THREE’S A CROWD
Margaret Pearce
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THREE’S A CROWD
Copyright © 2012 MARGARET PEARCE
ISBN 978-1-62135-073-6
Cover Art Designed by Ginny Glass
Chapter One
You know how you feel when things have at last fallen into place and nothing can go wrong? Well, that’s the way I felt when I bounced through the kitchen on my way out for the day.
Geordie’s big blue panel-van horn had just given its distinctive imitation of a wolf whistle, so I grabbed my stuff, ready to leave. A gang of us were going down to Surfview for the day, and the weather looked as if it had been turned on by special request.
Although it was early, you could tell it was going to be a day of hot, dry heat and not too much wind, so the surf would be rolling in nice and steady with no choppiness and not too much undertow.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” asked my mother.
I shrugged. I knew I hadn’t forgotten anything. I happen to be the efficient type. Sunscreen, make-up, hat, sunglasses, iPod, phone, my new bathers and my biggest towel were all stuffed into my bag, together with drink cans, plenty of fruit and something to read.
“What about Brett?”
Brett! My obnoxious little brother. I sure had forgotten him and with good reason. My little brother, “Brat” Baxter, is the most totally forgettable human being anyone could ever be saddled with. And boy was I ever saddled with him. Just because Mum worked and had been silly enough to bring all her stuff home to work on over the weekends, I had to look after Brat.
“There is only my income supporting us,” Mum had pointed out. “The least you can do is to keep Brett out of my hair so I can keep up with my workload.”
So I was stuck with Brat every single weekend. Mum is what is known as a single parent. Dad had shot through, never to be heard of again after Brat was born. Me, I reckon he took one look at that determined little red face and ran for his life. I bet my dad wasn’t behind in the keep-life-comfortable stakes.
Anyhow, having Brat tag along was like having a contagious disease. Wherever I went, lurking somewhere in the background like a gremlin out of a horror story, was my little brother Brat. He let down bike tyres, hung around waiting for blackmail money from the guys, ate all our sweets and snooped to sell all our secrets. We all reckoned that when he grew up he was going to run the Mafia or something. He was the nearest thing to a ten-year-old gangster any of us had seen, and I was stuck with him.
“Not today,” I objected. “Today is my chance for a big romance. I’m meeting Drew Jamison at the beach and I’m not going to have that little monster ruin my image.”
“I have this big project to work through,” my mother said as if she hadn’t even heard what I had said. “Your brother should be no trouble. Just make sure he doesn’t drown.” She raised her voice. “Are you ready, Brett?”
Brat immediately materialized, clutching his towel and sun hat. He gave me a wide grin to show off the phoney vampire teeth he was wearing. I mean, that is the sort of brother he is. He never comes in like a normal human being; he is one of these quiet kids. One minute he is missing and the next he is underfoot – you never hear him come or go. I suppose he has the habit of moving quietly so he can hear more things he isn’t supposed to.
I glared at him. He grinned back at me. I have to admit he looks normal enough. In fact my enemies have even said that he is a dead ringer for me, but that is ridiculous! Admittedly we both have curly golden hair and widely spaced black-lashed golden eyes, but the resemblance stops there. He has a heavily freckled snub nose and I have a very nicely shaped nose and, with the help of my sunscreen, my freckles are well under control. He has light-coloured, almost invisible, eyebrows which give an illusion of innocence to his high clear forehead, and I have definite arched proper eyebrows. My hair is long enough to drape across my high forehead. His curls are short cropped and close to his head, and sometimes curl up in very suitable horns, one on each side of his head.
The wolf whistle came again from the waiting van out front, together with a chorus of impatient yells. This reminded me I was wasting the best part of the morning having this ridiculous power struggle with Mum. I was stuck with the little brat, like ‘Sinbad and the Old Man of the Sea’, so why did I keep fighting it?
I groaned as I remembered why I didn’t want Brat today of all days. Normally, as Mum said, he wasn’t any trouble at the beach. Apart from eating everyone’s food, flicking sand and pinching other people’s surfboards, he wasn’t that troublesome, but today was special.
Drew Jamison was going to be down at the beach today. We had heard on the grapevine he had just joined the surf club. He was new to the district, and we all agreed that he was the spunkiest guy to ever come to our school. I mean, most of the boys at the surf club fit the description of being tall and well-built and with sun- streaked hair, but Drew Jamison was something else. He had these incredible vivid blue eyes and a flashing grin and a sort of assurance and poise that really made him stand out as something special.
Julie, Louise, and I homed in on him with almost indecent haste. We all agreed that it was the right thing to make the new guy feel wanted. He had been picked for the football team and had already proved his prowess in the swimming trials, but he played golf as well as tennis and got around on a two-stroke motorbike. He spent his winters skiing and his summer holidays at more exotic beaches than ordinary old Surfview.
So it was only natural that the whole gang of us were prepared to make him feel very welcome in the district, but Julie, Louise, and I ended up on the short list. Julie, because she was between boyfriends, Louise because she was undoubtedly the prettiest girl in the district, and me because he made every other guy in the district, no matter how nice, look like dorks by comparison.
