Paradise City

by C. J. Duggan

  He smiled, as he backed away. ‘Now that is one hell of a character reference,’ he said, winking at me. ‘Goodnight, Lexie Atkinson.’

  ‘Goodnight, Luke Ballantine.’

  I felt really bad that Luke hadn’t finished. After all, in terms of orgasms, I was way ahead in the tally. It was so hard to reconcile the myth to the actual man. How could someone so cocky, so self-assured, so experienced, be happy to simply make me come without getting any for himself? It didn’t make sense. For the times we had spent together and talked, I felt like I could see past the facade presented to the rest of the world. What Laura had seen in him was true. But, he was still a boy and must have a serious case of blue balls right about now. Yet he’d smiled and kissed me so sweetly. He was the definition of a paradox. I only hoped I would continue to be enough for him.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I didn’t regret not sleeping with Ballantine. I had later asked myself the question: did I really want my first time to be on Ballantine’s couch in his rumpus room? I didn’t exactly expect for it to happen in a canopied, four-poster bed with candles or anything. In fact, I didn’t know how or when it would happen, I just knew it would and really soon. At least, that’s all I could think about, morning, noon and night. If I wasn’t obsessing about every aspect of all the wicked things we had done, then I was daydreaming about Ballantine and when I would get the chance to do it all again. Flying under the radar was getting more difficult to maintain. The more I kept away from Ballantine the more brazen he seemed to become. Deliberately standing behind me in the canteen line, albeit minding his own business, but I could still feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck. He stood so close. Or how he would brush past me in the corridor with a knowing wink that would make me blush. I even went as far as pretending I wanted to learn how to surf after school. It seemed like a legitimate way to spend time with each other.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  We stood away from the others down the beach a little but still in view. Ballantine let his board fall to the sand, squinting against the sun with a broad smile.

  ‘What?’ I asked, wondering what he found so amusing.

  ‘You’re so pale,’ he said with a laugh, his eyes wandering over the pink-and-white striped bikini I wore.

  ‘I’m not that pale,’ I said, frowning at my shoulders and examining my lily-white legs.

  Yeah, okay, standing next to Ballantine, I looked like a milk bottle.

  ‘Shut up!’ I snapped, trying to disguise my smile.

  Ballantine chuckled, moving to stand beside me, clearing his throat. ‘Okay, you see this line here?’ He pointed to the board. ‘You want this line going right down the centre of your body; your toes should be touching the back here. That’s called the sweet spot.’

  ‘Oh, I like the sound of that,’ I said, lying face down on the board, smiling up at him.

  ‘Settle down,’ he said, trying not to smile as he kneeled in front of me. ‘All right, when a big wave comes I want you to pop up. Now I’m going to show you four steps. You’re going to put your hands down right next to your chest, push all the way up, go back to your knees, bringing your front foot forward.’

  I moved in every position he described, concentrating intently.

  ‘Now your back foot’s already back there so we’re going to leave it there, because you’re going to stand up on it. All right, stand up.’

  I stood a little shakily on the board that rocked on the uneven sand. Ballantine stood to move next to me. ‘Okay, stand exactly where you are. You see this line? You want this line to go down the middle of the arches of your feet.’ He placed his hands on my waist, guiding me over the line.

  ‘Now bend your knees, arms out like a gnarly surfer dude and shoot the waves screaming “Cowabungaaaaaa”.’

  Through fits of laughter and trying not to fall off the board, I screamed, ‘Cowabungaaaaaaa!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Ballantine clapped, laughing and moving to high-five me. By now, the others were looking at us as if we were a pair of freaks, probably not helped by the double thumbs-up I gave them. Yeah, so I was excited. Sue me.

  ‘Very good. Okay, in the water.’

  My head snapped around, my laughter quickly dying. ‘What?’ I asked, my eyes wide with fear.

  ‘You didn’t think that would be it, did you?’

  ‘Umm, yeah, kind of.’

