Euphoria Kids Read online

  They wave at me. I gasp.

  When they’re on the bus, they stop and hover. ‘Can I sit next to you?’

  ‘Of course!’ I move my bag off the seat.

  ‘I have the same,’ Iris says as they pull a rose quartz out of their pocket.

  I laugh in surprise, I can’t help it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Maybe they see faeries too, if they can see me. There’s something about the stone, maybe the way it shimmers, that makes me think so. In this town, anything could happen.

  ‘I like your hair,’ I say. It’s cute, cut into a bob. They have a nice face, sharp cheekbones, soft eyes.

  Iris screws up their face. ‘Thanks. Your jacket is cute.’

  Sometimes I feel like my jacket is armour. I put patches and badges on it, keep away people I don’t want to talk to. When they can see me in the first place.

  Though it’s not part of our uniform I never get in trouble for wearing it at school, even when the teachers can see me. I’m not sure why.

  I smile. ‘Thanks.’

  After we go to our separate homerooms, Iris is in science class. We’ve been in a few of the same classes for a couple of years, so I don’t know why they can see me all of a sudden. And I don’t know if they’ll be able to see me again. As I sit next to them, I concentrate very hard on being opaque.

  They smile at me. ‘Hey again.’

  ‘You use they pronouns, don’t you?’ I ask. ‘I heard a teacher mention it.’

  ‘I do. You’re a she, right? Because of the patch on your jacket.’

  I nod, warmth travelling up my limbs. Someone noticed.

  The teacher clucks her tongue at us. ‘Enough chit­chat, you two – you’ve got to get this done by the end of the lesson or we’ll have to meet up at lunchtime.’

  I smile to myself. It’s not every day the teachers can see me, though I never get marked down as absent or missing a test. I’ve asked Mum about it, and though she didn’t say it outright I think she’s doing some spellwork behind the scenes.

  Right now we’re supposed to be learning about how liquid travels through barriers. Something about salt water and fresh water; they’ll mix together if they’re separated by a porous barrier. Which like, duh, but we still have to do the experiment. I get us both safety goggles from the tub even though all we’re doing is pouring water into tubes.

  ‘Thanks, Babs,’ Iris says as I hand them the goggles. Hearing someone who isn’t Mum say my name is so rare. I give them the biggest smile I can.

  The water swirls as Iris pours it in, bubbles zigzagging to the surface. Tiny ones cling to the sides of the glass. I watch as they stir in salt, crystals dissolving slowly, the water turning cloudy at first.

  ‘Do you want to come over?’ I ask. ‘Like, to my house. I have a movie I think you’d really like. My mum is making a lasagne tonight. It’s a vegetarian one. Also, I have a dog.’

  Their face warms up like the sun’s shining on it. I realise then that they know I’m made of fire, burning, burning. Maybe that’s why they can see me.

  ‘I love veggies, especially in lasagne. And dogs! That sounds awesome.’

  I smile so hard the safety goggles are pushed up my face. ‘So you’ll come?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask my mums, but it should be okay.’

  I write down my number for them, trying not to let my hand shake. I hope their mums say yes. Even if they don’t, hopefully Iris can see me on the bus anyway. And maybe at lunchtime.

  In next period, maths, my phone buzzes in my pocket. The teacher doesn’t look over, probably can’t see me, so I get the phone out. It’s Iris, and they’re coming over! I grip my phone with both hands, bring it to my chest. I wonder if they’re as lonely as I am – they must be. They’re never sitting with anyone at lunch, or whispering to anyone in assemblies, or sitting next to anyone on the bus.

  I leave class before the lunch bell. I go to where I saw Iris yesterday, the paperbark next to the patch of grass. As students start to come out of class, something in me sinks. I’m slipping, sliding through realities. It’s like there are two worlds, and I know I’m totally in the second one right now. Iris won’t be able to see me. I bite back tears. No. Just because they won’t be able to see me now, they might later. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.

