The storm has been relentless all week. Gutters constantly gush with water, flooded by the leaves that are swept into them, and I've learned the hard way not to veer too close to the side of the footpath that lines the road. Noah and I are about to have brunch at the Bluebird Café, a new establishment that we have yet to try. Hence the visit.

Also, it apparently sells 'authentic Melbournian smashed avo' toast unironically and so we're happy to be able to fulfil that trope of millennials not being able to afford to buy a house because of an addiction to hipster foodstuffs.

Well, I am anyway.

Noah's parents have houses all over the world, just ready for their kids to move in. Speaking of Noah and his abroad ventures, our breakfast today isn't just to satisfy our craving for overpriced Melbournian toast but to discuss the dinner his mother and father have invited me to. My best friend's going away to Europe with his family for twelve weeks to study. "Study". I do have no doubt that he'll be studying fashion relentlessly, but really, rubbing shoulders with celebrities doesn't sound very tiresome to me. Or maybe it is? I wouldn't know.

Anyways, his parents have invited me to dine with them at the Covington's Astoria Estate this coming Thursday night to say goodbye to Noah for the next few weeks and I am feeling a bit worried. I've only met them a few times and I've never spoken more than a few words to them. I don't belong here in Astoria and I'm scared that they'll be able to tell straightaway.

Noah chuckles at my anxiousness when I meet him at the café, hugs me and then lounges back in his seat telling me I'll be fine before forgetting my worries to flirtatiously raise his eyebrows at the bewildered waiter who greets us.

Nevertheless, my stomach churns with anxiety for the whole of the breakfast. I am starting to feel overwhelmed. It's not just all my stresses about The Dinner and Noah leaving, but also the very atmosphere of the café. It's so crowded, so full of people, the noise is dizzying. I try not to think about the masses crammed in the room and instead focus on my previous thoughts of my friend's imminent departure.

What will I do without Noah? I don't have many friends here. Actually, I don't have very many friends, in general, at all.

With a friend like Kiki, une étoile brillante, I'd always been in the shadows. The darkness to amplify her sparkling personality. Behind the bright and confident personality I project to the world, I am really just a sad, lonely girl. I'd always much rather preferred a quiet study night to the loud raucous parties that Kiki dragged me too.

The hours of contrived smiles and forced laughs at the drunken antics of my classmates in Reeves had always left me feeling a bit sick. Disgusted and ashamed with the way that I'd been too scared to just be myself, that I had to force myself to pretend to be something I wasn't. Funny. It seems I've managed to bring that pretence with me to Astoria. And even though I am no longer attached to Kiki's side, that false bubble of confidence still envelopes me. And with each passing day, I feel the growing pressure on it. And I know that soon it will burst. What will I do then when my façade falls?

Noah notices that I've only nibbled the crust of my 'Smashed Avo' instead of devouring it in seconds as I usually do and he squeezes my arm reassuringly, mistaking my identity crisis for apprehension about The Dinner.

"You'll be alright" he says, grinning. And, in an attempt to distract me, he swipes one of the marshmallows from the little saucer that holds my hot chocolate.

"Hey! Wait!" I yelp and he laughs loudly before popping it into his mouth and singing Nirvana, somewhat muffledly.

"I got a new complaint!" Before he can get to the remaining lyrics though, the young waiter returns, looking pained. He inquires as to what's wrong and his brow knits itself in distress. The other diners also look slightly distressed as if the food might be poisonous and they surreptitiously throw us nervous glances, whispering amongst themselves, like hissing snakes. Noah manages to smooth talk his way through the conversation after noticing the waiter's furtive glances towards the kitchen where a chef stands waiting, with a large berry stained knife in his hand.

Talk about ominous.