The three of us had decided that today was going to be an ideal opportunity to concentrate on him and get him to make his choice between us. I looked at my grinning little brother and slipped out his Dracula fangs, pitching them on the mantelpiece. How was I supposed to win the heart of the grooviest guy in the district with my monster of a little brother tagging along? I could cope with the competition of my friends, but I was doubtful about coping with my ten-year-old brother.
The wolf whistle horn blared again, this time louder and more urgently. My mother raised her eyebrows at the loudness of it. We do live on a fairly quiet street after all, and the neighbours whine over anything as normal as noise. I had to capitulate.
“Come on, you little pig,” I threatened. “And I’ll drown you myself if you even open your mouth once all day.”
My mother looked relieved and reached behind her to produce a bulging lunch box for Brat. Brat followed me down the path to Geordie’s panel van, and I sensed the smug triumph of his silence.
As for me, everything was suddenly colourless and flavourless. The sky had lost its intense blueness and the sun its golden warmth. I had just had my day absolutely ruined, and who cared?
Chapter Two
There were four surfboards tied to the battered roof-rack of the panel van. I recognized Geordie and Sandy’s boards and Murray the Murk’s distinctive
blue board, but who did the board painted such a garish yellow belong to?
“Louise coming?” asked Geordie hopefully.
There was a chorus of cheerful warnings and curses as Brat was dragged into the back of the van with the others. Julie winked as I tumbled into the front seat beside her and fastened the seat belt. Geordie was ape over Louise, but she treated him like he was a joke. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good looking in a hulk sort of way. He was a terrific swimmer, with muscles on his muscles and every one of them tanned a golden brown. He had an easy-going grin, and short, curly, bright yellow hair. All the girls liked him, but not as a regular boyfriend.
“Hurry up,” Julie urged. “The boys have to be there on time this morning.”
Geordie and the other boys were very keen on their volunteer lifeguard duty at the club, which was the focus of all the social life on the beach. Geordie was Julie’s oldest brother. He worked as a mechanic at the local garage, drove us all around in his panel-van and was pretty laid back about life even if he was a bit dim.
“Louise went down last night with her family,” I explained.
Geordie drooped – you could almost see him drop an imaginary tail and then he cheered up. “Catch up with her at the beach this morning, aye?”
“Sure to,” I agreed grimly. Louise’s parents owned a weekend place just back from the beach. I was willing to bet that Louise would be very well settled chatting up Drew by the time we arrived. I tried to shift Geordie from the subject of Louise. “Who owns the canary-yellow board?”
“Jeebie, aye.” Geordie flapped a hand behind him and then jerked the van into gear and we were off.
“Who’s Jeebie?” I yelled over the high decibels of the latest band suddenly blaring from the speakers.
“John Belano,” Julie yelled back.
“My friend,” came Brat’s voice against my ear.
He was up to his usual trick of snooping on conversations. I looked back into the gloom of the van. There were only three boys and Brat in the back, but they seemed to pack the back of the van full, tangled together by packs, towels and wetsuits with arms and legs everywhere.
I tried to distinguish the newcomer. A long brown arm reached over and a hand clasped mine.
“Hi,” said a voice. “I’m Jeebie.”
Something between our palms whirred and jumped. I recognized Brat’s favourite toy. He must have taken a liking to this Jeebie character. I withdrew my hand and flipped the hand buzzer behind me.
“Another ten-year-old teenager,” I sighed, and leaned back to enjoy the band. He and Brat were squashed up together right behind me.
“A great guy, aye,” Geordie said happily. ”He’s taking the resuscitation classes this weekend.”
Julie and I exchanged looks. Julie raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. Geordie was so dim about his friends and some of them were the pits. Anyone who was involved in the club automatically became a great guy. Even without seeing Jeebie I had him picked as a dork. I can’t stand immature guys; one ten-year-old at a time is all I can cope with in my life.
I concentrated on enjoying the drive down to the beach and the music. I wasn’t exactly holding my breath to meet John Belano properly. A dork was a dork, even if he was high up in the pecking order in the club because he could take the resuscitation classes.
The van at last bumped over the sound to the usual parking spot. Geordie turned off the engine, and without the music the engine expired into silence. Immediately there was an indignant uproar and then roars of merriment. Brat had evidently filled in his time by tying everyone’s laces together. I ignored the racket, hoping that someone would give Brat the thumping he deserved.
Julie and I grabbed our bags and got out. It was still early and everything looked clean and brand new as only Surfview can look first thing in the morning. The tide was out and the sand stretched endlessly across to the water’s edge. It was almost a flat calm, the gentle swell dropping itself in a rippling line at the first sandbank.
The faint putter of the rubber duckie reached us. The riders in it were checking out the currents. A few guys and girls were setting up flags in response to their signals, and another group were bringing out the reels. There were no other people on the beach. We had beaten Louise here, despite the fact that she only had to walk down the road to get there.
