The room is large, the walls covered in band posters. There’s a single bed and a couch. Evan points at the bed. ‘You can take that,’ he says. He kicks off his shoes and spreads out on the couch. I wonder if anyone will come investigate the noise but Evan assures me that it’s just Cook’s mum and she knows he’s staying.
I edge around the drum kit and sit on the end of the bed. Evan flicks the lamp off. I slip off my Havaianas and my shorts, and pull my bra out from under my shirt.
The night spins through my mind as I tuck myself under the strange covers. I try to focus on the city and the show but keep flicking back to my brother’s artwork, and the photo of him on the bridge.
‘Evan?’ I whisper.
‘Yeah?’ His reply is instant.
‘Um . . . you don’t have to sleep there if you don’t want to.’ He’s on the bed before I’ve finished speaking. I pull back the covers for him and his head joins mine on the pillow.
‘Did you have fun tonight?’ he asks. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I can make out the edge of his features.
‘Yeah.’
His body turns towards mine and he tucks his hands under his cheek. The rubber band bracelet he always wears is an inch from my nose.
‘Why do you wear that?’ I flick it on his wrist and he smiles.
‘It was a gift,’ he says. ‘From my little sister Ella.’
‘Did she make it?’
‘Yep. She’s a rubber band weaving machine.’
I smile.
‘This was the plan,’ he says.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘For your car to break down and to get me in bed?’
He laughs—a quiet puff of air. ‘No. That was just good luck.’
‘Very funny.’
‘No. I mean the plan was to move in here . . . with Cook’s family. I was only supposed to be at my dad’s a few weeks.’
‘What happened?’
‘Cook couldn’t get his mum to come round.’
‘Oh.’ I chew on my lip. ‘Why’d you have to leave?’ My voice is barely a whisper and when he doesn’t respond I’m worried he didn’t hear me.
Then he sighs and turns so he’s talking to the ceiling. ‘I was hanging out with these guys at my old school. They were a couple of years above, all trust-funded and self-obsessed. I don’t know why I was hanging out with them, but they had money to burn and I got bored easy.’ He reaches over and pinches my cheek.
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry. It’s just really cool that you’re here.’ He shifts back so he’s facing me. ‘Anyway, they were always leaving school to get fried somewhere and one time I went with them. We went down to this lake, parked right at the edge on the water, and smoked up in the car. Only somewhere in there I find out that the car we’re in isn’t exactly theirs and that maybe it’s the principal’s.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. So, I get out and they chase me, thinking it’s hilarious, saying shit like “We can’t let him talk”. As if I even would, I couldn’t give a stuff, I just didn’t want to be sitting in a stolen car. They catch up to me, and then we hear like this splash and I guess whoever was driving forgot to put the handbrake on, cos now the car is in the water.’
‘No way!’
‘Anyway, it somehow all landed on me and I got expelled and Mum hit the roof.’
‘You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested!’
‘Yeah. Mr Goodridge suspected it wasn’t all on me even though I wouldn’t say.’
‘Why not?’
‘I dunno. Those guys were all lawyered up and had important dads and I figured they’d sue me or something.’ He shrugs.
‘God.’
His knee nudges mine; he’s still wearing his jeans.
‘Is it bad that I’m kinda glad you’re stuck at the Bay?’
He shuffles closer and his leg slides between mine.
‘Yeah?’ he says.
I should kiss him—my God I want to kiss him—and I think he’s waiting for me to.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ I say.
He brushes my hair back from my cheek. ‘Why?’
My reasons melt away and I close my eyes. The photo of my brother on the bridge flashes behind my eyelids and a lump forms in my throat. ‘Because I’m a mess,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to you.’
‘Can I have a say in what’s fair to me? Do you like me?’
‘It’s not that simple, Evan.’
‘Bullshit. Do you?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper. He’s so close that the tip of his nose touches mine.
‘Then I don’t care. We’ll make it work. You can be a mess, you can cry all over me—’
‘Don’t bring that up.’
‘You can though. I won’t run away.’
I swallow. ‘I might.’
