‘Come on, Princess,’ he drummed the basketball against the ground, wearing his constant smirk, ‘you have to admit it was funny. Bradley kissing the passenger seat while his date tumbles into the water? His ill-judged attempt at chivalry resulting in a mud-covered shirt and a girl scrambling away from him? Priceless! Best bit of all? His face when he realised that your white dress was see-through when wet —’
‘What?’ I screamed, looking down at my dress. The outline of my lacy white bra was plainly visible.
Hayden tossed me his jacket to cover up. ‘Mr Bradley-yes-I’m-a-sensitive-Sagittarius may say he focuses purely on the spiritual things in life, but I’d swear on my unblemished academic record that his mind was very much on physical things at that moment. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind.’
‘Enough!’ I yelled. ‘Listen here, Hayden Paris. This unnatural interest in my dating life? There’s a word for it — spying.’ I knew I must be turning red. I hated the way Hayden wound me up. It was like every time he opened his mouth, I completely lost it. ‘How would you like it if I made it my special interest to offer a running commentary on your dates?’
Hayden raised an eyebrow. ‘I have a basketball hoop here, remember?’ As if to prove his point, he sent the ball straight through the net. ‘How can I help it if I’m out here sinking a few baskets and accidentally witness your dramatics, using tonight as an example, exactly five metres away?’
‘Accidentally? Who plays basketball at 10 pm? You can’t even see out here!’
‘Your logic’s a little off tonight, Princess.’ Hayden sank another basket. ‘One minute you’re accusing me of spying on you; the next, you’re claiming it’s too dark out here to be witness to anything, accidentally or on purpose.’ He grinned, his impossibly perfect teeth showing.
‘Well, all I know, Paris, is next time you have a date, I’ll be sitting out here on the excuse of catching some rays at 10 pm, okay?’
‘I’m afraid you won’t have much opportunity,’ Hayden said. ‘I’m not dating at the moment. You could say I’m hyperaware of the dangers involved, both emotional and physical.’ He mimicked Daniel clutching his eye in pain.
I refused to respond to his mockery of my maimed date. ‘Well, the female populace is safe for now. Excuse me while I spread the good news.’ I gave him a little wave and turned and walked away with dignity. Well, as much dignity as I could manage with squelching shoes.
I was almost at my front door when he called after me. ‘Hey, by the way, Aurora? Your mascara’s not waterproof. Just thought I’d let you know.’
‘Arrgghh!’
I slammed the front door. I’d never get the last word with Hayden Paris.
Once inside, I stopped and did the covert listening thing, praying the NAD (New Age Dad) wasn’t home. As of right now, only three people had witnessed my date-turned-nightmare and I wanted to keep it that way. Luckily there was no sign of him.
My dad’s been going through a midlife crisis thing that involves (as he puts it) ‘a critical examination of my core values and the societal construction of my self-identity’. He told me this when I caught him destroying his interior-designed bedroom and office. He called it ‘freeing himself from baggage’, which seemed to involve tossing out a large number of personal belongings, including several Ralph Lauren jackets and some Tiffany & Co cufflinks. Thankfully I’ve been able to keep him away from the rest of the house. I mean, the minimalist look can be stylish, but the NAD’s taking it way too far. Since he stripped his office of all its furnishings, he’s been forced to do any after-hours work sitting cross-legged on a hemp cushion with his laptop perched awkwardly on his knees. Personally, I consider the laptop to be a complete contradiction to his new philosophy, but when I asked him about it, he muttered something along the lines of ‘the unavoidability of conformity in the modern world’ while his new CD played soothing whale sounds in the background. Conformity must be the reason he’s still wearing his Armani suits to work at the advertising agency, where he’s a creative director. I’m keeping my fingers crossed the changes are just a NADF (New Age Dad Fad) and everything will return to normal, including the décor.
Seeing the NAD was out, I could dash straight to the bathroom. As I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror, I let out an involuntary shriek. Without Hayden’s jacket, my dress was undeniably see-through, my modesty barely conserved by the sporadic sprinkling of the small pebbles and blades of grass I’d picked up in the puddle. The look was topped off by massive black rings around my eyes. I looked like a waterlogged panda.
When I stepped out of the shower, it was like I’d been on one of those makeover shows. Except it was the old me — sans mud and dishevelment — staring out from the mirror.
I generally try not to think too much about my appearance — okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I am a teenage girl (sixteen and six months to be exact) so a fair amount of my time is spent on grooming and choosing outfits. But I like to focus on my inner self and improve what really matters — mind, heart and soul. What’s the point of a fifty-dollar haircut on a fifty-cent head, right? I want to know who Aurora Skye really is.
That’s my full name, and it totally sounds like the NAD was responsible for it, but it was my mother who named me. She likes herself (her name is Avery) and anyone associated with her to stand out from the crowd. Despite the schoolyard teasing that inevitably comes with standing out from the crowd, I like my name. It means ‘dawn sky’, which sounds very poetical and inspiring. It’s also a great name for an author, which I plan to be. Lately, I’ve been thinking of penning a self-help book for teenage girls, since — as you can see from my sad example — our lives are fraught with peril, and the answers to our most important questions about love, life and meaning don’t get taught in school.
As I made my way up our thickly carpeted stairs to my bedroom, my presence was met with two meows.
‘Hello, my precious pumpkins!’
I picked up Snookums, my marmalade tomcat, and his purr motor started on cue. Bebe, my Birman, wrapped herself round my legs.
‘How are you guys doing? Has the day brought you entertainment?’
I worry that my cats, due to being left alone all day, may feel deprived of mental stimulation. I recently saw this great ad for a DVD with over three continuous hours of fish and bird scenes to engage the feline mind. I think it would fast-track Snookums’s and Bebe’s synaptic development, but I haven’t worked up the nerve to ask the NAD for something new at a time when he seems to be parting with just about all unnecessary (in his opinion) material possessions. I don’t want to interfere if he’s at the crux of self-realisation. Therefore, I’ve taken it upon myself to offer the cats some intellectual stimulation: i.e. talking to them as if they’re people. Last night I read them excerpts from a book about Einstein. It’s the least I can do to repay them because they’re just about better than anyone at the unconditional love thing.
Snookums (obviously not named by my mother) has been my pal since I was six. One morning I found this tiny bundle of orange fluff meowing his hardest at our front door. We were only supposed to keep him till he could be relocated (as my mum called it) but I wasn’t letting my furry friend go anywhere and begged until my mum agreed he could stay, ‘but only as an outside cat’. Snookums now sleeps in a satin-lined basket in my bedroom. Dad bought me Bebe when he and Mum split up. That was four years ago. One Sunday, Dad and I came home from bonding time at the mall and Mum wasn’t there. I figured she was at Yogilates or the beauty salon or something, but as we found out from our answering machine, she was actually in London. She said she needed to breathe.