In-A-Mirror-Preview Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  First Published by Halo & Claws Publishing 2019

  IN A MIRROR

  Copyright © Emily Bourne, 2019

  Printed in Australia. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact: https://www.emilybourne.net

  Cover Design: Claire Lucas, Eight Little Pages

  Copy Editor: Dahlia Burroughs, Newspeak Press

  ISBN: 978-1-925990-01-0 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-925990-00-3 (Ebook)

  For my parents, who are thankfully nothing like Rob and Julie Matthews. Thanks for believing in me and creating a safe and loving home.

  My sneakers squeak against the shiny oak floor. Sweat beads at my hairline. My breaths are quick. I tap out the beats and hit my next cue. My shoulders relax and I dip on bent knees.

  My feet fan back and forth as I shuffle to the right. I grin and a giggle spills out as adrenaline runs high. My thoughts are three steps ahead. I need to ace the spin. I missed it in the last few run-throughs.

  Five, six, nailed it. Knee, kick, jump. Every class I’m less of a newbie and belonging to the dance group more and more.

  “Ok great, girls!” our instructor Tiffany calls from the wall of mirrors. “We’ll learn the following sequence next class. Let’s end tonight with some freestyle.”

  A few girls squeal woo’s, but goosebumps run up my arms. I cup my ponytail and the hair unsticks from my neck. I keep to the back row of the makeshift circle as Chloe emerges into the centre. She hollers like a flamenco dancer, whips her hair and swirls her hips in sexy circles.

  Giggles, claps and cheers fill the studio. Two more girls enter the circle, and I creep backwards. When I was in ballet, everything was way strict. I changed forms because I was sick to death of the regimented structure. Maybe I haven’t reprogrammed myself to loosen up. I don’t want to suck. I don’t wanna be laughed at. I don’t want to be a kicked-out-poser.

  The other reason for changing dance schools, is her. Chloe Benson. Chloe struts out of the circle, playing with her platinum hair which illuminates against her fake tan. I have the talent to be in this class, but not the popularity at school to be near her. This is my chance to get in. Or at least, for her to remember my name. Life is easier in Chloe Benson’s corner. There’s no worry of the rumour mill because you make it. You’re at the top of the pyramid. I don’t want to be constantly doubting myself. I want to be her.

  The clock strikes seven-thirty and I’m at my gym bag before the music stops. By the time Tiffany calls end of class, I’m ready to slink out of the studio. I should have jumped in with freestyle.

  Next class.

  I promise.

  Maybe.

  I keep my head down as I edge around the girls talking, laughing and bopping to their own beat. I always listen for openings but can never get my mouth to repeat the lines in my head. I imagine them laughing at my jokes and inviting me out for coffee.

  Maybe.

  One day.

  Mum said the Macleans are coming over for dinner tonight. I’m so sweaty and gross. I hope I’m home before they show up. I swing my gym bag across my body for a faster getaway.

  “Whoah, watch out!” Chloe stumbles backwards when my bag whacks her.

  Through clasped hands, “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Chloe gains her footing and lets out a throaty laugh. “No biggie.”

  This is your chance. Say something. Say anything. “You did really good tonight.” I’m going to slap myself in front of the mirror later.

  “You too. You seem like you’ve been in the group for ages.”

  She’s noticed me. What? Dammit Brittany, stop blushing. Oh geez, respond. Make words happen. “Thanks, that’s so nice.”

  “You do all right; for a ballerina.” Chloe tugs open the front door. With a giggle and a wave, she glides through the doorway. “Well, see ya round.”

  I’m frozen as she skips across the pavement.

  Seriously, she’s noticed me?

  Try to calm down.

  I’m not invisible?

  Brittany, take a breath.

  Thankfully, our housekeeper Sophia’s car is parked outside. Wonder if Mum’s home yet? Probably not. Sophia greets me with her trademark cheery smile, and we head home. She tells me I have ten minutes before the Macleans are due to arrive.

