Push Me, Pull Me

by Vanessa Garden

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Martin never forgot to use a movie line greeting. This didn’t bode well.

  He raked a shaking hand through his hair and let out a huge groaning sigh. “Can we talk?” He stepped inside and faux smiled at my little make-shift family before adding, “In your room?”

  My heart thudded and my stomach swirled sickly. The last time I felt sick like this I’d found out about my mother.

  I nodded and without saying a word to the others in the lounge room, motioned for Martin to follow me into my bedroom. After closing the door behind us, I sucked in a deep breath and watched Martin while he paced around the room. Something major must have happened for him to be acting like this. But then again, he’d cried in loud, guttural sobs when his Wii console broke, so he was a bit of a drama queen in that respect.

  “So what is it?” I asked, my heart thumping like mad.

  Martin exhaled and turned to face me, his eyes dark and stormy.

  “Ruby, there’s something…major I have to tell you.”

  “Yes?” I whispered.

  “It’s about that Byron guy. And you’re not going to like it.”

  Chapter 9

  When Martin didn’t say anything right away, I lost control of my patience.

  “What, Martin? Spit it out.”

  “He’s got Maddie,” he said, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes staring off somewhere faraway.

  I stood there for a moment, absorbing this unexpected admission.

  “What do you mean he’s got Maddie?”

  He groaned. “I mean, he took her back to his hotel room.” He shook his head and turned to rest his hands against the window sill, his head hanging down, his biceps flexed to their full bulging capacity beneath his shirt.

  Byron…Maddie…

  My thoughts were still hazy, like an instant fog had clouded my brain. I shook my head slightly.

  “Like…a kidnapping?”

  “No!” He twisted his neck to glare at me as though he couldn’t believe how stupid I was. “Believe me, she went willingly.”

  Automatically my eyes moved to where Byron had lain on my bed the night before, only ten hours ago. So he’d moved on from me pretty quickly. For all I knew, he probably hadn’t even turned up at the Tea ‘n’ Tale this morning.

  I tried to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in my stomach and instead focussed on my best friend’s feelings. Byron wasn’t really anyone to me, but Madeline was Martin’s girlfriend.

  “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. They probably just talked all night.” I shrugged. “He is pretty interesting.” I bit my bottom lip, surprised by the bitter jealousy erupting inside of me. Our little bedroom talk had been special, special enough—or so I’d thought—to keep me up most of the night, my face stuffed into my pillow so that I could smell him.

  “Yeah, like she’d just talk to a guy that looks and sounds like that!” He shook his head and faced me, eyes glassy. “I even find it hard to rope her into a decent conversation for longer than two minutes, let alone all night—and I’m her fucking boyfriend!”

  I looked at him in disbelief.

  “Then why are you with a girl like that if she doesn’t like talking?” I blurted out all of a sudden, finally finding a voice for what I’d been thinking ever since he hooked up with her.

  “Why are you shouting at me? I’m the one who’s suffering here,” he shouted back.

  I held my palms up and exhaled.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. What I meant to say is that you’re Mr. Talkative, so I imagine you’d want a girl who liked talking as much as you do.” I playfully poked him in the ribs to lighten the mood. “I can hardly shut you up at the best of times.”

  Martin met my eyes and sighed before moving in close. He rested both hands on my shoulders, brushing aside my long hair. Martin’s hug when Mum had died had felt right. But this time his touch felt different and sent a panicky feeling racing through my veins.

  He inhaled, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were so intense that for the first time in our long friendship, I felt uncomfortable in his gaze. I shuffled back a little bit, but he stepped forward.

  “Then maybe it’s you I should be with, not Madeline.”

  I froze on the spot. Did I just hear that? This was Martin, Martin my best friend, my confidant, the guy who never failed to laugh at my snotty tears whenever we watched Stand by Me, the only person to have seen me cry in the last ten years.

  Martin leaned in, the stubble on his chin grazing against my cheek. “I think it’s always been you, Ruby,” he whispered in my ear before pulling back to check my reaction.