  Iris comes out, sits down right next to me. They unwrap their sandwich and look around for me, face eager. I need to talk to them, so I call their phone – this connection, it can’t break. Their eyebrows knit together as they feel their phone ring, frantically grabbing at their pockets till they find it. And when they see it’s me, they relax a little, and look more confused than anything. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I say, glad my voice isn’t shaking. ‘But I didn’t want to text you this. I don’t think you can see me anymore.’

  ‘What?’ Their face falls. ‘I mean, we don’t have to hang out, you can just tell me.’

  ‘No! I mean, sorry, sorry, that was bad wording.’ My heartbeat skips up. ‘You know how you couldn’t see me until yesterday, you thought I was new? I think I’ve slipped again.’

  ‘Slipped?’

  ‘Sometimes it happens. Should be okay by tonight, though.’ I close my eyes and wish as hard as I can. Please. ‘I’ll see you on the bus?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Right next to you, Iris.’ I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m mad at them, they’ve done nothing wrong. ‘Which is the problem, hey? But I’ll see you on the bus. I’ll try really hard. Okay?’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Hm.’ I’ve never had anyone outside of Mum and one of her witch friends know about me. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.’ I hang up. Is there a way? It’s not like I was born like this – the witch did this to me. I wonder what Iris thinks of all this. They must know faeries if they’re this cool about it. Maybe they’re even part-fae – there’s something about them.

  I take my lunch to the art room. Don’t need the depressing hour of sitting next to Iris but not being able to talk, and art’s my next class anyway. The room smells like oil pastels, paint, glue, imagination and spark.

  Our art teacher, Miranda, comes into the room as the bell rings. Her eyes catch on where I’m sitting, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She starts to set up the tables, putting tubs of pencils and scissors on them, then stacks of paper. She sings something to herself in a language I don’t understand.

  Eventually Iris comes in and sits at the same table as me. They still don’t see me, but the fire in me is stoked. They must know I’m here, on some level. I watch with wide eyes as a faerie appears on their shoulder. A little one, fat and peach-coloured. The two of them are chatting. I was right! The faerie sits on Iris’s pencil case and watches them draw the shoes we’re supposed to be copying. I never knew shoes were so hard to draw.

  I hate shoes, I text Iris.

  They giggle and I smile, watching them.

  Miranda walks around, looking at everyone’s work. She’s always so kind, always finds something to be worthy of genuine praise. She pauses near me, but keeps walking past to Iris. She compliments Iris on the colour scheme of peach and green. The faerie, who is those colours, disappears into a glittery cloud of pink happiness.

  I sigh. I can’t just sit here and watch them, it’s too weird. So I grab my things and walk out. No one calls after me.

  After I get my bag from my locker, I wander the five minutes into town to my favourite cafe, Eaglefern. It has a couple of tables out front, and baskets of flowers hang off the awning. Inside, it’s tiny and cute, filled with plants and natural light from the wall that is all windows. Tables are jammed into it, taking up every inch they can. It feels crowded, but in a cosy way. I love it here. There’s art for sale on the walls – sparkling, whirling colours and glass and feelings. And the owner, Livia, can always see me.

  The brass
bell on the door trinks as I enter, and I slump onto a couch at the back of the cafe. Livia looks up from her newspaper. ‘Babs, you’re a bit early.’ She always tries to get me to go to school properly, but she doesn’t get it.

  ‘Nah. Got any cakes that aren’t selling?’

  She rolls her eyes at me, but soon brings me a berry muffin. ‘How’s your mum?’

  I shrug. ‘Okay. The warmer weather helps.’

  Livia sits on the couch opposite me. ‘Can you give this to her?’ She presses something cold into my outstretched hand: a smooth, flat disc of tourmalinated quartz, the black rods of tourmaline suspended like they’ve stopped in time. Sometimes Mum does spellwork for Livia in exchange for money or useful objects.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Here and there.’

  A customer walks in, and Livia leaves me on the couch holding this stone. I turn it under the lights, seeing the angles of the tourmaline, how everything sits suspended together. It warms my hand, and the warmth moves up my arm and into my heart.

  It’s windy as I walk to the bus. I rub the quartz between my thumb and palm. My stomach churns. Come on, I think to myself, let Iris see me. The quartz flares up. Please.

