Page 15

Phoebe

Then

The tropical air hits our faces as soon as we step out of the airport.

It’s a different feeling from Sydney, where the sea was just a note on the horizon.

Here, in Cairns, the proclaimed gateway to the Great Barrier Reef, it’s the first thing you notice.

The air drips with moisture, every breath salt tipped.

Energy buzzes through me, and I grasp Claire’s hand in mine.

She shoots me an excited smile. The last few days have been magic.

We traipsed through Sydney behind Nick Gould and Hari, taking in the opera house, the botanical gardens with their screeching birds, and the downtown barracks that held the British convicts who later came to inhabit the country.

Then we spent a full day in the Blue Mountains, hiking, visiting small mountain towns, taking a cable car to the summit.

But, despite what Nick said, this wasn’t really an educational trip.

Every night included a stop at either the Nottingham Hotel, which we made our local bar, or a downtown nightclub.

And most of those ended with me stumbling into Kyan’s bed.

The only drawback, aside from Nick—who seemed to be avoiding me after our awful confrontation—was the willowy blond South African that no one asked for: Adrien.

She lingered whenever I was around Kyan—which was pretty much all the time—like a bad smell. And the worst part was, Kyan would lap it up.

I’d catch them exchanging looks at something Nick Gould said before devolving into laughter or see Adrien’s mouth pressed against Kyan’s ear at the nightclub, trying to tell him something over the thrum of the bass.

It had turned into something of a competition that I had no interest in playing.

But at the same time, I knew I was winning.

It was me he was taking to bed at night, so suck on that, Adrien.

But with every victory, the attacks continued.

Dirty looks shot at each other, words muttered just out of earshot. A cold war on the brink of explosion.

I don’t know if it would bother me so much if Kyan was interested in anyone other than Adrien.

But the fact that it’s her, with her mean girl energy and her unwavering confidence, brings me right back to my freshman dorm.

The girls who talked openly about me as if I wasn’t even there.

Who wrinkled their nose when I walked by.

The overly loud whispers that greeted me whenever I walked into a room.

Did you hear what she did?

I have been trying to ignore Adrien as much as possible, appreciating instead how close the rest of us have become.

It only took a matter of hours really. By the time we left the bar that first night, we were a family, the only dependable thing we could cling to in a country where everything was foreign.

And there isn’t anyone I’m closer to than Claire. Ever since that first afternoon back in our Hamilton dorm when we talked as I applied her makeup, we’ve been inseparable. We’re always laughing over something. Despite her meek first impression, it turns out the girl has a sneaky sense of humor.

We were out the other night when a guy offered to buy me a drink. Kyan was in the bathroom, and I made a point to let the guy know I wasn’t interested.

“Bitch,” he muttered as he walked away.

That word, that one word was all it took. And suddenly I was back there, in front of him, his hot breath on my face.

You’re just a little bitch. No one will ever want you.

I felt myself crumple, my knees going weak.

I moved to grasp the bar next to me to keep upright, but I missed.

I was certain I was going to collapse, when at the very last minute, Claire was there next to me, concern strong in her eyes.

She grabbed me, held me up, ordered me a water.

She didn’t ask what had happened. I guess my expression made clear I couldn’t talk about it.

Instead, she just said in her soft voice, “It looks like he has a small penis anyway.”

And just like that, the memory dissolved into peals of laughter.

“This way,” grunts Nick Gould now, leading our group laden with suitcases and excitement in the direction of the shuttle bus he claims will be our second home for the rest of the trip, transporting us between all our future destinations.

We leave the airport and head down a highway that wouldn’t look out of place back in Atlanta, until we exit onto a boulevard with a distant sighting of the ocean.

Just as I think we’re headed in that direction, the bus makes a sharp turn down a four-lane road, bisected in the middle by parking spots and a smattering of halfhearted landscaping.

Souvenir shops, tattoo parlors, and kiosks advertising reef diving and jungle adventures line both sides of the street, with a vibe vaguely reminiscent of a childhood vacation to Myrtle Beach.

The bus pulls up outside a large open arcade decorated with a cartoonish orange sign labeling the building as Gilroy’s Hostel .