I can see that the chef's arm muscles are taught, a malicious glint lies in his narrowed eyes and he taps his foot impatiently, all the while watching the poor flustered waiter. Suddenly, I am glad that I do not work in a restaurant. Noah and I hurriedly gulp down the remnants of our breakfast and escape the café trying to suppress our giggles, throwing down a multitude of banknotes as a tip to make up for the chaos we have caused.

*

A few hours later, we're inside Noah's gorgeous walk in closet, trying to decide what he absolutely must bring with him to Milan. Of course, I am really quite clueless about this kind of stuff, but Noah applauds my hesitant suggestion of his bringing an androgynous Hedi Slimane jacket and a pair of Fendi loafers. We manage to fold all -well, most, some things just don't fit- of the articles of clothing up in neat Marie Kondo-esque packages and stack them inside his numerous suitcases (Louis Vuitton luggage, natch!) before we hear the bell ring for dinner. A quiet tinkle that feels so strangely loud in the midst of the enormous house. Noah had told me about The Bell over breakfast but I seriously didn't believe him. I mean, really? What kind of family actually had a dinner bell? Obviously, I still wasn't properly acclimatised to Astoria.

Surprisingly, the dinner is really very pleasant. Noah's parents are lovely people, and so supportive of his dreams that I feel like my heart will burst with pride for him. And they are so kind to me too, taking an interest in my studies and passions. At the dinner table I am so overcome with my natural shyness that I have to actively concentrate on maintaining a confident demeanour. And in the few moments that I there is a sudden lapse into silence, Noah is there to back me up, injecting the conversation with a heady dose of "did you know that Evie is..." to keep the flow going.

My favourite moment is probably in the comfortable silence that settles as the dishes from entrée are taken away. Noah takes this time to describe the moment our friendship blossomed, the day we met. I'd just arrived in Astoria a few days prior and it was the first day of University. I didn't know anybody. My neighbours had shunned my attempts to greet them- to even knock on their door and introduce myself was seriously out of my comfort zone- and no student had stopped to say a word to me. Walking through the jaded hallways of the Astoria University, I was spellbound by the elaborate architecture. I couldn't help thinking if all the students who had passed through it's corridors. Did any of them ever feel as lost as me?

Caught in a surging wave of students I was overcome with claustrophobia. A sense that I was being crushed, that the walls were growing closer and closer. I was propelled forward through the crowd, finally crashing into the person who would eventually grow to become my closest confidante. Noah. For a few seconds, I was worried that maybe I'd made a new lifelong enemy after tumbling into him, but after looking me up and down, appraisingly, Noah smiled and held his hand out for me to shake, introducing himself. This memory in itself was so special to me, to the both of us, I think, and Noah took great delight in describing the story in exact detail to his parents. I couldn't help but feel a bit bashful when my friend talked about how we met. I had clammed up once again, and I felt that I had to say something.

"He complimented my shoes!" I sputtered, desperate to prove to his parents that I wasn't some kind of voiceless thing. Seriously, was that the best I could do? It didn't matter anyway. Noah already had a witty retort ready.

"Well, they did complement her bag." There was a gentle tinkle of laughter from all around the table, and the Covingtons beamed at his clever rejoinder and the sweet anecdote. Noah was satisfied too. Smiling, he raised his eyebrows at me, before raising his glass and taking a sip of wine.

The rest of the night passed by so quickly. By the time we got to the dessert of delicate and ever-so-light macaroons, I had forgotten all about my earlier diffidence and was heartily explaining the way that my parents make macaroons together. My shyness had washed away and been replaced with a kind of security. I didn't have to hold onto my aura of confidence around Noah and his family; it just felt so natural to be laughing and sharing memories with them. All in all, the evening is wonderful but a little bit bittersweet.