  Iris is already on the bus, and as I get closer I realise they can’t see me. I sigh but sit next to them anyway. The bus pulls away from the kerb, and someone’s yelling at someone else for spraying their deodorant everywhere. Iris gets out a book and starts to read as people chat and throw things at each other. Iris sighs and stops reading, looking out the window instead. They send me a text: You on the bus?

  And then I just pop up – I don’t know how, but they turn and they see me. ‘Babs!’ They hug me, squeezing tight.

  I hug back, and I can’t stop smiling. The sparks in me are stoked, flying up. ‘I think you know.’

  ‘You’re made of fire?’

  I nod. Sometimes I crackle when I move and the flames flare out of me. ‘And that I’m trans.’

  ‘Me too.’ Iris sighs. ‘But I guess you know because of my pronouns. I don’t look trans.’

  I frown. ‘You don’t look not trans. You’re trans, Iris, how else would you look?’

  ‘I guess,’ they say, but they’re smiling. ‘How much further do you live than me?’

  ‘I’m only the next stop, and you could probably walk it, as long as you don’t mind going through the forest. It doesn’t have any paths to my house.’

  ‘It has paths,’ Iris says. ‘Not everyone knows where they are, but they’re there.’

  ‘It makes sense that you’d know.’ I pause, wonder if I should say the next bit. I know they’re made of plants, energy stores and roots in dirt. ‘Sprout.’

  The rest of the bus trip we’re silent. Iris starts to stand when their stop comes up, but then remembers at the last second. We stay on till my stop, surrounded by tree ferns, tiny pink flowers and moss.

  ‘The walk’s short,’ I say as I grab my bag, ‘though it’s up a hill.’

  I love our house. It’s small but I love it. The outside is a creamy-pink, painted on weatherboards. Our garden looks overgrown but that’s on purpose – it’s chock-a-block with herbs, billy buttons, wildflowers and nasturtiums. The front door sticks when I open it, so I kick the bottom right corner and then we’re in.

  Me and Mum don’t have a lot of furniture. But we’ve got big windows that look out into the garden. I take a deep breath. Mum’s been cooking warm winter food. Sadie barks as she runs to the front door, her whole bum wagging with her tail. ‘Hey, baby,’ I say, smooshing her face between my hands. She sniffs Iris for a long, long time, and then licks their hand.

  We got Sadie from a shelter. Everyone was wanting puppies, and she looked a little sad, tail wagging tentatively as I walked up to her. We’re not sure what breeds she is, but she’s just taller than my knees, with a big tail and a fluffy coat. She’s got the friendliest face of any dog I’ve ever seen, which is how I fell in love with her.

  ‘Mum!’ I call out. We wriggle off our shoes, our socks wrinkly and off-white – only Year Sevens have nice socks.

  ‘I’m in the bath, love,’ Mum replies.

  ‘Mum has a lot of pain,’ I say to Iris as I lead her into the kitchen, Sadie following. ‘She takes a lot of baths. Sometimes they’re the only thing that helps.’

  We have a vertical herb garden on the wall, and everything is in glass jars. We’ve got bunches of dried herbs in the window, and sun catchers ping glittering beads of light across the room. I can see Iris loves it.

  I don’t ask if they want something to drink, I just go straight for the banana and mango nectar and pour us glasses of syrupy-smooth goo. Iris downs half of it in one go, and I smile at them. ‘It’s my favourite.’

  ‘It’s so good! I have to save some of it. What’s the movie you’d like to show me?’

  ‘It’s about rocket ships.’ I grin. ‘One’s made out of a tree.’

  ‘Huh.’

  We set up in the lounge, Sadie lying across my feet, and I hand Iris some bikkies Mum made, still gooey in the middle. The chocolate is creamy, tingly on our tongues.

  Our couch is old and squishy, and Iris sinks right in as they sit down. A few minutes into the movie, they have to pull themself up out of the cushions.

  ‘Don’t let it eat you,’ I tell them. ‘It’ll do that.’

  Iris laughs, but I’m serious. I give them a knowing look, then they seem to understand.

  We finish the bikkies, licking goo off our fingers. My fire seems to be keeping us both warm. I don’t really feel the cold much, which is why Sadie always tries to sleep on my bed in winter. I usually let her.

