Saving Wishes

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “No, I’ll get a lift with Nicole. Thanks anyway.” I got out and slung my backpack over one shoulder, feeling like I was about to walk into an interrogation. I got a moment of reprieve when Alex became the focus of their attention.

  “Hi Alex,” purred Lisa Reynolds, her entourage of friends cackling like geese in the background. Alex responded with a weak wave and drove off, far less cautiously than usual. Poor Alex. He seemed to be the unwilling object of desire of most of the female population in this town. I wasn’t totally oblivious to how good looking he was, or what a good catch he would be. He was athletic, strong and in a constant state of dishevelment thanks to his extra curricular activities like tinkering in his shed and surfing. Too bad for them that his mind was strictly one track, and it was focused entirely on the Parisienne witch waiting for me in fifth period French.

  Lisa jumped off the fence, smoothing the back of her skirt as she approached. She towered over most of the girls our age. It was easy to see why she was the spokesperson. Her shoulder length brown hair didn’t shift an inch as the wind squalled around us. The only thing more excessive than the amount of hairspray she used was large number of silver bangles she wore. The way they jingled when she moved grated on me, and I don’t know how it didn’t send her crazy.

  “You’ve been holding out on us,” she accused, pointing her finger at me. Her friends followed closely, as if attached by invisible strings. I ignored her and quickened my pace.

  “He’s French, isn’t he? How long is here for?” she asked, not taking a breath between questions.

  “American. Why don’t you ask him how long he’s here for?”

  “I saw you talking to him at the reception,” she accused. “And Jasmine told me you spent the day with him yesterday. I just want the run-down. It’s not every day we get fresh blood.”

  The notion that any boy who stumbled into Pipers Cove was fresh blood, up for grabs, was ludicrous but widespread. It strengthened my theory that the only way to transition into a well-adjusted adult was to get the hell out of town.

  I managed to avoid Lisa for the rest of the morning. Nicole and I met at lunchtime, as always. We dumped our bags on the bench seats and sat on the picnic table, desperate to get closer to the warmth of the sun.

  “She’s still looking at me, isn’t she?” I asked, dropping my head so my hair fell as a shield across my face. I couldn’t rule out lip reading as a tool in their gossiping arsenal.

  “Lisa?” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “She’s talking to Lily.”

  “Oh, just perfect.”

  “You started this mess,” she reminded me, totally unforgiving. “You’re the one who stirred them up.”

  “I know I did.”

  Probably picking up on the regret in my tone, Nicole softened. “Do you think you’ll see Adam again?”

  “I doubt it.”

  I wasn’t hopeful that I’d ever hear from him again. For all I knew, he was on the morning flight to Melbourne.

  The bell rang. Fifth period French.

  I sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. My eyes focused on my chair down the back and I walked straight to it before I noticed Lisa in the usually vacant chair beside mine. Escape was impossible. I sat, looking to the front of the class for the first time. Mademoiselle Décarie was nowhere to be seen. She was annoyingly punctual, irritatingly perfect...and ten minutes late for the first time in the history of year twelve French.

  “Why did you tell Lily and Jasmine he couldn’t understand English? I spoke to him and he seemed fine,” Lisa hissed, as if speaking a foreign language was a sickness. I was working on a calm reply when Gabrielle Décarie breezed into the room. “My apologies for being late.” Her accent made her words musical. I scribbled mindlessly on my notebook, keeping my head low.

  “Where did you two go yesterday?” whispered Lisa, refusing to give up.

  “Nowhere,” I mumbled.

  “Chapter four...chapitre quatre,” instructed Gabrielle, pacing the length of the aisle between the rows of desks.

  I flipped the book to the page and feigned interest as she began reading. I glanced up as she passed my desk and she met my glance with a homicidal glare. Her recital didn’t skip a beat. Her words flowed effortlessly, giving no hint of the loathing she was throwing my way.

  As soon as she’d passed, Lisa hissed, “Are you seeing him again?”

  I shuffled to the left but she moved with me. “Shut up,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

  Never one to give in easily, Lisa scrawled her next question on a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk at me. Before I had a chance to pick it up, Mademoiselle Décarie’s hand thumped on top of it.

  “Do you have something to share with the class, Mademoiselle Blake?” Chairs scraped loudly as every person in front of me turned around to stare.

  Suppressing the urge to throw up, I refused to meet her eye. “No. I have nothing to share,” I replied, sounding far more confident than I was.

  Her perfectly manicured fingers pushed the note towards me. “Read it to the class...in French.”

  A pin drop could have been heard. All eyes were on me.

  I picked up the note and read it quickly, silently. Reading it aloud would have been a very bad idea. I did what I knew best how to do, infuriate Gabrielle even more.

  I cleared my throat. “I hate French class,” I pretended to read, uttering every word in English but putting a ridiculous French spin on it. The class burst into giggles and Gabrielle snatched the note, stuffing it into her pocket. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  Lisa’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” I spat.

  Mademoiselle Décarie’s heels clicked on the wooden floor as she marched up to the front.

  “Read through to chapter six, silently,” she said acerbically, dragging her chair loudly as she pulled it out.

