by C. J. Duggan
‘Because I like to see who I can and can’t trust,’ she said.
I shifted uneasily, wondering how she tested such a thing. ‘And who do you trust?’
Laura plonked herself down in her swivel desk chair, turning herself from side to side as she licked the end of her straw in deep thought. ‘It’s been an eye-opening experiment, I must say.’
I suddenly felt uncomfortable hanging out in her bedroom, my eyes shifting around, paranoid that maybe one of the stuffed toy bears on the shelf had a hidden nanny-cam inside. Was the invite over here about homework for Health or was it some kind of a test?
‘And what have you found?’ I asked.
‘That sometimes, mostly everyone likes to gossip about the most ridiculous things, and I know that’s only human nature, but seriously, some of the things I wrote in there were just crazy. And yet, sure enough, within half a day the rumour mill would be set alight and some crazy out-of-whack version of myself would filter back to me.’
‘That sounds like a rather elaborate test to me.’ One that I knew I had failed with flying colours. By all rights I should have gone straight to Laura and told her about Boon reading what I thought was her legitimate diary; instead, I’d been too hung up on Amanda being civil to me again.
‘I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks, but, boy, if you want to plant a seed,’ she said, walking over to her bookcase and pulling out the lilac and yellow book, ‘this is the way to go!’
‘I couldn’t imagine there’d be many people you could completely trust,’ I said, mainly to myself; I always thought of myself as a pretty decent person but in this instance, not so much.
‘Not many,’ she said, sliding the diary back into its front and centre position, ‘but you know the one person I found out I could trust more than anyone at Paradise High, hell, in Paradise City?’ She took my blank expression as an invitation to answer.
‘The one person who passed the test was Ballantine,’ she said with a nod of finality.
My heart stuttered at his name, my mouth ran dry. ‘How so?’ I croaked, clearing my throat and trying to keep calm.
Laura smiled to herself as if she had a secret she was thinking of sharing. ‘I kind of put in this spiel about how hot Ballantine is, and how he’s the perfect guy and all that, knowing that my brother would run to him and rib the crap out of him.’
I swallowed hard. ‘S– so you made that up?’
Oh, please say yes. Please say yes.
‘What, about me liking Ballantine?’
I nodded, eyes wide, my heart pounding, waiting an insanely long moment for an answer. But answer she did.
‘Me? Like Ballantine? Oh God, Lexie, he’s like a brother to me,’ she said with a shudder.
My shoulders sagged in relief, air escaped from my lungs as I exhaled a breath I hadn’t even realised I was holding.
‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, he is super hot! But I’ve known him my whole life and that would just be so wrong.’
‘Yeah, that would be so wrong,’ I agreed wholeheartedly, revelling in the fact that Laura didn’t like Ballantine.
Laura. Didn’t. Like. Ballantine.
I wanted to freakin’ moonwalk, I was so happy.
I kept my cool, calm exterior, pinching my brows together in genuine interest. ‘So what makes Ballantine trustworthy?’
Laura grinned big. ‘Because the very day after I planted the diary in my bookshelf, Ballantine deliberately went out of his way to walk me home from school. At first I thought my plan had completely backfired, but when he sweetly suggested that I should hide my diary some place safe, I instantly knew two things.’
I now sat on the edge of her bed, listening to every word, my wild eyes urging her to continue.
‘Firstly I knew my brother was the dickhead I always pegged him for, and secondly,’ she counted on her fingers, ‘that Ballantine is the sweetest boy I’ve ever known.’
I smiled, feeling my heart melt at the very thought of Ballantine doing the right thing, even if it meant betraying his mate; he wanted to protect Laura, and that was so incredibly sweet. I certainly hadn’t seen the sweet version yet. Delicious . . . yes, but sweet?
Laura slapped her palms on her thighs. ‘So, that’s why I trust him, and that’s why I think you should totally take a crack.’
I nearly spat a mouthful of my Coke out, it bubbled through my nose as I coughed and spluttered, pounding my chest with my fist.