  Finally snapping out of my stupor, I wrenched myself free of his grip.

  “Martin…” I shook my head while I sought the right words. “What they hell are you doing? We’re like…like brother and sister. You’re not thinking straight because of this Madeline thing.” I stepped back, but again he followed.

  “No. I’m telling the truth.” His hazel eyes locked with mine. “I’ve never actually felt so…” He straightened his back, his eyes wide, before he continued, “Getting this off my chest is liberating.” His ragged breath felt warm against my forehead. “I think…I think I’ve loved you since you were six years old, Rubes, when I came up with that crap about drinking your hair colour. I only said it to get you laughing because you were so sad on your first day at school.” He smiled softly, his eyes faraway and misty in the memory. “But you took it so seriously and showed me the ginger beer in your drink-bottle the next day and well…” He swallowed thickly. “I was a goner after that.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Martin. Six- and seven-year-olds don’t fall in love, okay? That’s stupid.” My voice was calm and composed but I had to turn around so that he didn’t see me chewing my nails. He knew I only bit them when I was freaking out. Why on earth was he saying these things? Why now after so many years? Did this mean our friendship was just a lie? I wanted to slap his pretty-boy face and make him see sense.

  He dug his fingers into my shoulders, turning me around, and before I knew it, his lips were on mine. He moved his mouth tenderly, holding my chin at the same time, but I screwed up my lips into a tight knot. Though his technique was good, it was the equivalent of being kissed by my Dad or baby brother. Yuck. I pressed my hands against his muscled chest and pushed away.

  “Don’t, Martin. Don’t kiss our friendship away,” I said, my breathing laboured, my throat tight.

  He swatted my hands away from his chest and stared at me, hard, for a long time while he caught his breath. Then something dark washed over his face and red flared up in his cheeks.

  “You know what? You’re just like Madeline and all those other girls you hate.” He stabbed a finger at my window as if they were all lined up outside.

  “What do you mean? I don’t hate anyone. I just don’t have anything in common with most girls my age. Hello, I’ve got a toddler!” My hands flopped to my sides. “You should know that, being my supposed best friend.’

  He laughed harshly, revealing small white teeth. “No, you are exactly like them, only you flaunt and tease boys with your brains and your wit as well as your body, that’s what.” His eyes gave me a once over before he made his way to the door. I raced after him and spun him around by his shoulder.

  “How can you accuse me of that?” I pulled at my hair with my hands. “That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. My brain, The Temptress. And for your information, hardly any guy ever looks at me, let alone takes the time to talk to me, okay? So you’re speaking shit!”

  Martin laughed. “And why do you think that is?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Martin shook his head. “Half the population of Donny Vale’s teenage boys are interested, or at least were interested at some stage, but I warned them all off you.” He stared at the wall, his face reddening even deeper. “I told them all I’d smash their teeth in if they so much as breathed on you.”

>   It took a moment for realisation to sink in.

  “You what? So for all of those years you let me think I was some freaky thing nobody would touch?”

  The door slammed in my face. I opened it and stomped after him, but when I came to the living area, where Jay stood, wide eyed and clutching his blanky, I stopped and watched, my body shaking with adrenaline, while Martin charged out of the house without looking back.

  Dad, not surprisingly, snored away on the couch in the corner and Mrs. Simich pretended as if she’d just woken up from a nap. But I was sure she’d heard the whole thing. When I met her sympathetic eyes, I quickly skipped mine away, feeling suddenly guilty and dirty inside after what had happened with Martin.

  Jay hugged my legs so I bent down and cuddled into his little open arms and buried my face into his hair.

  Forget adolescent boys. They were too much trouble. I was going to focus on the most important little man in my life.

  “Woo-by sad? Woo-by make stinky like Jay?” Jay asked, eyeing me with hope. I swallowed down my anger and smiled, putting my hand to his forehead to check his temperature. He felt just fine, thank God.

