely enough, I think that something is a good something. I know this notion will feel like a betrayal of all I ever was, Jade, but we were very much not star-crossed lovers drowning in each other, much as Id always used to think that only a grand and glorious love could ever be enough. Im actually rather confident that she wouldnt put me ahead of her career, but I know that that doesnt mean she doesnt care about me. And she knows that I have my own life much as she has hers, and that there are things I love that she doesnt get and vice versa, and we both manage to be cool with that. I know its strange, but maybe thats how real life is, you know? Maybe. I dont know. But somehow it makes sense to me.

One day we were lying against one of the trees with our ice-creams, and she came over to me on her knees and tipped her ice cream against the tip of her nose and leaned in and smiled, and I smiled because it was adorable, and leaned in and kissed it off, and we kissed a little, and then she pulled away and looked at me all very serious. Are you and I dating now? Actual dating? Do you want to?, I said. Yes, she said. Then yes, I said. I like the possibility that I may be in love. It makes life feel a lot less scary. Sometimes life feels like walking through a fog with no idea of where youll be in a few months, let alone a few years, let alone the rest of your life, you dont know where youll be and where youre going, but then when you like someone enough to think you could maybe spend your life with them then something in your life over the rest of your life seems clear, you dont feel quite as lost and terrified of the future because it doesnt feel entirely unknown and potentially awful as before. I mean, statistically speaking you may know that the odds are against who youre with at nineteen being who youre with for the rest of your life. But thats not the point, is it? Love is like religion that way, isnt it, love matters to the very core of your being, or at least believing in love does, because if you can believe it then you can believe that the great unknown that is the rest of your life will at least in some way be okay, that it wont be terrifying, and it doesnt really matter in the here and now whether or not thats true because being in love is just assuming itll last for the rest of your life, having blind faith it will. And assuming that makes being thirty or forty or sixty feel so much more okay, because its not a great mystery anymore. Its not oblivion. Its just the future and part of it looks clear and visible, and that part is pretty decent, and that makes life feel so, so much more okay. I want to feel that. I think, maybe, I might. I want to know if I do. And if so, I want it to last. Im not really sure what love is, but I feel like its liking someone without wanting to turn them into you. Thats what we do all too often, isnt it? We crush on people of promise and try to inculcate our musical tastes and favourite books and political beliefs and value systems on them to try end up with elusive person wed always dream about, and that dream is just a pretty preferred-gender version of ourselves. I didnt really want Natasha to be any more like me. I guess thats one of the things that makes me feel like she may just be something I should be taking seriously. And I think this is something we should be able to compromise over, Jade, because this girl matters to me. We may all be stories but we are all so much more than tropes, and you need to understand that. You too, reader. This isnt any of the usual narratives of triangles with whichever OTP and any of the stereotype cheerleader bitch or selfish bitch or the idiot whose head is turned by a bit of cleavage ruining just ruining everything- its three people, at least two of whom are mostly trying to make sense themselves, and life, and growing up.

I know that I dont really entirely know what Im going into. I know I have no idea if this will be The One, or if itll last a few years and fall apart, or if itll only last a couple more months. I dont know if shes my great love, but Id like the opportunity to find out for myself. I mean, come on, Jade! You've been spending your whole life running away from anything that makes you happy just because you can't believe that it could ever last. You keep spending your life feeling like nothing good could ever stay with you because nothing could ever love you enough and nothing could ever want to stay once they know what you're like, feeling like you don't ever really deserve to be happy. It's almost like you feel you tricked your way into things that make you happy and you let that guilt fester, and you keep worrying that someday the mask will be lifted and you'd have to cut your ties and walk away before that happens, and you know what I have to say to that, Jade? I'm sorry if this is harsh, but fucking get over yourself. Sure, you've probably deluded yourself into a lot of self-pity over what is just selfishness, but it's not all fucking about you, okay? I'm a person too. I'm a free agent and I'm not stupid and I think you could at least think about me for a second as a person instead of being so self-centred as to live life convinced that everyone else feels the same way about you that you do, then maybe you could respect the fact and take me at face value on everything I'd ever said or shown about you. I'm a pretty fucking intelligent person and you shouldn't be so patronizing as to insult me by refusing to believe that I could have perfectly valid reasons for thinking good things about you and meaning it. You dont need to be tragic to have meaning, Jade, and you dont need to irretrievably lost to be loved, because Ill always love you, and you wont ever be lost because no matter where you are youll have me, and you always will. You dont have to try be more than a person to be everlasting now, because Jade the girl is immortal. You dont have to try be some dream-girl of a character. I mean for fuck's sake, look at the Jade in these pages. You've read this far. Fucking look at her. Isnt she amazing? I am mad at you. You just up and left me. And you didn't even think for a second about me, how maybe I'd take not having my best friend around hard. That was fucked up. I think that has to be said. It was not cool at all. Nice little narrative or not, it was selfish. You need to know that.

