Imaginary Amity

Chapter fifteen

Expecting to see something similar to the television incident, I walk in. There's no father standing in the doorway, shaking with fury, no groundings, and no punishments. What happened to Dad?

I slowly make my way inside, throwing my purse on the counter, phone and all. "Dad?" I call out. "I'm home."

No response.

Making my way over to David's room, I get the chills. Where is everyone?

Playing it safe, I grab my phone and dial triple zero, keeping my finger above the call button as I slowly tiptoe closer. With my free hand, I pick up the butter knife lying on the bench. "Hello? Anyone here?"

I grab David's door handle, and in one swift motion, I whip it open.

"Hey!" he yelps, slamming his laptop shut and jumping up from the bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

I lower the knife pointed at him with ease. "I-I thought there was a thief or murderer...or something, inside." I wince at how stupid it sounds.

He laughs. "And you were going to do what? Make him a sandwich?"

I narrow my eyes. "And you were doing what? Watching porn?" I retort. He flushes and makes a face. "No, I wasn't!"

This is the first time I'd seen David uncomfortable, and it makes me laugh out loud. "Sure."

He just shakes his head as if I'm acting childish. "Why are you all dressed up?"

I realise now he hadn't really noticed a thing about my change. Why would he? He hadn't noticed the layers of makeup, my new clothing style, nothing. I shouldn't be surprised, though, I turn away towards the door, then look back at him again. "And Olivia wants her clothes back." Smirking, I leave before he can say a word.

I settle into my bed with my phone, checking the notifications. Earlier today, I posted a picture of Jax and me in the movie theatre. Already there's heaps of likes and comments, all of them good. Everything's turning out to be just fine, and if I could go back in time, I wouldn't change a thing.

"Carrie! How are you?" Miss Callani says to me, taking a break from strolling around the room and eyeing everyone's worksheets.

I beam at her. She's always just so sweet. "I'm good, thanks."

"Are you feeling better?" she asks, referring to the throwing-up incident. I wince at the memory, ignoring the pink blush crawling up my cheeks.

"Yeah, thank you, I'm much better," I clear my throat. "Probably just a virus."

She gives me a small smile, as if knowing the real reason, and says, "Don't let them get to you, Carrie. You're better than that." Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm not.

I shake my head vigorously. "Oh, I'm fine, no-one's bullying me or anything."

Again, she gives me that knowing half-smile and strides away to sneak behind someone who's not doing the work.

I wonder about the double meaning behind her words. Bullying? It's somewhat embarrassing to admit to a teacher – but she won't be thinking that after I join the other dancers. I grin. The audition is after second period, today. I didn't get time to practise over the weekend, but I decided to wing it. I must be good, if I got an audition, right?

The excitement stays with me as the rest of first period flies by and before I know it, the bell rings and its lunch.

When I reach my locker and open my lunch box, I groan. I guess I'm going without food today, or I'm eating David's margarine/avocado/jam/grape sandwich. I know. It's revolting. Chucking it in the bin, I head to our usual spot, underneath the big tree.