The Accident Read Online Free PDF Page B

be awesome.’
    I never bother turning up to parties before nine or ten. Nothing happens before that, and it gives me time to say goodnight to Tash, wade through some of the homework we’ve got stuck with for the weekend, before getting myself organised.
    Dan Stevens’ brother is minding a house down in Coogee. Compared to Terry and Rose-Marie’s every house seems big, of course, but this one is genuinely huge. Only a street or two back from the beach. A white mountain alive with people and energy.
    When I get there the party’s in full swing. Light and sound pulse from a hired jukebox. Must be at least a hundred people. I recognise maybe a quarter of them, most from last year’s year twelve. Izzy sees me as I enter. Rushes over to grab my arm. ‘You look hot . Damn, I wish I was Asian, look at that little size-six butt.’
    ‘Half Asian.’ Presumably. Going by the mix of features. I mean it’s not like I actually know I’m a half-caste mongrel. Half-caste. Mongrel.
    ‘You got the good stuff, though.’ She tugs my arm. ‘Come into the kitchen.’
    Hot and tightly packed with people and laughter and talking. We squeeze our way through, not bothering to apologise. Score a few glances, the sort that travel up and down your whole body before they get to your face. One guy in particular, lounging against the wall with a beer. Doesn’t look away when I look back, eyebrow raised. Tall, too built to still be in school. Twenty at least and pretty good looking. I make a mental note and move on, feeling his eyes on the back of my legs as I follow Izzy into the kitchen.
    Somebody’s tried freezing vodka inside a watermelon and it’s turned into a pink vodka slushie. I down a few shots and then follow Izzy outside.
    This is what Izzy lives for; she’s the biggest slut I know. She’ll easily hook up with at least two different guys before the end of the night, and considers it her job to make sure I’m likewise provided for. ‘Not that you really need any help, looking like that,’ she whispers in my ear.
    There’s a slight breeze coming off the ocean, sharp and cool. It plays on my bare back, arms and legs while I make small talk. Let a few guys chat me up. I know what they want. But it gets cold, and Izzy’s busy with some guy’s tongue down her throat. I slip away unnoticed, back inside, where the lights are still strobing. The vodka’s hit me and I take careful steps. Don’t want to stack it in heels, don’t want to wobble like a drunk. Squeeze through the crowd in the main living area, everything loud, flashing, moving. Looking for somebody I know. Another huge room, but quieter. Away from the jukebox, calmer without the lights. It’s well decorated, expensive, but impersonal. Rose-Marie’s taste. Potpourri. Rose-Marie-pot-pourri. God, I sound off my face already.
    ‘Hey.’
    The guy from before. Still easy and confident. Comes up to me and sticks out his hand. ‘Nick.’
    As I shake it I know exactly what I’m signing up for. ‘Eliat.’
    ‘Elliot?’
    I spell it for him. He nods and fetches us both a beer. Touches my hand as he passes it to me.
    ‘You’re freezing.’
    ‘I was outside.’
    ‘Did you bring a jacket?’
    ‘I’ll be right.’
    It gives him an excuse to shift closer, anyway. Small talk for a few minutes, movies and music. I play along. It doesn’t take much thought. It always pans out pretty much the same. He gestures to the group in the corner passing joints. Hand at the small of my back, fingers hot on my skin. Gentle nudge forwards. ‘Come check it out.’
    The potheads are giggling. Nick takes the jay as it comes around and inhales. Offers it to me with a grin.
    God, how unoriginal. I ignore the offer and reach out to the centre of the circle and draw the baggie and box of roll-your-owns closer. Cool and deliberate, like I don’t know everybody’s eyes are on me. Pack, roll and seal, quick and methodical. Look up. ‘Lighter?’
    One-handed catch and the flame flares up