Paradise City (11 page)

Ballantine snaked his towel over his shoulder, before flashing me a brief crooked grin. ‘And if I need further schooling in having the last word, then I’ll be sure to find you.’

I smiled sweetly. ‘Please do.’

Ballantine wedged the board under his arm before laughing and walking away.

Chapter Nineteen

I didn’t know what was more unbelievable, that I was amicably walking to the bus stop brushing shoulders with Amanda, or the fact that we were following the Kirkland surfers? Sure, we were following them at a respectable distance, but nonetheless, we were walking in their footsteps.

‘You’re staring.’ Amanda’s voice broke my thoughts.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Stop ogling their bums.’

‘I am not!’ I shoved her off the path.

‘Hey, it’s okay, I don’t blame you, I’m just surprised. I didn’t take you for a bum looker.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘As if. I’m just trying to put names to faces.’

‘Names to faces or names to bums?’

‘Seriously, how old are you?’

I had desperately wanted Amanda to tell me every detail about where she had gone last night. What was the Wipe Out Bar? Where was the Wipe Out Bar? Who was Dean? Was he mad? Did they make it inside? Was Ballantine there? So far all I had gathered was that Boon had a wicked mouth and magic fingers and I really didn’t need to know more about either of those things. I didn’t quite know how to feel about me rejecting Boon’s advances and then him getting with Amanda. I know that’s what boys do; well, I think that’s what they do. But still, I would never tell Amanda about it. He was more than likely just mucking around. He seemed to be a giant flirt.

‘Okay, Kirkland boys 101,’ Amanda began. ‘There always seems like there’s a big cluster of them, but the originals, the only ones of any real notability, are Boon, Ballantine, Boppo and Woolly. They’re the real deal, the others are just hangers-on, but they’re not what anyone classes as anything.’

I listened on with interest, watching the wall of boys up ahead; they walked shoulder to shoulder. Ballantine was actually in shorts today, exposing his bronzed legs. They were nice legs too. His school bag slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp from his surf. Next to him was a boy who was just as tall, but with shoulder-length, spiralled honey-coloured hair, the kind of hair most girls would kill for.

‘Let me guess, that’s Woolly?’ I asked, nodding towards the boy.

‘Geez, whatever makes you think that?’ Amanda replied, laughing.

Which meant the boy on the far right of Boon was Boppo. He seemed just like any other boy, except he had the most interesting hazel eyes. They were quite hypnotic set against the tan of his skin, with his brown hair lightened by the sun.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Amanda singsonged in a taunting fashion.

‘What?’

Had Amanda suddenly gained the power of telepathy? What was she talking about? And before I had a chance to question her, she winked at me.

‘Don’t worry, cuz. I’ll hook you up.’ And just like that, she sprinted ahead, causing my heart to plummet to my feet watching on as she ran towards the boys.

Surely she wasn’t . . .

But she merely pushed past them, and latched onto her BFF Gemma, who was sitting at the bus stop. The reunion was squealy and over the top, punctuated with the usual swapping of insults.

I clearly had a lot to learn. I couldn’t imagine myself running up to Laura Boon at recess and saying, ‘Hey, you dirty skank.’ And I was quite relieved we hadn’t reached that point in our friendship.

The boys fanned out to stand on the edge of the kerb by the bus shelter, joking, pushing and laughing as they talked about the morning’s surf; you didn’t have to listen to get that that was exactly what they were discussing. I watched on as Ballantine’s hands danced in conversation, miming the crest and then slapping one palm on the back of his other hand, laughing. I sat down next to Amanda, shrugging off my backpack and clamping it between my legs.

Gemma’s surprised eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Her ‘what the hell is she doing here?’ expression was not in the least bit subtle. After a moment Gemma’s bored stare broke away from me and instead shifted to Amanda. ‘So what did you get up to last night? You never texted me back.’

‘Sorry, my phone was on the charger,’ she said with a pout. ‘I probably wouldn’t have heard it anyway, I was zonked by ten, and had a killer headache.’

I did a double-take. Was she serious? Was she not going to relay the story of how she snuck out and hooked up with Boon? Was she not going to relay every single detail to her supposed best friend?

‘Wow! Sucks to be you,’ Gemma sympathised.

‘Yeah, hey,’ Amanda replied with a sigh, subtly kicking my ankle and throwing me a warning look.

Don’t say a word.

I broke away from staring at my cousin, who was scarily good at lying so effortlessly. I didn’t have to force my focus elsewhere because it was the sound of ‘Hey, Ballantine!’ that caused all our heads to whip around in the direction the high-pitched yell came from.

Out of nowhere a petite blonde in a formal black-and-white uniform jumped onto Ballantine’s back, giggling as he caught her legs and swung her around before letting her go. She pushed into his view, playfully slapping him across his chest.

‘I’m mad at you, Luke Ballantine,’ she said, loud enough for the population of Paradise to hear. She crossed her arms and pouted her lips, as she looked up at him with a ‘come shag me’ expression. I felt sick.

‘Who is that?’ I asked, my face pained as if I was watching a traffic accident.

‘That’s Lucy Fell,’ said Gemma with as little enthusiasm as I had.

‘If only Lucy fell off a cliff,’ added Amanda, clearly not a fan either.

I would be happy if she simply fell on her face. Her infuriatingly perfect face. She had big doe eyes, shiny blonde hair, and perky big boobs. She was clearly from another school as she wore an elitist uniform with an embroidered logo on her blazer. She had broken away from the next bus stop over, leaving behind her giggling, whispering friends. By the look of them, it was clearly an all-girl school.

