Five Parts Dead by Tim Pegler Page A

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U: STANDING INTO DANGER
    With the backpackers’ music blaring across the paddocks as Pip and I talk, it’s all too easy to step back into memories of the night I’ve tried to forget…
    The uncool crowd arrive earliest at parties. The God-botherers. The nerds. The non-drinkers. Those with particularly anxious parents or curfews or both. First in. Always the first to leave.
    Mel and I were in the moderately-anxious-parents group, dropped off a smidge after nine. Mel couldn’t delay them any longer but, after a virtuoso debating performance, she’d negotiated a later than usual wind-up time. Mum and Dad were due to collect us at one o’clock.
    I didn’t even make it to eleven-thirty.
    The gamers were milling in a greasy knot beside the chips and drinks table, lost without their cable connections. The stoners were huddled behind the barbecue, hoping the smoke would mask the odour of their weed. Nick Laziridis and his Year 11 buddies were doing bombs into the pool and trying to coax girls to join them. No chance.
    Those whose mates hadn’t turned up yet did the tumbleweed thing, rolling from one cluster to another, looking for a groove to slip into or someone who hadn’t heard their best party jokes.
    Mel’s mates were on the back verandah, gossiping, shrieking and sipping fluoro cocktails some scientist was mixing inside. As for me, Boris had planted a beer in my hand the minute I turned up. I sipped it, reluctant to drink it.
    â€˜Keep up, man!’ That was Carlo, urging us all into team drunkenness. He was kidding himself; Boris could drink a six-pack without even getting wobbly on his feet.
    One sip and I took my chance to wander off and watch for a while.
    I’d never have admitted it to Mel but I was actually waiting for someone. Sarah Hansen. Aaron’s sister, Bianca, was on a scholarship at Swanston Girls’ College and had spread the word about the end-of-year party. Sarah was one of Bianca’s mates.
    I’d had a crush on Sarah since we met at an inter-school cross-country run last year. Number of intelligible words spoken to her since then? Exactly seven. There was the super-suave ‘Gidday’ in the cinema foyer, the piss-weak ‘Hi Sarah’ at a careers seminar and the gut-wrenching, ultra-clumsy opening line at a party: ‘So, are you still running?’ Her response to that one is branded into my brain—a withering glare that indicated she didn’t recall cross-country running, let alone meeting me. Then one of her friends brayed an answer for her: ‘She’s running now.’ The pack of them screeched with laughter and glided away, leaving me crimson with humiliation.
    But I was willing to risk the same fate once again, for a glimmer of encouragement from those hypnotic blue eyes.
    There was no sign of any SGC girls. They were all way too cool to turn up early.
    I wandered through the house. There were kids already flopped on couches. A couple nodded hello. A few gave me dirty looks as if questioning why I’d scored an invite in Year 10. I wondered what Mum and Dad would say if we asked to host a party. Fair chance the phrase ‘no way’ would feature in their answer.
    Aaron beckoned me over to the corner of the lounge. I shook my head, nodded ‘catch you later’ and kept moving. He had Lucy Hyphen-Something on his lap and was unlikely to be doing much chatting.
    Moving outside, I perched myself on the front verandah, dangling my legs over the edge. As I picked at the label on the sweating beer bottle, I dreamed of what I might say to Sarah.
    â€˜Hey Dan. Can I join you?’ Pip squatted beside me before I could answer.
    â€˜Hi Pip. Sure.’
    She swung under the railing to sit beside me. ‘Not in the party mood?’
    â€˜Nah. Just chilling. I’m still wiped out from cramming for that Economics exam. I just feel like kicking back for a bit. How about