Blue Water High (13 page)

Five … four … three … two …

Fly froze. Marbles leaned towards her. The cicadas screamed. Fly ducked him. And then she ran the other way. She could still hear the howling of laughter in her ears.

Marbles had said that he understood. But things were never quite the same again between them. For Fly it confirmed a whole heap of stuff she already suspected – romance could wait. Not that she had any cause for worry. Marbles was the only boy who ever looked at her sideways. Maybe because she was small. Maybe because she was the youngest. Maybe because what she'd said in the dream was right – boys thought of Fly as a mate … Or maybe, after the incident at the basketball courts, she had a big fat sign on her head saying
THIS ONE DOESN'T KISS
.

The bus shuddered to a stop and Fly allowed her friends' hands to guide her down the stairs. She could hear the ocean, smell its salty breath. One pair of hands stayed resting on her shoulder. She patted the hand quickly, trying to work out who it was, and she ended up following the arm right up to the head. She felt Heath's hair, thick and black like his mother's. She jumped.

‘Oh, Heath. It's you,' she mumbled. After the dream she was finding herself totally incapable of being normal around him, stumbling and bumbling like a loony.

‘Fly? Are you alright?'

Fly squeaked like a startled mouse.

‘Yep. I'm um … Are we there yet?' she asked, hoping to sound more relaxed than she felt.

‘Nearly,' Heath answered, calling out to the others. ‘Hurry up, will you?' He sighed as if they were taking forever.

‘You know what drives me mental about surfing? You find a perfect break and you know it's going to be patrolled by the old dogs, and you're going to have to wait in the line-up for hours, just to get a few crumbs.'

Fly knew what he was saying. It was the same thing up and down the coast. The locals made the rules, and the rules said the locals got the pick and the blow-ins had to wait. It was like some royal pecking order was in place and when you rocked up to a new break you needed to smile and wait and give way to the locals, and smile and wait until they decided you had earned a wave.

‘Anyway, we think we've found an old-dog-free birthday present for you.'

Heath nodded to the other kids as he untied the bandanna. Fly was blinded, the sudden rush of light making her feel like Helen Keller for real. It took a few seconds for her vision to return, and what she saw was that they were on a deserted strip of the South Coast, and in front of her Bec, Perri and Edge held up a huge, handpainted sign:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FLY
WE LOVE YOU
!

She didn't know what to say. Particularly about that second sentence.

‘Well,' Heath asked. ‘What do you think?'

Fly stared up at him. She could hear the strings from this morning's dream rising in her head.

‘Well, I think …' And she just kept staring.

Heath started to frown. ‘Fly?'

Fly snapped back to reality, appalled at what might have just come out of her mouth. She nodded a lot.

‘Yes. Quite nice really.'

She marched abruptly down the beach. It was the worst thank you she'd heard in a long time.

It was more than nice. It was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her and Fly's ears burned as she replayed her tight response. It was only a dream, for goodness' sake. She didn't need to let it ruin her day. She splashed out into the aqua water, determined to let them know she really did appreciate all the effort they'd gone to.

A fine strategy, and one that worked for at least ten minutes. Every time she looked at Heath – BANG! – she was back in the dream. Back in the red dress, Heath at the bottom of the stairs with his strange piece of butterfly toast. That was the weirdest bit. Butterfly wings … Butterflies …

Fly started to smile to herself. She'd worked it out. Heath was giving her butterflies – but she hadn't taken them. And that made her smile more. She reached down and lifted up her rash vest so she could talk straight to her tummy. She told it very clearly that she hadn't eaten the toast so it could stop behaving like there was a swarm of Blue Emperors flapping about in there.

She looked up and found Bec staring at her.

‘What are you babbling about?'

Fly grinned. ‘Nothing. Just making a plan so I can relax and fully enjoy the day.'

Bec shook her head, paddled for a wave, calling back, ‘You're planning yourself out of the best waves, sister.'

She watched Bec make the take-off, and then her eyes somehow, of their own accord, ended up on Heath again. He was messing about in the white water, and if Fly didn't know better, she'd swear she was seeing him in slow-motion. Shirtless, bronzed shoulders glistening in the sunshine, water streaming from his slick dark hair as he shook his head. Fly let out a hopelessly love-sick sigh and then – CRASH! – a wave broke right on her head.

She coughed and spluttered her way back to the surface, very unhappy with herself. She looked skyward, talking to who, she wasn't quite sure.

‘Thank you. I needed that.'

They spent the rest of the glorious day in and out of the water. Scoffing hot chips and strawberry milkshakes from the takeaway across the road. Ignoring all that advice about going in the water so soon after eating. Edge did get a cramp, but everyone reckoned he deserved it because he'd eaten two-thirds of the chips. Fly worked out if she kept her distance from Heath, and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand every time her mind threatened to turn her into a marshmallow, she would get through it okay.

As they headed for the bus stop, tired and happy, the sun started to sink behind the hills, painting long streamers of pink and orange through the sky. It made Heath look even more beautiful than ever, Fly thought – for at least half a second before she reached out and gave herself a short sharp slap on the forehead. Get a grip, girl, and get it fast!

