The Trouble with Flirting

by Rachel Morgan

  “Uh, hey, everyone. I’m Livi.” I wave. A chorus of enthusiastic greetings follow. After exchanging an awkward glance with Adam, I say, “Well, I should—“

  “Hey, do you want to play?” one of them asks, holding a controller out towards me. “Adam told us you’re pretty good.”

  Really? He didn’t tell you I’m a shallow-hearted, friend-abandoning snob?

  “Um, thanks, but I’m really tired. I’d be more than happy to kick your butt next time, though.”

  “Oooooh.” Someone else punches the guy still holding the controller out to me.

  His arm droops as everyone starts laughing, but he shouts, “Deal!” above the noise.

  With a laugh and a shake of my head, I walk to the kitchen. I switch the kettle on, then lean against the counter and begin typing my email version of Dear Diary.

  From: Alivia Howard

  Sent: Sat 15 Mar, 10:41 pm

  To: Carl

  Subject: Dear Carl

  Okay, so Burger King was not on my list of Top Ten Perfect Dates (it certainly couldn’t compare to all our secret rendezvous beside the lake), but SO WHAT. His kisses more than made up for that, and the WAY he asked me out—writing on my hand so he’d have an excuse to hold it—was really cute. Points for that.

  And points to me for perfecting the art of looking sexy while eating fries.

  So. Grand total of guys Livi has kissed: two.

  No, wait, three. I always forget about that slobbery spin-the-bottle experience. ANYWAY. Kissing Jackson was far better than that. It was better than kissing you too, so take that!

  (Livi, you’re talking to someone who isn’t there. You might be crazy.

  Really? I don’t think so. That’s what writing in a diary is all about. No one expects the diary to respond. Duh! Talking to MYSELF on the other hand … that is crazy.)

  Crazy Livi signing out.

  ___________________________________

  “So … you and Adam are fighting, huh?”

  I look up from the rubbish I’ve just sent out into cyberspace where no one will ever read it and find Luke standing on the other side of the kitchen table. “He speaks,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “Uh, yes.” He scratches his head. “I speak.”

  I put my phone down. “It’s just that most of the time … you don’t.”

  He shrugs and opens the fridge. “Strong, silent type, I guess.”

  Well that’s the biggest understatement ever. I turn around and pour boiling water over the teabag in my mug. I add a squirt of honey, then move the mug to the table and sit down. Luke is still in the kitchen, making himself a toasted sandwich. And not speaking. “Okay, I’m just gonna be blunt here,” I say. “You’re really good-looking.”

  “Uh …” Luke’s eyes dart around, probably looking for the nearest escape route.

  “But you’re also really shy. Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? Because I expected there to be, like, hundreds of girls beating down the front door trying to get to you.”

  He blinks. “That would be … mildly terrifying.”

  “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

  Luke sits down at the table with his plate and sandwich. Holy hippogriff. I feel an actual conversation coming on. “I had a girlfriend in high school,” he says. “She was the one who introduced me to gym, which, um, is where I spend a lot of time now. She did the whole makeover thing on me. Then she dumped me.”

  “Ouch. That sucks.”

  He nods. “The girlfriend I have now is a lot nicer. She lives in East London, so that’s why you haven’t seen her around.”

  “Oh. So you do have a girlfriend.” Well, thank goodness I didn’t throw myself at Luke on my first day here when I was dazzled by his unexpected hotness.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He gives me a confused look. “You didn’t ask.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. A string of melted cheese stretches between his mouth and the bread. I blow on my tea, then sip it. We sit in silence. I wonder if he’s planning to eat his sandwich and leave without saying anything else. If I have any more questions for him, I’d better get them in now. Who knows when another opportunity might arise.

  “Why do you always avoid talking to me?”

  “I …” He looks cornered again. Jeez, am I really that scary? “I used to make you uncomfortable,” he says, staring at his plate. “You and Sarah. When we were all younger and I was … even shyer than I am now. I guess I’m still embarrassed about that.”

  “You’re embarrassed? Luke, I’m the one who should be embarrassed. Sarah and I used to tease you about staring at us. We … well, we called you names, and we shouldn’t have. I’m—” I pause, staring at the blank space of wall above the fridge. I frown. “I’m having a light bulb moment,” I murmur. I put my mug down and look intently at Luke. “Do you think everyone gets bullied at some stage in life? I only ever thought about the kids who were mean to me. I only ever thought of myself as a victim. But I was mean to you. I recognise that now. And maybe the kids who were mean to me were all bullied by someone else at some stage. Like a meanness cycle.”

  Luke finishes chewing. “Everyone’s been hurt by someone else at some point, right? Even if it wasn’t intentional.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

  He stands and carries his empty plate to the sink. When he turns around, he gives me a small smile. “It’s all in the past.”

  After he leaves, I pick up my tea, handbag and shoes, and head to my bedroom. After my shower routine, I climb into bed with my laptop and the first season of Battlestar Galactica. It’s about time for me to watch the series again. And it’ll distract me from the almost overwhelming urge to text Jackson—something I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to do.