  As we drive, I sneak peeks through the houses at the sun setting over the ocean. As the end of summer draws in, I’m less and less tempted to visit the beach. But the Australian, beach-bum guilt always pulls me down there.

  When the car is in the garage, I race into the house, bound up the stairs and burst into the bathroom. I inspect the damage in the mirror. Combing through my hair, I’m not going to have enough time to wash and blowdry before dinner. I throw a shower cap over my head. Dry shampoo and a once over with the flat iron will have to do it.

  Once showered, I drape around a towel and hurry towards my bedroom. I hit shuffle on my party-bangers playlist and shimmy in front of the popstar-postered wardrobes. Thumbing through the overstuffed racks, I yank out a scoop-necked, crimson dress and fling it over my shoulder onto the pile of teddy bears on my bed.

  I sit at my makeup-caked dresser and dust foundation, flick mascara and glide lipgloss. I fish between the jewellery cases and photo frames for my perfume bottle and spray all the essential areas. My hair falls below my shoulders and still has a hint of hair dye scent. Every time the light hits the golden blondes, I can’t hide my smile.

  The distinct sounds of Will Maclean echo up the stairs. You do not have to be in the same room as that boy to hear exactly what he’s saying. I do another once over with the iron and check my face. Don’t want Will reporting to Chloe & Co that I looked like a total freakazoid.

  “Brit, go help Sophia bring food from the kitchen,” I hear Mum order as I walk down the stairs, but she’s nowhere in sight. No way can she prove I heard that. I b-line through the living room to the dining room and get a waft of roast dinner. Will, his younger sister Daisy, and their mum are seated at the table.

  Charli pushes through the swing-door from the kitchen holding a baking tray. “Don’t worry, we got it,” she scowls at me.

  I still say we need further proof that we are twins. She wears an oversized alt-band t-shirt, baggy shorts, and a mess of frizzy, uncombed curls. Seriously, girl, we are not related.

  “Hiya Will,” I say, sliding onto the seat beside him.

  “Hey Matty,” his voice booms as he slaps me on the back. He’s so tall that he slightly hunches when he walks. His sun-bleached hair stands on end, only enhancing his height. “Wassup?”

  “Not much. Just got back from dance class.”

  I try not to jump when Charli slams the tray down in front of me.

  “How was class?” Mrs Maclean asks. Her silky blonde hair twirls down one side. The gold jewellery and sheer white blouse accent her milky skin. She was a model back in the day, then gave it up for a husband and kids. If I ever end up like that, I’d hope to be a hot mum like her.

  “It was great.”

  Sophia walks in holding two trays and Charli enters behind her with the drinks. Charli still gives me dirty looks. Like, I’m not wrong, Sophia gets paid to help us.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Mrs Maclean
says, playing with her pendant necklace. “I was worried when you made the switch from ballet.” Charli sits by Daisy, drawing Mrs Maclean’s attention. “Charli, you never had any interest in taking up dance?”

  A laugh spills out of me. I stop when Charli also laughs.

  “C’mon, Mrs Maclean,” Charli says, reclining in her seat, “d’you really see me in a tutu?”

  Mrs Maclean grins and raises her palms to the ceiling. “Maybe a hip-hop dancer?”

  “You have to listen to hip-hop first.” All eyes turn on me and I immediately sink in my chair.

  The pressure lifts when Charli points at me and says, “Totally. Definitely not my jam.”

  “My jam?” Daisy screws up her face. “Who even says that?”

  I giggle under my breath.

  “I do,” Charli says, playfully poking her.

  “Oh good, the food’s out,” Mum says, walking into the dining room, mobile phone clasped in hand. “Thanks girls.”

  Charli’s eyebrows raise and I choose to ignore it.

  “Thanks, Sophia, smells great.”

  Sophia nods, walking towards the kitchen. “My pleasure, Ms Matthews.”

  “How was work, Jules?” Mrs Maclean asks, scooping food onto Daisy’s plate.