Did you ever think about how the sun is always there in the sky every single day, but months or years can go by without having ever actually seen it? We feel it every day and we see its light and its presence, but we never actually look up and see the sun. Jade didnt seem as stunned by the idea as Id been hoping. Are you being all symbolic?, she said, turning a page of the book she was reading on the sofa across me. Symbolic? Like, are you making a deep comment about how we never really see the people that are always around us? No. Of course you werent, she said archly. I meant just literally, though. Its like, its there all the time, but nobody ever looks at it? But thinking about it Is that like a metaphor for how much we assume when we actually see so little with our own

eyes? That we think we know so much but that what so much of what we believe is actually just based on a set of assumptions and being told how to interpret them? She snorted. Did you ever think about how pretentious you are? I threw a cushion at her. Says the liberal arts college girl reading Solzhenitsyn right now. Go save an endangered species by the power of reblog or something. She stuck a tongue out at me. But it is a good metaphor, you know. For like how you dont ever really look at the people that make your life what it is, even if theyre right in front of you. Oh, such sad people, that feel the sorrow of unappreciated friendships. And unrequited loves, she added. I dont think any of us really have to worry about unrequited loves, I said. I mean, think about it. In school or stuff yeah we could be around people and fall for someone and maybe it wouldnt be returned, you know, but I mean us now and from here on forward in life. We meet people and go out on dates with them or basically just spend lots of time choosing to be close with them before you fall in love with them, and its something that can end and you dont see each other anymore, and then when you fall in love its a process where you can pretty much bet that the other person at least likes you back cos theyre going out with you, right? Theres no place where we interact with anyone that we might actually get to like outside of someone were dating. Isnt it liberating to know that we pretty much never have to worry about the possibility of unrequited affections again? She mulled it over for a couple seconds. Youre a dumb. How did I not make sense? Because thats stupid!, she said. Love is one of those things where youthful exceptionalism is a myth, and that talk about the sun is so pseudo-philosophically pretentious anyway, and this whole conversation is reminding me how silly you are sometimes, and its so frustrating because its so visibly stupid and stupidity irritates me. I stared at her a while, shocked at the sudden outburst of emotion. Wait, what did I do? She sighed. Im sorry you didnt do anything. I mean youre an idiot. But thats why I like you, isnt it? So I shouldnt begrudge you for that. Okay I said. Im sorry, she said, more earnestly this time. Im just in a bad mood, okay. Can we just not talk about this and cuddle or something? Sure, I said. Go pop in FRIENDS. Ill bring ice-cream. She smiled weakly. And we can talk about when weve graduated and were both working in New York and sharing an apartment with a view and eating New York pizza every night lets just imagine that that might happen someday.

---

Do you want to come over for a while?, Natasha said. Watch a movie or something?