Before I leave, Noah's parents hug me fondly thanking me for coming and as I reply that it is my pleasure to attend, I realise I really mean it. All the dreaded anticipation about this event was for nothing, and Noah knows this as he embraces me, smiling cockily. He raises his eyebrows and is silent for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing, and I laugh too. All that panic was an unutterable waste of time. And in that instant, I realise that the whole charade in the café this morning, that crazy pantomime which ended with us being practically kicked out, was all an attempt to soothe my nerves. Suddenly, I am so overcome with a kind of platonic love for my best friend. What will I do without him? After another round of hugs and cries of "I'll miss you", I rush into the cold cold night, desperate to leave before I start to cry in front of my friend. It's only for twelve weeks, I tell myself. But I already know that it'll feel like an eternity.

*

The days pass ever so slowly. Without Noah's companionship, I throw myself into my studies. We do FaceTime once in the few days after he leaves but the connection is so bad that the screen freezes on an image of Noah gesticulating wildly as he describes his new friends in Milan. I don't go out for breakfast by myself at all. Somehow, in addition to my anxiety, I also feel like I will be judged, that other diners will disdainfully stare at a girl eating out all on her lonesome. The only thing remotely close to brunch that my pride and, uh, lack of courage, permits me to do is hurriedly grab a coffee each morning. But without Noah, it feels awkward to sit by myself and have my coffee facing an empty seat, even in one of the quieter cafés. And so I don't stay. I don't lounge in the window seat absorbing the little sun the autumn weather permits. Instead, I quietly snatch my takeaway coffees from the baristas, avoiding eye contact- without anyone with me, there's no need to keep up the confident charade- and walk off to school or to work.

On the ninth day after Noah has left, I encounter Rafe. I guess we do see each other virtually every day at school, but we never have any kind of interaction. On this particular Wednesday though, we do get a bit intimate. As in, too close for my comfort (and dignity). I'd just received my graded Oscar Wilde essay (high distinction!) And was reading through the comments my professor had made on it as I walked to my next class, too preoccupied to look where I was going. Blindly turning a corner, I have a head-on crash with none other than Rafe Archer. Without really knowing what I am doing, I begin to apologise profusely, something I don't think I would have done had I realised who I was talking to.

"Ohmigosh I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Rafe swears, drawing out the word and vaguely flaps a hand in my direction as if to shoo away my apologies. He runs his hand through his tousled dark hair before looking down to meet my contrite gaze. Realising that the individual who barged into him was me, he rolls his eyes dramatically but doesn't say another word as he bends down to gather up the sheath of papers that he'd spilled and I duck down too, hastily trying to find my essay. Our eyes alight on it the same time and I see Rafe's stare catch on the letter grade scrawled in austere red pen on the front. He attempts to discern the title of my essay from upside down and I see his eyebrow quirk as he mouths the words 'Does Oscar Wilde break his own rules to exhibit an "unpardonable mannerism of style" in his text, The Picture of Dorian Gray?' But before he can read any further, I quickly snatch the bundle of papers away from him and hurriedly stuff them, unsanctimoniously, into my satchel. I mutter a quiet 'excuse me' as I push past Rafe, quite rudely to be honest, leaving him behind to gather up all his papers by himself. I don't turn back even though I want to, because I just know that he's standing there in the midst of a dozen flat white and slightly crumpled rectangles, watching me bemusedly as I attempt to escape his watchful gaze.

Oh, I am so awkward.

*

Stacking new books on the shelves at Robinson's after classes, I attempt to dispel all thoughts about our crash in the hallways. I can't believe how flappable I was. The cool, calm, collected demeanour I'd built up around him, all gone in an instant of senselessness and stupidity. I never usually work this time of day (or week) but without Noah around I'd gotten so bored that I'd picked up a few extra shifts. Speaking of Noah, he'd sent me a four thousand word email the night before, talking about virtually everything that he'd experienced in Budapest in the last few days. I wasn't even jealous, just happy to live vicariously through my friend's adventures. I hadn't yet written a reply to his email, but was mentally planning out a draft in my head. I guess that the draft wasn't just mental but oral too. I'm not sure if Lena and Lucky were actually listening but it felt nice to actually talk out loud for a while.