‘S– sorry?’ I rasped, thinking maybe I had heard her wrong.
Laura moved to sit next to me, slapping me on the back as I continued my coughing fit. I turned towards her, trying to clear my blurry vision from the tears that had welled in my eyes.
‘I think you should totally go for Ballantine,’ she said, deadly serious.
It wasn’t just because my throat was on fire. I couldn’t mentally piece together what she was saying.
I managed a stupefied look, one that obviously amused her no end. I searched her face for a long moment, failing to answer her, frozen in place.
‘What?’ she asked, laughing.
If I didn’t tell someone I would burst. I needed to empty the thoughts from my head and the burden from my heart. I needed to lift the weight, and as I took in the genuine concern in Laura’s eyes, I inhaled a deep, steadying breath.
‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Oh. My. God.’ Laura emphasised every word for dramatic effect. ‘You totally dry humped Ballantine?’
‘Out of everything I’ve said, that’s what you take away from it?’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s what sticks out. Like, wow. Way to go, Lexie. The new girl just bagged the hottest boy in school.’
‘I haven’t bagged anyone. He’s avoiding me.’
‘Um, hell yeah, he is; your uncle’s scary even when he’s not trying to be.’
I cringed, throwing myself down on the bed.
‘So, maybe Ballantine was sick today? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t at school. I mean, we know there’s something going around, so maybe you’re just thinking the worst.’ Laura tried to pacify me.
‘Boon hasn’t said anything?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
We sat in silence. We had hit a crossroads about what to do, where to go from here. As much as it was a relief that Laura didn’t like Ballantine in that way, it meant little if he was avoiding me. And it meant even less if my uncle decided to send me home.
‘Well, we could plant a seed,’ Laura spoke tentatively, wincing as if she was afraid of my response.
‘A seed?’
Laura sprang to her feet, bouncing to her bookshelf. ‘If you want something to get back to someone, you just have to plant the seed,’ she said, holding out the diary with a huge grin.
Her enthusiasm was contagious. ‘What do you suggest?’
Laura’s arms flopped to her sides as she rolled her eyes in dismay. ‘My God, Lexie, use your imagination,’ she said, throwing herself on the bed next to me. ‘We think Ballantine is avoiding you, so what could we write that will grab his attention?’
‘Maybe nothing will grab his attention; maybe this all means way more to me than it does to him.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. I know Ballantine, this is different. Trust me.’
As much as I wanted to believe Laura, I suspected she was just getting carried away with the whole idea of it. Still, my interest was piqued. ‘So, how long does it take for a rumour to manifest these days?’ I asked, peering over at the diary.
Laura smiled, as if she had snared me in her trap. ‘Faster than you think. If Boon sneak-reads tonight, Ballantine will know about it by morning, deadset.’
Oh God.
‘The trick is not to link yourself to Ballantine per se – it has to be more subtle than that.’
‘As in?’
‘As in I write about your potential hook-up with someone else, someone who is going to get his attention.’
My mi
nd started to back pedal. ‘No I don’t think –’
‘Woolly!’ Laura clicked her fingers as if a light bulb had sparked above her head.
‘What? No way. He would know that wasn’t true, plus it’s way too close, they’re friends.’
‘Right. Okay, so how about someone obscure, like Robbie Robinson?’
‘Oh God, as if. It would have to be someone that was actually intimidating,’ I said with a laugh.
‘Well, I don’t know. Who’s intimidating? Mr Branson?’ Laura teased.
‘Oh, gross!’ I said, shoving her, before the laughter fell away and a figure popped into my head.
In fact, I was pretty certain that if you looked up the word intimidating in the dictionary Dean Saville’s name would be the definition.
‘Dean,’ I said, mainly to myself but Laura had heard. I could tell by the way her head snapped up comically fast.
‘Dean Saville? Oh. My. God! Perfect!’ She beamed, unhooking the pen from her binder and taking the lid off.
‘Whoa, wait a minute, I was just thinking out loud,’ I said, blocking the blank page with my hand.
