Life in Outer Space Read online

  ‘Jesus. You came as goddamned Jabba the Hutt.’

  Camilla flicks back her Jabba-head with a giggle. ‘Uhhuh. I tossed up a thousand different glamazon costumes, but then I found this on ThinkGeek and I couldn’t resist.’ She spins around awkwardly, her Jabba-tail swishing behind her. Her wavy hair is scooped up behind her neck. She looks a little flushed under the costume. I burst out laughing.

  She grins. ‘And you, Sam, look great! How does it feel being an Imperial henchman?’

  ‘Awesome. I am ready to crush all uprisings with my mindless conformity and surprisingly crap aim.’

  She laughs. ‘And so …?’ She sweeps her arm around. ‘Whaddaya think?’

  ‘I think your superpowers are clearly unlimited. This looks amazing. I’m not wishing even a little bit for the gym to be invaded by homicidal telepaths.’

  ‘And not a hint of glitter in sight. Don’t say I never do anything for you, Sam.’

  ‘I would never say anything like that, Camilla. I know exactly how much you’ve done.’

  She looks at me curiously. I give her Jabba-arm a nudge. ‘I just mean that … it’s been a really interesting year. Mostly. Partly, well, just bizarre. But really great, too. And I know I have you to thank.’ I chuckle. I think I might be sounding a bit naff. I give her arm another nudge. ‘So – thank you, Camilla.’

  She smiles at me. ‘Sam, for what it’s worth – you are welcome.’

  Alistair McIlroy dashes over, his crumpled Blue Hawaii Elvis shirt flapping beneath a pink ukulele. He gives me a sheepish wave and then whispers something frantic in Camilla’s ear.

  ‘Ugh. I gotta go Sam. Apparently some members of the music committee missed the no-ABBA directive. I’ve already heard Dancing Queen, like, twelve times. If I don’t speak to the DJ you might actually get your wish to see a dance-scene homicide.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll catch up later.’

  She waves and shimmies away. I walk away from the dance floor, and I find my friends again.

  The Spring Dance is an endless, shambolic night. Camilla is rushed off her feet with organisational dramas, but periodically appears to round us up for photos. I am fairly certain that Mike, Noah and I look like wax figures in most of them, but Allison, Adrian and Camilla never seem to run out of ridiculous poses and alternative ways of fitting six heads into a single shot. Other people also seem to feel the intense need to capture a billion photos of people doing fascinating things, like drinking and standing. I have no idea why I need to be frozen in so many people’s memories. But when the screens change to a slide-show of photos that were taken in front of the Oscars and it pauses, briefly, on a shot of me and my friends crammed tightly together, I am a little bit glad. I guess I can see the purpose in keeping some small fragments of time preserved.

  I float around with Adrian as speeches are made and costume awards handed out. Then Mr Nicholas drags Mrs Chow and some other teachers onto the dance floor. I’m pretty sure that Mrs Chow would rather be home doing Sudoku. Her varicose veins attempting to do the Time Warp is not something I need to see again in this lifetime.

  Mike and Noah are co-opted by Veronica and Brie to help hand out the Hollywood-themed party bags. They accept the task stoically, but I make a hasty excuse and bolt.

  Adrian is back on the dance floor, his Ewok head flapping behind him as he gyrates in a semi-spasmodic state with Annie. Annie appears to have lost her knife, but not her enthusiasm. Adrian catches my eye and gives me a wave; I half-wave back as he spins on his hairy feet and swings Annie into a surprisingly coordinated backwards dip.

  I peer through the crowds as I walk along the edge of the dance floor. Justin Zigoni is attempting some kind of Latin dance move with Michelle Argus. He actually looks like he’s trying to secure her in a headlock. Michelle does not look at all impressed. I can’t help but laugh. Despite everything, Justin is – and I suspect will remain – a giant knob. But somehow, I don’t think this is my problem anymore.