  ‘Lexie, Lexie, Lexie,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘If you’re with me, it’s nothing but all the way.’

  Well, that had my blood pumping.

  I curved my brow with interest. ‘Are we still talking about surfing?’

  Ballantine laughed, like really, really laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Atkinson. Get your mind out of the gutter, we have waves to ride.’ Even though he said that while laughing, I could see the definite lusty interest my comment had created.

  Does he want that too?

  In some ways, I wasn’t sure. But then he would look at me like that and I would melt a little bit more.

  •

  The next day marked so many things: the last day of school for the Year Twelves (yeah, I didn’t want to think about that), and my parents arriving to take me back to Red Hole for the summer holidays (yeah, I definitely didn’t want to think about that). I was completely and utterly miserable at the very thought of being taken home for ‘family’ time. I had tomorrow night for it all to count, to tell Ballantine how I felt about him, to show him what he meant to me, that he was the one, the one I wanted to give my all to. We hadn’t been able to have any decent alone time together since the night we nearly got caught. Tomorrow night had to be the night; only then could I go back to Red Hill for Christmas and feel as though I had something to come back to in the New Year – finish off Year Twelve and come back to Ballantine. I felt all giddy inside just at the thought of such a future. Me, Ballantine, and Paradise City.

  My thongs made suction cup sounds against the glossed tiles as I squelched a path to the bathroom, blissfully singing the Easybeats’ ‘Friday on my Mind’. My hair was a matted heap of salty tendrils. I marvelled at the fact that, yes, I had stood up on a real-life surfboard (for two point five seconds) and secondly, I had lived to tell the tale. I had surfed! I was as good as a local now. Red Hole was a distant memory, I thought, towelling my hair dry as I pushed through the bathroom door, flinching at the unexpected sight of Amanda at the sink.

  ‘Bloody hell! You scared me,’ I breathed, clutching my heart. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were –’ I paused.

  She tried to avert her gaze, wiping her cheeks, but the sniff kind of gave it away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  I moved to stand beside her, taking in the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks and her bloodshot eyes; she was so upset she couldn’t even swallow her sobs long enough to tell me to leave her alone. Instead, she did something that really scared me; she threw her arms around me and cried even harder.

  ‘I’m in so much trouble, Lexie.’

  My hands slowly lowered around her, feeling the shuddering vibrations of her frame. I caught the reflection of my troubled eyes.

  This is bad. Really, really bad.

  •

  At first I thought she might have done a bank job, spilt red wine on Aunty Karen’s Axminster carpet, scratched the Volvo, or maybe cheated on Boon? I was trying to equate what would mean ‘trouble’ to Amanda, and what would elicit a meltdown of such epic proportions. As I sat next to a very shaken Amanda, rubbing her back, waiting patiently, I gave her time, to the point that she literally had no more tears to cry. She leant forward, cupping her face in her hands for the longest time, so long that I thought she’d forgotten I was even there. Just when I was about to break the silence, she beat me to it.

  She straightened, inhaling a deep shuddery breath. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Whaaaaaaaaat?’ I breathed out.

  Okay, that was probably not the reaction she needed. Her face crumpled.

 
‘Oh, no, no. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.’ I patted her quickly. Apparently she had a lot more tears to shed; hell, I even felt like donating to the cause. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, no . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, what makes you think that –’

  ‘I’m late! Really late!’

  Watching Amanda’s despair was enough to make me want to wear a chastity belt and join a nunnery. I didn’t need to know the details. They wouldn’t change the fact.

  ‘D– does Boon know?’

  Amanda’s eyes snapped up, wild and alarmed. ‘No! God, no and if you tell anyone –’

  ‘Hey,’ I said, reaching for her hand. ‘This is between you and me, okay?’ I looked her dead in the eyes, refusing to break the contact until I felt with no ounce of uncertainty that she believed me. It took a long moment but she finally conceded, nodding her head.

  I breathed deeply, rubbing my clammy palms on my thighs.

  Okay, think, Lexie, think!