Her flat was dark but for the light blue glow from the screen as we sat in front of the TV. I have no idea whats happened in this movie for the past-hour, I said. Mmm. She pulled me back in. She kissed hungrily; long, deep, drawn-out kisses, with a surprising capacity for stillness in the rest of her. I occasionally adjusted myself to slightly more comfortable positions. We kept on kissing a while more. And then it was one of those moments where you go from everything blocked out to suddenly noticing the silence, noticing every little smack and rustle and intake of breath, and you keep on kissing a little more but slowly pull away a trance broken slightly frustrated slightly unfocused as you devolve through shorter kisses then staccato kisses then breathlessly looking at each other faces close skin flushed eyes blazing because every inch of your skin just feels a heightened aware, and the kissing isnt really enough, and youre too distracted, because the kissing isnt really enough. We were breathing heavily, staring into each other. Strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Her skirt had ridden halfway up her thighs. Her eyes were a dare. I accepted. We kissed again. It was no longer slow, deep, relaxed; every kiss was urgent, angry, her hands on my back and mine everywhere, fumbling, clumsy, fidgety, heated. She pushed me hard against the back of our seat and bit my earlobe, kissed the indentation behind my ear so I shuddered and I could feel her smirk as she kissed me again and we were both laughing and completely serious and challenging each other, giving and going, pushing, discovering. She pulled my shirt up. I tugged hers off. The light crackled. The shadows dipped across the curves of her neck, down the slope of her breasts, under her collarbones, formed a topography in blues and greys of where she most liked to be kissed. I could map her body to where shed be completely still tense back slightly arched a little frown of anticipation, where shed shudder and her lips would part just a little, where shed smile sleepily and let her body relax. Let us take this to the bedroom, she said. She took my hand and we walked over to her bed, and she smiled at me as she swung the door closed and I loved how even as she looked at me invitingly she still just looked nervous. We kissed a little more, slowly, mood-setting kisses, calming-down kisses, drowning out the self-consciousness with slowly building desire. Then we pulled away and looked at each other. She lifted her hips lightly as I pulled her skirt off, seriously, she undid my belt, seriously, holding each others gaze all the while, a little overwhelmed by a sense of the gravity of it all, still a little stunned because its hard to really quite believe. I really, really like you, she said. I do too, I said. I felt surprisingly normal as I drove home. I guess losing your virginity is kinda made out to be this earth-shaking thing, and I guess nothing was ever really gonna quite feel like that. I think everything in life actually does feel pretty normal as you live it. Even moving to a country Id never been before to actually start university life, or living in an apartment of my own with a perfect housemate, theyre all huge and they all felt a bit unimaginable before they happened, but things felt normal enough once they did. You just somehow shift to one state being the new normal. But on the flip side, it hit me that life would be different. Sex had always been a frontier, and now on Id always be seeing it from the other side. Sex was something Id thought about quite often almost

every day in some way or the other from when you were in your early teens, and having had sex meant that Id always think about that something I thought very often about every day in a completely different way. And that was a pretty big deal.

I didnt tell Jade about it. I dont know why. That things like these are intensely personal would be a good enough reason in any other situation, but Jade and I had no boundaries. We didnt keep anything from each other. Wed never even wanted to. And in that context wanting to have this experience that was just between me and Natasha, something that an us could be defined in context of because it was only ever between us, troubled me. My relationship with Jade pretty much governed my world. It was a proper fairytale, and this reminded me that all fairytales ended and how they ended- people grew up and moved on to their own lives, their own petty, stupid, wonderful lives, and the spell was broken. Having something in my life outside of Jade felt like leaving. It felt like suddenly having to face up to the mortality of friendships, because all this while wed managed to somehow live out a little fantasy of timelessness. A time beyond us had never even crossed our minds. Wed talked of spending our twenties together, just like now, only in London or Seoul. We talked about middle age with vaguely acknowledged spouses and children that were background to our fairytale as wed sun ourselves by the shared pool in our neighbouring mansions and learn tennis. Jade in my life and me in hers had always been a given. But now the unpleasant possibility that maybe just like everyone else that has their own slice of perfect things would change for us and wed end up going different ways in our lives, perhaps staying friends that call each other on the phone occasionally or meet up for dinner but no longer a fairytale, and that might as well be the end of the world because after perfect everything else would surely be bland and life must feel so unfulfilling and a million other things. But then nothing ever lasts exactly one way forever. We couldnt have kept on being like this with wives and husbands or girlfriends and boyfriends, could we? We could have been friends but we couldnt have been exactly the same, exactly this way. And that hurts. It hurts so much. Its staring forward into the vast road that is the next fifty or sixty years of your life and wondering if the inevitable end of now will mean that impossibly long journey being eternally bittersweet, being constantly looking to recapture a little sense of magic because compared to what youd once felt reality just didnt cut it, walking that road without you. But then, in all its highs and lows reality might also well be rich and satisfying and perfect in its own way, because I had a memory that Id think back on sometime throughout the day with a little thrill and somewhere across the city the same event could make someone else feel that same little thrill, little sparks from the same source dotted through Adelaide, in the University of Adelaide and UniSA, and train and bus routes across the city, and a flat in the outskirts of the city, and an apartment on King William Street. I liked it. But it still wasnt magic, and I still didnt tell Jade.

