Knock Knock

My eyes are fixed on my pencil case. It’s seen better days, the acrylic cat keychain has scratches, and the fabric thins at the zipper’s teeth. I pick at a loose thread until it twirls around my finger.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it. Keiko’s car flashing past me all at once. One swift, decisive motion. I didn’t even have the chance to block. A precise assassination on my racing line.

The sound it made was unlike anything I’ve heard. High-pitched, but not weak.

But the thing that’s really bugging me is: how did she know my name?

I only knew hers because of Natalie, and that’s because Natalie knows everyone. I never interacted with Keiko when she was still at our school. And like Natalie said, she was four grades above us. There was no way she should have known me from the school setting. I’ve been invisible all throughout high school. And there's no way I’m going with her to that race on Saturday.

There isn’t a single explanation I can think of that doesn’t involve stalking, or some kind of background check, and neither one sits right.

“Lilliya,” Miss Miyazawa calls out. Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than it needs to. “Can I get you to read the next stanza?”

I place my finger on the booklet, and guide it along to each word.

“The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, the yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, and seeing that it was a soft October night, curled once about the house, and fell asleep.”

The front gates spill students out onto the footpath in a loud, restless wave. It’s Friday, and nobody’s wasting a second more here.

I step aside to let the current rush past, adjusting the strap of my bag as the crowd fades. Mr Ribero decided to assign us a textbook’s worth of homework, and my shoulder is already killing me.

“Yo, Lil-ya!”

Natalie is perched against the fence, one of her shoes is braced behind her, as she types on her phone. She looks up and waves, pushing herself off as I approach.

“Hey.”

“Hey yaself. Now I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Okay.”

Natalie waddles along to keep pace. “The bad news is I need a lift.”

“Of course you do.” I sigh. “Where?”

“That’s the good news.” Her mouth is open in a silent drumroll, and she tosses up jazz hands. “Christina’s party.”

“How’s that good news?”

“I made sure ya’re invited.”

“You what?” I stop walking.

“Relax. It’s not like I begged for them to write ya name on a list. I just told them ya might wanna come, and they said sure.” She nudges my arm.

“So when is it?”

“Saturday night.”

Saturday night.

“I think I can come. But I don’t think my Dad will like it.”

“Really?” Natalie squeals. “Oh it’s going to be so good. Apparently Carlos is coming too.” She grins. “So I suggest ya dress in something nice. It’s hot, so ya can get away with a bit more than a midriff.”

“Who said I was going to wear a midriff?” I yell, a bit too loud. The students around us all stop to look.

“Ya’re not?” She looks genuinely offended. “Come on, this is yar chance. None of these guys can hold their alcohol, trust me, I’ve seen it.”

Yeah. Not all of us were drinking at the age of 14 like you. “But how am I supposed to talk to him?”

“Super easy.” She hooks her arm through mine. “I walk ya straight up to him, then I steer ya both into a corner so no one else can bother ya. After that, God and alcohol will do the rest.”

“You know I don’t drink right?”

“As long as he’s drinking you’ll be fine.”

Cars trudge past us at the crossing, each one of them plain and boring in the same silver, black, and white colours. Natalie keeps talking, planning outfits and lies we’ll tell our parents, but I’m barely listening.

The pedestrian light begins to flicker red as we approach.

Natalie edges forward.

I stop.

She tugs my hand just enough to keep me moving.

“But I have another problem,” I say as I get side-by-side with Natalie. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“What do ya mean?”

“I have clothes for school and sleeping, that’s pretty much it.”

Natalie makes a thoughtful humming noise. Then her face lights up. “Use ya uniform.”

“Huh?”

“Little secret, guys are totally into girls in uniform. Flight attendants, nurses, maids, school girls. They can’t get enough of them. We just have to play ya into that vision.”

I hesitate. I feel my cheeks get hot. “I don’t think Carlos is that type of guy.”

“He is a guy, right?”

“Yes?”

“Then he’s that type of guy.”

The afternoon heat clings to me all the way home, it’s like these shirts were designed to be ineffective in summer.

“Hey, Lilliya.” Mum sticks her head out of the living room. She’s changed out of her work clothes and into jeans and an old uni hoodie.

“Hey.” I head for the kitchen, pulling the fridge open.

“Don’t eat.” Mum calls out. “We’re going to your grandparents’ house in a bit.”

The cold air spills all over me. “What? Why?”

“Just to say hello, eat, and then we’ll be back.”

I shut the fridge, stepping back into the heavy heat of the kitchen. There’s no air-con, Dad’s too cheap to fix it. “Where’s Dad?”

“Bathroom. He’ll be out in a minute.”

“I don’t have anything to get dressed into.”

“Just stay in your uniform.”

