I return my gaze to her. ‘I thought he only had one mood.’
She laughs at that and leans on her locker. ‘Everyone’s going to Trent’s place at Whistle Beach on Saturday night. You should come.’
I tug at the corners of my gladwrapped sandwich. ‘You know I don’t go to parties.’
‘I know your religion has rules and stuff, but you’re eighteen—an adult. You can legally decide for yourself if you want to come hang out with me, right?’
I swallow. ‘Right.’
‘If you don’t want to, that’s another matter entirely.’
Of course I want to, but I’m not supposed to associate with people outside the religion. ‘No’ is my automatic response to the few party invitations that come my way. It’s the right answer every time. Most people in this town figured out years ago not to bother asking, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to go just once. It’s not a birthday party, after all, or part of any pagan celebration. It’s just a simple get-together.
This is the lie I tell myself.
‘It’ll be the last party until exams are done,’ she adds. ‘You could get ready at mine, and we could go together. I’ll see you through the entire thing.’
It feels a lot like Satan extending his hand right now.
I’ve never been to a get-together outside of those organised by our congregation, where people gather around the piano and sing kingdom melodies and discuss their field service successes.
‘Pray continually, so that you may not enter into temptation’—Matthew 26:41.
‘I really can’t,’ I say. ‘But thanks for the invite.’
She searches my eyes, then nods. ‘I think I’ll keep asking, in case you change your mind.’
Donna’s telling me how she watched Titanic with Sister Kelly on Sunday. They ended up turning it off because of the love scene in the car.
The urge to roll my eyes is strong. ‘I watched it. You don’t even see anything,’ I say, picking at the soggy lettuce in my sandwich.
‘The fog on the windows was very suggestive. The hand sliding down the glass was the final straw for Sister Kelly.’ She tears off a piece of sandwich and flattens it between her thumb and forefinger before popping it into her mouth.
I place mine down on the gladwrap and look across the oval to where kids are disappearing into the trees. ‘You missed the best part of the movie if that’s where you stopped it.’
Donna tears off another piece of her sandwich. ‘Let me guess. They hit an iceberg.’
That might have been funny coming from anyone else. I nod in the direction of the trees. ‘Do you think there’s a fight happening?’ The clearing between the school and the golf course is a common place for airing grievances.
She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder and squints in the direction of the trees. ‘Probably. I saw Mason Clarke throw an apple core at Sammy Carter earlier. No idea why. Hunter stepped in, always the guard dog. Then Mason said something about Hunter’s dad being a drunk and his mum dying of embarrassment. A moment later it was on. Mr Petros separated them, but it was fairly obvious they weren’t done.’
I’m stuck on the part where Mason told Hunter his mum died of embarrassment. Hunter’s mum died of breast cancer six years back. She had fought hard for three years before it spread to her lymph nodes and lungs. ‘You think it’s a fight between Mason and Hunter?’
Donna shrugs. ‘Hunter’s always looking for an excuse to clock someone.’
I pick up my sandwich and toss it into the bin. ‘I’m going to wander over.’
Her eyes widen. ‘What? Why?’
It’s a reasonable question. ‘To see what’s happening.’
‘You can’t leave the school grounds without a lunch pass.’
‘The whole school is leaving the grounds right now.’
Donna stands up. ‘They’ll be fighting.’
I start walking because I know she’ll continue all day if I don’t. ‘I’ll see you later.’