The Red Cardigan by J.C. Burke

you can. It’s … it’s my brother’s.’
    â€˜Yeah? I thought it might’ve been a guy’s ring. It’s kind of chunky.’ Evie admires it on her hand. ‘I like it.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜Looks better on you.’ Evie says handing it back. ‘Better get back to work. Powell’s doing his rounds.’
    â€˜You’re a really talented drawer, Evie. I’ve noticed your stuff.’
    â€˜Thanks.’ Evie blushes this time. ‘I hope you’ll like this.’
    â€˜Give us a peep.’
    â€˜Hey?’
    â€˜Give us a look.’
    â€˜Not yet,’ Evie snaps. She looks around. ‘Sorry,’ shewhispers. ‘I don’t – know where that came from. God, I’m really, really sorry, Antonia.’
    Antonia mutters something.
    Evie’s eyes flick up to her face then back to the paper, as she tries to concentrate on the final features, but she’s restless in her chair. A humming sound has started playing in her head, a drone monotonous yet menacing, and something is happening to the drawing. The picture doesn’t seem right. Evie’s foot is tapping the floor, louder and faster. Some of the girls are looking at her; she’s sure they’re whispering.
    â€˜Are you okay?’ Antonia asks.
    â€˜I’m not sure.’ Evie puts her hands on her forehead. Antonia leans over and takes the pad.
    â€˜Let me have –’ she starts to say before the colour drains from her face.
    Antonia turns white and starts to suck in air like she can’t get a breath. The noise is loud. It’s scaring Evie.
    â€˜Antonia?’ Evie stands up. ‘Antonia?’
    â€˜No,’ Antonia whispers. ‘No, no.’
    She starts to scream. Her chair is knocked to the ground. She holds on to the desk, her body shaking. Powell catches her as her legs give way.
    â€˜Antonia, Antonia?’ he is shouting. ‘Can you hear me?’
    The girls gather around.
    Powell is shouting at Evie. ‘What happened?’
    Evie can’t move, can’t speak. She has just seen what Antonia has seen.
    Antonia struggles out of Powell’s hold and runs to the door.It slams behind her. Silence follows and then in one synchronised move, one succinct sound, they all turn to look at Evie.
    Powell now holds the sketchpad. White foam bubbles at the side of his mouth.
    â€˜What’s this?’ he’s yelling. ‘What’s this?’
    Evie turns her face. She cannot look at the drawing he is holding up in front of her. That and the noise in her head is confusing her: she doesn’t understand how it got there. It isn’t Antonia’s face any more. It’s the face of a young man. His eyes bulge out of his head and his lips are swollen. His tongue sticks out of his mouth and there is a mark on his neck. Evie throws up, bits of her insides splattering onto the young man’s face.
    Â 
    Evie’s mind resurfaces. She hates this memory but it will never leave her alone. She gets off the toilet and walks to the mirror. She studies the face that stares back and thinks of her friends at Taylor’s party. Have they thought of her?
    â€˜Who am I?’ she whispers. ‘What am I?’



 
    â€˜All major work propositions due in today,’ announces Powell. ‘On my desk as you’re leaving, please.’
    Evie shuffles her papers, knocks her pencils off the table and leans down, picking them up one by one. From under there she checks the classroom has emptied. She can see Powell’s grey-trousered legs standing by his desk. She gets up and walks towards him. He doesn’t look up.
    â€˜On my desk, Evie.’
    â€˜I don’t have it, sir.’
    He clicks his tongue and goes to speak. She gets in first.
    â€˜It’s just taking a little longer than I expected, sir.’
    â€˜I’m sure it’s a good reason.’ His sarcasm stings. ‘Come on, I’m dying to