Page 17 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Six

Walking down Main Street on Saturday evening in full costume wasn’t the best idea. I’ve been tooted at three times within the space of a few minutes. Each beep I swear takes weeks off my life. I guarantee the blush on my cheeks is as red as my cape.

Given I live only a kilometre away from the community hall, and I plan to have a few drinks, walking is the best option.

It doesn’t take long before the small community hall is full. There are hordes of people from local businesses that have supported the event as well as people I went to school with. Even though my parents aren’t here, I’m a daughter of this town. There’s barely a face I don’t recognise.

Almost everyone has taken the superhero theme and rolled with it. As much as I thought I would stand out like a sore thumb, I don’t. The band of four men on stage, who appear to be in their forties or fifties, are playing “Jesse’s Girl”. The singer isn’t really my taste, a little old for me, but the guitarist is the standout of the group.

A circle of five girls move around the dance floor, occasionally breaking contact with each other to eye off the crowd, no doubt on the hunt for eligible bachelors.You won’t have any luck around here, girls. Not unless you want a desperate toothless farmer who is looking for a cook and a maid rather than a partner-in-crime.

I stroll up to the long trestle table at the side of the entrance, which has tubs of ice filled with stubbies of beer and an assortment of champagne and wine.

“Glass of punch, Jane?” Mrs Campbell, my year-twelve teacher, asks, pointing to the old-fashioned crystal bowl at the far end of the table. “Family recipe.”

What a turn this is. Now retired, Mrs C manned the table at our graduation, making doubly sure that only those that were over eighteen partook in the alcoholic beverages.

I take a look at the fruity concoction which is filled with cut strawberries, mint, cucumbers, and sliced lemon and orange. The liquid is a light amber colour, which leads me to believe it’s a Pimm’s-style punch.

“Need to see my ID first?” I ask, tongue in cheek.

She laughs softly, reaches out, and touches my shoulder. “Not necessary. You are Wonder Woman, after all. Let me fix you a glass.”

I pay her and take my plastic wine cup filled to the brim, and scan the room, soon finding the girls at a table with six chairs. Each of them sips on a glass of bubbles with the attention on Leonie.

“Hey girls,” I say, drawing them all out of conversation.

Hannah turns in her chair, also dressed as Wonder Woman. “Hey, Jane. I almost didn’t recognise you with the wig!”

Looking in the mirror before I left home, I had noticed how the dark wig made my face look much paler compared to my normal golden-brown locks.

“Same here,” I say looking over her made-up face. With brows like hers, she looks incredible. She’s straightened her frizzy brown hair into a long, smooth style, curled slightly at the ends, similar to my wig. She looks a lot more put-together than she was the other day. “I probably should have mentioned the outfit I was going to wear.”

“I guess we all should’ve messaged each other,” Hannah says. “Oh well, who cares? It’s about the hospital anyway. Besides, this town needs more Wonder Women.”

“You look great,” Leonie says, toying at the strap around her neck which fastens a black hooded cape. She has a black tank top on underneath, matching leggings, and a gold belt which cinches her waist. The hood frames her made-up face, and her lips are painted black. She looks hot, no doubt about it, but I have no idea who she is.

“Who are you?” I ask Leonie. As I take a seat, my red plastic boots squeak and rub up against the chair leg.

“Raven,” she says and smiles.

“Oh,” I say, like I know who she is. “Awesome. You look great.”

“Before you ask, I’m Storm fromX-Men,” Britt says, touching her fair hair which is piled high on top of her head, almost like a groomed Mohawk. It’s fairer than normal, as if she’s sprayed white hair colour on it. From what I can see of her from behind the table, a black bustier top hugs her slim body, and she’s wearing silver fabric guards on each of her forearms like the gold ones I’m wearing. Just like Hannah, she looks so different to last time. She looks like a fierce woman no one would want to mess with.

Janice isn’t in costume. Her hair isn’t as tamed as it was last time. She’s in another cardigan, this one a pale green. The collar of a light pink shirt pokes out around her neck. Whilst it’s disappointing she hasn’t dressed up, it’s not surprising.

When she glares at me, I realise I’m staring. “Hi, Janice—”

“Before you ask, I didn’t have time. I’m knee-deep in edits. I really shouldn’t even be here. I have so much work to do.” She knocks back the last of her drink and checks her watch, mouthing something to herself as if counting how much time she’s wasting.

“Well, there’s bubbles and punch here. Nice to take a break?” I squeak, hoping that puts a smile on her face.

It doesn’t.

Maybe she should have stayed home. She won’t have much fun with that attitude.

“Great turnout,” Leonie says and smiles.

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