We leave the bus, grabbing our suitcases as we exit and dragging them through the open arcade, past a vast space that apparently serves as the restaurant and nightclub, the sight of which brings a smile to my face.

We continue, drawn by the lure of a crowded pool towards the back of the building, before Nick Gould gestures us into the heavily air-conditioned hostel lobby.

“You’ll be sharing two rooms. Guys in one, ladies in the other. Four beds per room. Hari and I will each have our own,” Nick orders after he’s secured and distributed our room keys. “Now, get ready and meet back down here in twenty.”

My head snaps up, and I can tell instantly I’m not the only one disappointed by this news.

“I thought we had the night off from educational events,” Josh pipes up.

I steal a glance through the lobby window to where dusk is settling on the street, the screech of birds from the fig trees growing more prominent as the sun sneaks closer to the pavement.

In the minutes since we arrived, I’ve already planned out a perfect night: drinks by the hostel pool in the back, followed by barhopping up the boulevard, hopefully culminating with Kyan and me stumbling into bed.

Drinking—which had seemed so new and foreign when I first arrived—has now become a regular part of my time here.

It’s a nightly fixture, a respite after all our cultural activities during the days.

And I find myself counting down the minutes until that first sip of liquor settles in my stomach, when the confidence I need to fake during the daylight hours will start to come naturally.

The hangovers that arrive the mornings after are a small price to pay.

“You thought wrong,” Nick tells Josh. “Twenty minutes. And dress reasonably. No high heels or tight skirts or any of that shit.”

“Athletic clothes,” Hari clarifies helpfully, with a mischievous wink.

***

Twenty-five minutes later, after I’ve deposited my suitcase on one of the creaky bunk beds in our four-person dorm room and rushed to change, we’re all back on the shuttle. Twilight has fallen on the city, casting the boulevards in a low glow.

Nick and Hari still haven’t told us where we’re going, and our earlier disappointment at a wasted night of, well, getting wasted, has lightened, replaced instead with a feeling of suspense that buzzes through the rows of the bus.

Josh, who’s sitting with Declan in front of Claire and me, props his elbows on the back of his seat and turns to us.

“I swear, if Nick pulls an evening educational experience out of his ass, I may need to hitch a flight home tonight,” he says, softly enough so Nick can’t hear.

But Hari, who’s a few rows ahead, turns back our way, that same glint in her eye from earlier. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Josh. I think you’re going to like this.”

Declan turns, and I catch him share a glance with Claire, who blushes as she usually does any time he turns his attention on her. It’s clear there’s something there, some chemistry, but neither one has had the courage to make a move, despite my not-so-subtle prompting.

“Maybe it’ll be somewhere romantic,” I propose. Declan catches the wink I shoot his way and smiles, while the red in Claire’s cheeks deepen. God, these kids.

A few minutes later, we’ve left the city, the evening darkening around us as the pavement and buildings are replaced by lush green. We’re entering the jungle.

“What the…?” Claire mutters, reflecting my thoughts.

It’s not long until a sign appears, dimly lit among blooming gum trees, beckoning visitors with only two words: Sky Adventures .

Nick takes this as his cue, standing as the bus continues to roll up a stark incline.

“You were promised adventure on this trip, and here you have it. This is one of Australia’s most popular bungee-jumping destinations.”

I instantly feel Claire tense next to me, my own heart rate accelerating to match hers. Sure, bungee jumping sounds cool and adventurous—in theory. But now, as an enormous, multistory stairwell that looks far too unstable to hold actual people looms into view, it seems more than a touch insane.

I can tell we’re not the only ones on the bus having second thoughts. The excitement from earlier has devolved into anxious giggles or, in Tomas’s case, a white face and pure silence.

There’s little conversation as we pile off the bus and run through the required logistics. Signing disclosures, forking over identity cards, getting weighed on a giant scale. And then it’s time.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Claire says quietly as we stand at the foot of the stairs.

“Yes, you can,” I whisper back. “You’re stronger than you think. And this thing looks sturdy enough. Plus, I dare you.” I nudge her side jokingly. “You have no choice but to accept.”