  Mum huffs and hunches over bent elbows. Her hands run through her short, sandy bob. “Gruelling. This client is so uncooperative. I want to help him, yet we don’t have the required level of trust. It’s making my job hard.”

  Mrs Maclean scoffs, placing food on her own plate. “How can he not trust you? You were the best lawyer we ever had. We would have lost the house if it weren’t for you.”

  I put some veggies on my plate. I love when the Macleans visit because Mum is actually home for dinner. Mum is the definition of a workaholic. She wasn’t this bad when Dad lived with us, but since the divorce she’s become increasingly worse. Now Will’s dad is out of the picture, the Macleans visit more frequently.

  I hand the tongs to Mum as she lets out a faint laugh.

  “Thanks, Penny. Maybe this guy needs a pep talk from you. Have you heard from Brad lately?”

  “We are visiting him this week. It’s hard, you know. I have to take the kids out of school.”

  Will cheers, throwing a fist in the air. “Day off school.”

  “William.”

  “Well, you know I’m your sounding board, Penny.” Mum then sends her attention to Daisy. “So, Daisy, first year of high school. How are you finding it?”

  This is my chance. Everyone’s paying attention to the opposite side of the table. Heat pricks my cheeks.

  “So, Will…”

  He turns, waiting for me to add more.

  I gulp.

  Like, really loud.

  Embarrassing.

  “Has anyone said anything bout me and Meah sitting at your table in the mess hall?”

  Will’s brows furrow. “Have you?”

  Everything drops to the pit of my stomach. Hashtag invisible. “Well, technically no, I guess. We are, like, at the next table.”

  “I dunno,” he says, shovelling food into his mouth, “sit wherever ya want.”

  He’s no help at all. I frown and stab at julienned carrots.

  “Hey Chaz,” Will shouts across to Charli. She’s right there; seriously, no need to be that loud. No idea where he plucked those nicknames either. He’s the only one to call us them. I kinda hate that he calls me by a shorter version of my last name but asking him to stop goes in one ear and out the other. “How are things going with you and Trav?”

  I hack at the carrots. It’s bad enough Travis is constantly at the house, I don’t need it rubbed in my face. Charli’s always had the friends and the boyfriends. This tomboy got BOTH. I found my best friend Meah, and that’s the extent of my luck. I’m ignored in this house and at school. If I had a boyfriend maybe that would change. Maybe I’d feel valued. Or accepted. Or even loved.

  Love.

  That would be cool.

  “We’re ok,” Charli says.

  “Uh-oh, just ok?” Will teases.

  Charli’s eyes roll. “We’re fine. We’re good.”

  My tongue pushes against my teeth. I have to psych myself up to ask him one crappy question. Now the spotlight is on my sister. Again.

  “So, where’s Rob these days?” Mrs Maclean blurts out. The chatter stops; cutlery clangs on plates.

  Charli’s eyes bulge and her bottom lip quivers.

  Mum raises her chin. “Not quite sure on that one, Pen. Just receive the alimony each month.”

  “Men. Why do we even bother with them?”

  I look between Mum and Mrs Maclean. Another late night with a bottle of wine?

  I tried talking to Will more before the Macleans left, but he was in a group chat with the boys. All he did was show me gross memes I had no interest in.

  After the goodbyes, I dawdle up the stairs to bed. Some weird band is blasting through the speakers in Charli’s bedroom. She escaped in there a half-hour before the Macleans went home. I bang on her door, “turn it down,” and continue along the landing to my room.

  I flop on my bed and check the new text from Meah. My phone syncs to my speakers and I turn up the music louder than Charli’s.

  (Meah)

  So you reckon they been talking bout us in mess?

  (Me)

  Dunno. Will didn’t seem to care.

  (Meah)

  I can’t believe you got to talk to Chloe tonight.

  (Me)

  I know! Seriously - how has she noticed me!

  (Meah)

  You need to stay on that. We need that in.

  (Me)

  :-/ I know…

  (Meah)

  We’ll be round to pick you up before school k

  (Me)

  No probs! Thankies.