  I find an empty table in a corner and sneak into a chair. I watch the spinning lights and PVC stars that are slowly becoming grimy under a hundred pairs of feet. I think about the weirdness of the last year, and about the strangeness possibly to come. I’m pretty sure I’ll be ready for it, whatever it is. At the very least, I hope I can expect more material for my screenplays.

  Everything is useful. I really do believe that this is the truth.

  A shadow falls across my table. ‘There you are. Why are you hiding? I’ve been looking for you for ages.’

  I slip off my helmet. ‘You have?’

  ‘Sam, look, I know your philosophy on dancing. But it’s the end of the year, and I’m not leaving until you dance with me at least once.’

  Camilla is standing in front of me, her hands on her Jabba-hips. She gives me that look of hers, the wide-eyed innocent one that I swear is some form of Jedi mind-trick. She holds out her hand.

  I do not dance. I feel this has been made abundantly clear.

  But all things considered – maybe I could make an exception, just this once. I don’t know why, but stumbling through my first and final dance with Camilla Carter seems strangely fitting.

  I reach up, and I take her hand. Her fingers close around mine. I glance at the crowded dance floor. I am not sure I can talk my legs into functioning.

  ‘Camilla …’

  The music is too loud. My voice gets lost.

  She leans down over the table. ‘Listen, Sammy, you know what I’ll have to do if you don’t stand up, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You. Here. Sitting in a corner all by your lonesome. You’re going to make me be incredibly cheesy. You know what I’m going to have to say.’

  ‘Camilla …’

  She leans a little closer. ‘Nobody. Puts. Baby …’

  ‘Camilla, I’m sort of, a little bit …’

  ‘Sam, are you really going to make me finish that line?’

  ‘… a little bit completely in love with you.’

  Objectively, I know the world continues to spin. The music hasn’t stopped. People haven’t frozen in place. There is nothing to mark that everything has changed.

  Except I glance at her face. Her face is white.

  ‘What did you say?’ she whispers.

  I let go of her hand and I stand up. It seems like the right thing to do. But I can’t look at her; I can’t bring myself to process the horror I know I would find on her face. So I focus somewhere on the candlelight instead.

  ‘I said that I am in love with you. I’ve tried not to be, I really have, but it’s just useless. I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but I had to tell you because … well, you’re all I think about. All the time. I miss you every second that you’re not with me … and I know you won’t want to be around me anymore, but, Camilla … you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You’re smart and amazing and weird and probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen … and before I met you, all I wanted was just to fast-forward through everything. But, really, I think my life was just paused, or something. You … made me press play. You made everything move. And no matter where you go, or whatever you feel about me … I will love you forever for that. That’s all I wanted to say. I’m going to go now.’

  I turn around and walk away.

  She doesn’t follow me.

  She doesn’t call out my name and chase after me in the rain. It isn’t even raining. The sky doesn’t even have the decency to provide me with a good movie cliché.

  I walk home, change into my Superman T-shirt and trackpants, and I crawl into bed. I decide that I’m fairly safe here until the aliens take over, or the earth is sucked into a wormhole, or I develop aged dementia and Camilla Carter is finally erased from my memory – whichever comes first. I pull the blankets over my head and curl into a ball.

  Time stops.

  I feel like I might actually be dying. I allow my consciousness to float far away from my body.

  I am not dying. Objectively,
I know this. But this thing that I’m feeling is physical, and tangible. From far away, I remember that I have heard about this feeling.

  I feel like my heart is broken.

  Time stops.

  I wake up to a pounding in my head, which I realise after nine seconds is actually pounding at my front door. I stick a hand out of my blanket and grab my silent mobile from the nightstand.

  It’s almost midnight. I have twelve missed calls from Mike.

  I do not want to speak to Mike. I don’t want to speak to anyone, ever again, unless they can wind back time.

  I pull the blankets over my head again. The pounding doesn’t go away. If anything, it settles down into a steady rhythm, as persistent and annoying as a dripping tap.

  I fly out of bed and storm down the stairs. Suddenly, I’m convinced I know exactly whose fault this is. Mike, with his stupid abs and his awesome boyfriend. Maybe punching Mike in the face will fix everything.