  “No, Jay, Ruby’s happy.” I swung him up in the air, revelling in the sound of his joyous whoops of laughter. Then I did it again and again until we collapsed on the floor, Jay giggling and me writhing in back pain agony.

  ***

  A short while later, after I’d put Jay to bed and washed the lunch dishes with Mira—‘Mrs. Simich’ apparently made her feel like an old hag—she shooed me out of the house. So I decided to go for a walk to clear my head, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be.

  The river was packed at this time of year but there was a secret spot Martin and I always hung out at that nobody else ever went to, well, except my mum and dad when they were young. It was full of sharp, dangerous rocks upon which we’d split our knees open many a time throughout our childhood, and you had to cross a bushy, trackless area that left cuts across your arms and legs, but it was private. And privacy was what I needed right now.

  Only I hoped Martin wasn’t thinking the same thing. Last thing I needed now was more alone time with him.

  Bees buzzed around the huge wattle tree that I normally hung my towel and clothes on, so instead I flung it up on the branch of a young eucalypt. The rocks were not only sharp, but slippery, so I clambered across them like a crab until I hovered above the water’s edge.

  The emerald green water glittered invitingly beneath the sunny blue sky and as I lowered my underwear clad body into it, a deep sigh escaped my lips.

  “Ruby?” somebody called out.

  No…it couldn’t be.

  Though I was neck deep in water, my hands immediately covered my bra and underwear.

  “Byron?” I swam to the rocky ledge, my heart pounding a mile a minute. Cicadas chirped noisily all around me, making it hard for me to determine which direction Byron’s voice was coming from.

  “Ruby?”

  “I’m here, in the water,” I called out, my voice high pitched with excitement and shock at having him here, at my secret spot. But then I remembered Martin’s visit, the things he’d told me about Byron and Madeline at the hotel, and I shivered, cold all over.

  “Hi,” he called as he burst through a particularly spiky bush. He was breathless, his hair damp with sweat. Cuts and scrapes marked his forearms and face.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “And how did you know I was here?”

  He held up a plastic shopping bag filled with what appeared to be food and a folded towel, the towel looking suspiciously like one of ours from home.

  “I came to your house because you didn’t show at the Tea ‘n’ Tale this morning. Mira said you mentioned going to the river. Then your Dad drew me a map.”

  Some secret.

  A faint blush tinted his cheeks before he knelt down and began spreading the towel on a wide, flat rock. “I thought a late lunch would be okay seeing as we missed our date.” He shrugged. “But, Mira told me you already ate so…maybe not so good an idea.”

  “Well, I didn’t eat much,” I said, feeling sorry that he’d gone to so much trouble, but then Martin’s teary face materialised inside my head and I felt mad again. I traced my finger along the wet edge of a large rock in front of me.

  “So where’s Madeline?”

  Byron looked up, a slight frown denting his brow, his normally full lips a thin line. “Home maybe? I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”

  I folded my arms against the slimy, rocky ledge and stared down. “Well, since you spent all of last night with her, I thought you’d know.” As soon as the words left my lips, flames of shame licked my cheeks. This was none of my business. It wasn’t as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I closed my eyes and sighed before opening them again. “Look. This isn’t about me. Martin’s absolutely cut up, that’s all.”

  I felt a little uneasy deflecting my jealously onto Martin, but it was a good cover and anyway I was annoyed at Byron for, in part, causing Martin to do what he’d done in my room earlier.

  Byron said nothing at first. He fished some sandwiches wrapped in plastic out of the bag. While I watched, my ears burned, recalling the way Martin’s lips had moved over mine.

  “It was no big deal,” said Byron, finally speaking. “Madeline and I have something in common, nothing more.”

  “Shame she didn’t explain it to Martin, though.” I said, shrugging. “Anyway, let’s not talk about that anymore.” Something about the serious tone in Byron’s voice and the look in his eyes told me he was telling the truth. Which was good news for Martin, I supposed. I mentally reminded myself to text him later but then remembered that kiss.