We had exams not long after. Exam week was dull and uneventful. It went pretty okay. I refuse to write anything more about them.

And then, barely a fortnight into holidays, it was time for my twentieth birthday. I did not feel twenty at all. I very much still felt like a teenager. I still do. I guess you never really feel like whatever age you just turned, until youre freaking out about your next birthday and how you dont feel like whatever age youre going to be turning then. Ill probably only really feel twenty when Im thinking about the prospect of turning twenty-one. Twenty. Thats the age youre supposed to have your shit together, isnt it? I dont know, but even as recently as when I was eighteen I always figured that Id have my shit together when I turned the big two oh. That Id be a reasonably well-adjusted adult with much of the things that Id like to have in place in my life, well, in place, as opposed to feeling a surging sense of accomplishment for so much as just getting out of bed and into the shower. But then again, I thought that way about turning eighteen when I was in my mid-teens. I think that about a staggered set of ages now- that by twenty-one Id be in college with a career in mind and a vibrant social life and all the various trappings of college life that Id always dreamed of in place, that at twenty-three Id be graduating and reasonably happy with a pretty girl and a good entry-level job and a nice apartment, that at twenty-five Id be making good money and living in a nice apartment with massive windows in New York City or London or Seoul. Why those particular ages? I think those next-step ages were pretty arbitrary- eighteen was legal adulthood age, twenty was no longer a teen age, twenty-one was a whole lot of things turn legal age, twenty-three was graduating, twenty-five was a nice square number and a multiple of five and felt both far off enough to feel like plenty of time and far away from thirty enough to not terrify me. But there are signs of visible progress in life as I turn twenty, and thats at least something to be cheerful about. Im living in an apartment of my own. Thats rather grown-up. I have a rather promising girlfriend, which is something. And hey, I finally had sex. Im a quotation mark man quotation mark now. It feels good to enter my twenties on that particular high. It makes me feel a bit more like the real deal and less like some kind of impostor kid passing himself off as a grown-up. The birthday celebration was an important event. We were just having a little thing with pizza and a cake at our apartment to celebrate. Id invited a couple of people I was on first-name terms with from my tutorials even though I didnt hang out with them almost at all outside of class, and much more importantly, Id invited Natasha. So it was kind of like the big Bring Her Home to Meet the Parents (sans parents; really, to meet the best friend) Dinner and birthday party rolled up in one, which made it kind of a big deal to me. I wanted Jade to like Natasha. I wanted Natasha to like Jade, and I wanted Natasha to like my apartment and appropriately admire the library Id built up over the year and to think of the little flourishes that made this apartment (half-)mine in such a way as to think of me as an erudite, dashing and perfectly solid boyfriend material kind of guy. I wanted the apartment and the books and the housemate and everything to give off a cultured, intellectual, practical but also a little dorky and oh such a guy boys will be boys she thinks indulgently as she looks around vibe. I buy a fancy coffee machine for our apartment as a birthday gift for us. Its a shiny silver contraption where you put in not your Nestl instant stuff but actual beans and it grinds them up and makes the coffee for you. Its supposed to capture a particular richness of flavour. I tell Jade that I would like to become the kind of person that would notice the difference and prefer their coffee to have the richness of freshly ground, and explain how it feels like I am missing a certain sphere of experience in not

