“Let’s delete each other from our phones.”
“Now?” I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.
“Yes, on the count of three.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Otherwise we’d never stick to it. I know I won’t.”
“Okay.”
“Ready?”
I nodded.
He began to count. “One . . . two . . . three.”
I pressed the delete button on his contact page and looked to see that he had done the same.
“You know, I’m really glad I met you, Audrey,” he said, putting his phone away.
Tears began to well up in my eyes. I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“I just wish I had met you sooner,” he continued.
“I know.”
“Maybe one day we’ll end up at the same campus, like what Lucy said. Things might be different then.”
His words gave me a sense of optimism. It sounded like a dream, studying at the same campus as Rad, seeing him every day. And it wasn’t unrealistic. If I did well in my exams, I could be there next year.
“I like the thought of that,” I said.
Six
I brought a bottle of Pinot and a small yellow cactus plant to Candela’s housewarming party. I had stuck googly eyes on the cactus and made him a tiny paper top hat.
“He’s sensational!” Candela declared holding him out for everyone to see. “I’m going to name him Reginald.” She set Reginald down on a nearby coffee table and introduced me to the guests. There were a handful of people I knew, and I guessed the rest were friends of the punk flatmate on the account of all the piercings and tattoos. “Ramona!” Candela called out to a girl who was coming down the hallway. She grabbed my arm. “Come and meet my friend Audrey.”
Ramona wasn’t her real name. It was Sheila. She had always hated the name, so on her eighteenth birthday she walked straight into the registry and changed it to Ramona. “Look at me,” she said, her large, expressive eyes boring into me. “Do I fucking look like a Sheila?”
“Not at all.” I meant it—she looked every inch a Ramona.
“What was your name again?”
“Audrey.”
“Audrey—?” She tilted her head to one side and studied me carefully.
“Field.”
“Oh, nice,” she said approvingly. “Audrey Field sounds like a writer’s name. Like Charles Bukowski or Virginia Woolf. It’s almost like they were preordained. Do you write?”
“Not really.”
“Yes, she does!” Candela countered. “She rarely shows her work to anyone, though.”
“Well, you’ll be a writer; mark my words. You have the name for it,” she said with an assertive nod. “Although I knew a guy named Brady Leclair. Sounds hot, right?” she asked, looking at us for confirmation. Candela and I both smiled agreeably. “Well, sorry to disappoint ladies, but—” she stuck her fingers in her mouth and made a gagging noise. “Absolute troll and personality to match. Great name, though. I’d fuck that name.”
“Ramona’s a riot,” Candela said, “but Ally is a real bore.” We were sitting outside, on the patio steps, while Candela had a smoke. “I don’t think I’ve seen her at all tonight.”
I tipped my head up toward the inky black sky. It was a beautiful, clear night, and I could see the cluster of stars that spelled out Sagittarius, my mind projecting the outline of a centaur, arrow poised and ready to launch. I thought about Rad and wondered whether he was thinking of me.
“No one ever sees her,” Candela said. “She’s always in her room, with her head in a book. It’s a Saturday night, for Chrissake.” She shook her head. “Anyway, looks like Lucy is still a sick puppy.”
“I spoke to her earlier. She sounded awful. I can’t believe that flu is still going around. Duck couldn’t get the night off because there are too many people off sick.”
“Oh God, I hope I haven’t caught it. I missed my flu shot this winter,” Candela moaned. “I literally cannot afford to get sick anymore.” She stuffed her cigarette butt into an empty can of Asahi and fished around in her jacket pocket for another one. “I went for a job interview the other day. Beauty assistant.”
“Beauty assistant?” I looked at her amused. “You?”
“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “The pay wasn’t too bad.” She held the cigarette between her lips and lit it before taking a drag. Tilting her head up, she blew out the smoke, a little at a time. “The lady who interviewed me was so fucking weird, though. I mean, she made me peel a hard-boiled egg.”
“What?” I said.
“Yeah, for real. She went off in the back room and returned with this sad-looking egg and told me to peel it.”
“And did you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she laughed, “but I butchered it. The whole thing was a mess. Then she pressed her hand to her forehead like this—seriously, Audrey,” she continued when she saw my incredulous look. “She basically said in this whiny bitch voice, ‘Our clients have very delicate skin, and what you just did to that egg’—then she closed her eyes and shook her head like she was so disappointed.”
“She had such high hopes for you, Candela,” I said, laughing.
The door opened suddenly, and Ramona burst out from behind it. “What are you cocksuckers doing out here?” she shrieked. She was off-balance and clearly wasted. “Dex is getting ready to paint up my tits; you’re missing out on all the fun.” She pouted.
“He’s a body painter,” Candela explained, seeing the look of confusion cross my face.
“A bloody good one too,” Ramona drawled. “But first I’m going to give him a lap dance.” She began swaying her hips suggestively, looking dangerously unstable. “Not that it’s gonna do anything for him. He’s gay as fuck.” She hooted with laughter just as someone called out to her from inside the house. “I’m coming,” she called. “Hold off on the orgy ’til I get inside.” She shot us a lascivious wink, then blew a kiss in our direction. “Don’t be too long, bitches.” With that, she turned, slamming the door shut. I looked at Candela and raised an eyebrow.
“Mum can’t stand her,” she said. “Thinks she’s a bad influence.”
“I wonder why she would think that,” I said under my breath.
Candela grinned. “Don’t be a smart-ass, Audrey. Ramona can be a little wild, but she’s really nice once you get to know her.”
“How is your mum coping with you moving out?” I asked.
“She’s pretty pissed about the whole thing,” said Candela. “Especially with exams coming up. Anyway,” she stretched her legs out and sighed, “I’m thinking of quitting school.”
“You’re what?” I said, alarmed.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“But Candela, school’s over in a few months. You might as well stick it out.”