Crushing by Genevieve Novak

Author:Genevieve Novak [Genevieve Novak]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460714768
Publisher: HarperCollins Australia
Published: 2023-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The lurching tram forced me to burp, and the dry, pink smell of pregamed rosé bounced back at me from my face mask.

‘I heard that,’ said Claud absently behind her phone.

‘Is the tram driver on his L’s?’ I asked with a grimace, pinching the fabric back to let fresh oxygen in. ‘I’m ready to vom.’

‘Hm?’

She wasn’t listening. I slumped back in my seat and sighed.

Getting south of the river was a pain, which was the excuse I used to never visit my mother, or go to the beach, or imbibe on seedy nights out on the decaying stretch of Chapel Street better known these days for bad coke than chic cocktail bars.

All cities divided by water did this, drew invisible lines and required its residents to declare a lifelong allegiance before rental agreements could be signed, but Melburnians acted like they invented it. Love couldn’t cross the Yarra, but bar tabs and increasingly complex grey areas could.

We were skidding and sliding through the city, bodies flooding the streets as people refused to let the bitter chill of fresh winter keep them from a good time. It was my first night out in weeks — weeks and weeks and weeks — and I still felt disconnected and isolated from it all. With Claud so often occupied, I was filling my nights with spin classes, elaborate and flavourless attempts at baked treats, messy at-home pottery kits that stained the courtyard pavement, and more time on the phone to Isaac than ever before.

I kicked my leg out in front of us to get her attention. ‘Do you think these boots were a mistake? I feel less like a gazelle and more like an undercover dominatrix. Which is a vibe, but . . .’

I felt especially overdressed next to her. Claud usually dressed like an overzealous fashion editor, favouring the story her outfit told over its practicality or comfort. She owned a metallic purple leather jacket, for goodness’ sake; what was she doing wearing a subdued black suit and a pair of almost-sensible yellow pumps? Where had all her zest gone?

‘Mm.’

‘How are you still texting him?’ I asked. ‘You’ve been glued to his face for a week. Honestly, what else is there to say?’

‘You’re in a bad mood for someone on their way to a party,’ she said. When she glanced up and saw my sourpuss, she made an apologetic face and slid her phone into her jacket pocket. ‘Sorry. There. I’m all yours. All night. Are you nervous?’

‘Why would I be nervous?’

‘Because it’s a big deal! You two have been living in this weird vacuum. Inviting you to a party means he’s bringing you into his real life. I — oh, is it his birthday?’

‘It’s his thirtieth.’

‘Oh.’

‘What?’

Claud paused. ‘He’s a male Gemini.’

‘I guess. So?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What?’

‘It just explains a lot.’

‘Did Persephone tell you that?’ I asked, barely managing to conceal my sneer. ‘Is she who you’re texting?’

Claud blew off the question and turned in her seat to face me, eyes alight with the thirst for drama.

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