knowing those differences of taste which clearly give such pleasure to the connoisseurs of good coffee. Jade doesnt buy a word of it. She tells me Im being pretentious. She tells me Im being pretentious. To think we would ever have seen the day. But really, lets be honest. I just wanted to seem like this kind of older, well-read, cultured but still boyish person. I kinda wanted to be that, in the long run, and I would like to be snobby about my coffee, in the long run. So I set up the coffee maker on our kitchen counter, and I fiddle with the various lights until it feels like just the right ambience to evoke fancy French dinners cooked up between housemates or cold nights in the living room with a hot mug as I read Kurt Vonnegut or pore through my course readings on transnational civic actors, and I mess up my things a little bit more than I normally would, strew a handful of my books and notebooks and highlighters over the desks and then hastily push them together again. Jade sticks up her nose throughout it all. I laugh and continue. The party thing went well. Natasha was suitably impressed. I think. She talked to Jade for a while. Not that long, just something like a couple minutes of conversation, but they did, and so I had high hopes for the evening. I wish I could write down what they talked about, but I dont actually know. Im almost entirely sure it wouldnt be about me, itd probably just be the usual pleasantries, but thus are the perils of the firstperson male narrator in re Bechdel test things- you cant really write down much conversation except ones you were part of. So I just waited expectantly until the party was over and the very few people that came left, and I drove Natasha home and kissed her on the doorstep. Did she like you? I dont know, she said. Do you like her? She seems nice, she said. Im sure shell love you, I told her, youre adorable, how could she not? And then I drove home because I wanted to know for myself. Whether or not you approved meant a lot to me, Jade. You can see that now. You should know that. I closed the apartment door behind me and walked over to where Jade sat at the dining table stabbing at a slice of cake. So, I looked at her expectantly. What do you think? I dont know, she said. You dont know? I dont like it, she said. You dont like it? I dont like her that much. Why dont you like her? Shes too hot, Jade said dryly. Shes a 1-percenter in the beauty economy. Down with the genetic bourgeois. Oh, bullshit, I said. Why?

Why do you even like her? I dont know!, I said. You dont like people for why. You just do. She pursed her lips. Youre just dating a stereotype. What? Well I mean, come on. Russian girl with blond hair and big tits? She even wears little jackets- So what does that- Im just looking out for you, Rahel!, she said. Come on, we both know how youre in love with stereotypes and clichs and the sexy Russian power girl with classy as fuck clothes and the accent is as stereotype as you can get- Jade, come on, that surely couldnt have been all you got from her over this whole evening! Shes smart and funny and ambitious. Shes a person, and someone I actually really like, Im not just deluding myself. I like that shes driven. Shes clever and sweet. I like her. When you say you like her. Do you just like how she makes you feel, or do you actually like who she is? I- I dont know!, I said, isnt that the same thing? Not one bit. I dont know, then, I said. I like her. Are you sure? She sounded sceptical. Tell me about her. Well. What I told you already, that shes witty, and actually really sweet. She thinks Im cute- So do I, but we arent dating, are we? Thats hardly enough reason! Fucking let me finish, will you? Sure, go on! Thank you. Well, that, and when Im spending time with her I feel like theres always a sense of possibility, even though I dont really know what. Shes ambitious. She has her mind really set on what she wants to do, and thats good for me because being around her I cant stand still. And it inspires me to, you know. Care about a future and live in the present and. Be driven and ambitious and push myself. Be forward-thinking. Shit like that. Its good for me. She looked at me. She makes you feel more grown-up, you mean? Yes, I said. Its been kinda long due, right? Im almost finished with freshman year, were going to be starting the serious shit soon, starting on real life- This is just freshman year! she said. Just! We have more than three whole years in college, and then we go out into real life. Why would you want to go for something that irreversible this soon? You cant go back from growing up you know. Were young and there is so much time left in life to be old. I dont think its something thats in your control. When you feel it. Growing up or whatever it is. You know? When you grow up your heart dies, she said weakly. Maybe it doesnt, though, I said. Maybe there are lots of perfectly nice folks who stay pretty cool. Like John Hughes. And John Green. And were just gonna be like all those perfectly nice folks. I dont think people change all that much, maybe. Id figure people kinda stay the same. And so will I. She glared at me. I felt a sudden flare of anger. Look, the world doesnt just stop and suck all of a sudden because things no longer revolve entirely around you, okay? Thats not how life works!