‘Are you kidding me? Dean Saville? I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, he’s like Ballantine’s arch nemesis.’
My heart started to pound furiously in my chest, my mouth felt dry.
‘Lexie, do you want to get Ballantine’s attention or not?’
I shook my head. ‘Not like that; besides, what if he is sick or what if he was just waiting for things to cool down before he came and spoke to me. I mean, what if –’
Laura muffled a frustrated scream into her pillow. ‘Bloody hell, what if? What if? What if? Find out, woman! Go talk to him. Go see him, then you’ll know. Go to his house, ring him up, anything, but just decide.’
My mind flashed back to last night. ‘I can’t,’ I said slowly, remembering Dean telling Ballantine he had a double shift. ‘I think he’s working at the Wipe Out Bar,’ I said.
Laura grinned. ‘Perfect! Let’s go.’
•
I should’ve felt a bit more confident; this time I had Laura by my side and the light of day to carry me through Arcadia Lane. It was still a frantic mix of activity but seemed to have a different feel to it, or maybe it was just because I’d been with Ballantine.
‘I don’t want to stay too long; I just want to have a quick chat and then get out. The last thing I need is Uncle Peter finding out about this.’
‘Relax, he won’t.’ Laura waved my words aside.
We made a direct line towards the Wipe Out Bar. I looked beyond the bustling streetscape of the arcade to where the land met the sea, and saw there was indeed a long pier leading out with the distant imposing structure of a Ferris wheel. Ballantine was right: I would love it; I would want to roam along the boardwalk and discover all the touristy things, but I would love it more if he could show me. I wished that was where I was headed now, instead of turning towards the entrance of the decaying Wipe Out Bar, which looked even tackier in the daytime.
‘I haven’t been here for ages,’ said Laura, leading the way underneath the giant surfboard.
We entered the bar, the large one with lots of open space but not so many patrons, far less busy than at night-time, it seemed. My eyes went straight to the bar, expecting to see Ballantine behind it, pouring drinks for the tourists; instead, Sherry stood as if she hadn’t moved from the night before.
Maybe he was sick?
I had never felt more like a stalker and wanted to back out and pretend that I had never come here.
Laura elbowed me, drawing my attention with a frown.
‘What?’ I snapped.
Her chin lifted to the second storey, a staircase swept its way upward to a boxed room, the front lined with mirrored glass, one-way glass, at a guess.
‘The lion’s den,’ Laura whispered.
I knew exactly what, or rather, ‘who’ she was referring to.
Dean.
I felt the hair on my arms stand on end with the thought of his deep-set glower upon us. I opted for a long, confident stroll to the bar, where Sherry glanced up between working the beer tap. If she was surprised to see me she didn’t show it; in fact, apart from the good cheer she shared briefly with Ballantine last night, I hadn’t seen her show any kind of emotion. Maybe that was the selection criteria for staff in this place: be as emotionally vacant as the industrious leader. And as if by speaking, or in my case thinking, of the devil, I heard the distant slam of the door from above, and footsteps descend the stairs.
Laura and I quickly glanced at each other.
Dean was reading a document with a heavy scowl on his face, as he blindly stepped his way down onto the landing of the bar area. It was like he had eyes in the top of his head, or a true sign that he knew this place too well.
I turned my attention to Sherry, who was standing by impatiently.
‘Ah, two Cokes, please,’ I said, causing her to spin into motion, her hands working in a blinding flurry to delve into the ice bucket and reach for the post-mix gun.
Dean came to stand right next to me; in my peripheral vision, I could see he was still silently reading the paper in his hands. Aside from the mere feel of his presence, I could smell the clean, crisp notes of his aftershave. It had me breathing in deeply; it was almost mouth-watering, and it felt like the temperature in the room had escalated. I desperately wanted to place the glass of Coke to my cheek to cool down. My thoughts were interrupted by a cough, and my eyes blinked to Sherry standing before me holding out her hand.
Oh shit.
