Early Summer, 2007:
It was clearance day, and the year eleven, twelve and thirteen students were free at last.
A year nine girl watched them sullenly through the classroom windows. “They’re so smug, aren’t they?” she said to her friend.
The teacher was droning on about something to do with light and its reflective something-rather, but he didn’t expect anyone to listen. There was only a week left of school and everyone’s attention span was shrinking into the seconds.
“I mean if I had an older sister, I bet she’d be telling me - right now - how much better she is than me.”
“That will be you, one day,” her friend replied, jokingly. “Wrecking havoc on poor, unsuspecting year nines. Running out of school gates and throwing your year thirteen text-books away.”
“You return your text books to the library, Zack. Or else you get fined.”
“I know. But that’s my point. By the time you’re year thirteen, you won’t care.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
“Because I know everything,” he said with a smug smile. She elbowed him and he stopped. He fiddled with his pen, and then decided to copy down the diagram on the board. “And because year thirteen kids don’t care about anything,” he continued.
She laughed. While Zack liked copying diagrams, Claire preferred doodling in the back of her book. “And I suppose you’ll be the Big Bad Wolf running the school in four year’s time?”
He feinted puking. “Please. Don’t make me sick. Popular kids disgust me. They think they’re better than you because they’re surrounded by their stupid posse.”
The bell rang and everyone started packing up for lunch. Tom looked at his watch. “Shoot. I have to go see Mr. Jay. Meet you after school by the bridge - in the park? I’ve got to tell you something.”
“You won’t be in English or PE?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Nope. I’m ditching,” he said, winking so she knew it wasn’t true.
“Is Mr. Big Bad Wolf coming out already, huh?”
He disappeared out the door.
Late Summer, 2011:
It hadn't been raining recently. But yet the bridge still bathed in a pool of orange water. Catching the warm, golden glow of the street lamps. Shimmering slightly as a slow breeze rippled across the waterfront. The moon stroked silver edges over the metal railing.
The lighting was perfect; and to Claire, lighting was everything. Her hands gripped it tightly, white from the cold. Adjust the focus. Peer through the lens. Index finger at the ready...
"Put the camera down, Claire. You’re not taking any photos tonight." The night stirred as a teenage boy unfroze from his thoughtful pose. His voice was soft, and seemed to belong to the night almost as much as the black ski jacket that cloaked him.
Claire's finger slid off the shutter-release. She reluctantly zipped the camera into the pouch she had saddled over her right shoulder. Footsteps splashed as she edged closer. "It would have made a cool silhouette," she muttered. Claire adopted his slouched pose over the railing.
Neither of the two said anything for a moment. Each staring down into the dark, swirling seawater below. Waiting for the other to break the silence.
After a long time, he said. "So that's all you do now? Take photos?"
Claire nodded. "That's not all I do..." she started.
She looked out across the harbour. Streetlights dotted the shoreline leading from Petone to Eastbourne. Although she didn't want to admit it, she did spend a lot of time thinking about photos these days. And angles. And lighting.
"I want to be a director," she continued. "Or a journalist. I'm not sure."
“Why a journalist? That’s not like you.”
She held her hands up in the air and spread them, pretending to conjure a bold title in the air. “It’s all about the story!”
she quoted TV3’s slogan. “And I want to hear them all. Maybe I want to tell stories. Like an Author. I want to write a
book one day…” her words distilled into the midnight air as she stopped talking.
There was silence, so she added, “Besides, you don’t even know what is like me these days.”
He sighed a heavy sigh. His breath escaped in a plume of mist. He looked down.
"So is that all you do these days, Wolf?" She elbowed him and he stiffened. "Wear a ski jacket? Win the Junior Ski Champs?"
"I don't wear it all the time," he said, getting defensive.
"School started two weeks ago. There hasn't been a rainy day yet, but every single day you've worn it. Don't you overheat?" She suddenly snickered. Smiled to herself. "Stupid question. Of course you do. But it reminds you of winter, doesn't it?"
He didn't answer for a while, and when he did he said only, "Yeah."
"Congratulations, by the way. Second year in a row. I don't think I congratulated you, did I?"
He scoffed. "I must have missed your telepathic e-mail." He didn't bother to raise his head.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she said, standing up straight and facing him. Impatience seeped through her teeth and leaked out into the midnight air.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just that you haven't talked to me in three years." His words stung her more than the cold pinch
of the salty air.
"You haven't talked to me either," she said bitterly. "So why should we start again now?"
He didn't reply.
"I'm sorry," she said after a while. "It's just – it’s late... and... Oh, forget it. I don't even know why I came. Why did you ask me here?" She stared at him, demanding an answer.
"I don’t know. I had a point to prove," he said, turning back out to view the harbour. He gripped his hands together. The knuckles shone white. Frothy peaks of waves swirled around beneath them.
“What? That I hadn’t changed my cell-phone number?” She was so angry that she wanted to storm away. But something stopped her from leaving. Taking deep, slow breaths, she leant against the railing once more.
"Remember that time in Mrs. Green's class?” she said suddenly. “We went down to the park to test the stream or something, and Matt managed to do a face plant into that muddy bank?"
He looked at her. "...And he wasn't allowed on the bus until he changed?"
"Yeah. And before he did, he somehow managed to give every girl in sight a big, muddy hug." She chuckled. "That was my favourite top,” she added.
"When was that? Year five?"
She nodded. "Eight years ago." She turned around and jumped up onto the railing. A combination of condensation and sea-spray that had settled on the metal soaked through her jeans. She wrapped her ankles around the bars. And leant back. Water splashed beneath her. She spread her arms and pretended she was flying.