  Byron took two pinkish red apples and a bottle of red creaming soda out and then stuffed the empty plastic bag beneath the towel. It was so sweet, the fact he’d packed this food, thinking of me.

  “I forgot to bring cups.” His eyes met mine. There was a twinkle of a smile in them. “We’ll have to share the bottle.”

  I blushed, picturing his mouth, those full lips, wrapped around the bottle, then on my own lips. Shaking the image from my brain, I shrugged and acted all nonchalant, as though I wasn’t imagining my mouth instead of the bottle neck.

  “Thanks…you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” I was about to climb out of the water and onto the bank, forgetting my underwear, when Byron stood up, his dark blue eyes drinking in the serene view of our secluded spot.

  “Let’s swim first,” he said, meeting my gaze.

  Before I could protest, Byron’s hands went to the button and fly of his jeans.

  Oh, God…

  I spun around in the warm water and swam across to the other side of the river, facing the bank.

  “Careful on the rocks, they’re sharp,” I called over my shoulder in a voice that didn’t sound like mine. My pulse whooshed loudly in my ears. I couldn’t help but picture him naked.

  Water splashed. Was he wearing underwear like me? Well, I’d soon find out.

  “You can look, now,” he said.

  I gulped and turned around. Byron’s hair, darkened and curled by the water, framed his angled face. His lips were wet and shiny, almost red against his olive skin and very, very kissable looking.

  We met at the middle of the river, the deepest part, and treaded water together, our breaths coming out in short, sharp little rasps. Byron’s shoulders gleamed in the sunlight and when he caught my eyes drifting down his chest, he splashed water at me.

  “Pervert.”

  “I am not! I was looking for the tiny fish that sometimes frequent these waters.” My hands weaved around in the water while I pretended to look for my fictional fish, but really I was thinking about the wound I’d just seen below Byron’s chest. It was fresher than the silvery scar running from his face down to his neck, red and painful looking. There was another, smaller scar too, just beneath his collarbone. So this was what kept bothering him the night of the gig.

  Inwardl
y I winced for him.

  “It doesn’t hurt, Ruby,” he said, splashing more water against my face. “And you can look if you’d like.”

  His blue eyes held mine, challenging me. With a flicker, I glanced down quickly, through the water, and back up. The sight of the raw, pink flesh made me wince again.

  He swallowed thickly. There was something about the way that his eyes widened that made him seem vulnerable all of a sudden.

  “How did you get it?” I lowered my lashes, not wanting him to see the pity in my eyes because I knew how much I hated receiving it myself.

  Byron sighed then cleared his throat. “It’s a long story. My parents were involved. It’s hard to explain.”

  My eyes flew open. “You parents did this to you?” I glanced at the raw scar again.

  Byron shook his head, swore beneath his breath, and swam towards the ledge I’d been leaning on earlier. There he clung to the rocky banks, his shoulders bunched, his arms straining.

  I kicked my legs and followed him.

  “Byron…”

  The muscles across his back tensed when I called his name.

  “I don’t want your pity, Ruby, or your disgust.”

  “I’m not disgusted. I’m…I’m just shocked that anybody’s parents could do that to their own flesh and blood.” Mum’s face flashed inside my mind, but I shook her away. This wasn’t about her, or me. This was about Byron and his…his monster parents.

  “I’m so sorry, I—”

  “Can we not talk about it?” His fingers gripped the ledge so hard his knuckles bulged white and the chords of muscle along his forearms tensed.

  “Okay.” I remained where I was for a long moment, listening to the noisy cicadas and hardly breathing, before I gently touched his arm. Byron flinched again, but he didn’t shrug me away. I exhaled. He had several, tiny scratches across his skin from his journey through the bush—to reach me. I wanted to put my lips on each of them and kiss him better.

  “So…do I disgust you?” he asked, head down, wet hair falling over his beautiful face. It was almost too ridiculous a question to answer.