  I throw open my front door.

  Of course it isn’t Mike.

  She’s changed out of her costume. She’s wearing her yellow dress again. Her hair is loose. She looks perfect.

  Actually, she looks angry. Really, really mad.

  ‘Hi,’ I manage to say.

  ‘Sam,’ she barks back.

  ‘You’re mad at me.’

  ‘Yes, I’m mad at you, you big tool!’

  I nod. I can’t bring my body to do anything, or my mouth to say anything. I feel empty, and exhausted, and I just need her to go away and take her face with her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble.

  ‘You’re not even going to ask why I’m pissed off?’

  ‘Because some giant arseface thought you might want to know how he felt?’

  Camilla steps into the light of the doorway. Her eyes are wild. ‘Argh – no! Because you say those things to me and then you disappear? You tell me you love me and then leave me standing in the middle of the school gym in a stupid goddamned Jabba the Hutt costume surrounded by spiked punch and teachers and fifty billion Marilyn Monroes?’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ I whisper.

  ‘Huh, well, that’s just the story of your life, isn’t it?’

  I close my eyes. I deserve this. I deserve to have my heart ripped open and mashed all over the fake Grecian columns for being an idiot, and a loser, and for not being smart enough to realise that she would never, ever, want me. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things –’

  ‘Sam! Would you please, for one moment, pull your head out of your giant arse?’

  With my eyes squeezed closed, I hear her take a deep breath. ‘Sam – I liked you from the first moment I met you! I made you invite me to your house for a study group, even though – you know what – I’m pretty good at studying on my own! When I went away, you were the only person I wanted to talk to! You were the first person I needed to see when I got back! I sang in front of you, and I’ve never let anyone see that part of me before! You are the person … I feel like I’ve run halfway around the world to find! I thought that was pretty obvious! Apart from throwing myself naked at you while holding a giant sign that says, Samuel, I am completely in love with you too, I don’t know what else to do!’

  My eyes seem to have welded themselves shut. I can’t bring myself to face the world again and realise that I didn’t just hear what I think she just said.

  I open my eyes. Her hazel ones are staring back at me. They are wide and bright. Objectively, they are great eyes. But un-objectively – they might just be the best eyes in the universe.

  ‘Camilla. You’re talking with exclamations.’

  ‘Yeah, well, tough,’ she growls.

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Because, idiot, you … are funny and smart and you have a giant heart that you can’t even pretend to hide. And you love your friends and your mum, and you held my hand and made me sing when I was so scared I thought I was going to die. I knew you understood, right from the beginning, this thing inside, the stuff in your head that you need to make real. You get that.’ She takes a step towards me. And then she jabs me in the chest. Her voice wobbles. ‘And you wear stupid Superman pyjamas without any irony, and your face lights up when you talk about the movies you love.’

  Two fat tears spill down her cheeks. I can feel them because somehow I have moved towards her, and my hands are touching her face, and she is not moving away.

  ‘And … you protect my dwarf. You always have her back. And you have a dimple when you smile that’s so cute I almost died the first time I saw it. And when I heard about you and Allie I spent two days lying on the floor listening to Songbird on repeat cos I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else … and … and … when I first met you I thought you looked a bit like Luke Skywalker. From the first movie, before his face went all dodgy, and –’

  I am aware that she is not speaking anymore.

  I am not aware of anything else.

  Because I am kissing her. And she is kissing me back.

  I still don’t understand kissing. It’s just lips on lips. But somehow I feel it in my stomach and lungs, in my fingers and in my feet, in my skin and toenails and in the things between my blood cells that I can never remember the name of. I can’t feel the ground beneath me. I can’t feel anything other than her; her lips, and her face beneath my hands, and her body crushed so tightly against me that the thud of her heartbeat seems to echo through my rib cage.

  I think I would give up movies for this feeling.

  Camilla’s lips stir beneath mine. I think she might be smiling. She pulls away a tiny bit, but her arms stay wrapped tightly around me. And unless the zombie hordes invade my front porch, there is nothing on earth that’s going to make me let go of her either.

