The Great Between

Cupcakes and Plans

Max isn't answering my texts. I call her three times in a row and it goes straight to voicemail every time. Nothing has happened, I tell myself. She must just be busy. Her silence doesn't necessarily mean something bad has happened... but what could she be doing that she can't reply to me?

Gracie appears in my doorway and I jump as she clears her throat.

'Could you please stop yelling at your phone?' she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

'Max won't answer my calls.'

'Okay, but could you be stressed about that more quietly?'

'No?'

She rolls her eyes at me. When did she stop being a cute little kid and become such a teenager?

'So, go visit her,' Gracie says as if this is the next logical step.

'So, I can't because of the lockdown.'

'You can and you should,' Gracie says. 'As long as you stay outside and bring hand sanitiser and whatever, it'll be fine.'

I hadn't thought of that. Surely, it'd be fine, as long as we keep our distance. Surely.

I pack some snacks into my backpack and ride my bike over to Max's house.

As I ride, I tell myself over and over that Max will be okay. When I ring the doorbell, she's going to answer it and she'll hug me and pick on me for being so wound up about nothing. She'll tell me to drop my shoulders and she'll put my hair in braids that won't fit under my bike helmet and she will be okay. I remind myself over and over that Max is not her mother and this is not like that terrible day. This is just another afternoon in the school holidays and I'm going to catch up with my best friend.

I ride past the bookshop and the train station before cutting across the basketball courts at school and up the steepest hill in Illarra to get to Max's house, which is tucked in a leafy little dip in the mountainous road. Max's garden is so overgrown that when I rest my bike in the grey-green lawn beside the driveway, it is almost swallowed up by shin-deep leaves of grass that brush against my legs as I go down the path to the front door. The flowers by the garage are slumped and wilting and the big gumtree casts flickering shadows on the red roof.

I knock on the front door and listen for Max's footsteps. There is a soft shuffling sound inside. My phone beeps.

Max: Is that you?

'It's me,' I say aloud.

The door swings open and Max blinks up at me with glossy eyes. Her dark hair falls in tangled waves down her back and it looks like she's been wearing the same Impossible Strangers t-shirt for at least three days.

'How long have you been wearing that?' I ask, pointing at a stain near the neck.

Max looks down, brings a handful of fabric up to her face, and sniffs the shirt. She makes a face that suggests three days is a conservative estimate.

'I'm showing support for a local band.'

'You need a shower.'

'You're a delight, Stell.'

She closes the door with a huff and I sit on the front step to wait for her. She reappears wearing a different Impossible Strangers top.

'I know you like this album better,' she says, stretching the fabric to show me the swirling illustration.

'My argument was not with which album it was.'

'I know.'

She sits beside me and I can see the deep circles under her eyes much clearer.