by Naomi Fraser
I angle my face toward the window, feigning interest in the scenery. I doubt anyone will want to sit next to me even though the bus is packed, the groups are too cliquey. My hair falls to one side, over my shoulder and, occasionally, I peek through the curtain of protection the strands provide. The bus is warm at least, and a few minutes pass before someone unexpectedly taps me on the shoulder.
To my shock, Lakyn’s standing there, a dimple forming in his tanned right cheek. He smiles, wide and friendly. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, his blue eyes holding the colour of melted steel. The irises somehow reflect the muted colours outside the window. “It’s nice to see you again, Eloise. But I don’t believe you gave me a definite answer about going to the beach with me yesterday.”
I stare up at him. “I didn’t?”
“No.” His eyes narrow, and the smile drops from his face. He gestures to the vacant aisle seat and asks again, “Is anyone sitting here?”
“As in, beside me?” God, I hope that didn’t come out as snarky. I never meant it that way. I just can’t believe he’d truly want to sit next to me.
“Yes, next to you.” Amusement colours his tone.
“Ah, no.” I say, gathering my bag close, but I can’t take my gaze off the perfect line of his jaw. My stomach somersaults and I swallow. “I thought you . . . I mean . . . well, the other classes are catching the next bus. You’re not in either of these form classes.” I take a quick look behind me and sink further into my seat. At least half the bus is staring at us. Heat circles my cheeks, and I hold my hand to the side of my face, and then fluff my hair over one shoulder, hiding my expression from onlookers.
The bus pulls away from the curb, and I rock back. Hastily, I move over until my elbow presses against the window.
He laughs. “Don’t worry, I swapped with another student. Coach is taking that one, and he doesn’t mind.”
“I bet.”
Lakyn prepares to slide into the seat. “I wanted to ask, how were you after swimming?” Once he sits, he turns and looks at me with great interest. “Your lungs? I noticed at the pool you used the . . . puffer, is that what you call it? I think that’s what Coach said it was.”
“I’m fine.” My voice is small. No use pretending Lakyn doesn’t know what’s going on.
“Good.” His voice warms me, and I relax a little as he stretches out in the seat, adjusting his uniform. “As long as you’re breathing properly. I can’t believe what they make you wear here. It’s restricting in this weather.”
I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”
“The clothes. This uniform.”
“Sure. Yeah. But I suppose it’s the same for every high school.”
He makes a small sound of surprise. “Really? I thought you could wear whatever you wanted to. Where’s your friend?”
“Bethany?” I shake my head. “Not sure. She could be on one of the other buses. I’ll see her at lunch.”
“Good,” he says again. “We won’t be interrupted then. Well, what was your answer for going to the beach with me? I’d like you to come.”
“I . . .” As I ponder how to refuse, because I don’t want to get back into the water, his blue eyes take on the sudden dimness of the bus interior, and his irises darken. I never noticed before that his eyes are quite large. The colour always wows me first, but in this light, the skin around his eyes spreads back. His pupils enlarge, and his eyes are rounder, bigger. “Your eyes. They’ve changed. They’re the most amazing colour. But they seem to be . . .” I blink and pull back, then smile and look to my lap. “It doesn’t matter.”
His fingertips caress my hand. “Tell me.”
I suck in a deep breath at his touch and lean a little farther away. His eyes meet mine, but this time his pupils are so large, his eyes look entirely black. A small smile creases his mouth and that dimple digs into his cheek. “What do my eyes seem to be, Ellie?” he prompts.
Strange. “They take on the colours around you. But before, they just looked like they could morph, grow bigger because there was less light as we went through the tunnel. They were darker.” I laugh and turn to my reflection at the window, but when I glance at Lakyn’s reflection, his face is deadly serious.
“You noticed that?” He tilts his head, curiosity stamping his strong face. “What else did you see?”
“That you’re not built like the typical sixteen year old, and you probably shouldn’t be here talking to me. Ashly is going to give me hell for it.” The mental image of Ashly’s face as she spoke to me at the pool makes me sound a little hard. “I don’t need that, and I don’t want to go back to the beach.”