She blanched. Thats not- she wiped at her eye violently with a fist, stopped, and took in a long, shuddering breath. Its not about me, its about you! she went on, her voice low but insistent. I care about you, okay? And I hear all this and its, why risk it? For a girl? Youre only young once. Ever. Im sorry if I sound selfish, or if it seems like Im just trying to hold on to you like a Peter Pan afraid that Wendy is going to go and hell be all alone. Its not that. Not all that, at least. I dont want you to go back on that over what might just be a crush At least try wait until you feel sure youre in love? I sat down. I kinda think I am. Or might be. I dont know but I really like her and Id need to figure it out myself, but I think I could be. Oh. She sat down across me and sunk her face into her hands. Oh, she said again. Wow. Really? She moved over and huddled down on the sofa next to me, resting her head against my chest. Oh. I am happy for you. She gave me a hug and snuggled closer to me. Im sorry. Im an idiot. Tell me all about her.

And then things seemed, you know, fine. until an innocent enough question one night as I was setting out for Natashas. When will you be home? she asked as I picked up the car keys. I wont be home tonight, I said. I think. She seemed genuinely confused. Huh? Im going over to Natashas, I said. Yeah, I know that, she said. Why wouldnt you be home tonight? I Isnt it, I mean, obvious? Kinda? Oh, she said, her voice very small. Is tonight the night? You guys first time? No, I said. Huh? Weve slept together before, I said. Youve always been home, she said. I just drive home, I said. No. Yes. So, her voice shook. So. When? The nights I go over- When was the first time? I told her. All this time you didnt tell me, you just let me look like this complete idiot, all this time? I thought it was obvious!, I said. I mean, wed been serious for quite a while, what did you think we were doing when I go over nights? I thought you would be just kissing, she said. Why?

I dont know, okay? she said shrilly, and then took a deep breath. I guess I just assumed youd always be straight up with me. You thought wed be just kissing? Fuck you, she said. This was supposed to be between us- How would it be between us? I dont know! She was blinking back tears. You telling me maybe, I guess, I dont know, all I know is just fuck you, fuck you, go to hell- Jade- Dont say my name! What? Just go! Go fuck her, then, why are you staying here- Cut it out, I said. I dont even know why youre- She collapsed onto the sofa and laughed bitterly. Oh, of course you dont. Obviously. How could I forget. Im sorry for not telling you, okay? It just felt like something really, I dont know, I couldnt have even said it out loud to myself it had to remain unsaid and- Oh yes, she said. All this time, of course, not just the first time but countless times since it all was just too big a thing- Im sorry! Why are you even still here? Go! No, I said. Im staying. Of course I am. Im not leaving you while youre unhappy. Fuck you, she said. I sat myself down opposite her. Okay. Sure. We both just sat there for a while, not looking at each other, in complete silence punctuated by little sniffs and the vibrating of my phone, both of which I pretended to not hear. Finally she stood up and walked over to her room and swung the door closed behind her, and I rushed over to my room to stand at the corner and call Natasha to tell her, as quietly as I could, that I couldnt go over tonight. Jade is having a really rough time, I told her. She doesnt like me, does she? I dont know, I said. Does she really need you there?, she asked. I dont know, I said. But shes my best friend and Im not ever just leaving her. Then I walked back to the living room and I could hear Jade sobbing through the door, dry, racking sobs like someone had reached into her and pulled everything good in the world. And I wanted to go in and try to comfort her but I knew I should just let her be for now, and I felt like an absolutely horrible person for feeling so but I felt really uncomfortable, so I turned on the TV and sat there on the sofa with the volume up just enough to keep up the pretence of her privacy and stared at the screen without taking in a word, mentally reconstructing scenarios where I couldve told her before and things would have been all good, until it was too late for me to be staying in front of the TV if I wanted to keep up this play of acting out a normal evening for her benefit. Then I went to bed, closing the door loudly enough for her to hear, and just lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