  I settle back and get ready to lose myself in the war of the humans against the Cylons. It’s just as captivating as the first time I watched it. I’ve just started episode three—after convincing myself that I’ll watch just one more—when my phone’s screen lights up. I press pause on my laptop and pick up my phone. Dad. Why is he calling so late?

  I sit up and answer the call as mild panic grips my insides. “Dad. Is everything okay?”

  “Livi, hi.”

  “What’s going on? Is Mom okay?”

  “Yes, yes. She’s—she’s fine.”

  “Oh, okay.” I lean back and push my laptop out of the way so I can stretch my legs out. “It’s just that you don’t usually call so late.” Or at all. I’ve spoken to Dad twice in the past five weeks, and both of those calls were on speaker phone with Mom.

  “Yes, I …” I hear him taking a deep breath. “How are you doing?”

  “Fiiiiine. I’m just watching DVDs in my room.”

  “Okay, great.”

  Pause.

  “And how are you?” I ask.

  “Good, good.” Another pause. “Actually, not so good.”

  “Why?” The panic starts crawling back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I …” He groans, then mutters, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”

  “Dad, what’s going on?” I sit up and grip the duvet with my free hand.

  “I have to tell you about something. Something that’s … complicated and … very difficult to talk about. Something that happened a long time ago, but it’s now come to light, so I … need to tell you about it.”

  I wait, my heart hammering as hard as it did in the cinema earlier, but for an entirely different reason.

  “A number of years ago, when you were less than a year old, and I was working a lot between here and Joburg, I …” He sighs. “I had an affair.”

  Pause.

  “You WHAT?”

  I sit on Adam’s bed with my knees drawn up and my arms wrapped around them. My shocked brain is playing through the same words over and over. It can’t be true. Dad would never do something like that. But he did. And beneath the shock, something
else is beginning to burn.

  Anger.

  I stare unblinking at Adam’s cupboard doors as tears slowly distort my vision. I hear Adam saying goodnight to his friends. They all traipse outside. The front door closes and Adam’s footsteps move towards his bedroom.

  He stops in the doorway. Sighs. “Livi, do we have to do this—” His words falter. “What’s wrong?”

  “My dad,” I say, my voice coming out strangely hoarse. I’m still staring at the cupboard doors, but they’re swimming now. Swimming through furious, unshed tears.

  Adam is across the room in a second, sitting on the bed and leaning towards me. “What happened? Is he okay?”

  My head moves slowly from side to side. “No. He’s a lying, cheating bastard.”

  “What? Why?”

  I blink. A tear drops onto my cheek. I swipe at it before turning to look at Adam. Four words boom inside my head. Four words demanding to be said out loud. Four words I’m terrified of saying, because uttering them will make them real. Four words I have no hope of holding in.

  “I have a sister.”

  Adam’s eyes grow wider.

  The words sound foreign. Ridiculous. So I say them again. “I have a sister.”

  “You … have a sister?”

  The rage boils over. “I HAVE A SISTER. A seventeen-year-old half-sister. Because my father couldn’t keep his hands off some other woman. Because my mom and I weren’t good enough for him. Because he clearly didn’t give a damn about the fact that he was married!” I grasp the sleeve of Adam’s T-shirt in my fist. “How could he do this to us? To my mom? How could he lie to us all this time? And this other woman. How could she go after a man who already belonged to someone else?”

  Adam carefully removes my fist and holds my hand in both of his. “How did you find out?”

  “He phoned to tell me. He—he said it ‘came to light,’ so now he had to tell me about it, and I don’t know what that means because I put the phone down after he reached the part about having another daughter. Another daughter! I’m supposed to be his only daughter!”

  Adam rubs my hand. “Have you spoken to your mom?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “I want to. And then I don’t. I don’t know what to say. If I’m feeling hurt, can you imagine how she must be feeling? And it’s really late. She’s probably … I don’t know. I just don’t know.” I grab a cushion and climb off the bed with it. I hug it to my chest as I pace. “I can’t figure out what to feel. One moment I’m furious, and then … I think about how … he didn’t want us.” I stop pacing. “He wanted someone else. And then I just want to cry. And crying’s so stupid. He’s not worth it.” I continue my angry stomping. “Horrible, lying, cheating—STUPID SHOES!” I yell as I trip over a pair of running shoes on the floor. “Why do things always jump in front of me when I’m trying to walk?”

  “Well, uh—”

  “Don’t answer that.” I sit on the edge of the bed with my arms wrapped around the cushion. “I’m sorry. We haven’t spoken all week, and now I’m dumping my problems on top of you.”

  “Livi, we’ve been dumping our problems on top of each other for six years. That’s what friends do, remember?”

  I shrug. Does that mean I should be telling my new friends about this? Somehow, I can’t imagine sitting down with Allegra, Charlotte, Courtney, and Amber and talking about my father’s secret relationship with another woman and how I suddenly have a sister. I imagine it would be more like discussing the latest scandal in their favourite TV show than them providing support for me through a difficult time.

