Fragile Monsters by Catherine Menon (novels for students .txt) 📗

‘You know they never found some of the bodies, don’t you?’ Tom says. ‘After the San burnt down? Some of the loonies escaped and set fire to the place. And they’ve never caught them.’

I stare across at the burnt-out San. I don’t believe Tom, but I’m not going to say anything. One time he waited after school and hid behind the surau to jump out and scare Peony. He never tries to scare me.

‘Don’t be silly.’ I sound prim and stupid. Tom rolls his eyes.

‘I’ll do it,’ Peony says suddenly. ‘I’ll cross on the banyan roots.’

The roots stick up from the water like witch’s teeth, and I shudder. She gives us both a wink, aimed exactly between us, and bounces out of the car. She makes it look easy, jumping from one root to another with her pleated skirt flying and her socks slipping down. She’s wearing a friendship bracelet on her wrist made from red wool, and I’m wearing the other. Friends for ever, that means.

Tom gives me a sideways glance as we watch her. A smirk sneaks in around the side of his mouth.

‘She’s showing off, isn’t she?’ he says.

I giggle. Peony is showing off, sleek hair glinting in the sun as she stands on one leg and sucks at a mosquito bite.

‘Locks on the gates!’ she calls, cupping her hands around her mouth. Nothing moves.

‘I don’t know why girls always show off,’ Tom says, looking at me hard. ‘I suppose they think boys will like them more.’

I chew at one of my nails – I bite my right forefinger, just like Peony; we’re always the same – and giggle again. I’m not sure what to say.

‘Perhaps – I mean, I don’t know. I’m sure you’re right.’

‘I’m sorry I called you a goody-goody. You’re not, Durga. You’re …’

He reaches out and twines his fingers around mine, pulling my hand down from my mouth. His other hand creeps up onto my knee, then inches higher. My legs are bare and brown in the hot sun, and Tom seems suddenly very close. I can smell his sweat, his disinfected insect bites, the cologne he buys from the sundry store.

‘Hey!’

Peony bangs on the windscreen and we jump. Her face is screwed up into a scowl and she looks cross; really cross. Tom whips his hand off my leg and edges away from me along the seat.

‘When you’ve quite finished.’ Peony climbs back into the car, banging the door shut.

She’s in a temper, tugging on the seatbelt that Mr Harcourt rigged up for the backseat. She snaps it around her waist with a vicious click and drums her fingers on the window glass.

Tom and I look down at our laps, awkward and quiet. I can feel sweat springing from my armpits and trickling down my stomach. Peony, with her skirt rolled high and her milky legs swung up on the seat, looks daggers at us in the mirror. I pluck at my friendship bracelet.

‘It’s your turn, Peony,’ I say in a small voice. ‘For Truth or Dare?’

She takes a deep breath and pushes her hair back. The seatbelt pulls her shirt tight against her chest and her skirt falls back down her thighs. Tom’s eyes meet hers in the rear-view mirror and neither of them moves.

‘All right … Tom. Truth or dare?’ she says.

‘Dare.’ Tom’s voice breaks. He coughs, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and Peony smiles.

‘Kiss whichever one of us you like the best,’ she says. ‘Me or Durga.’

‘Peony!’ She doesn’t look at me, just lies back with a lazy stretch of her legs.

‘Go on, Tom,’ she says. ‘Choose.’

I sneak a glance at Tom. His jaw’s clenched and his eyes are bright. I force a big smile onto my face.

‘Brilliant, Peony! Go on, Tom, you have to choose.’

He wipes his mouth again and locks eyes with Peony in the mirror. Without breaking his stare he reaches over to me. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me next to him. My bare legs rip off the hot leather seat. I yelp, and then giggle but neither of them looks up. Tom lifts me half onto his lap, with the brake lever digging into my legs. He lifts my head, his eyes still fixed on the mirror, and touches his lips to mine. His mouth is soft and sticky with Vaseline. He tastes of the pandan cake we ate on the drive here.

It’s me! I want to shout. I want to break away from Tom and laugh at Peony’s stunned face – See, Peony, it isn’t you, it isn’t always you – but Tom’s not even looking. He’s staring over my shoulder into the rear-view mirror. Even as his tongue flickers to mine, he never once looks away from Peony.

I wriggle loose and my leg pushes against the brake lever. It creaks and grates down a notch. Tom shifts too, and then the car begins to roll forward.

‘Tom!’

He snatches at the steering wheel. The car turns, lurches again and starts to tilt. Two side wheels sink down over the bank as he pulls at the steering wheel.

‘The brake! The brake!’

We both grab for it together, pulling upwards, but it’s too late.

‘Pull it harder!’ Peony screams, but we’re already teetering on the edge and sliding sideways. A banyan root thuds against my window, smashing it, and the car topples over. We smack into the muddy water with a giant slap. Tom and I cannon against each other and I can hear Peony screaming still. Tom’s shouting too, and I’m pressed against the upside-down roof. I can’t see anything but mud, slopping halfway up the windows. I kick my legs out and grip the edge of the shattered window. We’re completely underwater now, my face is hurting and my lungs cramp and spasm. It’s cold, I think irrelevantly; who would have thought this swamp could get so cold? And then another kick and I’ve pulled myself out through the window opening. From here, it’s almost