His fingertips brush over my cheek. ‘Okay. If you don’t want to . . .’
‘Go out?’
‘Then we won’t.’ He smiles. ‘We can stay in. Ow!’
I whack him in the arm again and he grabs my hand.
‘Be still, tiny powerful fists.’
I laugh and he tickles me. ‘Stop it!’ I try to keep my voice down but a high-pitched squeal escapes.
‘Shh!’ he says, one finger on his lips while the other hand dances down my side. His eyes go wide in the darkness. ‘You’re not wearing any pants! Just kill me now.’
‘Shut up,’ I say and grab a fistful of his T-shirt. He smiles at me and my head screams that this is a bad idea, but I pull his face to mine anyway.
My mind is lost against his hands, his lips, the feel of his skin. I’m struck by the way my hips fit against his, my stomach pulls tight and my back arches. I tug his shirt up and run my hands up his back. Evan moans against my mouth and kisses me deeper.
His hand slides up my waist, he kisses my neck and behind my ear. It feels so good. This hot pleasure that builds under my ribs and spreads out.
We’re alone, alone all night, and we can do whatever we want. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do but I do know I want him to keep touching me. And I want to touch him.
I roll him onto his back and kiss the space between his ear and his jaw, like he did to me. Evan grips my hips. I place a hand either side of his face, his eyes shining up at me in the darkness, I kiss the outer corner of each eye while his thumbs trace the elastic line of my undies. He keeps eye contact with me as one hand moves up my T-shirt and his fingertips brush over my breast. I close my eyes at his featherlight touch, heat rushing through me, and find his mouth with mine.
I can feel him through his jeans, pressing at my leg. Suddenly aware of all the things two bodies can do, I stop kissing him and pull back.
‘What?’ Evan whispers, opening his eyes.
‘We’re not having sex.’ No matter how cute the boy may be I’ve only known him for a few weeks and I’m not about to lose my virginity in his best mate’s bed.
‘Well, no,’ he smiles, ‘that generally requires my pants to be off.’
‘No,’ I sit up, ‘I mean we’re not going to, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He stretches under me and runs his hands over my arms. ‘Do you want to stop?’
I walk my fingertips along his chest. ‘I . . . no, I didn’t say that.’
Evan pulls me back down on top of him and I smile against his mouth. We kiss until I can’t feel my lips and his hands travel places where nobody’s but my own have been.
It feels like I’ve only just closed my eyes when the alarm on Evan’s phone goes off. He’s somehow managed to wrap himself completely around me and is pinning all of my limbs with his dead sleep weight. I shift slightly to get him to move but it results in—oh my God, don’t think about what’s poking into my back, don’t think about it.
His phone keeps singing its alarm.
‘Evan?’ I whisper. No response. ‘Ev?’ I tickle my fingertips along his arm.
‘Mmgfhhld.’
‘We gotta get up.’ I stifle a laugh—don’t think ab
out it. His grip on me loosens and I manage to wriggle out. ‘Where’s your phone?’
Evan rolls over and presses his hands against his eyes. ‘Huh?’
‘Your phone.’ I sit up and scan the room.
‘Couch,’ he says, his voice sticky with sleep. I climb over him, he catches me by the waist and brings me down on top of him. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes are still closed.
I kiss his sleepy forehead. ‘To turn off your alarm.’
‘My what?’ His eyes open. ‘Oh. Oh shit. We gotta get the train.’
We get dressed, grab our stuff and sneak downstairs. We’re almost at the back door when someone clears their throat. A lady, I’m guessing Cook’s mum, is standing in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee. She raises her eyebrows and my heart pounds.
‘Not even a good morning?’
‘Sorry,’ Evan says, ‘good morning.’ He gives her a one-armed hug, his shoes in his other hand. ‘Thanks for letting us stay.’
‘Of course,’ she says, ‘anytime.’ She turns around so her back’s to me and she’s blocking Evan. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispers. ‘You know that, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Evan says, ‘I know.’
Her head flicks back to me. ‘Hello,’ she says, a slight smirk on her lips.
