Page 28 of My Lucky Star
“That sucks.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I was done with Auckland. I had to make a change. I was broke. In my thirties with no savings or a career of any kind...”
She covered her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t mean to sound so pathetic, or ungrateful, but I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“No, it’s good,” I insisted, hoping to keep her talking. “I like honesty. It’s refreshing.”
We emerged from the town center and onto a short bridge. The ocean glimmered in the distance. I wanted to keep driving, to learn more about her. Having a conversation with someone who wasn’t trying to impress me or use me felt freeing, like I was sixteen again, chatting with my friends on the side of the football field, sharing one cigarette between four boys. My fingers twitched, longing for that smoke.
Aria turned off the main road onto a smaller one.
We wove through bright greenery that looked a lot like rain forest, punctuated by tall rose-tinted rock formations. So different from anything I’d seen in the last few years. I’d spent most of my time on the seashore of Istanbul, surrounded by millions of people, millions of seagulls and very few trees.
In my early twenties, before all the fame, I used to drive to the mountains to camp and fish with friends. I remembered the sense of wilderness, not quite like this but similar, surrounding me from every side, making me feel insignificant, yet more alive. Why had I stopped going?
“Do you go camping a lot?” I asked Aria.
“Not, really. I probably should. There’s not much else to do here other than go into the bush or onto the beach.”
My gaze landed on a young guy pounding the sidewalk in a sagging sleeveless tee and no shoes. “Why does everyone dress so casually? Are they all on their way to the beach or the... bush?”
She glanced over her shoulder as we drove past the dude and laughed, biting her lip. “It’s the Kiwi way. We’re very laid back. To the point that if you put too much effort into your appearance, it makes you seem a bit... pretentious.” She flicked me a sideways glance, eyes glinting with glee.
“Are you talking about my shiny shirt?”
“No, I mean generally, but also, yes. It was so shiny.” Her eyes rounded in mock horror.
I looked down at the gym clothes she’d bought me. “Is that why you bought me these clothes? Would you be embarrassed to be seen with me if I was wearing designer clothes?”
Her face reddened. “No! You just... you said you needed to keep a low profile. Shiny stuff like that really stands out here.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “And those clothes I bought you are from a really nice shop. They weren’t on sale or anything.”
She stared at the road, gripping the steering wheel, her chin jutting defensively.
“And I love them!” I brushed my hands down the front of the hoodie. “They’re the most comfortable clothes I’ve ever owned.”
Her mouth tugged into a tiny smile. “That’s the upside of being ultra-casual. That, and blending in.”
“What about your celebrities?” I frowned. “Isn’t anyone allowed to stand out?”
“Sure. They’d have designer gear, but maybe not that shiny unless they’re attending a glitzy gala... and we don’t have many of those. What we have is the tall poppy syndrome. If anyone gets too high and mighty, they get chopped down. It doesn’t matter how famous you are, in New Zealand you’re just another bloke. When I was young, the prime minister’s home phone number was in the phonebook, and she lived on this totally ordinary street in Auckland. Not even the fanciest suburb.”
“That’s bizarre. And dangerous.” I shook my head at the thought.
“I guess, but she’s still alive and well.”
I asked more questions, not because I was dying to know about the country. I liked listening to the soft, low purr of her voice. It sounded so mellow, nothing like Burcu’s. She didn’t try to sound feminine or interesting. It was like witnessing a stream of consciousness, and I wanted to swim in it. I was also tickled by the idea of a society that abhorred hierarchy and formal clothing. A country where nobody wasthatspecial. Not even me. I found it simultaneously unnerving and energizing.
“So, where you come from, shiny shirts are the norm?” She winked at me. “Or is that only for guys who’re peacocking?”
“What is peacocking?”
She gave me a cheeky smile. “It’s when guys wear really shiny or colorful clothes to draw the attention of females.”
I cringed at the thought but couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t really choose my own clothing. I wear what I’m asked to wear. The designers send me stuff.”
“A reluctant peacock, then?"
“Well...” I pulled a face.