  Fortunately, I have Adam. And Sarah. Who will be receiving a call from me first thing in the morning.

  “I think I should go to bed,” I say.

  “Will you be able to sleep?”

  I rub my eyes. “I don’t know.” Both my mind and body feel unbearably weary all of a sudden, so I sure hope so. “I’ll just … try to think of nothing.”

  From: Alivia Howard

  Sent: Sun 16 Mar, 1:04 am

  To: Carl

  Subject: Dear Carl

  Dad is a gigantic ass.

  And … I have a sister.

  In. Sane.

  (And I want to punch Dad.)

  ___________________________________

  “Can I get you anything else?” Adam asks, eyeing my mug of tea and the open jar of peanut butter on the table in front of me.

  I pull the spoon out of my mouth and shake my head. I don’t feel like eating anything in particular, but I’m hungry, and I like peanut butter. So here I am eating it for breakfast.

  Adam turns back to the frying pan on the stove and cracks several eggs into it.

  “My mom phoned this morning,” I say, slowly stirring my tea.

  Adam swings around. “Oh. How is she? What did she say?”

  “She’s … I don’t know. Angry, confused, hurt. She’s staying with my grandparents in Hillcrest. She found out about the affair on Friday night and left home yesterday morning.”

  “Did she say how she found out?”

  “Yes. So, um, apparently my parents never use each other’s laptops, but my dad was supposed to forward something to my mom—some document they both needed to sign or something—but the email didn’t go through. Dad said he sent it, but Mom said she never got it. Dad was in the shower, and Mom was frustrated that she hadn’t got this thing yet, so she opened up his laptop and looked at his emails. She couldn’t find it, so she thought maybe he’d deleted it by accident. She went to the Trash folder, and amongst all the other stuff there, she saw something that said, ‘Please can I meet you.’” I stare at my tea for a while, then sip it. “Imagine if she’d just thought it was spam and hadn’t opened it. Everything would still be fine.”

  Adam scoops his fried egg onto a piece of toast, turns the stove off, and sits down. “I’m guessing the email was from your … half-sister.”

  My eyes flick up to his. “It’s weird saying it, right?”

  “Very.”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, it was from her. She explained who she was and how her mother had always refused to tell her anything about her father, but that she’d finally found out who he was. Dad hadn’t replied to the email. I guess he just deleted it. Mom almost thought it was one of those hoax emails, but the girl wasn’t asking for money. She was asking to meet. So Mom confronted Dad about it, and that’s how it all came out.”

  “Your poor mom,” Adam says quietly. “It must have been such a shock.”

  I scoop more peanut butter from the jar and nibble on it. “She said she never suspected a thing. Never doubted his loyalty. Never believed he could lie to her so convincingly.” I lick the spoon clean. “Part of me is really mad at this girl for sending the email. If she had no interest in meeting Dad, the affair would probably have stayed a secret forever and we’d all be happy.”

  “And the other part of you?” Adam asks.

  “The other part of me is … curious,” I admit. “About her. What she’s like. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about it now. Um, so where have you been going every morning this past week?” I tap my spoon against the side of my mug. “Every day I woke up and you were already gone. Which was great, since things were awkward between us and I was avoiding you, but where were you?”

  “Gym,” Adam says, swallowing his final mouthful. “With Luke.”

  “Gym? Since when do you go to gym?”

  “Hey, this magnificent body does not maintain itself, you know.”

  I start laughing. I didn’t think I’d be able to laugh today, but here I am laughing at Adam’s apparently magnificent body. “You’re right. Your body has been mind-bogglingly magnificent ever since you got back from America. What exactly were you doing at summer camp? Weightlifting the campers?”

  “Yes. I jogged around every morning with a camper over each shoulder.” His smile slips as his phone dings and he picks it up to check the message. With a fro
wn, he places the phone screen-down on the table.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He smiles. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m going to a vintage market with Allegra and Courtney. I thought about cancelling, but, you know, then I’d just sit around here thinking about how my father has ruined my family. So … yeah. Want to come with?”

  “I’d rather be draped naked over a beehive.”

  “Still not a fan of markets, huh?”

  “Nope. But … maybe we can do something later? This evening? Unless you have, I don’t know, a date or something.”

  “Nah, that was last night.”

  Surprise colours Adam’s expression. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that guy you said was checking you out in class?”

  I nod, pleased Adam remembers me telling him about Jackson. I thought he tuned out whenever Sarah and I started talking about guys. “Yes, that’s the one. Movie, dinner, and lots of making out.”

  “Uh …”

  “Sorry. Too much info?”

  Adam clears his throat. “Right, so that explains the dress and the hair and everything last night.”

  I twist a golden strand of hair around my finger. “You hate it, don’t you.”

  “What? No, I don’t hate it. I just … liked you as a redhead.”