I scrambled for my wallet, desperately counting out the coins as I tipped them onto the bar. Oh God. Please have enough, I thought. Please, all the gods in the universe, don’t humiliate me now, not again. I glanced pleadingly at Laura, who shrugged.
‘I used all my cash on the bus fare,’ she said grimacing and sharing in the awkwardness with a sheepish look to Sherry, who was now crossing her arms and staring me down.
I counted out five-cent pieces with agonising precision, like some granny at a supermarket checkout. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, none more so than Dean’s. He’d now put down his paper and was watching on with amused interest. I was getting flustered and annoyed, thinking about the sick delight he was taking in watching me squirm.
I was going to be five cents short – a measly five cents, that I had no doubt discarded on so many occasions. Now I would never, ever take that tiny silver coin for granted again. Before I announced what was clearly obvious, I heard Dean speak.
‘Well . . . this is awkward.’
What the hell?
‘Are you always such an arsehole?’
The entire bar went deathly silent.
Oh shit. Shoot. Me. Now.
My stomach dropped away as I took in the heavy-set glare from Dean’s eyes. I could almost imagine Laura standing behind me, mouth gaping in horror, Sherry’s eyes darting between the two of us as we glared at one another.
‘I guess some people just bring out the worst in me,’ he said before nodding his head at Sherry and walking towards the back door. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared from view that I took a much-needed breath. My shoulders slumped, and a collective murmur filled the air.
‘I’m sorry, I’m still short,’ I said quietly to Sherry.
Sherry scoffed, ‘Relax, they’re on the house.’
‘Look, I really appreciate it, but I really couldn’t.’
‘Don’t thank me, it’s not my choice,’ she said.
I watched on, confused, as she wiped down the bar.
‘You mean –’
‘Yep, a head nod from the “arsehole” means the drinks are on him,’ she said, giving me a pointed look. ‘Word of advice, kid, don’t judge a book by its cover.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
I suppose a free Coke should have tasted pretty amazing, but it didn’t. We sat in exactly the same booth that Ballantine and I had sat in last night, except this time, daylight shone
through the windows highlighting the grubby drinks rings on the table. Ha! Looked like Sherry wasn’t the amazing barmaid she thought she was.
‘What are you waiting for? Go talk to him,’ said Laura.
My head snapped around, my eyes hunting. Had I missed his entrance?
Laura kicked me under the table.
‘Hey!’
‘Not in here, dummy. Ballantine works out the back.’
I rubbed my shin, glowering across the table. ‘Well, that kind of information would have been real handy, say, five minutes ago,’ I said¸ thinking if I had known that I would have gone directly there and saved myself the encounter with Dean Saville and Sherry bitchy-resting face.
‘Just go,’ Laura urged, but I didn’t need much encouragement. I had run through this scenario time and time again. What would I say? What did I even want from this? Did I go against my uncle and see Ballantine anyway? What if he didn’t want to see me; what if Uncle Peter’s little interaction with Ballantine was enough to convince him that I was better left alone? With every step I felt my palms become more clammy, and my stomach churn into a series of knots.
I turned down a long darkened corridor; it was the only direction to go as the landing either led to the toilets or the door that I knew for certain led down to the snake pit. I heard the clanging of pots, running water and echoed voices; the only slice of light came through a door with a circular window cut into it. I was halfway down the hall when the distant chatter and light became brighter and louder, and the door burst open as a girl pushed it backwards, laughing and carrying Fisherman’s Baskets in both hands. As she turned into the hall her smile quickly evaporated, her eyes darting over me with disdain.
‘You’re not allowed to be back here,’ she snapped.
It took me a moment to recognise her in uniform; short black skirt, white shirt and black vest, all hugging her petite frame.
What the hell was Lucy Fell doing here?
‘You work here?’
‘Well, I don’t carry these around as a fashion accessory.’ She held up the oily baskets, sneering at me like I was an idiot.
‘Um, is Ballantine here?’ I asked, my eyes darting to the circular window.