  The hour passed in total silence. I didn’t read a word but kept my head down, pretending that I was. Even Lisa wasn’t brave enough to talk. I looked up only once, in time to see Mademoiselle Décarie take the note from her pocket and read it. Her lips formed a thin line and I knew why her expression was sour. Lisa’s words, scrawled messily, were hurtful and cruel: I hope he’s nicer than his cousin. Stuck up princess.

  Gabrielle’s eyes met mine and I quickly looked away. I counted down the seconds until the end of class. The bell finally sounded and people filed out. Mademoiselle Décarie sat motionless – even Lisa made it past her desk unscathed.

  I took my time, rearranging the books in my bag before throwing it over my shoulder. The walk to the door was slow.

  “Charli,” Gabrielle spoke so quietly that I wasn’t sure she’d called my name. I stopped walking.

  “Yes?” I asked, managing to sound artificially calm.

  “Why didn’t you read the note?”

  I shrugged involuntarily. “I saw no need to embarrass us both.”

  Mademoiselle Décarie nodded but said nothing. I walked out of the room feeling free to breathe again.

  5. Flee-itis

  The student car park after school was the closest Pipers Cove came to rush hour. P-plate drivers waited impatiently to get out, pedestrians wove between cars and everyone was in a hurry to make a quick escape. It was all over in ten minutes, by which time I’d usually found Nicole.

  Today she was nowhere to be seen. Parked in the spot her little yellow Hyundai usually occupied was the sleek black Audi. My heart skipped a few vital beats. It was in danger of faltering permanently when Adam got out and opened the door for me.

  “It looks like you need a ride home.”

  “I thought I had a ride home,” I replied.

  “I relieved Nicole of her duties. I hope you don’t object. If I’ve come all this way to find you, I should at least find out why.”

  “You should,” I agreed, doing my best to keep my voice even.

  I slid into the passenger seat, trying to appear hesitan
t but moving too quickly to be convincing. My eyes darted around the luxurious interior.

  “Did you think I’d object?” I asked as he got in.

  He shook his head. “No. At least, I hoped you wouldn’t.”

  We were both quiet for a while. The car was so smooth, so much quieter than Alex’s V8. Adam drove slowly, possibly because he didn’t know where we were headed.

  “Where are we going?” I asked finally.

  “Where do you normally go?”

  “Nic and I usually go to the café, and then I go home with Alex when he’s done.”

  “So we’re going to the café?” he asked casually. I found myself doing the airhead twirl with my hair. “Charli?”

  I hadn’t answered him. “We can go to my house. Alex gets home about six. We’ll have the place to ourselves until then.”

  Obviously surprised by the suggestion, his eyes darted between the road and me, probably unsure what to make of it. It dawned on me that my statement could have had ten different meanings, at least eight of them explicit. I felt sick with embarrassment, quickly looking out the window to hide the fact that my cheeks were burning. Adam laughed, slightly putting me at ease.

  “I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did,” I mumbled. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “You don’t know what I think,” he replied, smiling.

  “I think I should rephrase, just so we’re clear.” He tried to stop the grin widening across his handsome face. “I’d rather go somewhere quiet. Hanging out at the café is just asking for trouble. You’ve been front page news all day and I don’t want to be part of tomorrow’s headline.”

  “I didn’t think I was that newsworthy,” he replied, laughing.

  “It’s a really small town, Adam. Filled with really small minds. That’s a very dangerous combination.”

  “I’ll just stick with you then, to be safe,” he replied, reminding me of my less than stellar skills in protecting him in the past.

  “You know, I’m probably going to screw this up again. It seems fair to warn you.”

  “Really?” I could hear the amusement in his voice. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Call it intuition.”

  “You look panicked, Charlotte,” he said, glancing across. “Like you’re about to run away.”

  “I can’t see myself jumping out of a moving vehicle.”

  “Shall I speed up, just to be sure?”

  I grinned. “No, I won’t run. But I do have a condition.”

  “A medical condition?”

  “Yes. Its called flee-itis.”

  “I see. What are the symptoms?”

  “Well, usually I have an uncontrollable urge to run...when I really should stay.”

  “Is it contagious?” he quizzed, still smiling but looking at the road ahead.

  “Apparently not. You’re still here.”

  “Well, let’s hope there’s a cure.”

  “I’m working on it. Learning to stay would definitely be beneficial. You can ask me anything, Adam. I promise not to bail.” I sounded tons surer than I felt.

  “Really? Anything?”

  “Sure.” My voice sounded casual but my heart felt like it was in danger of exploding.

  He cleared his throat. I dreaded the question already.

  “Okay, question number one.” The long pause made me almost reconsider my stance on jumping out of moving vehicles. “How do I get to your house?”

  We were already past the café and heading out of town. I wanted to tell him to keep going – the further the better – but common sense kicked in. The ten-minute journey had turned into half an hour by the time we turned and headed in the right direction.

  Adam stood behind me as I fumbled the key into the lock. I couldn’t explain my nervousness. There wasn’t much about the last few days that I could logically explain. Finally the door unlocked and I threw it open, walking in ahead of him.

