The Art of Not Breathing(30)

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. It’s not really any of your business where I go or who I hang out with.”

He walks closer, and I smell beer on his breath.

“No, but if you had an ounce of sense, you’d listen to me. Tay is not good for you to be around. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s reckless, and he probably won’t even be here for long.”

“He’s here to help you and your dad, you know.”

I feel myself getting hot, but I want to have my say—someone needs to stick up for Tay. Danny’s too close. I take a step back.

“Watch out,” he says sharply as he grabs me by the shoulders. For a second I think I’m going to tumble into the water, but then he pulls me to him. “You were too close to the edge,” he says.

“Christ, I can look after myself,” I say, releasing my arm from his grip. “My mum said you were odd—she saw you the day you dropped me home. She said you looked untrustworthy, and I think she’s right.”

Danny snarls. “That’s rich coming from her.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

I feel tears building up and quickly blink them away. I hate it when strangers say stuff about my mum when they’ve never even met her. Tay’s right: this is a small town.

He looks out across the bay and folds his arms. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just know that she’s had a few issues. Look, are you okay to get home? I can drive you if you want.”

“No,” I say. “You’ve been drinking.”

I make my way back down the wall and across the road. When I finally turn back, he’s still standing on the wall, and I feel a tickle in my throat. Tay’s kiss keeps me warm on the way back, but the nice feeling is tainted with Danny’s cruel words. Eddie stays quiet all night. He doesn’t want to talk to me.





11



THERE’S CHEWING GUM IN MY HAIR. A NASTY OFF-WHITE COLOR against my black mop of curls. In the toilets, I cut it out with scissors I took from the art cupboard, along with the curl it was stuck to. The first chance I get, I spit on the gum and slip it into Ailsa Fitzgerald’s bag. I get caught and have to spend lunchtime in the library under supervision.

Dillon is in the library too, doing a bit of last-minute studying before his Business Studies exam. He’s hunched over the desk with his head in his hands, and his pens are neatly lined up beside his notebook.

“What’s happened to your hair?” he says, grabbing the small tuft on top of my head.

“Ailsa and chewing gum.”

“Oh, that sucks,” he says.

I sit beside him. I don’t tell him that his amazing girlfriend watched the whole thing and didn’t do anything about it. I don’t even care, because there’s only one thing on my mind.

“I’m going to be a freediver,” I whisper.

He looks up and stares as though I’ve just told him I’m going to the moon.

“I’m going to fail,” he says.

I glance at his notepad. In his writing it says:

FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL

Each “FAIL” on the page is underscored heavily in red and black and more red. I grab the pad, rip the page from it, and screw it up. With the black pen I write on the next page, “I am Dillon. I am brilliant at everything.”

He tears off the part of the page I wrote on, scrunches it up, and puts it in his pocket. The detention supervisor tells me to sit in the corner.



After school, Dillon is himself again. His exam must have gone well, or perhaps it’s the relief of the first one being over. I’m glad mine haven’t started yet.

“What are you going to do about Ailsa?” he asks. “You should’ve done the same back to her.”

“I would’ve done, but I didn’t have any chewing gum. Anyway, I thought you were friends with her.”

“Not really. She just follows me about,” he says, then scratches his head. “Hmm. I might have a plan.”

He disappears into his room and comes back with a bag of something really rotten.

“Fruit,” he explains. “I forgot about it until there was a funny smell.”

“Thanks.” I step back and turn my nose from the stench. “But what do I do with it?”

I follow Dillon into the kitchen, and he wraps the almost-liquid fruit in several layers of foil and then puts the bundle into a plastic sandwich bag.

“Here you are. When you get near her, unwrap it and chuck it in her bag.”

“Okay, thanks, Dil. I didn’t know you were such a rebel.”

“Never underestimate the Dilmeister.” He winks at me, and I catch the sparkle in his eye, something I haven’t seen for a while.

I place the parcel on the table and my stomach growls.

“I wonder if Mum’ll let us get takeaway.”

“She called to say she’d be late.”

In the fridge I find only sausages and a half-full tin of ravioli. I can’t be bothered to cook the sausages, so I eat the ravioli cold, standing over the sink in case it drips.

“Want some?”

“No. You really are gross.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I say.

As I put the empty can in the bin, Dillon comes up behind me.