The Incredible Adventures of Cinnamon Girl Read online

  ‘Yeah, suppose the Ark might’ve been more crowded if Noah was on Twitter,’ I respond. I don’t know why, but his tumbleweeds comment makes me bristle ever so slightly.

  Daniel glances at his watch. ‘So I need to unpack, and I think I have an interview or something lined up, but – when can I see you guys again?’

  ‘Tonight,’ Pete yelps. ‘The Junction – you remember it, right? I work there. I DJ –’

  Caroline grunts. ‘Does hitting shuffle on the sound-track of Good Morning, Vietnam count as DJ-ing –’

  ‘But there’s a dance floor,’ Tia adds, giving Caroline a sharp nudge with her hip. ‘It’s fun. For the Valley …’

  Grady steps beside me. ‘You should come, Dan. Granted, you probably have more stories than we do, but we should catch up. If you’re not busy.’

  Daniel flicks his sunglasses back onto his face. ‘Not busy. And I’ve never been to a hoedown. Should I have bought a fiddle?’

  Behind me, I can practically feel the waves of disdain rolling off Caroline and Eddie. My friends may heap a lot of crap on the Valley, but it’s totally different for an outsider to chime in as well. It hits me suddenly that Daniel Gordon – with his designer jeans and great hair – is about as outsiderish as it gets.

  ‘A fiddle could probably be rustled up,’ I say lightly. ‘But mostly, we just hang out, and dance a bit. Don’t eat the peanuts, cos they’ve been sitting on the bar for the last century. You in?’

  ‘Sounds fun,’ he says with that easy laugh. ‘Can’t wait, Alba,’ he adds, and it’s so sincere that for a moment I forget about outsider-Daniel, this person who should be as unfamiliar as any of the strangers wandering around town. For a moment, the edges of Daniel seem to shimmer, till all I can see is my funny, overconfident best friend. For a moment, it’s like he never left. I grin back at him.

  As we amble home, I can’t help but think that the universe may be freaking bizarro, but Daniel’s return has to be some sort of sign. Cos it feels just right that he’s here, one of the pages ripped from my story, slotted back exactly where it’s supposed to be.

  Grady and I hang behind the others. He’s talking a thousand miles an hour about our weekend sleepovers and prepubescent Daniel’s attempts to get himself into the Guinness Book of Records, and I find myself laughing along with him, swept up in his infectious, if uncharacteristic, nostalgia.

  ‘You know, Grady,’ I say as we push through the mobs on Main Street. ‘If the rest of the world is obliterated, it might turn out to be not be so bad after all. Everyone is right where they’re supposed to be. Daniel is home. It’s like someone up there finally answered my prayer to rewind the clock. It’s a Christmas miracle! Don’t you think?’

  In front of us, Caroline is tugging the others towards the Taco Truck. Penny-Farthing Man peddles past with a couple of cheerful dings of his bell in my direction, and I resist the urge to flip him an equally cheerful bird back.

  Ravenous, I follow the others, thinking that maybe I can get on board with this twist in my storyline after all. Hey, Daniel’s return seems to have made even unsentimental Grady nostalgic – a Christmas miracle if ever there was one.

  I’m so buzzed that I almost – almost – overlook the fact that Grady never actually answers me.

  The afternoon passes in a blur. My friends scatter, and Grady and I grab nachos and head to the far edge of town, to our spot on the porch of the abandoned feed mill. We can’t seem to stop swapping Daniel stories; it’s like we both feel this need to yank his memory out of the past and into the present. Oddly, I’m a teeny bit nervy. Maybe cos the show-offy part of me really wants Daniel to remember that he used to love our life here. Or maybe I’m just not accustomed to hanging with a guy who I’ve faux-drooled over shirtless more times than is probably respectable.

  When the worst of the biting sun has passed, I drag Grady up by the hand and we head to our homes to change.

  A few hours later Tia bursts into my room just as I’m finishing my hair. She’s wearing a gorgeous silver dress and an unfamiliar pissy look.

  ‘Heya,’ I say as I unwind a strand of hair from Mum’s curling iron. ‘What’s with the sour face? Is Caroline refusing to wear shoes again?’

  Tia flings herself onto my bed. ‘I’ve barely had a chance to catch up with her, Alba. You know why? Cos I got woken at six this morning by Peter tapping on my window. He wrote a poem that he just couldn’t wait for me to read. He only left when Mum threatened to torch his bike, otherwise he would’ve stayed for breakfast. And lunch. He probably would’ve written more poetry. It’s like his thing now.’

