Page 1 of Lesson Learned

CHAPTERONE

PAISLEY

The gold dressmy best friend Marnie lent to me is utterly divine. Shimmering gold fabric that moves like the world’s tiniest chain mail, lush and heavy. The colour is forever changing shades as it reflects my surroundings.

To wear such a beautiful garment makes me feel like a rich goddess. The only drawback is that, even at my diminutive height, it’s so short I need to tug at the hem to keep my arse hidden.

A task I perform for the dozenth time as I jump into the back seat of the Uber.

Marnie tumbles in after me, giggling, with a rush of colour lighting up her cheeks. Another friend, Brooke, makes a far more sedate entrance through the opposite door while Floss takes the passenger seat next to the driver, immediately turning with her hand clutching beside the headrest to check we all made it inside. “Where first?”

I’d be happy to suggest a name—somewhere without a cover charge—but the other girls don’t have my financial limitations and it’s Marnie’s turn to pick. We all look at her with questioning eyes.

“That new Bounty Club sounds good,” she says, hooking her arm through my elbow as she peers past me to judge Brooke’s reaction. It’s a nod, and Floss helpfully relays the address to the driver. We’re set.

It’s nine p.m. on the last Saturday of term break and we’re all in the mood to blow off steam with a drink and a dance before we have to drag ourselves to lessons again on Monday. Each of us is armed with our trusty fake IDs; the ones I’ll produce for anyone for a fee.

Not that identification will be a problem for me much longer. The day after tomorrow, I’ll officially be able to hand across my own one-hundred-percent-valid driver’s licence, having reached the exalted age of eighteen.

“Are you on the cocktails again?” I ask Marnie. For the past few months, any drink heavy on the cream and fruit has been my friend’s staple.

To my surprise, she shakes her head, pinching skin at her waist and looking disgusted. “James said I’ve put on a bit since we started dating, so I’m officially on straight spirits or sugar-free mixers for the foreseeable.”

I immediately blow a raspberry. James is physically attractive, but his insides don’t match that pretty outside and my friend deserves way better. Comments like these make me rage, especially because it’s untrue.

“He’s crazy.” I turn so I can poke her in her flat, flat, flat stomach. “You’re the skinniest girl I know.”

“Oi,” Floss says with a hint of annoyance that might be real. “We’re both right here, you know.” Her hand waves over to encompass Brooke as well.

My lips part, ready to apologise, then I close my mouth. Better to let her cool down from the imagined slight than express regret and end making things worse.

It’s the best option when sparring with Floss. From the moment we met, I’ve rubbed her the wrong way, landing straight in camp frenemy. But she was a threesome with Brooke and Marnie long before I arrived to make a foursome. I have to get along.

Marnie gives my arm a sympathetic squeeze and I flash her a smile to show it doesn’t matter. She might love us both individually, but she’s a weirdo collecting chalk and cheese.

I tried hard when I arrived at Kingswood College but have found it tough to fit in with these privileged kids who’ve been pandered to since birth. I walk a tightrope, trying to discern who needs praise, platitudes, and encouragement, separate from those who only want the truth.

It’s a difficult balance to fit in, to get it right, to be included.

Luckily, I knew Marnie from before. She’s the one who encouraged me to apply for a scholarship. We met at a debate tournament in year ten where our respective teams finalled against each other.

An enormous achievement for my lot just getting to that stage. An enormous disappointment to Kingswood, who wanted to trounce their nearest private school competition, not some public high school from the bottom of the heap. Even when we inevitably lost, we were still the better story, stealing their deserved limelight.

“You fit into my dress,” Marnie says now, wrinkling her nose. “So we’re at least the same size.” She scans me up and down. “Except it’s loose on you.”

“I’m six inches shorter. It should be loose on me. Way looser.”

I shoot her a worried glance when she shrugs, dismissing my argument. It’s true. I’m five foot nothing on tiptoes and still buy my shoes from the children’s section. Anything constructed for full-grown adults won’t fit, much to my eternal chagrin.

“James has his head up his arse,” I tell her. “He’s probably just read some book on negging and thinks he needs to tell you blatant lies to hold on to you.”

That prompts a burst of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Because otherwise the girl with gingervitis would dump the prettiest boy in school.”

“He’s not the prettiest,” Floss shoots back. “That’s Arnie. No wonder he’s such a total slut.”

I tense at the word, keeping my smile in place through sheer force of will. It’s a slur that’s been called after me far more often than I care to think about. Repetition should have dulled its edges but, if anything, the repeated refrain became more cutting with each blow.

But you’re not that girl anymore.

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