Authors: Mila Gray
freak out that he somehow knows what I’m thinking, has
read my mind.
‘Being free. Being eighteen,’ he says, seeing my confu-
sion.
‘Well, I have one more week of school,’ I tell him. ‘Then
the whole summer. And then I start college.’
Kit tilts his head to one side. ‘USC?’
‘No. USD,’ I answer. I waved goodbye to that dream.
It’s University of San Diego for me.
‘I thought you wanted to go to LA?’ Kit says now. ‘I
thought there was a drama course at USC there you were
really into.’
My gaze flies instinctively to the window, to my father
who is still busy with the dancing flames. He’s yelling
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Mila Gray
something at Riley. ‘Well, you know how it is,’ I say, wish-
ing I hadn’t brought it up. ‘My dad wanted me to go to
USD. It’s closer. I can live at home.’
Kit looks at me disbelieving, a flash of disappoint-
ment in his eyes that makes my insides curl up. Trust Kit
to remember that I wanted to go to the University of
Southern California. He was the first person I told about
my dream to go to USC’s School of Dramatic Arts. That
was last time he was back on leave. I’d been fighting with
my dad over my test scores, then I’d gone down to the
beach and run into Kit. We’d started talking and next
thing you know I was telling him everything. Kit was the
first person who actually asked me what it was I wanted
to do with my life.
If you had one dream, what would it be?
he’d asked.
I told him I’d go to USC to study drama. He was so
interested, so enthusiastic about the idea, that I started
to get excited too – to actually start contemplating it.
Then I got home, still high on our conversation, ready to
start researching the application process, and found my
dad waiting for me with a fully drawn-up schedule of
after-school tutoring and a brochure for USD. But I don’t
want to think about any of that today. It’s my birth-
day. Kit’s scowling now. He glances around the room. I
follow his gaze to the window. My father is standing
with charred tongs in one hand glaring through the
glass. His eyes are narrowed like laser sights. Suddenly,
though, his view is blocked by Didi, who stands before
him holding a bowl of marinated chicken like it’s John
the Baptist’s head.
‘I better go,’ I hear Kit say.
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COME BACK TO ME
I spin around. ‘No,’ I say quickly, grabbing for his
wrist. ‘Please stay.’
Kit stares down at my fingers circling his arm. He
doesn’t say anything, but when he looks up my pulse
quickens as I see the expression in his eyes. It’s unmistak-
able. I’m not inventing this or imagining it. I see the
desire, bright as a flame. I drop his wrist in surprise, my
fingers burning.
‘I don’t want to get court-martialled,’ he murmurs,
jerking his head softly in the direction of the window.
‘Oh, just ignore him,’ I say, sounding breathless and
cursing myself for it. ‘He’s just out of sorts. You know
what he’s like.’ I hate making excuses for my father but
I’m used to it. I’ve been doing it most of my life.
‘Yeah, well,’ Kit says, ‘I don’t want him sending me on
a one-man mission to Somalia or Afghanistan. Or worse,
making me clean the latrines at the base for the rest of my
life.’
Kit looks down at my hand which rests just inches
away from his own. He glances up and his gaze rests for a
moment on my lips. ‘I best be going,’ he says quietly.
I swallow.
No.
Don’t go
, I want to say. I want to take
hold of his wrist again. I want to see that look in his eye
one more time. Just to be sure, because already I’m won-
dering if I imagined it. But I don’t. I just nod. He steps
back towards the door. ‘Tell Riley I’ll call him later.’
I nod again. For some reason tears burn the backs of
my eyes. I blame it on the smoke from the grill that’s
wafting through the open French doors. Why does my
dad have to always go and ruin everything? And more
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Mila Gray
annoyingly, why don’t I ever stand up to him? I’m
eighteen now. I shouldn’t be scared any more.
‘I’ll see you around, Jessa,’ Kit says. He grabs a couple
of cupcakes from the plate on the table, grins at me, and
disappears. A few seconds later I hear the front door
slam.
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Kit
I shouldn’t have left. If Colonel
I’m a dickhead
Kingsley
hadn’t pointed those tongs at me like he was aiming a
sub-machine gun at my head then maybe I would have
stuck around. I swear it was crossing his mind to use my
face as fuel for the grill. Whatever. What was I expecting?
It’s not like I’ve ever been welcome in their house. Well,
OK, that’s not strictly true. I’m welcome there whenever
he’s not around. Riley, Jessa and their mom have always
gone out of their way to make me feel at home. I think
they feel guilty for how he treats me. I know Riley thinks
his dad is an asshole, but he can’t say anything. Guess I
wouldn’t either in his shoes.
I swing my leg over my bike with a sigh and rev the
engine. While I was away the two things I missed the
most and fantasized about so regularly that I earned
the title of Corporal Space Cadet from my unit were this
bike and Jessa Kingsley. OK and a ribeye steak from
Fleming’s, cooked medium rare. But mainly Jessa, it has
to be said. And holy shit, yeah, now I remember exactly
why and simultaneously realize how much my imagin-
ation short-changed me. I didn’t have a photograph of
her with me – didn’t want Riley to have occasion to ask
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Mila Gray
me what the fuck I was doing with a picture of his sister
in my wallet, for obvious reasons, namely wanting to
keep possession of my balls. Next time, though, I’m
taking a photograph. Balls be damned.
