‘Then what were you talking about?’ Kanda demanded. ‘The weather?’
‘If he talks to you, do you think he’ll talk to me?’ Marija asked.
‘That’s not the way it works.’
‘Then will you ask him for me?’ she said, letting go of Kanda and clutching at my arm.
I’d been edging closer and closer to the stairwell, intending to mutter some excuse about going to the bathroom and then hiding upstairs. Fights end quickly if there isn’t any ammunition.
But Marija was holding on to me so tightly I was worried she might cut off my circulation. ‘That’s not how it works either,’ I said, trying to shake her off without seeming too aggressive.
‘Then how does it work?’ Rani said. ‘What exactly is your arrangement with him?’
‘I told you. I’m his sounding board.’
‘Yes, but you’re not his therapist.’
I finally managed to extricate myself from Marija and wrapped my cardigan tighter around myself.
Rani took a step to the left. ‘It’s not like you have doctor–patient confidentiality,’ she said, speaking directly into one of the shotgun mics. ‘Why can’t you tell us what he says?’
‘I just want to know why,’ Marija said, sniffling. ‘That’s all.’
‘I can’t break his confidence,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So he did say something about me?’
‘He didn’t. That’s the truth. I promise.’
‘Why should we believe you?’ Kanda said. ‘You just said you wouldn’t tell us what he said.’
‘Kanda,’ I said, ‘you can believe whatever the fuck you want.’
She glared at me. I held her gaze.
She broke first. ‘Come on, Marija,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you settled in. You’re lucky. They finally sent down some bunk beds today. You won’t have to sleep on the floor like the rest of us have.’
Marija let Kanda lead her upstairs. Rani and Samantha followed them, Samantha meeting my eyes and shaking her head as she walked past me. I didn’t respond.
When they were gone, my shoulders sagged. It was late. I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to go to bed.
But there was no way I was putting myself in the same space as the four of them. Not while they were still this angry.
Instead, I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and went outside. I sat on the verandah steps, burrowing as deep into my ugly beige nun cardigan as I could, and wrapped my fingers around my mug.
It was a clear night, so it was freezing, but the sky was full of stars. I gazed up at them and did some of my Jenifer breathing.Breathe out anxiety. Breathe in calm.
Ayo and I used to do this sometimes. We’d met in a group home when we were fifteen and had become allies fairly quickly (always a useful thing to have), but it wasn’t until we literally ran into each other sneaking out that we became friends.
‘What are you doing?’ she’d said to me.
‘I just needed to breathe,’ I’d replied.
‘Me too,’ she’d said.
It had been a silent ritual at first, sneaking out late at night to stargaze, but gradually, we began to talk. She told me her story. I told her mine. We tried to one-up each other with group home horror stories. We tried to decide whether or not the boy she was dating was with her because he liked her or because he just wanted to sleep with her. We discussed whether or not I should make a move on the boy I’d been eyeing off in my maths class (I should, we concluded in the end, because he was one of the few boys that actually looked you in the eye when you talked to him, instead of down your shirt).
When we became friends with Flick, after we’d been put together for a group science project at school, our sneaking out turned into official permission-granted sleepovers. We’d lie on a blanket in Flick’s backyard, her parents occasionally coming out to check whether we were warm enough and to bring ussnacks (which Flick always let us eat, like, ninety-five per cent of). We’d look up at the stars, and we’d talk.