I shuffle my feet in the hallway. ‘Hi.’
‘This is Lucy,’ Evan says. ‘Don’t tell Cook.’ She gives him a sly look and Evan backs towards me. ‘Please.’
‘Of course,’ she smiles sharp, ‘your secret’s safe. You guys want coffee?’ She raises her mug.
‘Ah. Thanks but we gotta jet. Train. Thanks again. Bye!’
Evan careens me out the door and I yell a goodbye before it slams shut. We’re not even two houses away when his phone rings. He stares at the screen then answers. The voice is so loud even I can hear it.
‘You had a girl in my bed!’
Evan closes his eyes. ‘Your mum is a lying liar who lies . . .’ He groans. ‘No . . . NO . . . no . . . she’s not here . . . no. She’s gone’—he laughs—‘yes she ran off. I dunno’—he links his fingers through mine—‘she’s part bird. I couldn’t stop her . . . a wood sprite? Hey we saw Shiver and the Shake last night . . . I mean I did, by myself . . . no it did not . . . you’re gross. I’m hanging up . . . okay God. Bye.’ He sticks his phone in his pocket. ‘Cook says hi.’
I smile up at him. ‘Is that all he said?’
‘It’s far too early to repeat such filth.’ He lifts my hand and kisses it as we walk towards the train station.
It takes us one train, two buses and six hours before we’re back in the Bay.
Waving
There’s a place in my head where I find you
A shining sea of black and blue
We sail our boats but yours keeps sinking
And I . . .
I keep waving
17
According to Google, there are plenty of apps that let you send anonymous text messages. Each text comes from a different number, and no matter where I call them from it won’t connect. Knowing how she’s doing it isn’t going to get me any closer to who she is anyway.
How can Ryan not know her?
I’ve been going over it in my head all through school today.
Maybe if I showed him the texts he’d be able to piece it together. I scroll back through the messages—Watcher, Sand, Pointless, Stolen, Waving. Seems like she knows she was a secret and she’s not happy about it.
Stolen. I slip into his room and go through his chest of drawers. Cam was never much into order, or folding, so his T-shirts are shoved all over the place. I check his wardrobe and under his bed until I’m pretty certain I’ve got them all.
I sit on his mattress and go through the pile. The smell catches me off guard—it’s not a bad smell, it’s a him smell. A smell I wasn’t even aware he had until it was taken away, now all at once given back.
It settles behind my eyes and makes my head thick. I ball the blue T-shirt I’m holding in my fists and stare at the surfing posters on his wall.
‘What do you wanna do forever, Spu?’
‘Are you high?’
‘Shh. No. Maybe I could be a boat.’
‘You mean be on a boat?’
‘Yeah. I’d like that—all that floating.’
I take a deep breath in, hold it and release. Okay. I shake my fingers out and fold the blue T-shirt. I fold them all—I can’t help it. I fold them into neat little piles and place them all back in the one drawer. I’m tempted to sort the rest of his clothes but that would be crazy—right?
I lean against the chest of drawers and stare at his phone. The shirt’s not there. This stranger has it.
I slide Cam’s phone into my pocket, grab my bike and ride up the hill.
Simmo’s place is on the far side of the bluff in a small crop of government housing. His van is parked in the front yard, music pumping from its speakers. Lengths of plywood are stacked on the grass, along with milk crates and power tools. I find Simmo inside the van, crouched near the wall and hammering something into place.
‘Hey,’ I say, leaning into the door.
Simmo looks up from what he’s doing. ‘Hey yourself.’ He leans into the front and turns the music down. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Is Ryan around?’
‘Sorry. Haven’t seen him. He’s probably surfing at South West if you want to find him.’
‘Oh.’ I sit on the edge of the van and pick at the red shag carpet. Simmo continues to work behind me. ‘This carpet is gross. What are you doing?’
‘Building a kitchen.’
I turn around. ‘Seriously?’
‘Sure.’ He pats a wooden box on the wall. ‘Check out my cupboard. And this carpet is awesome.’
‘It looks like you’ve skinned a Muppet.’