It was raining outside and Madeleine and Lucas had just picked up a Cherry Iced Cup and Blue Raspberry Sorbet Cup (respectively) from the juicing store on Rande Street after finishing school for the day, before dashing into the bookshop to escape the rain for a while. They often liked to walk home, politely rejecting their parents' offers of a chauffeur back to their manors, but today, they were waiting for a lift, taking refuge in the warmth of the bookshop. Lucas leaned casually against a bookshelf, always the effortless cool boy, but I could see that his eyes were trawling the spines of the classics. I mentally placed a bet that he wouldn't leave the store with at least three new books today. In a similarly graceful manner, Madeleine perched back on a stack of books, stretching out her long legs before her and securing her navy and white bow barrette before sweeping her locks behind her shoulders to let it float in a kind of golden cloud behind her. She sipped on her cherry flavoured drink, looking every bit a teenage influencer as she asked me whether anything remotely interesting had happened to me lately.

Sighing as I considered Madeleine's question, I was silent for a few seconds, pretending that the barcodes I was sticking on the backs of the new novels were the most fascinating things I had ever seen. I deliberated over whether or not to tell the kids -I often called them MadeLucky in my head; it was a kinda ship name I had made up. Their marriage one day was inevitable- about my embarrassing Rafe encounter today before deciding to spill. I really needed to talk to someone about that.

Huffing hyperbolically as I used the little barcode machine to print out labels, I proceed to recount my humiliating crash with Rafe to Madeleine and Lucas who snicker at my clumsiness. About halfway through discussing my immense hatred for Rafe as well as lamenting the way that his hair still manages to look perfect even after he's stumbled whereas my dark mane just perpetually looks like a wild tangled mess, Lena cuts me off by slurping noisily and insistently at the last dregs of her drink. Lucky widens his eyes at me pointedly as if to say something and he raps his foot insistently. Unfortunately, I am not a member of their detective society and don't know Morse code. Opening my mouth to launch back into my story, I am, once again, interrupted by Madeleine. However, she looks straight past me in her addressal.

"Hello Rafe."

Ohmigosh, does the humiliation never end for me? How much did he hear? Madeleine smiles sweetly, setting her drink on a precarious stack of books. (If it was anybody else who did that, I'd screech at them.) She uncrosses her legs and stands up straight.

"We saw your father at the Redfort polo last weekend? Right, Lucky?"

Lucas nods. "Yes. Last weekend. I heard that he bought a new racehorse." Polo? Racing? Oh. Of course the Montagues and Duvalls are friendly with the Archer family. All the old money families around here stick together. But still, I am a little bit surprised by the mention of the town Redfort. It's not very far from here and it's well known to be a place of even more prestige than Astoria. Does Rafe's father live there? What about his mother? Did she miss the polo or was she too busy hanging with the other socialites to greet the Duvalls and Montagues? Evidently, I've been spending way too much time with MadeLucky. Their inquisitive detective personas have rubbed off on me.

Rafe considers their statements, before brushing a hand across the imaginary creases in his Ralph Lauren varsity jacket and replying.

"Madeleine, Lucas," he nods a single cursory glance in their direction. "Yes, I did hear about the horse." Then his eyes meet mine and for a second, I think I see surprise flicker over his face, but then it is gone, and I'm not even sure that it was even there. I valiantly attempt to fight the blush that sweeps into my cheeks. It doesn't exactly help that I'm the kinda no-makeup-makeup girl i.e. no foundation to hide the fire that blooms in my cheeks. I only ever use moisturiser, sunscreen and concealer (only over the dark shadows that perpetually linger beneath my eyes). Sealed with a kiss from my eyelash curler (no mascara- I rub my eyes wayyy too often), a brush of clear brow gel, lip balm and blush. Not that I need any extra rouge for my cheeks; lately they've been colouring themselves with no help from Glossier whatsoever. I see Lucas and Madeleine exchange a knowing glance with one another before peering at me, and I work to restore my persona. I guess it's a bit like my alter ego, that confident girl I project to the world. She doesn't have an actual name, but I always feel like I'm channeling my inner Kiki.