  ‘Sammy,’ she says breathlessly. Her forehead creases into a frown.

  ‘Camilla? Are … you still angry with me?’

  She seems to consider this for several seconds. ‘Yes,’ she says decisively.

  ‘But why?’

  She grins. ‘Well, we could have been doing this a long time ago, if you were quicker on your feet. But I guess I’ll get over it.’

  I think about this for a moment as my hands circle around to the small of her back. It feels like there’s a place there that was made especially for them. My lips brush her forehead, and her nose, and this one spot on her cheek that I’ve wanted to kiss for forever. My head is filled with fog and my skin feels like it’s buzzing, but my lips seem to know exactly what they are doing.

  ‘You know, you could have said something,’ I mumble.

  ‘What, throw myself at you when – by all objective measures – you had zero interest? I have my pride, Sam. And I was so sure you’d freak out if you knew how I felt. Guess I wasn’t … brave enough to take that chance.’ She wraps her arms tighter around my middle. ‘It’s possible, Sammy, that when it comes down to it – I’m as big a wuss as you are.’

  ‘Millie, I thought we established a long time ago that I’m pretty much useless. But I can’t believe you didn’t know … that it wasn’t obvious …’

  ‘What?’ she says. Her smile disappears, and she looks up at me with her serious-Camilla eyes.

  I brush the hair away from her face. My fingers trail over her skin, over the soft, perfect curve of her lips. My heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest, like that cartoon skunk whose name I’ve forgotten.

  ‘I can’t believe you couldn’t see that I was crazy in love with you.’

  Camilla closes her eyes. But that beautiful smile is back. ‘Say that again,’ she says. ‘It might be the single greatest thing I’ve heard all year.’

  She touches my face with her guitar-calloused fingers, and then she rests her forehead against mine.

  And I have no more words. I don’t think I need them.

  My lips touch hers. Maybe it’s the other way around. Really, it’s impossible to tell.

  I’m thinking about the top five all-time greatest movie kisses.
I can’t believe I haven’t made that list.

  And I’m thinking about a screenplay I want to write. I have a hunch it’ll be the first good movie I’ve ever written.

  This one will be about a girl.

  I don’t know how I ever tried to write my story without her.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  This novel may not have made it past the first draft without the carrot-and-stick encouragement of my friend and writing partner, Sophie Splatt. Thank you, Sophie, for your support, enthusiasm, endless supply of beverages, and for tirelessly admonishing my drone of self-doubt.

  Thanks to my amazing writing group – Ilka Tampke, Jacinda Woodhead, Benjamin Laird, Simon Mitchell, Jo Horsburgh and Sally Rippin – for your always-thoughtful feedback and surprisingly tasty vegan snacks. Sally, your ‘matchmaking’ skills will not be forgotten!

  Thank you to my first reader, Phoebe Norris, for laughing in all the right spots; my first publishing bosses, Maryann Ballantyne and Andrew Kelly, for teaching me about structure; and to Yollette Franklin for the crash course in World of Warcraft – my dwarf never made it past level twelve, so any WoW mistakes are purely my own.

  To my wonderful fairy-god-folks at Hardie Grant Egmont – Karri Hedge for finding me in the pile, and Marisa Pintado, kick-arse editor and fellow nerd, for your unwavering belief in Sam and Camilla; I will be eternally grateful that my manuscript landed on your desk.

  To the Melbourne Horror Film Society, whose poster at Thousand Pound Bend inspired the voice that became Sam’s; you guys do good work.

  And finally, the staff at the beautiful Astor Theatre for never calling security on the strange person photographing their carpet and walls; I hope to be catching The Evil Dead there for many years to come.

  Born and raised in Melbourne, Melissa Keil studied Cinema and Anthropology at university and has spent time as a high-school teacher, Middle-Eastern tour guide, waitress and community theatre dogsbody. She now works as a children’s book editor, and spends her free time watching YouTube and geek TV. Her first picture book, Rabbit’s Year, was published in 2011. Life in Outer Space is her first novel for young adults.