  I giggle at her exasperated reflection in my mirror. ‘Petey wrote you a poem? You mean, he actually found something that rhymes with “nunchuk”?’

  ‘Albaaaa!’ she wails. ‘It’s not funny! I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but argh! I turn around, and Pete’s there. We hang out for hours, and then guess who texts me the minute I get home? And why does he always have to have an arm around me? You know how hard it is to walk glued to someone that skinny? It’s like trying to do a three-legged race with a piece of plywood.’

  ‘Tia,’ I say through laughter that threatens to mess my make-up, ‘I know I’m not fluent in boyfriend, but aren’t you supposed to be able to talk about this stuff with one?’

  ‘Alba, you know Pete! He’d take it as a sign that I’m about to break up with him. It’ll lead to tears. And probably more poetry. And it’s not that I don’t like spending time with him, cos I really do, just not – every second of every day!’

  I dig through my mini advice bank, but I’m really not sure what to say. The only permanent guy I have in my life is Grady, and I’m just used to him being as ever-present as a limb. I’ve never found that intrusive. Wonder why that is?

  ‘Tia, you guys are still kinda new. Okay, so Petey’s probably trying a bit hard, but if you don’t want to talk to him, then … not sure I know what to tell you.’

  Tia sighs. ‘I know. I’m sorry I’m laying my relationship dumpage on you, but I just can’t talk to Caroline about this stuff. Not without my eardrums exploding from a lecture, and – whoa,’ she breathes as I stand up. ‘Alba! You look amazing!’

  I glance at my reflection. I’m squeezed into this dress that used to belong to Tia’s gran, but that Tia tailored to a pattern she made from something we saw on Mad Men. It’s sapphire blue, and looks like it belongs in a smoky cocktail lounge or Sin City comic.

  Tia beams as she adjusts my neckline. Even when we were kids, with only CWA markets and a few stores in Merindale, Tia always managed to look like she’d fallen out of one of those fashion mags that are all bird-boned girls with no hips. I, on the other hand, look like I could be mounted on a sturdyish Viking ship. Still, I’m too tall to be inconspicuous, and I’ve never seen the point in being bashful with my looks. I’ve added some strokes of heavy eyeliner, and a touch of ruby lip-gloss. With my fringe brushing my eyes, I think I might pass for one of Grady’s noir heroines.

  ‘Thanks! You did an awesome job, Tia. You gonna add this one to your folio?’

  Her clinical eyes sweep over the fabric. ‘Yeah. This satin was a real pain to work with, so I reckon I’ll get bonus points for that. I have no idea what sort of stuff uni might be expecting next year –’

  She swallows, her hand fiddling with the cluster of stars on her necklace. She gives me a watery smile. I give her an uncertain smile back.

  ‘Hey, Tia? Let’s not think about that tonight. You know, we’re both gonna feel pretty stupid stressing about the future and whatnot when the only thing we might have to worry about is learning to weave loo paper out of corn.’

  She exhales. ‘Alba, is it strange that that almost makes me feel relieved?’

  I glance through my window. From the edge of my yard I’ve been watching this one group who’ve been growing all week as they piece together a scrappy canopy over their camp. From this distance, it kinda looks like a demented Thunderdome. I don’t understand how that many people can
feel safe sleeping under a billowy gazebo that’s mostly T-shirts and towels strung together with bungee cord. Though, I suppose it must be a little like being caught beneath a vivid fabric ocean.

  My eye lands on the character studies of Cinnamon Girl that I’ve blu-tacked to my bookshelf. Lately, I can’t seem to capture her face in anything other than an expression of impatience.

  I grab my bag and nudge Tia outside, my eyes lingering on Cinnamon Girl until the verandah door slams shut behind me.

  •

  Lights glimmer in the windows as Tia and I make our way towards the Junction. We sweep past the crowds at the door with a wave at Tommy Ridley and Ed’s brother Howard, who’ve been coopted as makeshift bouncers. Howie ushers us in with rough pecks on the cheek and a smug look at the strangers lining up at the door. I’m not proud to admit it, but for a moment, I feel just a teeny bit smug myself.

  I step through the foyer and into the dingy main room of the pub.

  ‘Oh. Jeez. This is … different?’ I manage to say. The wall of sound and sweat and music hits me like a sonic boom to the face. I grab hold of Tia, who huddles against me with a whimper.

