Issue 01 | February 25,2013 | critic.co.nz

What the fuck was I doing here anyway? I know
basically nobody, the place has shit weather and I
basically chose all my papers with my eyes closed.
Maybe I should have taken up that job at The Department
Store. Fuuuck. The wailer at the back of the
shuttle started up again. I felt like joining her.
Dad: hi honey. how is Dunedin? ur
mother is worried about u. also she
wants to know if u have given ur
friends the lamingtons.
Me: it’s ok. im not sure if I see what u
saw in it :( I miss u guys. Xoxo
Dad: Don’t worry u will love it. It just
takes some time. call me if u need me
ok darling?
Impossibly quickly, we left Dunedin’s shopping
centre. It was dark now. Slowly I noticed that the
street names all seemed familiar. I thought about
my trip to Scotland a few years ago and suddenly
realised Dunedin’s street names were the same as
Edinburgh’s – the similarity went right down to
placement of the streets themselves. Thank goodness
irony is in, I thought as I pushed my black,
lenseless glasses further up my nose. I pulled my
phone up to my face for another quick Instagram.
#salty #gb #ilove1D #harrystyles
After passing a range of fast food places (um – where
was my “Little and Friday” or “Sabatos”?), the shuttle
turned at a set of traffic lights and proceeded to
drive up the hill. We pulled into a driveway towards
a towering complex of brick buildings with intermittently
lit rooms, strangely akin to Hogwarts.
There were two of us left now – me and Aspen boy.
When Aspen boy didn’t get up to leave, I realised it
was my stop. I tumbled out of the shuttle and stood
watching the driver retrieve my luggage. In the boot
was Aspen boy’s luggage: an enormous box of (presumably
homemade) cheese rolls – how naff – and
a nondescript black bag with a small, disappointing
Kathmandu label. I realised I had been holding my
breath, hoping for this boy to be christened with some
sort of status. Then I read the address tag attached
to his bag – “Wanaka.”
As the driver tugged at my suitcases, Aspen boy
turned South Island boy got out to help. A warm wave
passed through me and ended deep in my groin as
his hand accidentally touched mine. I asked him if
he was wearing a Burberry coat – he wasn’t sure, it
was just something his dad gave him. His naivety had
me smitten. I felt like Uptown Girl and her backstreet
Billy Joel – society said no but the electricity between
Aspen/farmer boy and I said something stunningly
different.
As I wheeled my suitcases across the concrete square
with the surrounding brick buildings and picnic
tables, I clutched my iPhone, which now held Trev’s
number, to my chest. I didn’t really get Avril Lavigne’s
Sk8er Boi song when I was a tween. But now I
totally got it. I’m not going to have any problem with
his baggy clothes. And maybe that’s the difference
between pride and prejudice? LOL JK, Marketing 101
here I come.
#HASHTAG
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