Dad’s tightness about fixing the air-con never applied to the MINI. It’s the only place that actually has it. Cold air rushes over my face as soon as Dad starts the engine. I’m trapped in the back seat, knees tucked in, with barely any room to move. This car’s backseats are definitely for decoration purposes only.

By the time we pull into my grandparents’ driveway, the sun has begun to slide lower in the sky, a faint breeze pushing leaves across the concrete.

Dad knocks and the door opens almost immediately.

Warm air and the smell of oil and meat spill out onto the porch.

“Hello, Lilliya.” My Γιαγιά pulls me inside before I can properly step through the door, wrapping her arms around my stomach. She smells like cooked onions and salami, as always.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

I try to mumble something, but she squeezes tighter, knocking the wind out of me. I kick my shoes off before she can pull me deeper into the house.

“Hello Γιαγιά.”

She finally releases me, cupping my wrist, and looking up and down my arm like she’s inspecting a fruit.

“Too skinny,” she decides. “You are not eating enough.”

I give a small smile. I wish I could be skinnier.

“Oi, Lilliya.”

My Παππού comes up and hugs me as well. But unlike Γιαγιά, he gives me room to breathe.

“Hello Παππού.”

He nods once, “τι κάνεις;”

“Καλά.”

“Good.”

When I was little, I spent a lot of time here. Mum went back to work as soon as she could, and most afternoons ended on this couch, the television murmuring in Greek, despite my father’s wishes.

My preschool complained that I wasn’t grasping English as well as I should have. Dad realised it was because I was spending so much time in what was essentially another country.

Icons of Greek Orthodox saints watch from every wall, their painted eyes following you no matter where you stand. Solid wooden furniture fills the room, not a single thing from IKEA in sight. A stick of incense burns above the couch, hanging from a chain cauldron, its smoke being pushed around by the pedestal fan next to the TV.

Γιαγιά disappears back into the kitchen, clattering through the final stages of dinner.

Παππού lowers himself onto the couch beside me.

Mum and Dad sit down at the dining table. Dad’s already loosening his belt and rolling up his sleeves.

“How was school?” Παππού asks.

“Good.”

“What did you do today?”

“I had Maths, English, PDHPE, and Legal Studies.”

“What is the PD?”

“Um.” I look to my Dad for help, but he’s distracted by the TV. Despite being great at English as a kid, it was all lost once I hit primary school. “Sport, sport.”

“Ah.” Παππού nods. “Sport, sport. You are good at maths?”

“Ναι.” I’m not.

“Of course. You know Greek people made maths.”

I nod.

“You are driving?”

“Ναι.”

“Oh, good. You drive the…” He frowns, then makes a shifting motion with his hand.

“Manual.”

“Yes, manual. Good. Proper driving.”

“Do you still race?”

My feet tense up.

“Race?” He says again, thinking he’s mispronounced the word. “With the little car.”

“Σε παρακαλώ.” Dad slams the dinner table. The silverware jumps. “I’ve told you Dad, and I tell you every year. She doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Why are you angry?” Παππού asks, then turns back to me. “Why is he angry? He’s angry because he’s stupid right?”

I laugh. Dad glares at me.

“What car are you driving?”

“Dad’s car. The MINI.”

“Ah the MINI.” He nods. “Old man, not good. But for young girl, it’s a good car. Is it fast?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Lilliya’s a good girl.” Mum chimes in. “She’s not that type of kid.”

“Nothing like her father.”

“Really?” I say.

“I worked double shifts,” Παππού says. “Day job. Night job. I come home, I sleep. One hour, maybe. Then back to work. Every night, I go to my car, something feel wrong.” He makes a pinching gesture with his finger. “Like it move just little bit. I think, maybe I’m tired. Maybe I imagine. But one night, I go work early. Fifteen minutes early. I come outside, car gone. Two minute later, I see your Dad driving it home.”

“He borrowed it without asking you?” I ask.

“Borrow. Yes. Problem.” He points at my Dad. “Big problem. Thirteen, no license.”

My Dad’s jaw tightens.

“I ask him, where you go? Why you take my car? He don’t tell me. He tell me nothing.”

Mum lets out a small, awkward laugh.

“I make sure he never forget that night. I take my belt. Boom, boom, boom.”

Παππού shrugs.

“He think he old enough to drive. But not old enough to not cry.”

Dinner drags on for another hour. Conversations loop back on itself about neighbours, and cousins I’ve never met. Γιαγιά keeps refilling plates even when we are full.

By the time Dad finally checks his watch, the sky outside has turned dark.

“Γεια σου Γιαγιά. Γεια σου Παππού.” I say in the narrow hallway.

Outside, the air has cooled, the street quiet except for the low hum of far-off traffic.

The MINI waits at the curb, under the glimmering streetlight.

I pause beside it.