I really am so sorry I didnt tell you at first, Jade. I really am. Ill admit I dont really understand it. Were you afraid of losing me? Cos you wont, its not that, you know. I dont entirely get it but it hurts me so much to know I caused you that kind of pain and I swear I wish so, so much that Id told you earlier and maybe youd have been happy and things would have been nice and I dont know. I just wish I hadnt left that scar. Sometime around four in the morning the door opened a crack and she slipped into my room. Hi, I said. Oh. Youre still awake. Yes. Can I?- I nodded. She lay down next to me and didnt say anything and went right to sleep.

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Ive always been a little in awe of people I love, you know?, I told Jade, some days later. I get that. Who wouldnt be? Shes a whirlwind. Even I see it. No, I said. No, I meant Ive always been a little awed by you. She looked at me for a moment, then sighed. Oh, you love me. Dont be silly. She looked at me earnestly. Youre my best friend, I said. Ive never had a friend like this. Weve been everything to each other all year. I say it all the time. Of course I do. She looked a little guilty, almost a little defeated. Yes, I know, she said. Im sorry, Im a little afraid cos I feel like I might start getting marginalized any day now and then Ill be a third wheel, and all well be is me being a confidante for you to talk about who youre in love with all day and I mean sure I dont mind that at all, Id love hearing about your life, but I see what happens and after the kind of amazing friendship weve had, devolving into something that one-dimensional and one-directional is going to hurt so much. I dont want to be there listening to you with starry eyes or consoling you on a rough day and all I am is just a hmm dispenser, and having to fake being excited to not be rude, and that sucks because I am actually excited for you and Im delighted for you if only I wasnt so worried about losing you now, not this soon- You wont lose me, I said. Whatever happens well always be friends, wed always keep in touch- Of course we will!, she said. Of course! Is that not happening even an option? But thats not what I mean, I mean losing you. What you are now. My gateway to all the other worlds, like I was yours. The colour of it all. All youll be is my best friend. Im not ready yet, theres so much I want to do and see, and somehow I always imagined it like wed be, to each other, for a while maybe through college and then both of us would eventually find proper loves in third or fourth year or after graduating, both around the same time, so I wouldnt have to be alone-

She looked at me seriously. Things are different now, arent they? Youre still my best friend, I said. But things are different now, arent they? We were always best friends and we were really close but then so much of what we were arent really things thatd really be appropriate for someone with a real girlfriend. But why? Sure, she said, we werent together or even sexual or anything but still. We both know its things that youd feel awkward with your girlfriend doing, or that I wouldnt be too happy with a boy I was dating being. And its not fair to keep on with something like that. Not fair on me, at least. I went over and hugged her, and she squirmed away for a moment before lightly hugging me back. We pulled ourselves away. I dont want to lose what we had, I told her and I kissed her on the forehead and held her close. But we already have, she said despairingly. Youre still my best friend but its not the same for either of us anymore. We used to find all our romance in each other. Yeah, we were best friends but we never really needed anything else, because we were everything all our idealism and our silly sense of fantasy wanted. It used to be all the time but you dont even really want those things with me now, except for some moments like this, and noticing the distance between the moments kill me every time they happen. I wanted to say she was wrong, but she wasnt. I personally didnt think it mattered, but I didnt know how to say it. Things change. It doesnt mean they go to all hell, it just means it changed. But I didnt know how to say that right. All I could do was hold her a little tighter. Its true. Thats why you didnt say anything, she sniffed, and laughed. I laughed a little laugh too, because I realized what she was saying and in these little moments it felt like being back, for a moment, slipping into a little enclave of the world where time would be a few months ago. Im so sad, she said. I mean, Im happy for you. And proud of you. But a little selfish part of me is kinda heartbroken. I miss you so much. You make it seem like were never going to meet again. Dont think like that, I said. I dont know why I was being so stoic. I dont really know. I guess I suck at these kind of situations. Were still going to be hanging out all the time. Seeing each other all the time in school and eating out and watching TV shows together. Mm hmm. Look, I said. Its like look, youre really great, okay? You need to get that, it sometimes feels like you dont believe it so you feel like nobody else can genuinely love you for long either even if I still show it all the time and youre being like this for some stupid pre-emptive distancing yourself reason, arent you? She didnt answer the question. We were always a little in love with each other, werent we? she said contemplatively. I dont mean romance. We probably could never really have had romantic intentions for each other. I guess it could never happen she drifted off and looked up at me, and I nodded for her to go on. She swallowed. But in a way we were. Yes, we were, I said. We were everything in the world to each other for a while. You still kinda are to me, she said.