  (Meah)

  Xxx

  Ms Giles kept us late after textiles, now I have to run to science class. I sneak into the lab so Mrs Fields doesn’t call me out.

  Only a few steps into Lab A, I sharply suck in air. I halt because I’m making eye contact with him. Ohmigawd. Bryce looks so friggin hot today. He sits at his bench, the second back on the right, fingers playing in his butterscotch hair. Damn, he can wear the heck out of that school blazer and navy tie.

  Total sizzle.

  His gaze in my direction was so brief I’m sure he didn’t register my presence. But to look at those eyes again. I’ve only seen them up close once. First day of grade ten, this year. His first day at John Thomas High ever. I was at my locker and he asked me where his homeroom class was. Those eyes captured me and I couldn’t get a sound to come out. They are the kind of blue that shows all the details. Crystal surrounding a pupil. They have darker ridges that glide through, making both eyes different. Thank goodness I broke the silence curse and managed to point out the way to 12C. Just thinking about the way his lips curved left after he thanked me is enough to make my knees crumple.

  Did anyone notice that big sigh I made?

  I hug my books and keep my head down as I press on. Since then we haven’t spoken a word. Now I just sit behind him in science, two benches back, and keep eyes on the back of that beautiful head.

  My eyes close tight.

  C’mon, Brittany, try to look appealing.

  I shake my hair over my shoulders and jut my hips in a wider swing. I don’t dare look in his direction. But I hope… I hope he looks. The thought of him looking at me sends my palms into a raging sweat. Beads of sweat line my hairline and heat radiates from my face. I don’t notice the books are falling until they slide down my hips. My clammy hands can’t grip them, and SLAM, SLAM. I kick one notebook into a nearby bench and stumble over the open textbook.

  It’s hard to tune out the simmering laughter as I crouch to pick up my pens and books. I almost roll an ankle on the textbook when I reach for a sprawled notebook.

  “You know, hands can hold books, Matty,” Will calls out behind me. He laughs as he steps over me towards our be
nch. Some of the boys laugh louder at Will’s commentary. I don’t dare look if Bryce is one of them.

  “Want some help?” Rikki Hernandez folds over bent knees with a factory-made smile.

  I gather my stuff in a pile and stand up as casually as possible. “No thanks, I’m fine.” I brush down my blazer and straighten the stupid, mandatory navy neckerchief.

  “Ok everyone, pipe down,” Mrs Fields says, clapping her hands together. “Everyone at benches please. Miss Matthews, Miss Hernandez.”

  “Sorry Miss,” Rikki says and moves away from me.

  “Let’s pick up where we left off last lesson,” Mrs Fields says as she begins writing on the blackboard.

  I hurl my stuff onto the bench and plonk onto the stool. My neck is as loose as spaghetti. All I see is the navy and white tartan of my school skirt.

  “You ok?” Will asks, finally in a reasonable tone.

  I meant to say yes, but some kind of inaudible grizzle slid out through gritted teeth.

  “Dude, you dropped some books. Not the end of the world.”

  My cheeks burn. “I know!”

  Will throws his hands up in surrender.

  I rub my hands against my skirt, willing the clamminess away. My eyes form slits with a view of Rikki. She’s partnered with Bryce.

  Gawd, I hate her.

  Her sleek, chestnut hair glistens over her olive skin. I swear she’s trying to hypnotise poor Bryce with it.

  Give it up, lady.

  …Please?

  My cheek rests in my hand as I watch Bryce’s profile. Sure he’s talking to Rikki, but I can imagine it’s me sitting there. Calmness washes over me. It doesn’t last long when Rikki never shuts up. She’s the only person Mrs Fields let’s run her mouth. Easily the smartest person in our grade. Surely that’s not something Bryce is looking for. Is it?

  I’m pushed towards the bench when Will nudges me.

  “What?”

  He nods forward where Mrs Fields, and the kids in front, are staring at me.