The overhanging branches became lower and the foliage thicker until I had to duck under the boughs, and squeeze through gaps in the branches to get any further forward. I resolved to see what was around the next bend in the stream and then go on back.
Moving aside a branch and stepping onto a jagged piece of rock to collect a striped black and white pebble I suddenly came face to face with Jem Masterson.
He was sitting on the opposite bank of the stream dangling his feet in the water. I was about to turn and dive back into the safety of the willows when he called out to me.
“Hey! Take a look at this.” He was peering into a tussock of grass. I debated ignoring him – curiosity won out over caution; it always seems to in my case.
“What is it?” I waded nearer, while still keeping my distance. I hadn’t forgotten the penknife he’d been carving the bench with.
“I think it’s a green winged orchid, though I can’t believe it’s flowering so late.”
I was so surprised that the celebrated bad boy Jem Masterson should be interested in a flower that I moved a little closer to his side of the bank. I could just make out a fragile purple bloom, peeking out from behind the tall grasses.
“Why’s it called green winged when it’s purple?” I asked.
“Because of these.”
He pointed at a petal. I moved closer still, and was now able to see thin green stripes running along the full length of the petal he was indicating. The others were dotted with green freckles.
“It’s lovely,” I said, fascinated in spite of myself. I crossed the last few feet and found I was close enough to reach out and touch the delicate plant.
“Isn’t it? It’s rare too. It’s so weird that it’s in flower so late in the year. Must be down to global warming”
“Not according to someone I know!”
Jem stopped looking at the plant, and studied me instead; his eyes were a really pale shade of blue. Remember what a jerk he is I told myself; ignore the curls… and the long eyelashes…and the cupid’s bow mouth. He was speaking again.
“The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter change
their wonted liveries, and the mazèd world, by their increase, now knows not which is which.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream. William Shakespeare. I studied it at my last school. It seems the Elizabethans suffered from changes to their seasons too.”
“Didn’t they hold frost fairs on the Thames when it froze over?”
He looked impressed. I tried not to show how absurdly pleased I felt by leaning over to smell the flower.
“Be careful!”
His words stopped me in my tracks, my face inches from the orchid’s petals. Moving my head back slowly I asked him what the problem was.
“The purple flower in Shakespeare’s Dream is a powerful love potion, one drop in the eye and you’re smitten. You wouldn’t want that would you?
I looked at him again wondering what the correct answer to that question actually was.
“I’m Jem by the way.”
“I know.”
He blinked. “How’s that?”
“We’re at college together,” I told him, “I’ve seen you with your girlfriend” I emphasized the word. “Jayne isn’t it?”
“Jayne’s not my girlfriend,” he answered, shaking his head.
So much for loyalty I thought. You deserve your reputation, curls or no curls. I couldn’t stomach Jayne, but where did he get off denying that he was dating her. I’d seen them together plain as daylight.
“Have you mentioned that to her?” I asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. He thought for a moment and then smiled wryly.
“It’s complicated.”
“Save it for Facebook!” I threw the words over my shoulder as I waded back into the water and began to push my way past the branch of willow again.
Clambering to his feet he called after me. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ariel,” I answered, as I sloshed through the water, “the Little Mermaid!”
Millie was extremely impressed with what she referred to as my super-cool behavior when I finally got back to the glade clutching an assorted handful of pebbles, and itching to tell someone about my encounter. She kept laughing about the ‘Little Mermaid’ as we walked back through the woods together.
“You’re awesome Thea,” she announced, linking arms with me.
I was sure she was right; I just wished that my stomach would stop doing flip-flops when I thought about how I’d felt when Jem Masterson looked at me. After all, I’d only exchanged half a dozen words with him at most.
I suppose at sixteen and a half I’d had relatively little experience of boys. There had been my childhood sweetheart Aaron Thorkin who I hung out with in my paddling pool and swore I was going to marry, right up to the point where he pulled the head off Surfing Barbie, and broke my Hello Kitty tea set.
I was keen on a sensitive, poetic, soul when I first went to Junior High, who I’ve now realized was scared to death of me and made elaborate excuses not to be left alone in my company for too long. I’d graduated from him to a nice guy who taught me to French kiss before dropping him for a complete brute who seemed to enjoy being mean and making me cry.
None of them had really amounted to much more than casual flirtation and puppy love when I looked back at them objectively. Partly I guess because of me. The way I am. I just don’t seem to be able to connect the way some people do.
You know how some girls always seem to have a proper relationship? It’s never been like that for me. I’ve always felt in a way that I was playing a game, that I was pretending somehow. I suppose I’d just never really been in love.
I suddenly realized I was jealous of Sim and Lucy’s closeness and intimacy, I wanted that too. Sim and Lucy? Who was I kidding? The person I was really jealous of was Jayne Carter.
Chapter 7.Night and fire
Beltane Page 7
