“He said he didn’t know how to skate.” Becky glared into her chai latte as her friends stared.
“He’s from, where, Norway?”
“Denmark.”
Justine shrugged. “Same difference. I can’t believe he came out with such an obvious lie, and I even more can’t believe you fell for it.”
That was unfair, and Becky retorted. “You’re from Australia but can’t surf.”
“I said I don’t surf, especially in freezing water with messy, sloppy surf. I never said I couldn’t.”
Megan leaned in. “So you can?”
“Of course I can. I grew up in Bondi. It’s like asking if I can swim, or walk. Or like asking Becky’s brand new asshole if he can skate.”
Becky shrank further into her seat. “He said he thought I mean skateboarding, not ice skating.”
The other two mulled that over. Justine snorted. “Sorry, don’t believe that. If he had been mistaken, he would have come clean the minute you got to the ice rink. I mean, there’s a pretty clear difference between a flat bit of ice and a bunch of concrete ramps.”
Megan sipped her hot chocolate. “What I don’t understand is why, when he’s so clearly in the wrong, you’re acting like you murdered the pope.”
“It was just so embarrassing. And he laughed at me. In front of Patrick and that new bitch girlfriend of his. And then it turned out he’s friends with the bitch, and they set me up.”
Justine growled. “Revenge will be sweet, and mine.”
Megan shook her head. “It’s still them in the wrong. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Except, he said it was rude of me not to recognise them. He and bitch are some sort of national figure skating pairs champions.”
“So he’s feeling inadequate because he’s in a sport no one gives a flying rat’s ass about. Again, on him, not you.” Justine was on mulled wine and it was starting to show.
Megan replied. “I dunno, it’s pretty cool to watch at the Olympics. I like the costumes.”
Justine threw out her hands. “See? Even if he was on telly, we’d be too busy checking out the sequins on his lycra bodysuit to clock an actual face. He’s a loser.”
The DNA of Stories 