“What happened?” he asked. “We used to be such good friends.”
She laughed, sitting up. "We used to talk to each other in public, you mean?"
“That too, but I—”
“Your last day of year nine.” She cut him off. Her voice dropped a tone. “When you went away on that ski trip with your parents. Then you started hanging out with Terry and James…”
“Was that the last time we talked? Really? Over three years ago?”
“At this very spot. Well, last time face to face, anyway,” she said, nodding. “But then we weren’t in each other’s classes, and I got the feeling that you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. What did I do wrong?”
“You changed,” he said slowly, thinking his answer through.
“No I didn’t. You did. You were always busy. And then you took off and left me behind.”
“What do you mean by that? I didn’t go anywhere. You were the one who ditched me for the art rooms at lunch.”
“You got better friends and better grades. You got into the NZ ski team. You got Excellence Endorsement before the
externals. You got everything you ever wanted.” She raised her voice. It felt good to be able to yell with no one to telling her to stop. “You got noticed.”
“Oh, and that’s my fault, is it?”
“That’s your problem. You think everyone blames you. You have no idea, do you?”
“That’s my problem? Everything’s my problem, is it? Well, you’re wrong. And you don’t even know how wrong you are.”
She jumped down off the railing and faced him properly.
“Because you’re always right, aren’t you? Because you’re the Big Bad Wolf now – Mr. Popular - and you know everything?”
“Stop calling me that!” he yelled. “You think this is some kind of joke? This isn’t what we laughed about as kids, Claire. You can’t predict the future.”
“This is exactly what we laughed about. You could predict the future. You were right. Things that were important back then; they don’t matter. Nobody cares anymore!”
“You don’t know how wrong you are,” he repeated.
“Alright, enlighten me. Tell me, Zack, what’s it like to become the very thing you despised so much?”
“Popular? I’m not popular.”
“You’re friends with all of the popular kids.”
“I’m not friends with them.”
“Well, they’re friends with you. And you don’t have any other friends you can hang out with.”
He paused. “I thought I might have had one…” He leaned back over the railing, rubbing his hands together against the cold.
She didn’t know what to say, so it was a relief when he spoke again. “Remember, in year ten, how that sixth former disappeared?”
Claire thought for a moment. “And at first they thought she’d been abducted…?”
“…but then they found out it was suicide,” he finished for her.
“Why? Did you know her?”
Zack continued to stare down into the black, swirling water. “No. Can you remember her name?”
“Jennifer something? Zack, why is this important?”
“Her name was Jessica Frank. No one knows why she did it. At least, anyone who does - who was her friend - doesn’t care anymore. They’re all twenty, now. University. Jobs. There are more important things.”
“Yeah, and? Why does this matter?”
“I thought she was stupid, when I was in year ten. It was a coward’s way out. Her parents would blame themselves. Her
friends would blame themselves. Her teachers… when someone dies, they leave a black hole that sucks the life out of everyone who knew them.”
“You didn’t even know this girl. Why do you care?”
“That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t. Neither does anyone else. No one misses her anymore. No one wishes she were here. No one cares. No one on this bloody planet cares about anything!” kicked a puddle of water and watched the droplets fall into the harbour below.
“Zack, you’re scaring me.” She reached up to touch his shoulder. To put her arm around him. Something inside her was as frozen as ice – colder than the air. Colder than the water below them.
He shrugged it off and moved away from her. He jumped up and sat on the metal railing, his back facing the harbour. Like a diver, about to lean back.
“They traced the currents. They think she did it at night. When the water was cold. From this bridge.” His voice sounded strange. Like he was fighting to get the words out. “She jumped into the water. Then swam. As far as she could.”
“Zack…?”
“She got tired. She got cold. She couldn’t breathe. And she started sinking…”
“Zack,” she said, approaching him carefully. “Think about all of your friends…”
“They’re not my friends.”
“And your parents…”
“I’m a failure. They disowned me.”
“You wanted to become a doctor. You wanted to help people. And Skiing?” she said frantically.
“I quit skiing. That’s why mum and dad hate me.”
“But you love skiing!” Tears were forming in her eyes, burning cold against her frosty cheeks.
“I don’t. I can’t. Not anymore. My parents love skiing. Not me.”
“Well, have you… what about… did you think…?” She stopped beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. She grasped his hand.
“It hurts, Claire.”
She looked up at him though her tears. The moon flickered about in the background as she blinked. The tears reduced him to a shimmering, blinking outline. She refused to believe that this would be the last time she ever saw her best friend.
His form shook, but she held his hand tight. “What does?”
He sniffed. “Everything.” He used his free hand to wipe away some tears. “I’m a faster swimmer than you, you know.”
She grasped his hand tight enough to cut off circulation. Then she let go suddenly and took a step back. “I’m taking a photo,” she said.
“What? Why? No, don’t…” he protested.
But she already had the camera out and was pointing it at him. She couldn’t see much through the lens, but it would turn out better on the computer. She clicked down on the shutter release.
“The lighting’s all wrong,” he said before reaching up to wipe away his tears. He tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a choke.
“Stuff the lighting. Screw the angles. I have a photo, now. So I’ll never forget.”
“Forget what?”
“Your story. Your name. You.” She returned to his side and wrapped her arms around his stomach. “I can’t believe I didn’t talk to you for three whole years.”
“I couldn’t believe that you don’t care anymore.”
“I can’t believe that you wagered your life on whether or not I changed my cell-phone number.”
His body shook. He chuckled slightly, but it sounded wrong. Forced. She looked up at him and he smiled. “I can’t believe you left the lens cap on.”
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