Julie nudged me. One of the guys had put down the reel and turned to say something to his partner. I saw the white flash of his smile even before I traced out the regular features bronzed by the early morning sun. It was Drew! Julie and I headed towards the beach. Drew was on duty, which made him almost a captive audience to our charms. The day stretched long and golden in front of me, and I drew in a deep breath of sheer pleasure.
“Wait for me,” Brat yelled.
I pretended not to hear. It was going to be too nice a day to even remember I had a brother.
“Yeah, wait for us,” called another voice.
Julie giggled. I turned to look. It was Jeebie. My mouth did drop open then. He was piggybacking Brat, and balancing his pack and bag with his wetsuit gear on his head. The big yellow surfboard was under one arm. Jeebie was the most ridiculous looking person I had ever seen in my life. He was as tall as the other boys, but skinny, which made him look even taller. He wore a screamingly loud floral shirt over ragged cut-off jeans. Everything about him stuck out: his ears from his short cropped brown hair, his beaky nose from his bony face, his long arms from his too-large shirt, and long skinny feet from his shabby, holey thongs.
“The others are busy untying laces,” he volunteered. “Brat and I thought we’d help you get settled.”
I hoped he would take the hint that my silence meant we weren’t interested in his company, but Julie giggled her agreement. I walked on ahead and ignored him as he followed us to our spot near the patrol shelter.
He dropped Brat, who ran to the water with a bloodcurdling screech, shedding clothes as he ran. We spread out our towels and settled ourselves. Jeebie left his gear beside us, called to the crowd by the shelter, and walked to the clubhouse to take his class. Most of the group around the patrol shelter straggled up the beach after him. Drew Jamison was the last to leave.
“Hi, Drew,” Julie and I chorused together.
Drew paused, his bright blue eyes inspecting my new sun top and shorts and Julie’s best Indian cotton sundress. His gaze lingered on the bright yellow surfboard. Julie and I moved a fraction further away from it. It would be dreadful if he associated Jeebie with us.
I stared up at him and I knew Julie was too. I wondered if her mouth was going as dry as mine and if her heart was thumping as hard. Drew was the most gorgeous guy I had ever met. It wasn’t only that he was tall, tanned and well built – you took that for granted down at the surf club. It was his manner. He had something extra – a relaxed air of confidence and assurance as if the ball of life was always in his court. All the other guys seemed immature and uninteresting beside him.
It made my knees weak just looking at him. Above his faded board shorts his tan was pure gold. His eyes were a piercing blue under brown straight brows, highlighted by the bar of white zinc across his nose. He flashed his smile at us.
“It’s Julie and Amanda isn’t it?” he asked. “Looks like it is going to be an unreal day.”
“Unreal,” we agreed.
Just then Brat came charging up the beach swinging a filled bucket of water. I immediately knew what was coming. I sprang to my feet and made a grab at him to prevent disaster, but I was too late!
“Last in’s lousy,” he sang out and pitched the water. The cold drops cascaded over Julie and me and we shrieked in fury. Drew gave a hissed intake of breath as he got the rest of the bucket of water straight in his face.
“Cluck, cluck, cluck, chicken, chicken,” Brat jeered and fled.
“That kid belong with either of you?” Drew asked tersely, blinking water out of his eyes and glaring after him.
“No,” Julie said.
“Never seen h
im before,” I said.
“I’ll teach that smart little brat to play games with me.” Drew fumed and sprinted off after Brat.
Julie mumbled something under her breath before she said. “He’ll murder Brat. Did you see the expression on his face?”
“Hope he does,” I said through clenched teeth, watching their erratic progress down the beach.
Brat’s skinny form swerved and dodged tantalizingly out of Drew’s reach. It was a lot more dignified to ignore Brat when he wanted to be chased. It wasn’t that he could outrun any of the boys, but that he could swerve a lot faster. Of course, Drew, didn’t know that yet, being new around the place.
“We’ll pretend he doesn’t belong with us,” Julie suggested as we watched Drew’s frantic and unsuccessful lunges to grab Brat.
“Wish he didn’t,” I said bitterly as I waited for Brat’s inevitable end trick to any pursuit.
The end came quickly enough. My beastly little brother suddenly dropped. Drew, hurtling after him too fast to stop, tripped and went sprawling. Brat skipped off up the beach. We waited anxiously. Drew picked himself up and limped towards us.
“You all right?” Julie asked.
“You came down pretty heavily,” I said.
Drew ignored us and kept walking to the clubhouse. My heart sank as I glimpsed the tight-lipped thunderous expression on his face. What was going to happen when he found out that Brat was my little brother? I was beginning to get bad vibes about my chances of romance with Drew Jamison.
Chapter Three
The beach stopped being deserted as the sun got hotter. I collected Brat’s clothes and put them in his bag. Julie and I stripped down to our suits and anointed each other with sun screen. Beach umbrellas and shelters mushroomed around us. There were two boys on patrol by the flags.
The beach also stopped being peaceful. Kids of all ages and sizes were yelling and splashing in the shallows between the sandbars, and there were a couple of MP3s plugged into loudspeakers to raise the noise level. There was still no sign of Louise.
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