  ‘All right, well, I have read a few Cleo magazines, so I think I am pretty much an expert in these situations so –’

  ‘Lexie, please, now’s not the time to be funny,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not, I’m deadly serious. We’re going to have to go to a doctor, find out if –’

  ‘NO! No way.’

  ‘Okay, okay. But we need to know . . . for real. Okay?’

  ‘I’m not going to a doctor, Lexie. No way.’

  ‘All right, then, we have a plan B.’

  ‘Plan B?’ she asked, wiping her eyes.

  ‘We’ll get a pregnancy test, lock ourselves away while the parentals are out, and just find out. They’re like ninety-nine point nine per cent accurate, right?’

  ‘Oh God! I feel sick.’ Amanda’s face disappeared into her hands again. ‘What if I am, Lexie, what will I do?’

  ‘Let’s cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Now, come on, we’ll go and get a test and get this over with.’ I moved to stand but was stopped by Amanda’s white-knuckled grip on my arm.

  ‘No! I can’t. What if someone sees me? Peter and Karen Burnsteen’s daughter up the duff. Great,’ she scoffed.

  I canted my head, wondering how small bloody suburbia really was, but her fear was reasonable enough. She was fairly well known here.

  ‘All right. Stay here, I’ll go.’

  Amanda’s eyes flicked up. ‘Really? You’d do that?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s not my preferred way to spend the afternoon, but that’s what family’s for, right?’

  Amanda’s chin trembled as more tears welled in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  My lips pressed into a thin line. ‘No sweat.’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I had always wanted to go to the Imperial Shopping Centre in the heart of the central business district. A multi-level shopping mecca, a treasure trove of escalators, food courts and retail shops as far as the eye could see. It was only a fifteen-minute bus ride and just opposite the junction that led into Arcadia Lane. I was becoming quite familiar with my city surrounds. Sure, I had wanted to come here, to shop for a new bikini or get a pedicure perhaps, but I’d never imagined myself wandering into a chemist perusing the pregnancy test section. Somehow I had thought that by going to a bright, clean, classy chemist such as this one, the success rate for the test results would be more reliable. Even the assistants in the makeup section wore white coats. This was world class.

  Normally I would be liberally spraying myself with a Dior perfume tester and checking out the sunglasses section, but today I was on a mission. I stalked through the aisles, declining the helpful queries from the shop girls and eventually found the section I needed. I wanted to do this fast, which meant scanning the section as fast as possible, spotting that magical wording: ‘ninety-nine per cent accuracy’, and that would do me. I grabbed a packet, holding it between my arm and my tummy. Eyes down, I walked a direct line to the back, thinking I must look like a shoplifter.

  Mercifully there was no-one in my way as I hit the counter almost at a run, sliding the box towards the assistant and digging in my bag for money. ‘Just this one, thanks,’ I said.

  The box slid away from me; the cash register sounded painfully loud as it rang up the total. I thumbed out a twenty and then paused, lifting my gaze with that uncertain feeling that something was wrong, very, very wrong.

  ‘Lexie?’

  My world dropped away, spinning and tumbling as the colour drained from my face. My unblinking eyes stared ahead as there, right in front of me, standing with the pregnancy test kit in her perfectly manicured hands, stood Ballantine’s mum.

  Her vibrant red lips parted in shock as her eyes flicked from me to the box and back again.

  Oh. My. God.

  Without a word, and without taking her horrified gaze away from me, she lowered the box to the counter.

  Say something, Lexie. SAY SOMETHING. Anything! Tell her it’s not for you. Tell her.

  My inner voice screamed at me. It was always so logical and smart thinking; it was just a shame I wasn’t. Instead, the girl who had been so brave, so noble to go in batting for her cousin, was about to do the most cowardly thing of all. Without a word, I slid over the twenty, grabbed the box and walked away, not looking back, not caring about the change, not caring about anything. I just wanted to die!

