Page 10 of Unnecessary Drama

‘Oh yeah. We had pizza and pre-drinks at Ruby’s before we came, and she has a bunch of these onesies because her school had an animal-themed muck-up day, and we put them on as a joke, and then we thought, why not keep wearing them, you know, I mean, when you think about it, why do we, as a society, even wear clothes, they are just a social construct,’ Sophie says.

‘Sure, sure, that makes sense,’ I say.

‘We are no longer going to conform to society’s arbitrary, bullshit “beauty standards”,’ Ruby says. ‘Well at least not tonight. I do have to look good tomorrow morning in case that cute barista is working at the coffee shop.’

‘Fuck society and fuck society’s expectations,’ Justin says, vigorously fanning his hot face and unzipping his suit a few more centimetres. ‘But yes, that barista is hot. You should wear that cute skirt you just bought.’

‘Oooh yes,’ Sophie says.

‘Can I get you all a drink?’ I say.

‘We’re good. We brought our own. And we drank quite a bit at home,’ Sophie says. She has the soft, gooey eyes of an emotional drunk who’ll start crying later.

‘Oh wait!’ Ruby yells. ‘I forgot. We brought you a onesie too!’

‘Yes,’ Sophie says, clapping her hands, and together they rummage through a grubby bookshop tote bag filled with clinking bottles until they pull out a bundle of cheap, fluro yellow material with a flourish.

‘Ta da!’ Ruby says. ‘It’s a chicken!’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I hold it in my hands and consider what to do next. I am touched and pleased that they thought to include me, but the chicken suit looks pre-worn and I have no faith that Ruby has washed it since someone from her school might have worn it last year. Also, it’s a chicken suit.

‘Put it on,’ Jesse says gleefully from behind us, where he has apparently been listening to everything from the couch with great amusement. That makes me determined not to put it on.

‘It might not fit,’ I say. I think I see some sweat stains on the fabric.

‘It’s one size fits all,’ Ruby assures me.

‘You don’t have to,’ Sophie says kindly, touching my arm. ‘You look quite sober.’

‘Yeah, what are you drinking?’ Justin says. His hood has fallen forward and the stegosaurus eyes are goggling at me.

‘Oh nothing. I mean, nothing right this second.’

‘You need to catch up. Someone get this girl a drink!’ he shouts.

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, no you need a drink.’

‘I’m fine, truly.’

‘It’s your party. You have to drink.’

‘I will, I will,’ I say.

I lead them to the corner of the room, where there are two beanbags. They recline on them and laugh and throw their legs over each other with a comfort that makes it seem like they’ve been friends for years. When we all first met in class, they asked me what school I went to (the first question everyone asks in every single class, I discovered) and when I told them, they all nodded politely, having obviously never heard of it. They went to big Melbourne private schools, and had mutual friends and experiences and jokes, because Justin’s ex-boyfriend was friends with Sophie’s sister and Ruby had hung out with Justin’s best friend one time, and they had an instant built-in scaffolding for their friendship. They were a threesome and I was an outsider from day one.

I perch awkwardly on the edge of one of the beanbags, still holding the chicken onesie, now folded neatly, in my lap. Do I sit with them for the rest of the night? Am I in charge of them, like a babysitter or a parent or, let’s be generous, a fun, young aunt? I’m starting to think I would actually feel better if I was wearing the onesie.

Jesse comes over, holding the Polaroid camera that Harper told us was for taking photos of the party. That she insisted we use and take lots and lots of pictures.

‘We’ll put them all over the fridge,’ she said. ‘It’ll be our house’s thing!’ She’d tried to take a photo of Jesse and me, but we both backed away.

‘Let me get a picture for the fridge,’ Jesse says to us now. I am immediately suspicious that he’s making fun of me, even though his tone is mild and friendly.

He holds the camera up and Ruby, Justin and Sophie pose in increasingly silly ways against the wall, completely at ease in their costumes and with each other and the world, giggling joyfully at half-jokes that make sense in their drunken minds, and I am filled with an overwhelming desire to be part of the group. Or part of Harper and Penny’s group. Any group. I wish for anything other than what I have: my three new sort-of friends laughing uproariously while I hover anxiously to the side.

I think of Lauren saying to me once, ‘But don’t you want to let go? Don’t you want to unclench, just once?’