  “Is Alex going to mind me being here?” he asked, looking around as if expecting Alex to jump out from behind the couch.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, too honestly.

  “Okay.” He grinned. An uncomfortable silence crept between us and I found myself doing the airhead twirl with my hair again. “So are you going to give me a tour of the house? You’re getting quite good at playing tour guide now,” he teased.

  I pulled a face. “Well, it might take a while. This house is huge.” I threw my hands in the air, emphasizing the sarcasm.

  “I can see that.” He leaned forward slightly. “So this would be the lounge room in the south wing?”

  “Correct. The lounge room in the north wing is much more impressive.”

  “I like this one,” he replied, wandering around.

  He was just being polite. The only impressive thing in the room was the huge, ostentatious TV, another of Alex’s guilty pleasures. It sat atop an antique oak cabinet he’d picked up at a garage sale. The irony was not lost on me. Two brown leather couches took up the rest of the room. They were bulky and ugly, but the most comfortable chairs I’d ever sat on. The only visible sign that a girl lived there was the two pink throw rugs draped over the back of the couch.

  Adam turned his attention to the bookshelves that ran the length of the side wall, peering at titles and pictures, studying each one closely. I felt nerves kick in again. He picked one picture up to get a closer look.

  “Is this you?” he asked. I took the little silver frame from him and put it back on the shelf. It fell facedown and he righted it. “You were a very cute child.”

  “Thank you. We should move on.” Adam followed as I walked through to the kitchen.

  “Is flee-itis flaring up again, Charlotte?”

  I was determined to see it through. “No. Ask me anything.”

  He grinned. “Anything?”

  “Sure.”

  “How long have you been into photography?”

  “Forever.” I sighed. “When I was six or seven, I found an old brownie box camera at the markets in Sorell. It was only a couple of dollars and came with a whole box of film spools. I think Alex just bought it to shut me up. I guess it worked. I was hooked from the very start. It gave me magical powers. Every kid wants superpowers, right?”

  Adam chuckled, nodding his head. “I guess so. What was the superpower you acquired?”

  “I could freeze time,” I explained, a little too excitedly. “Every picture ever taken is a fraction of a second, frozen in time forever.”

  “I never thought of it like that. So that picture of you as a little girl is a moment in time?”

  “It’s simpler than that,” I told him, pushing my chair back. I walked to the fridge, snatched two photographs from beneath a magnet and dropped them on the table. He studied both pictures. I watched the expression on his face change from a frown to a bewildered stare.

  “What do you see?” I asked. He hesitated before replying.

  “Ah, a couple of trees. They’re the same picture.”

  “Try to look closer.” I pointed from one picture to the other. “That picture was taken four seconds after that one. They’re completely different.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he apologised. “I’m not following.”

  “Focus on one point. The leaves,” I suggested. Adam leaned closer, studying each picture. He looked up grasping the point I was trying to make.

  “They are different. The leaves are different,” he said triumphantly.

  “Now you’re getting it,” I praised. “A fraction of a second changes everything. Those pictures can never, ever, be recreated. I could take a million more pictures, standing in the exact same spot, and each one would be unique. The wind blows the leaves on the trees, waves crash to shore, tides change, sand shifts. Everything constantly changes.”

  “I guess we should all look at the bigger picture once in a while.”

  “Not bigger, deeper. We should all look at the deeper picture,” I corrected. He nodded but didn’t say anythi
ng. “What is it?”

  His hand moved across the table, resting lightly on mine. “I think this is going to get serious, Charli,” he said gravely.

  “I know.” All of my concentration was focused on remembering to breathe, voiding my ability to come up with anything more insightful.

  I heard Alex’s car pull up and wondered how time had passed so quickly. But it was just after five; he was early. I pulled my hand away from Adam’s, straightening up as if I’d done something wrong.

  “Is this the part where I should sneak out the back door?” teased Adam.

  “No. Stay.”

  The familiar sound of keys hitting the hallstand broke the silence and Alex called my name. I wondered if it was to give me warning that he was about to walk into the room, but he strolled in as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “Hi, Adam,” he said casually.

  “Good to see you again, Alex.”

  “Adam gave me a lift home,” I blurted, answering an unasked question.

  “Nice.” His tone was insincere and it annoyed me.

  “I really should go. Gabrielle will be wondering where I am,” said Adam, totally unaware of the effect of the name. Gabrielle – Alex’s kryptonite. A frown replaced any smart comment Alex had planned to make.

  “You remember Gabrielle, don’t you, Alex?” I baited.

  “Sure,” he mumbled, thumbing through the stack of mail on the bench.

  Adam stood. “I’ll walk you out,” I offered, jumping out of my seat.

  We were almost to the car before he spoke. “Did I miss something in there?” he asked.

  “Alex has a hopeless crush on Gabrielle. The mention of her name sends him into a blind panic.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “Teasing him about it is kind of a hobby of mine. Alex isn’t usually easy to rattle.”

  Adam pressed the button on his key, unlocking the car. He opened the driver’s door and it suddenly felt like a steel barrier separating us, saving me from standing too close to him.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, drawing my hand to his lips and kissing my fingers.