The Gaps by Leanne Hall (young adult books to read .TXT) 📗

palm needs watering, no one has stacked the dishwasher since yesterday, and nothing has changed at all in the world. I met a sex criminal, I yelled at a rapist and still everything is exactly the same.

‘I hurt my hands.’

I hold them out towards her. I’ve grazed both of my palms, close to my wrists.

‘Oh, sweetie, how did you do that?’ Mum gets up straight away.

‘Tripped and fell over.’ I have the vaguest memory of stepping off the gutter near Stockton station and flying, sprawling across the asphalt and bouncing up again.

‘Upstairs,’ says Mum and I follow her to their ensuite, where she washes, disinfects and bandages my hands. Her touch is cool, her presence soothing.

‘Mum, can we do delivery tonight?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ she says and she lets me wear her slippers and dressing gown because somehow hers are so much softer and more comforting than mine.

DAY 58

I start Term Four locked in a toilet cubicle, the mature and reliable technique I used heavily in my first few weeks at Balmoral. Looking down at my hands, I can literally see the work I did on the holidays: paint under my fingernails, irritated patches from the glue, a tiny cut from my scalpel. I had to take a 7 a.m. bus here this morning, dragging my clunky artwork with me, and I’m already exhausted.

The illusion of bathroom calm holds for one moment, but then I picture the bell ringing at the end of form assembly and thousands of girls spilling into the corridors, funnelling up towards the Great Hall for all-school assembly. The entries for the school art prize, including mine, have been hung in the main corridor along the outside length of the Hall.

Everyone that enters the school will see them.

I spent the weekend in a frenzy of collaging, making a frame around my photo that hopefully gives some context to the piece. Adut recommended I look up a German artist called Hannah Höch, who used collage to comment on gender issues and criticise the government. It was just the reference I needed, so I put my doubts aside and went for it. I’ve used newspaper snippets about missing women, shreds of Devil Creek episode descriptions, excerpts from one of Mum’s crime books and a dozen tiny cut-out clones of me in my school uniform, standing or crouched, looking inside at Natalia.

I’ve called the piece Someone’s Watching, because the words seemed like they held a few different meanings.

My phone buzzes. Three guesses who that will be.

Where r u

Your photo is getting some love

I wash my hands and leave my haven. The corridors are still full so maybe the first bell hasn’t even rung yet. I make my way to the main corridor and try not to think about vomiting all over my shoes.

To my surprise there are already quite a few girls looking at the paintings and sculptures and hanging costumes. Many of them hold the green voting forms for the students’ choice award. It’s a bigger deal than I thought it would be.

Natalia and her friends are easy to spot, clumped at the end of the hallway. Somehow I don’t think of them as The Blondes anymore. I wonder if she told them that we hung out on the holidays.

‘Chloe! Yours is so good!’ Lisbeth appears next to me. ‘It’s very intense.’

‘Oh. Thanks, Lisbeth.’

I feel a rush of affection for her.

‘I never thought I’d say this, but Natalia almost looks like an angel.’ Lisbeth glances around. ‘And I know she’s not.’

She looks guilty, as if she’s said something really mean.

I smile. ‘I know what you mean. Maybe she could be a fallen angel?’

‘Yes, you’re so right!’ I’d forgotten that when Lisbeth gets excited, her curls actually bounce up and down, for real. She’s so sweet, it’s ridiculous. I missed her on the holidays. ‘Hey, maybe I’ll see you in the quad at lunch today?’

‘I would love that! And I’m definitely going to vote for you, Chloe. You can count on me.’

Lisbeth drifts away and Natalia pretends she doesn’t see me coming towards her but I know she does. I wonder if she expects me to apologise for disappearing from the Park ARC exhibition. I don’t feel like apologising, even though I probably should. She did completely neglect me that night, but it ended up being helpful.

There’s a semicircle of space in front of my photo. Sarah, Ally and Marley say hello, which is about the most I’ve ever gotten from them. Sarah and Ally are both deeply tanned.

I stand next to Natalia and dare to look. It’s one of the biggest pieces on the wall.

‘What do you think?’ It occurs to me that the photo is an exposure of sorts for her as well. Maybe she’s more comfortable with that than me, though.

‘I had no idea you were going to do this extra stuff.’

Natalia leans in to inspect my collage. An eternity passes. I was so rushed getting it done that I didn’t have time to judge if it worked. I’d rather Natalia tell me the truth than lie. I still think she looks great and otherworldly in the photo, even if the lighting isn’t perfect.

‘Of course I’m insanely jealous that you’re so talented,’ Natalia says eventually. Her face and voice are uncharacteristically flat.

‘Are you sure you like it?’

Light slants through the high windows, striking Natalia’s face at an odd angle. She’s pale, and there are blue marks under her eyes. She doesn’t look like someone coming off the back of two weeks holiday. Then again, I probably look equally pasty after spending all my time in Dad’s shed.

‘It’s great. I like it. I look good for a dead person.’

‘Or asleep,’ I remind her. ‘Hibernating attractively.’

‘I wish I could believe that,’ she says.

Sarah pushes Ally into position and takes a photo of her looking at me looking at Natalia, which is so many levels of meta I can’t even figure it out. I’m still not convinced that Natalia isn’t mad at me for