This time his hand slides around mine, capturing my fingers. “What are you so scared of? I can help you, but you were fast at the pool. I’m sure your family will be proud if you win an award competing for the school.”
I want to languish here forever, with the feel of his warm hand on mine, but I eventually drag my hand away. “I’m not scared.” I rest my cheek against the top of my bag, staring at the houses passing us by now that we’re out of the tunnel. How slow we’re going.
Dad would ride his bike alongside mine, speeding down the hills in Sydney. Laughing. Flying. A massive hit of longing forces me back in the seat. He’s not here to see me swim. He’s not here for me to ask him questions.
Last night, I prayed, perhaps for the first time since I woke up in hospital. I still pray that I can hug him, or he will talk to me and offer wise advice. Save me from having to think about Mum dating a strange man. I miss my dad so much it feels like a betrayal that anyone could ask my mum out on a date. Missing Dad is living a life with a significant piece . . . gone. No more Father’s Day. No more taking me fishing. No more cooking tips. And no more . . . going to him with good news. What would he say to me about competing on the swim team? I know it would be something about following my dreams.
“What are you thinking about?” Lakyn asks. “You’re smiling.”
“My dad.”
“Tell me about him,” Lakyn coaxes, and he inches closer, his knees and feet angling toward me.
I scrape back my hair, and a sharp corner of a textbook digs into my mouth against the fabric of my bag. I must be curled up hermit style, so I shift to get comfortable. The textbooks rip a hole in the waterproof, school-issued backpack. Fibres all dangling free. Kinda like how life rips a hole in all your expectations. Maybe it’s easier not to have them. If I don’t expect anything I can never be disappointed.
“There’s just me and my mum now. My dad died last year. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” His lips spread thin. “Or father and mother. I had a younger sister, but she died with my parents. I’m staying at the hostel near the Yacht Club along the foreshore. Do you know it? A lot of us there have no relatives . . .” His voice trails off and he fidgets, rubbing his fingers together.
“You don’t have a guardian or anything?”
“I’m a ward of the state until I’m of age. The caretaker keeps an eye on me.”
“That must be tough,” I say, looking into his eyes. “Having no one. At least I have my mum.”
His fingers twist together until he lifts his hands and rubs his eyes. The shine in his gaze when he looks at me hints of pain and secrets. “Some people have others, for all the good it does them. I only have to rely on myself now.”
I get the notion asking him more about it will be too intrusive. He doesn’t ask me how my dad died, and I don’t ask him how his sister died with his parents. It’s just enough that we’ve both lived through the experience. But if I share a little bit more, it might help erase some of the pain in his gaze.
“Missing him is the hardest part. I hear a car in the street and think ‘Dad’s home’, and then realise that just isn’t possible. Each time it hits me hard.” Maybe death is just another part of life, not really an end at all, but an ever-changing kaleidoscope of opposites.
“I’m glad I met you, Ellie. We have a lot in common. Ar
e you looking forward to today?”
Warmth suffuses my cheeks, and I try to steady myself by putting on my game face. How can Lakyn be glad he met me? What do I offer him? “As long as we don’t have to cut up butterflies, I’ll be peachy,” I say, smiling with the hope he’ll open up more and regain his happy expression.
“Do you enjoy science?” he asks. “Studying Earth nature?”
“Sure.” But sometimes we have to do some gross things in science. Cut up frogs. Learn chemistry.
Late yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Sciapoli, our science teacher told us we were going to investigate the life cycle of a butterfly. Fly, fly, fly away. I can picture a beautiful butterfly, maybe blue or orange. What must they think stuck inside their habitats? Maybe it’s: Is this all there is to life?
Yesterday, we saw spiky black slugs. Caterpillars that spent a week and a bit in a hotel, chomping through green leaves in wide, deep-netted containers. Going crazy, making holes the width of pens as they punctured green leaves.
Today, we’ll see the real thing at the breeders. I’ve always been curious about how a butterfly came to be. How long it lived.