  The spaceship that’s made of a tree comes on screen, and Iris makes a noise. They lean forward, eyes hungry. I know the feeling, that this was made for you and no one else. The rest of the movie I barely hear them breathe. The credits roll and we sit in silence, and I can feel Iris digesting the movie, eyes closed.

  After a while, they turn to me. ‘How come I can’t see you sometimes?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, my words sticky and chewy like I’m still eating the biscuits. ‘It started when I was little. We were in the forest, me and my parents. I think we got lost. I don’t know which one, or where it was. But anyway, I ended up on my own. I found a witch. She was more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.’

  I think she was the first trans woman I’d ever met, and she made it seem like anything was possible.

  ‘And then we talked for a while, but I can’t remember what about. It was when I was maybe . . . ten? Five or six years ago? I remember telling her I was made of fire, and she laughed and said it was obvious.’

  Iris squeezes my hand.

  ‘No one has been able to tell, I don’t think, except you and Mum and the witch.’

  ‘You’re the only one who knows I’m born from a seed in the ground. Well, you and Clover and Moss. But what happened with the witch?’

  ‘She confirmed I was made of fire . . . and then I can’t remember. In my memory, feels like we talked for days. About everything. I know it’s weird, but I think maybe something happened with time. Mum and Dad said I was only gone for five minutes. I remember sleeping, waking up in her house in the woods. She cooked awesome breakfasts. I made friends with the birds she’d feed.’

  ‘She probably did manipulate time somehow, if you remember all that.’

  ‘And then when I got back, I started to just disappear. Mum would stress, but she knew I would always come back. Dad . . . he went strange. Not long after, he left us.’

  ‘Strange?’

  ‘I think maybe the witch revealed something, like our true selves? I don’t know. I don’t think he was ever a good person, Iris.’

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  ‘Sometimes. Not really. He doesn’t even know I’m a girl.’

  �
�I’m sorry he left.’

  ‘For the best.’ I smile tightly. I reach down to pat Sadie, and she huffs a big sigh. Sometimes I see dads with their kids and I don’t miss my dad, I just wish I had a good one – one who would stay, and one I was glad had stayed.

  ‘Babs?’ Mum calls out. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

  When we walk into the kitchen she’s dishing up the lasagne, so I put Sadie outside. ‘Need a hand, Mum?’ I ask. ‘I didn’t hear you get out of the bath.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ She smiles when she sees Iris. ‘Hi, I’m Wendy.’

  ‘Hello,’ Iris says, quiet and shy.

  Mum’s a little shorter than me, and she always looks so warm and tired and soft and strong. She’s wearing a long floral dress.

  ‘Thanks for coming over tonight,’ I say.

  We eat at the kitchen table after I grab a chair from my desk. The table is tiny and chipped and old, with words and symbols carved into it, but I don’t think Iris really notices. There isn’t a lot of elbow room, and Iris keeps bumping theirs into me. They say sorry every time, and I laugh and say it’s okay. The kitchen fills with warmth.

  ‘Babs tells me you met in science class,’ Mum says.

  ‘They first saw me on the bus.’

  Iris nods. ‘I’d never seen her before that day. But yes. And I saw the patch on your jacket, Let’s be friends, so. I thought we should.’

  ‘I told you something would come of it,’ Mum says. ‘She was hesitant buying the patch when we first saw it, and I just knew she had to have it.’

  ‘Plus it looks cool.’

  Mum laughs. ‘Plus it looks cool.’

  ‘This is really good, Mum,’ I say, mouth full of lasagne. ‘The best one yet.’

  Iris nods in agreement as Mum beams. There’s a lot to say, but we just eat. There’s so much time ahead.

  Mum finishes her dinner much faster than either of us, and then she says she has to go to bed. Me and Iris sit in the kitchen, not sure what to say to each other. We keep smiling and laughing, but not a lot of words come through the air between us.

  And then I know one of Iris’s mums is here, so I go open the door. Her hand is up, ready to knock. ‘Oh, hello. Are you Babs? I’m Moss.’