Heath saw the slap. ‘It's your birthday, so I'm not going to ask about that. You can do whatever rocks your socks.'

As the rickety old bus barrelled around the corner, Bec raised both hands up to her mouth and let loose an insanely loud whistle.

‘Edge! Bus! Like now!'

Edge hurried out from the corner store, stuffing more food into his gob. The others started piling onto the bus. Heath and Fly were at the end of the queue. Heath reached out and tugged one of Fly's plaits.

Fly jumped and let out a yelp.

‘Save me a seat 'cause the birthday's not over yet. You're getting a foot massage on the way home.'

As she stepped up onto the first step, Fly swallowed hard and looked down at her ragged, shoeless farm feet. When she looked up she was staring straight at Perri's feet, all painted and pedicured in designer thongs. Complete panic raced through her veins.

‘You know what?' She pushed her way around Heath and back down the steps. ‘I'm not ready to go.'

‘Why not?'

Edge squeezed through, juggling drinks and ice-creams and bags of mixed lollies.

‘I … ah … I need to go to the bathroom.'

Heath called up to the driver. ‘Can you wait while she runs to the toilets?'

The driver rolled his eyes. ‘Make it quick, love.'

Fly watched Heath head down the aisle. She waited till he was out of earshot before she looked at the driver.

‘It's um … It's not …' she didn't know what to say, but she'd walked right into this one, so she had to keep going.

‘It's not going to be a quick trip … to the bathroom … So, don't wait. I … may be a while. You go.'

She scampered down the steps fast so she didn't have
to look at the driver's face. The bus had already started to move off before the rest of them realised what had happened.

Heath stuck his head out of the bus window.

‘Fly?!'

‘I'm fine,' she called back. ‘I'll get the next bus!'

She smiled and waved bravely until the bus curled around the corner. Then she let her head fall. Here she was, on her sixteenth birthday, lying to bus drivers about needing to poo so she didn't have to sit next to a boy she was too much of a baby to admit she might like. Her mother always went on and on about not wishing your life away. But maybe seventeen was going to be the one where it all came together.

Fly glanced at the faded old timetable stuck to the telegraph pole near the bus stop. The buses seemed to go every hour, so she might as well take a walk till it was time to go. The tide was on the way out and she headed for the rock shelf. She loved it out there, picking over the lunar surface, peering into pools, watching whole tiny worlds being built just in time to be washed away again when the tide returned.

She felt calmer almost straightaway. When she thought about it, it wasn't so bad admitting that she liked someone. But why did it have to be Heath? It was so out of the question it wasn't funny. And it was out of the question because she knew the liking was never going to come back the other way. Sure Heath was nice to her, and in the beginning, she had thought that maybe there was a reason he was so nice to her. As time went on, though, she realised Heath was nice to everyone. It was just who he was. And at school there was a whole football field of panting girls for him to choose from. Why would he choose her over those girls with long waxed legs and dangly earrings, girls who
joked and flirted and walked like colts. Fly's legs were hairy, her ear lobes were intact and she definitely didn't walk like a colt.

She remembered being home sick from school one day and seeing a program on TV about deportment and grooming. Such a grandma idea, but there it was. It was hosted by a woman who ran some kind of college for up-and-coming models. Amid all the talk about bikini lines and nostril hair, there was a long discussion about walking. Fly thought it was just one of those gigs you kind of worked out when you were little, one foot then the other, but no, no, no – there was a whole science going on there she'd never dreamed of. The woman lined up one of the stick insects she had invited onto the show to do a demonstration. She'd made a black line on the studio floor with tape and as she barked her crisp instructions the model had followed. The technique was to start with one's feet together and, as you stepped out with your right foot, you actually had to cross it over so it landed just on the left-hand side of the line. With the left foot, you stepped forwards and swung it across so it landed just on the right-hand side of the line. Left over right, right over left, and it
was
kind of the way horses walked. Fly remembered dragging herself up off the lounge to see if it actually worked. She pranced back and forth across the faded old carpet, crissing and crossing, and she realised that what happened when you did the horse walk, was that your hips automatically swung out to each side too. There was no way to stop the sassy sway. This was the catwalk model's secret, though really, they should've been called horsewalk
models instead. It just seemed too silly to be true and Fly had flopped back on the lounge, sending all those stick insects a warning to be careful not to break their legs. She knew what happened to horses who broke their legs and it ended with a big bang.

So lost with her horse thoughts was Fly, that when she looked at her watch she realised she only had five minutes to get back to the bus. She bolted. As she clambered up the last section of rocks she saw someone was already at the bus stop. Someone familiar. It was Heath. Fly's mind went into overdrive. She marched right on over, launching her attack before he saw her coming.

‘What are you doing here? You got off at the next stop and walked back, didn't you?'

She gave him at least half a second to answer before she launched into phase two.

‘I can't believe it. I am not a child, but am I allowed to catch the bus on my own? Oh no. I need a babysitter to hold my hand in case I forget where to get off and lose myself.'