Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ H ow was it?” Lucy, my best friend, my only friend, asks me before I can even get the door to my shithole of an apartment closed.

“Argh, don’t ask,” I groan, throwing my bag on the floor before throwing myself on my tan second , second-hand couch.

“Come on, Shar, it couldn’t have been that bad,” Lucy says, handing me a glass of ice-cold prosecco—a bottle she brought over. Because I know I don’t have luxury items like that in my fridge. No, I have the essentials and nothing more. Milk, bread, and a crapload of two-minute noodles fill the otherwise empty pantry.

You learn not to be too picky when you’re only earning minimum wage. This was not part of my five-year plan. I should be in college. I should be halfway through a degree that was going to get me over the poverty line—or borderline poverty anyway.

“I should just learn how to dance. I’d make more money in a gentleman’s club in one night than I do in a whole week at the grocery store,” I suggest. “It’s obvious I’m not going to get any kind of decent-paying job or even just a decent job.” I close my eyes, resting my head against the back of the couch. “I can’t even get an internship.”

“Okay, that would be a stellar plan if you didn’t have two left feet and absolutely no rhythm about you at all.” She laughs. “You know, I know people who know people. I could make a phone call and…” Lucy stops her sentence at my well-practiced death glare being shot her way.

How we became best friends still confuses me; it’s the total opposites attract theory. Where she’s all Victoria’s Secret supermodel tall with blonde locks deserving of a shampoo commercial, bright-blue eyes, and natural double Ds, I’m more on the shorter side of life with dull mousy-brown hair and C-cup breasts at best. My eyes are what I love and hate the most about my body; they’re a dark-green, almost emerald colour.

My mum used to tell me that they were unique, that the eye colour we shared was a rarity amongst the human population. I loved that I had that in common with her, seeing as the rest of my looks came from my father’s genetics. Or so she told me. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met him. He left us before I was born and my mum could never find him again.

Bringing the glass of sweet bubbles to my mouth, I swallow the contents in one go—my attempt at numbing the pain in my heart. Memories of my mum are like a knife stabbing me over and over again. All they do is serve to remind me that she’s gone.

“Okay, hear me out,” Lucy pleads as she refills my glass. “I know you want to do this all by yourself and be the independent woman. Blah, blah, blah, but…” She pauses.

I roll my eyes. I already know what she’s going to say. So I hold up a hand to stop her from continuing. “I don’t want to be your charity case, Lucy. I won’t be your charity case.”

“It’s not charity. Honestly, you’d be doing me a huge favour.” She smiles.

My eyes narrow in on her. “How? Please tell me how you getting me a pity position somewhere using your family’s connections is going to be helping you ?” I laugh. I really can’t wait to hear this one.

The thing about Lucy, though, is that the woman could sell water to a whale. She has the gift of gab, and I’ve definitely let her talk me into my fair share of trouble in the five years we’ve been friends.

“I was forced to take a job while I’m on break from uni, but it’s like a really shitty job. I don’t want to do it. I actually couldn’t think of anything worse than working the summer away in some office, answering phone calls and scheduling meetings. But… you could take the job for me. No one will even know it’s not me. You keep the pay; I keep my holiday plan of sleeping in till noon and partying all night.” She smiles like she’s just come up with the solution for world hunger.

“Okay, first of all, nobody will ever believe that I am you. You’re on every tabloid there is. And second of all…” My sentence trails off. I don’t have a second of all .

“Fine, don’t pretend to be me. I’ll call the company and tell them I can’t make it and that you’ll be filling my role. It’s only for twelve weeks, Shar, and besides, it will give you something to pad your resume with at the very least.”

“What company is it?” I ask warily. Lucy’s family is one of the wealthiest in Melbourne. They’re practically Aussie royalty. With her connections, it could be any number of places.

She stands abruptly. “Shit, I forgot I have a thing. I’ll send you the address. Be there on Monday morning at eight. Don’t be late. I’ve heard the boss is a real grumpy asshole who hates tardiness. Personally, I think he’s got a stick up his ass, but the pay is great.”

Before I can question her any further, she’s picked up her bag and is out the door. I have the sinking feeling she’s just talked me into something I’m going to regret. But what other options do I have?

I’ve had two hundred and thirty-three job interviews in the past six months. At this point, I’m not sure why I’m even still trying and haven’t given up. I promised her —that’s why. The last thing my mum made me promise in the days before she died was that I wouldn’t let my own life be any more derailed than it has been. She made me promise that I’d enrol in university, get my degree, and live out my dreams.

I promised her I would try. And try I have. The problem is they’re not handing out scholarships to twenty-year-olds who’ve taken a two-year sabbatical.

I don’t regret it. I would do it all over again if I had to. Though it’s not like there were any other options. We were all each other had, my mother and I. When she got sick, I didn’t hesitate to defer uni for twelve months. Those twelve months passed and she wasn’t any better.

One and a half years. That’s how long I had to watch her slowly die, watch the one person in the world who loved me unconditionally, who had more belief in me than I deserved, disappear. I wipe at the tears leaking down my face.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I’m trying. I really am,” I whisper into the silence. I don’t know what else to do. Without a decent-paying job, I have no chance of being able to afford my tuition. I’m enrolled to start next year. I’m not sure I’m going to make it though.

Maybe I do need to let go of some of my pride and accept Lucy’s help. It’s just so hard. I don’t want to be that friend to her. One of the ones who only ever sees her as an opportunity for social-climbing. For more status. I know she’s insecure about people only liking her for her family’s money.

Except that’s not me. We met on the first day of tenth grade. I got into that snotty, elite private school on a scholarship, of course. I knew as soon as I walked through the gates I didn’t belong there. Didn’t fit in with all the rich, overprivileged, spoilt brats filling the halls with their designer labels bought using Daddy’s money. I wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip through my fingers though. I worked hard, studied my ass off to earn my chance at a better education. I deserved to be there just as much as any of the other kids.

Let’s just say my over confidence and willingness to tackle the new experience didn’t help me at all, when the mean girls of Hunterview Hills Academy came for me that very first day. I was cornered against my locker as they mocked the poor scholarship kid. That’s when I met Lucy—technically, it was the first time I was saved by Lucy. She stepped in front of the group of girls, her hands firmly planted on her hips. She didn’t say a word, didn’t have to; she just stared at them. And they all walked away with a huff. I remember how she turned around and introduced herself:

“Hi, I’m Lucy, probably the only decent human being wearing this shitty brown uniform. Well, that is until you stepped in here. Now I’m assuming they’re two of us… in this shitty brown uniform.”

“Um, I’m Shardonnay, but you can call me Shar. And how do you know I’m decent?” I asked.

“I have a sixth sense about these things.” She smiled a huge, bright smile.

From that day on, we’ve been inseparable. I do owe her a lot, and although I don’t fully believe the crap she made up about having to take this job, I will try to fill it so she doesn’t have to—on the off chance she’s telling the truth.

I just have to figure out what I’m going to wear. She said it’s an office job. Crap, the jeans and shirts stacked up in my wardrobe are not going to cut it. Picking up my phone, I type out a text to Lucy.

Me:

What do I wear on Monday? I don’t have officey clothes. Maybe you should just do the job.

Her reply comes in a minute later.

LuLu:

I’ll come by Sunday. We’ll go out and have lunch and sort out your wardrobe.

Argh, I throw my phone down next to me. It’s Friday. I’m working a twelve-hour shift tomorrow at the grocery store. The last thing I want to do on Sunday is go shopping for clothes I can’t afford to buy. Which means I have twenty-four hours to either come down with a deadly, communicable disease or find a way to tell Lucy it’s a definite no-go.