  Caroline elbows through the pulsating mass of bodies, a pint of tawny liquid sloshing over her hand. She scowls at a guy who’s squishing into Tia, hip-and-shouldering him with a vicious glare that makes him scamper away quickly. Her face brightens. ‘You guys took your time,’ she yells over the music. ‘Have you ever seen this many people in your life? Bit different to last Saturday – Rosie and her glass of port, and Anthony’s dumb-arse friends trying to bullseye toilet paper on the Cascade sign.’ She looks me and Tia up and down. ‘Must have missed the memo that the Queen is popping by,’ she says with a grin.

  ‘Caroline!’ Tia hisses as her eyes skim over Caroline’s purple-streaked ponytail and faded singlet. ‘You promised you were gonna make an effort! Did you forget the TV hottie we’re supposed to be entertaining?’

  Caroline wraps an arm around Tia. ‘Relax, Tiahnah. Indigo and I are old mates now. He dropped by the grocery store this arvo. Eddie almost wet himself when Daniel breezed in looking for quinoa. We had to look quinoa up on the internet. You wouldn’t believe the dumb stuff celebs are into.’

  Tia squeals. ‘What did you say? What did he say? Why didn’t you call me?’

  Caroline rolls her eyes. ‘Indigo and I just had a bit of a … chat.’ She winks at Tia. ‘Fill you in later. And Eddie didn’t deck him, which was a bonus. I’m guessing Daniel’s gonna be finding that last tub of fat-free yoghurt pretty unsatisfying though. I’d almost feel sorry for him. If he wasn’t such a ponce,’ she says with a giggle.

  ‘And I am guessing that that is not your first drink,’ I say, slipping the pint from her and taking a swig of beer. ‘You’re way too smiley, Caroline. It’s not natural.’

  ‘Hey, I was expecting to spend my last weeks in the Valley burning my school uniform, and maybe having a farewell snog with Lachlan Hurley. But look around, Alba! It’s like, hot-boy buffet. Aren’t I allowed to be in a good mood?’ Her eyes linger on a pair of admittedly very nice jean-clad butt cheeks that are sauntering past. Their owner glances over his shoulder, taking in Caroline’s tanned colt legs in their teeny old shorts. He waggles his eyebrows at her. Caroline throws him her nonchalant-face and grabs the beer from my hands. ‘Seriously, you guys look ace. Though Tia, I think your hottie may be a bit preoccupied. Check it out.’ She nods towards a bright spot in the pub.

  Daniel is leaning casually against the wall of old road signs as a guy in a suit natters in his ear. A bevy of girls hover in his vicinity. Debra DeLuca is gazing at him all starry-eyed: the same Deb DeLuca who once refused to sit next to Daniel in music class cos she said he took up too much space on the recorder bench.

  I snort. ‘Desperate much? You’d think people would have more important things to be distracted by. Like, you know – the end of the world and all that?’

  Caroline sips at her beer. ‘Maybe they’re thinking we’d better pair up now, in case the future turns out to be some nightmare where we, like, have to wear matching bonnets and share husbands.’ She nudges Tia. ‘Fancy being a sister-wife?’

  Tia grimaces. ‘Gross. Anyway, what’s wrong with not wanting Daniel to think we’re small-town? Have you seen what they’re saying about us on the news?

  ‘Yeah,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Pity they keep interviewing the Alberts. We’re not all toothless doofuses who can’t spell apocalypse.’

  I sweep my gaze over the Junction, trying to see it through outside eyes. The bow-legged table where the six of us eat dinner every Thai Thursday, the pissy-looking stuffed ducks mounted on the walls. The handful of lost-looking locals between the strangers, scowling or gaping at our visitors. I’m not embarrassed. Though, I am kinda wishing Mr Grey wore something other than his beer-gut-hugging Led Zeppelin T-shirt and eighties-awful acid-wash jeans.

  Pete is squished in his DJ booth, his eyes scanning the crowds. I can’t help but notice that Tia’s face lights up when Pete catches her eye. He waves her over, and she disappears with barely a backward glance.

  Eddie is huddled beside Pete. Poor Ed’s eyes are kinda terrified as they roam over the unfamiliar girls jammed into the pub. I give him a wave, and he gives me a wave back before grabbing Tia and placing her bodily in front of him.

  Caroline sighs as her gaze follows Tia. ‘Well. Suppose that’s the last we’ll see of her.’ She drains her beer. ‘And on that note, I need another drink.’