The strands of Lakyn’s hair shine in the reflection of the sun peeking through the clouds. I contemplate him, comparing him to all the other boys in my classes. He’s bigger. Taller. His shirt hangs in a straight shot from his broad shoulders, past his flat stomach and tucks into the waist of his shorts. His legs barely fit in the floor space in front of his seat. His thighs are muscly, but slightly different from the other boys near him, even the buff ones. Now that I really look at him, I can see he’s built, athletic and sublime.
“Do you work out?” I blurt.
“I swim.” He laughs and his teeth gleam white and even. His eyes are no longer large; they’ve returned to normal size. “I love the water.”
I scratch my temple, and not wanting to mention his eyes again, I pull out my iPhone, then press the buds into my ears. I scroll to one of my favourite playlists. I’m still looking for a song to relax to, when my phone rings. I pull out the earphones and look at the caller ID. Cal.
I hit the answer button and speak quietly, “Hey, Cal. What’s up?”
“Eloise.” His voice is hesitant over the phone. “Sorry if I’ve caught you while you’re at school. I’ve been meaning to call you. How have you been?”
“Great. Yourself?”
“Not bad. The reason I’m calling you is to let you know you are invited to a barbeque tonight at my place. It’s my mum’s birthday.”
Shock paralyses me. “Err . . . um . . . I’m staying at Bethany’s.”
“She’s invited, too,” Cal says. “It’s just a few family and friends. Beth knows, but she must have forgotten to tell you. My mum wanted me to call you and let you know just in case. Aunt Carrie will be bringing her own car, but she’ll have the back seat full, so I’ll pick up you and Beth at seven.”
How thoughtful. “Well, OK. I’d love to come.” I smile.
“Cool. See you then.”
“Bye.” I hang up and continue to stare at the phone in my hand.
Lakyn moves into my line of sight. “Boyfriend?”
I jerk my head up. “What?”
His frown lightens to a smile. “Guess not. Hey, that’s a cool gadget. What is it?”
I freeze for the second time.
15
I SWALLOW. “WHA-AT?”
Lakyn shrugs, releasing the strong scent of icy sea, musk and lavender. I can’t help inhaling deeply, fighting the urge to slide closer across the bus seat and breathe in more of his scent. The blue shirt tents across his broad chest and then stretches again in a flat line. His biceps and forearms bulge with lean muscle, and he drops his chin, partially hiding a small smile, yet revealing the dimple in his granite jaw. His dirty blond hair tumbles over his forehead and his thick golden-tipped lashes are a burnished slash against his perfectly tanned skin.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he murmurs. “I mean, I’ve seen them at school and pictures of them on signs at the shops. I just haven’t asked anyone what they’re for.”
“What. They’re. For.” Noise from the students at the rear of the bus becomes a hum. A low, rumbling ache in the back of my mind. In some part of my brain, I hear the students boast about their plans for the weekend and other tall stories. That’s . . . normal. Sane. But this . . . my heartbeat thunders. “What game are you—?”
“Lakyn. Lakyn!”
I glance over my shoulder and then turn back with a groan. Megan, one of Ashly’s closest friends, slips down the bus aisle, convincing another girl to swap seats before grabbing Lakyn’s arm. Wacky orders her to take her seat, but she nods and leans across the aisle anyway. “What are you doing this weekend? Do you wanna come to my place Saturday night for a party? Ashly told me to invite you.”
His lashes flicker, but he barely glances at Megan. “Not sure yet. I’m discussing something with Ellie.”
Megan pulls back her head in shock, her brow knits, and then she retracts her claws from his arm. “Well, when you’re finished, let me know.” She smirks at me and settles back in the seat, staring ahead.
Lakyn smiles at me reassuringly. “What were you saying?”
“That’s going to get back to Ashly. But is it true?” I whisper. “You don’t know what they are? Stop playin’.”
His brow furrows and he chews at his nail. “Playing? Is it that hard to believe I don’t know?” he asks in a speculative tone.
“It’s my smartphone.” Did I miss something? “You know . . . smartphones?” I whisper.
