Nine Letters Long by J.C. Burke

life.
    â€˜It’ll get cold later this arvo,’ Robin tells her. ‘You got something to keep you warm?’
    Evie throws a black woollen scarf around her neck. ‘I’ll be home before then, unless I can be squeezed in at the hairdressers. I badly need a trim. I’ve definitely got a mullet happening.’
    â€˜Do you want me to ring them?’ Robin offers.
    â€˜No, don’t worry.’ Evie’s not sure how long this’ll take. But the hair excuse will buy her more time – if she needs it. ‘I’ll just drop in there on my way home. See what happens.’
    â€˜Well, let us know if you’re going to be later than you think.’
    â€˜Okay, Mum.’ She pecks her mother on the cheek. The open display of affection still makes her feel awkward. ‘Bye, Dad.’
    â€˜Where’s mine?’ Nick points to his cheek. Kissing her father has always been easy. She blows him a kiss and sets off.
    Off to the Venus Cuza Ladies’ College of Modelling and Deportment.
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    At least Evie knows exactly where she’s going. She sits on the bus wondering what on earth she’ll say to Paris. Evie is certain Paris knows something. What, Evie can’t begin to wonder, but, whatever it is, she senses it’s worse than she could ever imagine.
    A multitude of thoughts swim round her brain. Evie can almost hear them swishing and colliding.
    How will I start the conversation with Paris? I hope Mum didn’t suspect. What will I do if Nora’s there? Will I be able to run in these slippers? I shouldn’t have worn them. Bad move. I wonder if Victoria’s called the oldies again – no, she wouldn’t without telling me first. Would she? Three more stops. Just say Paris isn’t there. Just say she tells me to piss off. I hate lying to Mum and Dad but they’ll freak out if they know. Is this always going to happen? I wish I was someone else. Ooh, nice jacket that guy’s wearing. How embarrassing, he just saw me checking him out. I like your jacket, not you, mate. Oh my god, we’re almost there. Shit, what’ll I say, what’ll I say?
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    The Venus Cuza College stands alone on a corner. On one side of the street, shops and cafes buzz along with a spring Saturday morning in Sydney.
    The smells of coffee, freshly toasted bread and bacon fat seem like they’re coming from a different world. Couples hold hands, a mother chases her toddler down the street, and a table of friends lounge around enjoying their fry-up. Evie watches them, wishing she was one of them.
    But Evie’s place is on the other side of the road where no sign or sound of life exists except for a man in white overalls painting a sign at the front of the college. Evie walks towards the building, her beaded slippers scuffing along on the pavement. She counts her steps – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight … The painter turns around.
    â€˜G’day,’ he says. His accent sounds like the man’s she met at Victoria’s. ‘Sorry, you want to get past?’
    As he steps away from the entrance, Evie sees there’s a long set of stairs leading to another glass door.
    â€˜No, no, it’s okay,’ Evie answers. ‘I’m, um, waiting for someone.’
    The man looks at his watch. ‘The girls won’t be down for a while. Why don’t you go up and wait?’
    â€˜No … I’ll … I’ve got stuff to do,’ Evie tells him. ‘What … exact time do they finish … again?’
    â€˜Twelve-thirty.’ He swirls a fine brush in a tiny tin of paint. ‘My daughter’s up there,’ he grins. ‘She does the Saturday class. Loves it.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜I’m just doing a job for the owners. Nice new door and all.’
    â€˜Uh huh.’
    â€˜Vandals smashed in the old one the other night. Glass everywhere.’ Carefully he draws a line on the glass with