Speaking of which, I didn't build up that whole alter ego for nothing. It's time to put the mask back on.

I arch an eyebrow, fully aware of the incredulous looks that Lena and Luke are giving me.

"Rafe. What are you doing here?" Archer returns my unblinking gaze with an aloof stare of his own.

"I'm buying a book. In the bookstore." He replies. Oh. I mean it's not like he came here to see me. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Ugh I hate our stunted conversation. All clipped words and curt tones. I mean, couldn't we be at least civil to each other? Somehow, a rather obdurate part of my brain refuses to acknowledge the idea that perhaps Rafe and I could be friends. Or at least, acquaintances.

Walking to the counter, I attempt to dispel thoughts about how attractive the latest customer to the bookshop is and I resist the urge to peek at Lucas and Madeleine. I just know they're exchanging knowing smirks. I don't know what exactly they'd be knowing but those two, they're like fortune tellers. Honestly, if this whole detective thing doesn't work out, they could start a carnival, I think to myself, as I pass a shelf stacked with copies of Lemony Snicket's The Carnivorous Carnival. Oh how I used to adore those books so much. I remember reading my first A Series of Unfortunate Events book when I was in year two, spellbound by the tragic circumstances the Baudelaire siblings always fell into, already analysing every literary detail, even as an eight year old.

I let my mind wander further as I lead Rafe up to the till and I find myself imagining Caligari Carnival's newest psychics, MadeLucky. I mean, how's that for an auspicious name? I can already picture the exotic turban balanced atop Lucas' soft dark curls, the violet crystal ball that Madeleine will gaze into. And that thought, the crystal ball, makes a shiver trawl up my spine. My heart starts to race, delving into a flashback but I squeeze my eyes shut, try to shoo the thoughts away. Not now!

I reach the till and my brain drops all thoughts of Lena and Luke's potential career aspirations as I turn to face Rafe. I don't even know what book he'd selected. He hands the tome to me, upside down, and I hold it there for a few seconds. The book is a familiar orange colour, with a thick whitish beige stripe that runs through the middle. A Penguin classic. There is a blurb written on the back, but I let my gaze wash over it, unseeing, keeping the mystery of the title of the book alive for a few seconds longer. Then I turn it over.

The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Somehow, my surprise isn't as great as I would have expected it to be. How many times now have I indirectly mentioned Oscar Wilde to Rafe? I feel the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of my mouth and despite my attempts to anchor my lips in a neutral position, I am unable to suppress the grin that passes over my face. I tilt my head to the side, smiling and Rafe cocks his head at me, a whisper of a smirk gracing his lips. He reaches out to brush his hand against the sail of an ornate pirate ship figurine that rests among the gold doubloon paperweights on the counter.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" He says, avoiding my eyes, and I hear Lucas audibly gasp. MadeLucky are comically peering around the side of a bookshelf, staring at me, wide-eyed. Lena actually has a hand covering her mouth, hiding her smug smile, but I see the way her eyes crinkle and I know that she is laughing at my expense.

Rolling my eyes at them, I exclaim "Study date!" But I am laughing too. I nod at Rafe, snatching at one of the elaborately tasselled bookmarks that sit in the ornately carved ebony jar on the counter. Seeing as we're both banned from the town library and I can't deal with the university libraries (yet! I am working on building my confidence), we need a new place to study.

I deliberate over the perfect place for a few seconds before I have an idea. I scrawl a time to meet as well as the address of a quaint yet quiet café I know on the bookmark, before jamming it into Rafe's newly purchased book.

"It's a date." I say, half-heartedly ignoring Madeleine and Lucas' gleeful snickers.