He angles his body closer to mine, twisting his hips so all Megan will see is his broad back. His knee touches my thigh, and my breathing stalls.
Heat from his body tears through my skirt until the reviving warmth trails up my body to my cheeks. The scent of him surrounds me.
His mouth parts, his glowing gaze on my lips, and my mouth burns, then he looks back up to meet my eyes. “Smart . . . phones?” He screws up his face in concentration and then considers the device. “They’re smart?” He flips his hand in a cupping gesture. “May I?”
I hesitantly place my iPhone in his hand and my trembling fingers trace his palm.
He jolts at the touch. My phone slips between his hands. “Ah, no.” He fumbles and grabs for the phone.
“Careful.” I sit up, but the iPhone lands in his lap, and I exhale in relief. “The glass shatters easily, and it’s expensive to replace. Mum will kill me if I break it.”
He shakes his head, and his long fingers sketch the screen. “Sorry.” Then he sucks in a breath, his gaze on the images as they turn with dizzying speed. “Wow.” He smiles, bent over and stares at the phone. “What a fascinating piece of technology.”
I look at him with wide eyes and whisper, “There’s no way you couldn’t have seen—”
“No.” His gaze sticks on the phone. “It’s a long story. Some of the other kids at school have them. So yeah, I’ve seen them.” He tosses me another quick grin, but it’s rather uneasy, belying the sparkle in his blue eyes. “But not really seen them, if you know what I mean. Thanks for letting me have a look now.”
“That’s OK,” I say. Then it hits me. He’s an orphan. It drives me mad how the world can be so bloody twisted sometimes. He’s never properly seen an iPhone because he grew up having nothing. Luxuries, to those who have none, are from another world entirely. “I can teach you how to use one,” I offer quietly. “It’s not hard once you get the hang of it.”
He grins so wide, his dimple makes my heart melt, and his eyes appear like dancing stars. The smooth, chiselled line of his jaw and cheekbones are beautiful. Even the golden colour of his skin reminds me of basking in the sun.
“Thank you. Can I get one of my own? How do you do it?”
“Oh, well that’s a bit harder. You can buy one outright, but if you want to use the Internet, you need to go on a plan. Although, you can do prepaid. But either way, it’s going to cost you.”
He n
arrows his eyes and tilts his head, practicing holding the phone against his ear. “Cost . . . as in money?”
“Yes.” I stare at him, trying to figure him out and find I’m chewing my fingernails. I tuck my fingers away to watch him play with my phone.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I have money.”
He makes it sound as if we are talking about socks in his underwear drawer. Considering he doesn’t have any parents, where will he get the cash? Does he have a part-time job? The confusion on my face must be obvious because when I go quiet; he looks up at me and says, “Swimming competitions. Lots and lots of them. I’ve won enough money. I work at the Yacht Club.”
“Oh. Then no problem. We can go to the shops and pick up one for you. Get you on a plan.” I didn’t know you could win money swimming. Maybe I can, too?
“Just like that? You’ll get me one?” He jostles in his seat. His shoes tap on the floor, and he blinks those thick lashes of his. “You’ll help me get a . . . a smartphone?”
I seem to fall into the separate specks in his eyes, but grin at his happy expression. “I need to apologise for before, you know, about how I reacted when you said you hadn’t seen one. That must have seemed rude.”
He sighs, falls back into his seat and then keeps playing with the screens on my phone. His shoulders droop and a lock of hair falls over his forehead. “It’s fine, Ellie.”
I scoot closer. “It’s not your fault. Enough people must razz you about it.”
He smiles, but the expression doesn’t move to his eyes. “Oh, but it is my fault. Don’t worry about it.”
What can he mean? It’s his fault he’s an orphan and has never seen a smartphone? Anyway, I just don’t understand how his friends never let him play with their phones. I feel terrible, but I can’t ask him about his childhood, that is too personal considering how much he’s trying to hide. “I’m meeting up with Bethany today at lunch. We can meet you at the shops after school? We’ll get your phone then.”
