Yellow by Megan Jacobson Read Free Book Online

else is. The dance floor is so empty I’m surprised tumbleweeds aren’t blowing past.
    It’s social suicide to dance at these things – the only reason anyone ever goes is to check out everybody else and be looked at themselves. We all cluster around the edges of the hall and preen and pose and bitch about what everyone else is wearing. Except me, of course. Nobody listens to me anyway, and I try to make myself as small as possible. It’s not hard, I still get asked for ID to get into the local swimming pool where you have to be over the age of twelve.
    Tara’s crimped her hair and is scanning the room intently with her blue-mascara’d eyes. She clutches the top of Cassie’s glitter-dusted shoulder. ‘Don’t look now, but there’s Damien Salter by the left speaker. Pinch me now, he’s such a babe!’
    â€˜Your wish is my command,’ Cassie smiles as she digs her painted-pink fingernails into Tara’s arm. Tara yelps.
    The music shifts from an 80s ballad to pop and a couple of kids from The Challenged Group make their way onto the dance floor as ‘Don’t Speak’ by No Doubt starts playing. They’re swinging their limbs with an awkward enthusiasm, like they just don’t care at all. And they don’t. There’s something so liberating about having no social status to lose. The girls in my group divert their attention from Damien to sneer at them.
    â€˜We can add “rhythmically challenged” to the list,’ snipes Cassie.
    Tara readjusts her boob tube and rolls her eyes at the dancers. ‘As if you’d wear something that short with those legs. Like, seriously, thunder thighs.’
    â€˜Watch out for lightning!’ laughs Sasha, then she shifts her weight so that her own perfect pins are properly on display.
    Tara taps her on the shoulder and points to the edge of the crowd. Willow Parker has pushed through and she’s slinking over to the middle of the dance floor, right underneath the mirror ball.
    Lou curls up her lips. ‘Here comes the girl who’s had more balls in her mouth than a hungry hungry hippo.’
    Willow just stands there for a moment, completely by herself, with her eyes closed like crescent moons and the light from the mirror ball sweeping over her. Then the DJ ramps up the beats and she starts to move. Slowly at first, like the music is whispering to her, then she throws her whole body into dancing. Her hair tumbles into her eyes and a small, quiet smile plays on the edges of her lips. All the kids from The Challenged Group are mimicking the latest moves from
Video Hits
, but Willow moves in her own way. She owns it. I get a pang of jealousy, the way she can move like that, completely unselfconsciously. Completely unlike me.
    Sasha and Tara are clutching each other watching her, their faces twisted into laughter.
    â€˜What a space cadet. I can’t even think of anything more embarrassing. Nothing,’ hoots Sasha.
    She doesn’t have a very good imagination because the embarrassment stakes are about to go through the roof.
    Damien walks over to our group and Cassie thrusts out her breasts but he only gives them a brief glance as he beelines to me.
    â€˜I think your mother’s lookin’ for ya.’
    He gestures with his head to the front entrance, where the silhouette of my mother is leaning heavily against the doorframe.
    Oh my God.
    Her hair is wild, in a sloppy, puffed-out yellow bun, and she looks like a stick of fairy floss, propped against the door like that. I race outside and she’s collected a circle of amused, slouchy teen smokers around her, the ones coming back from sneaking a cigarette in the car park. They’re storing away her slurred anecdotes to use when they need something to laugh about at school next week. She steps away from the door to punctuate whatever tall tale she’s telling with those exaggerated sort of hand movements perfected by the