  •

  I ran. I ran so fast I thought I would be sick, or maybe that was just the feeling of my gut spasms. The look on Ballantine’s mum’s face flashed in my mind like a horror movie. Had I imagined what just happened? Seriously, of all the chemists in the entire world? It felt as though the gods were against me. First Lucy, now Mrs Ballantine. What’s with that?

  I finally slowed down, leaning against a building, running my hands through my hair and clenching my scalp, wanting to scream, pull my hair out – something.

  I pressed my back against the brick wall, feeling defeated. I glanced around, envious of all the carefree skateboarders rolling up the arcade without a care in the world; it was when I blinked at the ice-creamery opposite that I realised where I had run to. I turned, frowning up at the illuminated sign of the Wipe Out Bar.

  God, was Ballantine working? I had to get to him first, I thought, pushing off the wall and dodging my way through the crowd.

  Oh, please. Be working. Please be working.

  The bar was quiet save for a few couples dotted around eating. I clasped the edge of the bar, breathless, trying to gain some composure as Sherry glanced at me with little interest.

  ‘Is Ballantine out the back?’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s not on tonight.’

  Oh no-no-no-no . . .

  I tried to remain calm. ‘Do you know when he’s working next?’

  Sherry shrugged.

  I slammed my hand on the bar, frustrated to the very core of my being for not having asked him myself. I wanted to kick and scream and basically have a meltdown that would make Amanda look like a girl scout.

  ‘Well, can I at least use your phone?’

  ‘Sorry, business use only,’ she said, raking over me with her dull eyes.

  It was enough for me to see red.

  I lifted my chin. ‘Is Dean here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Check for yourself.’ Her eyes flicked up the staircase as if daring me to.

  Well, maybe I just would.

  I backed away from the bar, managing to give Sherry a parting filthy look as I stomped my way up to his office, a determined move I hoped would pay off. If she wouldn’t let me use the phone I would go to the very person who just might. When I got to the top of the landing, I knocked in a series of thumps.

  ‘Dean?’ I called out, turning the handle to find it locked. I felt my heart sink. I didn’t dare look down to where Sherry was no doubt watching me with her smug expression.

  I’ll show her.

  I delved into my bag, searching for something to write on. I definitely didn’t
think ripping off a piece of the pregnancy test box was appropriate, so I settled for the back of a brochure that had a price list for manicures. I found a pen at the bottom of my bag, leant on the door, and started writing on a blank space on the paper. It was about time someone gave Dean a first-hand account of just how bloody unhelpful his staff could be.

  Dean,

  I need to speak to you ASAP.

  Lexie

  I printed my home number underneath, a seething rage bubbling beneath the surface – if I didn’t get to Ballantine before his mum did I was going to kill Sherry. I slid the brochure under his door before heading back down the staircase, casting Sherry a departing death stare.

  Thanks for nothing.

  •

  There was nothing I could do; over an hour had gone by since my disastrous run-in with Ballantine’s mum, plenty of time for her to contact him, grill him about his knocked-up girlfriend, and then enrol him in military school in Alaska.

  As the bus pulled away, I found myself at a crossroads: I could turn towards Ballantine’s street and see if he was home, explain to him the funny story behind the whole thing and problem solved – well, except maybe for Amanda, who was now potentially not going to get off so lightly.

  I bit my lip, looking down into the depths of my tote bag. Surely another ten minutes of waiting would be okay. I’d be quick, really quick, I thought, already making my way towards Ballantine’s street at a run – the fastest run of my life. Hope pushed me forward, had me turning the corner and tearing up the concrete path with the sole intent of preventing impending disaster. But just as quickly, I came to a sliding halt. I could almost feel my heart explode inside my chest as I stared on in wide-eyed horror. There, across the street in Ballantine’s driveway, was Ballantine’s mum’s car.

  It was too late! I. Was. Screwed.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  I wanted Amanda to be pregnant with triplets. I wanted her to be walking down the aisle in the most scandalously arranged teenage wedding of the century. Instead, we stared down at the stick that sported a very clear minus sign.