Jessa Kingsley has been my secret obsession for two
years. Thankfully for her she takes after her mom and not
her dad – pale blonde hair, creamy skin, eyes so green
you’d think they were contacts if you didn’t know other-
wise. One day she was this small, blonde kid, all elbows
and knees and braces, following the two of us around all
the time like a lemming, and then I go away to basic
training and come back to find she’s all grown up, with
eyes the size of dinner plates, hair hanging straight as a
sniper’s aim down her back and a smile that takes my
breath away every single time.
She never grew much, in fact she’s still short and
petite, but she’s got curves in all the right places. Though
it took a while to realize that, and by then it was more like
a bonus rather than the main attraction. She goes to a con-
vent school and the uniform is kind of like a nun’s habit.
And I think her dad has veto over her entire wardrobe as
she’s never showing much skin. I only realized how killer
her body was when I saw her at the beach wearing a
bikini. That sight was enough to push my obsession from
borderline to all-consuming.
Coming to her house was a dumb idea, though. Now
I’m not going to be able to get her out of my mind for the
next month. I guess half of me was hoping I’d go around
to visit and find out she’d gained five hundred pounds or
at the very least a boyfriend, which would kick all my
dreams into touch. Maybe she does have a boyfriend. The
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COME BACK TO ME
thought makes me almost skid into the kerb. Shit. I didn’t
ask. But no. I mean, if she had a boyfriend I would have
heard about it, right? Riley would have said something,
I’m sure of it. Any whiff of a guy making moves on his
sister and he’d know about it and put a stop to it, even
from as far away as Sudan. He’d find a way. Plus there’s
her father. I can’t see him allowing Jessa to date any time
this century. And I can’t imagine any guy meeting her
father and asking her out on a second date.
I can’t count the times I’ve thought about telling Jessa
how I feel, but to be honest I’ve never been sure if she’s
interested. And admitting something like that to some-
one is purely a one-time deal. If it’s not reciprocated then
not only do you look like a prize fool but you also lose
a friendship. I don’t care so much about the fool part
because she probably already figures me for one, but I do
care about losing Jessa as a friend. The thing is, in her
emails recently, if I’m not mistaken, she seemed to be flirt-
ing with me. And after seeing the way she looked at me
just now, and the not so subtle comments her friend was
making, I’m pretty sure she must have been. A buzz set-
tles in my chest just below my sternum, a jolt of energy
that spreads outwards, making my heart rate speed up.
I realize that I’m doing twenty over the speed limit
and grinning like a maniac on speed. I ease off the gas.
There’s a sign up ahead saying ‘No U-turns’. For a second
I contemplate it anyway. But then I tell myself to stay
away. Riley would kill me. Hell, her father would kill me
if he even suspected what I fantasize about regarding his
daughter. Actually he wouldn’t just kill me. He’d torture
me first, then kill me. It’s a bad idea. Jessa and I can’t ever
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Mila Gray
be together. Not long term. She’s off to college in the fall
and I’m leaving again in a month, need I remind myself.
I park up by the pier and lean over the railing for half
an hour, listening to the waves bash against the struts,
watching the kids playing on the swings at the top of the
boardwalk and the fishermen casting off again and again,
hoping to bag a catch. When I finally turn away the sun is
starting to sink over the ocean and I’ve decided what I’m
going to do. I grin, even though I know it might just be
the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought about doing. And
considering all the stupid things I’ve done in my life,
that’s pretty impressive.
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Jessa
I lie on my bed, playing with the necklace my mom just
gave me and staring up at the ceiling. It’s heart-shaped
(the necklace, not the ceiling) and as I play with it I can’t
stop thinking about Kit. Did I mistake the look in his
eyes? My stomach flutters with butterflies at the thought
that I didn’t. But then the butterflies are blown to
smithereens as I picture my father’s face staring at Kit
through the window and pointing that grill tong at him.
I mean, there are way too many obstacles in the way, not
even taking into account the number of guns and grill-
ing implements my father owns. I bury my head in a
pillow. I guess I can wave goodbye to ever knowing
what it’s like to kiss Kit. While I’m at it, I guess I can
wave goodbye to having a boyfriend before I turn thirty
or ever losing my virginity. I’ll be like the nuns who
teach us Religious Studies at school. In fact I may as well
just measure myself right now for a wimple and be done
with it.
I didn’t tell Kit about the fights that went down with
my dad over college. Actually ‘fights’ would be exagger-
ating. No one fights with my dad. He lays down the law.
We obey. My father has post-traumatic stress disorder,
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Mila Gray
which is a diagnosis Riley and I have made unofficially
because he refuses to see a ‘head doctor’ or talk about
his problems. We have to walk on eggshells for fear he
gets over-stressed or irritated, which is pretty much an
hourly occurrence. Even the sound of a kettle whistling
can set him off, which is why all our phones are set to
silent.
When he does have one of his episodes, it’s like a tor-
nado rampaging through the house. He’s never hit us,
but he’s destroyed a lot of furniture. Right now I can
hear him downstairs in his den, watching the game,
occasionally letting out the odd expletive or victory yell.
My stomach is tensed and I feel on edge, like I’m about
to take a test where the punishment for failing is death
by firing squad. With grim recognition, I realize that’s
how I always feel when he’s in the house. I don’t know
how my mom deals with it or why she hasn’t divorced
him. If I were in her shoes I would have by now. I make a
solemn promise to myself that I will never ever marry