  Caroline pushes towards the bar, squishing in beside a stool where Grady is perched. He’s wearing one of the two good shirts he owns, a chequered blue-and-orange thing that stretches across his broad shoulders. A girl in a trilby is sitting on his other side. She keeps sneaking glances at him, but Grady is deep in conversations with Mr Grey and doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He’d get pissy with me for saying it, but in his good jeans and boots, Grady looks every inch the country boy. Even though I’m staring at his back, I can guess the moment trilby-girl catches his cute little-boy smile, cos she shuffles her stool closer and gives his hand a nudge. I’m just about to bound over when a Hugo-Boss-scented arm envelops me in a side hug.

  ‘Alba!’ Daniel says. ‘Thank God you’re here. My manager was just going through the plan for the next few days. Who knew it was possible to sleep with your eyes open?’ His eyes glide over me, and he whistles. ‘Girl, you look incredible. What the hell happened to the kid who used to sneak Smarties into PE?’

  ‘Same goes for you, Daniel.’ I give him a once-over, his black T-shirt and jeans managing to be both casual and super-classy. ‘You know you’re living every little kid’s fantasy? Only thing that’d make you more of a Cinderella cliché is if you tell me you’ve been training at wizard school for the past eight years.’

  His eyes narrow mischievously. ‘Not sure if I should be offended or blushy, Alba.’

  We stare at each other for a weird beat before I grab his hand and tug him through the crowds to a table near the Christmas tree. When we were little, Daniel had this way of bouncing into a room and instantly owning it. Now, as we squish into the small table, he’s looking at me like he’s not sure what to say, and I feel suddenly, strangely shy. I focus on his blue eyes, the only part of his face that hasn’t been touched by the superhero morphage.

  ‘So … you’re famous,’ I say with a nervous laugh.

  Daniel smiles. ‘Don’t get weird on me. Gum Trees isn’t exactly the dream. It’s one step above doing ads for haemorrhoid cream.’

  ‘Oh, but hey – you get to snog Aimee Smith? That’s gotta be a big job perk?’

  He snorts. ‘Please. She’s got the personality of wet laundry, and besides, she hates my guts. You know, she purposely eats tuna sandwiches before we have to do our kissing scenes? Every single time. It’s like pashing the fish that John West rejected.’

  I fall into a bout of snort-giggles. ‘Aw, but I thought she’d be just your type? The fifth runner-up in Next Top Model, and the guy voted “number
thirteen sexiest TV star you’ve never heard of” in that uni student web poll? It’s like Romeo and Juliet. But, you know, with more fake tan.’

  Daniel’s eyes widen. ‘Jesus. I see I’m gonna have to work hard to prove I’m not the walking himbo you seem to think I am, Alba.’ The Christmas lights bounce across his cheekbones. He’s smiling, but his eyes give him away. I remember that look – that same one he used to get whenever his mum gently suggested he go on a diet. It’s bluster, covering up a smidgen of hurt.

  I shuffle my chair closer. ‘I’d never in a bazillion years call you a himbo, Daniel Gordon. Please. You are the person who gave me my first Spawn comic, remember? You are the person who tried for eight months to break the Guinness record for the world’s tallest mohawk – not sure if that counts as genius, but still.’

  Daniel laughs. ‘A Japanese guy won that this year. It was over a metre high. Very cool.’

  Pete’s music changes to some thuddy nineties REM thing, and a cheer erupts around the pub. The leapy crowds on the tiny dance floor double in a heartbeat.

  Daniel drums his fingers on the table. ‘So you’re still drawing? I saw some of your stuff hanging in the grocery store. You have mad skills, Alba. Your friends at the store couldn’t stop gushing.’

  ‘Well, thanks. I’ve branched out a bit from my Wonder Woman obsession, but yeah. Still working on it.’

  He looks back at me. ‘And you and Grady are still tight? That’s great.’

  I glance at the bar but Grady and trilby-girl are nowhere to be seen. ‘Course we are. You sound surprised?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No, not really, but I suppose I was just assuming –’

  ‘Gah, okay, I can guess what you were assuming. And no. No no no. That’s just … not the thing with us.’ I feel my face flush, and probably a good slab of my neck as well. ‘Everyone knows that. No-one even mentions it. Not since we were thirteen and our friends double-dared us to go on a Valentine’s date. D’you know what happened? Grady was so panicked he fell out of Merindale bus and broke his collarbone, and I drank two blue-heaven milkshakes at the hospital and yakked in Cleo’s car on the way home. It was weird and stupid and – no good can come from this conversation!’