She came over to my room the next evening and slipped into bed up against me, and I slid down so we were face to face and pulled the covers over us both so it was hot and dark and only the little greys and blues that filtered through the sheets from the sunken sun outside coloured this little pop-up world of ours, and her hair was purple and her face was shadow and alabaster and the spaces between us were bittersweet and nostalgia and memories. And things were all okay again for a little while and I believed it could believe it almost believed it until she spoke and the spell broke. Im leaving, she said. What? Im going away, she said. Im doing next semester abroad. No, I said. Yes, she said. When are you leaving? Im going to Melbourne first, she said. To stay with my mom these holidays. You didnt tell me that. Yes, she said. I didnt. When? Tomorrow, she said. Evening. Ouch. Im sorry, she said. What happened?, I asked. Do you hate me all of a sudden? No, she said bloodlessly. Dont take it personally. Ive run from things my whole life. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head because I was confused and dazed and still reeling, and because I couldnt look at her. No, she said again, this time softly. Never. I just need a little time-out, okay? Okay, I said. Id wanted to study abroad some time in college for quite a while, she said. So Im just doing it a year earlier than I would have otherwise, maybe. You know. Thats not why youre going right now, I said. Yes, she said. It isnt. I didnt say anything. She came over and pressed herself into me tightly. I couldnt hug her and hold her in like we would have. Part of me wanted to. I just couldnt. She snuggled in a couple more times, expecting a delayed but inevitable reaction, again one more futile, pathetic, heartbreaking time, and then pulled herself away wordlessly. Her lips were tight and her face blank as she looked down at me a while before walking away and she was so visibly hurt and I hated myself, but I couldnt say anything. I just couldnt. She walked away slowly to her room and I heard the door close, and as the sky outside darkened I stared up at the ceiling disappearing into black and finally just went to sleep, a deep, drained sleep.

As I drifted off I excused myself for a moment of understandable emotional weakness, promised to myself that Id be wonderful tomorrow with some fortitude gained over the night, that Id be super supportive, and fun, and send her off with a sense of all the good things from our time together. Because we deserved that, surely. Of course we did. She was gone the next morning. I woke up and walked outside to see the door to her room open, the bed made, her desks and wardrobe cleared. Shed packed and left sometime early in the morning. All her things were gone, except some of her books which shed left on her bedside table. Shed tucked a note inside the front cover of her red Faber & Faber copy of Never Let Me Go at the top of the pile. Look after these for me. Shed signed the card with a heart, comma, Jade. Love and an unnecessary comma. That was something. These are the books she left me: Norwegian Wood Haruki Murakami Anne of the Island Lucy Maud M. The Disenchantments Nina LaCour Never Let Me Go Kazuo Ishiguro One Day David Nichols Why these books in particular I dont know, honestly. Could it have just been random books she thought Id like? Not a chance in hell, reader. We know her better than that. I guess well find out. I called her, but shed turned her phone off. I understood that. Thats how itd have been in the stories. Gone, with no way to reach her. Dramatic exits are pretty hard in the Facebook age. But I got the message, and I wasnt going to try talk to her straightaway, because she wanted time out, and what else could I say, that I hadnt before? Platitudes wont patch this fairytale up again. Pouring my heart all out just might. This is my To Me, You Are Perfect cue card. This is my boom box outside your window. Shell read this, and shell laugh at all the bits that are supposed to be funny and get all the little references and inside jokes that nobody else will, and then shell ask me: Why did you write your story about me? And Ill tell her: I dont think I could really have written about anyone else.