He puts down the hammer and strokes the carpet. ‘You gotta lie on it to get the full effect.’ He stretches his arms in front of him and lies face first on the carpet. ‘Come on.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘I’m not gonna lie on your Muppet sex carpet.’
He laughs. ‘Only put it in this morning, haven’t taken it for a spin yet.’
I make a face like I’ve sucked a lemon.
Simmo smile fades, he traces shapes in the carpet and glances up at me. ‘For the record, I thought that was a dick move on Saturday.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Just dropping Cammo’s art on you like that. I told him so,’ Simmo rolls onto his back and points two fingers at the ceiling, ‘I said, “That’s a dick move, Ryan”.’ He looks back at me.
‘Oh. Yeah, thanks.’
‘No worries.’
I twist my fingers through the carpet and it leaves red fuzz on my skin. ‘Did you know Cam was in the show?’
‘Look,’ he sniffs, ‘not gonna lie, it’s possible he didn’t tell me and could be I just didn’t remember. Either way, seeing his name there like that, it was a fucken shock.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can’t imagine what it was like for you.’
I roll my lips through my teeth. ‘It was a shock. Do you . . .’ I glance from the carpet to Simmo, ‘do you know who the girl was—in his artwork? Do you know her?’
Simmo frowns. ‘You couldn’t see her face.’
‘Yeah but, maybe he was seeing someone, like, before you guys went away.’
‘Ah,’ Simmo scratches his ear with his thumb, ‘I think there was a girl.’
My heart lifts. ‘Really?’
‘Well, your brother was pissy as hell on that trip so I figured either he wasn’t getting any or he had been and now he wasn’t.’
‘But you don’t know who?’
‘Nah, sorry.’ He stretches and turns onto his side. ‘He probably just made that drawing up. He had some mad shit in his head.’
I want to tell him she’s not made-up—she’s real. And it would be as easy as taking Cam’s phone from my pocket and showing him the texts. But that would mean letting someone into
this private world.
Simmo strokes the carpet, flattening the shag and fluffing it back up. I clear my throat. ‘Ryan said you guys had a fight on the trip—you and Cam.’
‘His pissyness was bringing everyone down.’ Simmo sits up and grabs a cigarette from his pack on the floor. ‘So, yeah, we got into it a bit. Weird though right, like, if we hadn’t patched stuff up . . .’ He lights the smoke and studies the burning end. ‘This close to the last thing I said to him being he’s a wanker.’
‘What was the last thing you said to him?’
He sucks back on the cigarette, blows out the smoke and looks at the ceiling. ‘Probably something about the chick I was hooking up with.’ He gives me a grim smile. ‘I’m sorry, hey. If we hadn’t left them that night, hadn’t gone to get pissed, maybe . . . I dunno, just maybe.’
‘Ryan says he doesn’t remember what happened,’ I say, my eyes watering from the sharp smoke.
Simmo grabs an empty plastic water bottle and taps his ash into it. ‘Yeah. Found him passed out on the sand. We were all still a bit buzzed so it took us way too long to work out Cam wasn’t there and neither was his board.’ Simmo closes his eyes and when he opens them again they’re bright with tears. ‘He’d love this, you know,’ he sniffs. ‘Being a mystery.’
I take my time riding back from Simmo’s: zigzagging along the road and turning in to the bluff. The wind is strong here, blowing up from the ocean and whistling through my hair. I lean on my handlebars and stare out at the afternoon sky.
A hang gliding pilot is getting ready to take off: securing his parachute and fastening his helmet. The glider is pegged to the ground, the wind already threatening to take it skyward. I blink at the red wings then jump off my bike and let it crash to the ground.
‘Evan!’ I sprint over.
‘Hey.’ He smiles. ‘Just about to head out.’
My hair whips around my face and the glider bucks behind him. ‘Are you insane? The wind’s too strong.’
‘Nah, it’s not that bad,’ he says. ‘Gone out in worse.’
I look towards the drop and my stomach hardens. ‘Don’t.’ I swallow. ‘Please don’t.’
Pieces of Sky Page 13