I swallowed my unease, trying to ignore the taste of bitterness.

‘So what, is she like Ballantine’s cousin or something?’ I asked, hopeful.

Amanda scoffed. ‘Do
we
look at each other like that? Definitely not cousins.’

‘She used to go to our school, she was one of our best friends until last year when she started going to St Sebastian’s,’ said Gemma.

‘Yeah, and then she started thinking she was a little bit better than everyone else,’ added Amanda, her scornful eyes glaring at Lucy, who playfully pushed Boon, causing him to lose his balance in the gutter.

‘Well, she doesn’t seem to think she’s better than the boys,’ I said.

Amanda scoffed again. ‘She’s only trying to big-note herself in front of her friends. She’s such a fucking parasite.’

My eyebrows rose at the venom in Amanda’s words; I had never seen her so angry, not even at me. But I couldn’t bring myself to care too greatly about Amanda’s past. All I could care about was the present, about what was unfolding before my eyes like a nightmare. A painfully loud laugh, a flick of her hair, and was that a double blink?

I watched for Ballantine’s responses. His hands deep in his pockets, his feet kicking against the kerb as he spoke, casually glancing up at her. Oh, Christ, how could a glance be so sexy? No, not now, please don’t be sexy now. Lucy fell-on-her-face said something to him that caused him to smile, the dimple-exposing kind, the one that usually had my heart pumping with adrenalin, only now it felt like it would splinter into a million pieces. Oh, how I wished the bus would come along and run her over. Was that too much to ask, universe? And just as if I had willed it, turning the corner and sweeping into the bus lane it came, pulling up at the girls’ school stop, unfortunately doing so with no fatalities. Still, it had all the girls clambering to line up for pole position.

Lucy squealed, ‘Gotta go!’ while dancing on the balls of her feet. She pulled Ballantine down, reached up on her very tippy toes and planted a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek, leaving a visible outline of pink lip balm that caused the boys to cheer and wolf whistle as she skipped away, glancing back with a pointed look of hot promise. She sashayed her way over to her waiting friends, high-fiving one who was holding her bag before stepping on the bus.

I looked away. Enough. I had seen enough. I felt so stupid thinking how amazing it had been that he had asked to borrow a pen, a freaking pen; big bloody deal. The way I had revelled in our verbal sparring match on the beach, only to remember how Boon had taunted me the night before with insinuations. That’s just what boys do, Lexie. They flirt and like to watch you blush and squirm with their innuendos: these boys more than any others. They were in Year Twelve, eighteen, and legally of age. What better way to pass the time than to entertain themselves with a funny mousy girl from the country? Taunt the likes of me while they bedded girls like Lucy. I had been kidding myself, kidding myself all along that Ballantine would even so much as think about me in that way. I’d instead over-analysed the big amounts of nothing, and weaved them into something – romanticising every minute action. What. An. Idiot. What would I know about a boy like him?

I made a promise to myself. No more time wasting, no more staring or swooning over Ballantine. Not only was he obviously trouble, but he was a direct route to a broken heart. I could already feel the frayed edges of disappointment at seeing him just talk to a girl. Enough was enough. I breathed in deeply, resigning myself to take one last look at him, as if to get some closure before sticking with my decision.

One last look and then move on, Lexie!

So when my eyes finally shifted to where Ballantine stood, my breath caught in my throat. The universe was playing one last dirty trick on me, because my eyes had locked directly with his. He was already staring at me with an amused expression. I was tempted to look behind me, wondering if he was looking at someone else, but instead my eyes narrowed in question, eliciting a boyish grin from him before he stepped up on the kerb and glanced towards the sound of our bus nearing. It was a brief yet most direct connection, of that I was sure. I know because I made a clear note to make sure it was in fact real and not imagined, but Ballantine had definitely been looking at me, he had definitely smiled and I didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but my head told me I didn’t want any part of it.

If only my heart would bloody listen.

Chapter Twenty

Boys were stupid, and for a brief moment the idea of an all-girls school seemed genius, until I remembered Lucy and her cheer squad. Okay, definitely a bad idea.

I chose to distance myself from Amanda and co. at recess, instead taking in the quiet surrounds and leaning against a paperbark tree chewing a raspberry roll-up with Laura cross-legged in front of me.

I wanted to tell her about my late-night sneak-out (minus her brother’s involvement) and my reconciliation with Amanda. I wanted to blab about how crushed I’d been over Ballantine disappearing and then have a giant hate session on Lucy Fell-on-her-face. But of course I didn’t dare, knowing she would probably write my confessions in her bloody diary, and more importantly, recalling Boon’s words about Laura crushing on Ballantine. I only hoped that that diary entry was old, really old, and that she no longer felt that way. You know, for her sake, I thought, because I wasn’t going there anymore, remember?

Yeah, right.

None of those thoughts sounded in the least bit believable. Still, I had impressed myself by making the decision to sit on the side of the school that would have me nowhere near the Kirkland boys.

And just when I was thinking there was hope yet, I heard a distant yell.

‘HEADS!’

A football came sailing through the air, ricocheting off the trunk of the tree, oh so close to my head. I squealed, protecting the back of my head with linked hands, remaining that way for a long moment, until I slowly lifted my gaze to check if the coast was clear.

‘Sorry, ladies.’ Ballantine jogged over, laughing at the near miss.

‘Bloody hell, Ballantine, you almost took off Lexie’s head,’ said Laura, joining in on the laughter. Ballantine leant down, a whoosh of his aftershave swept over me, as did his mischievous look as he picked up the footy.

‘Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?’ he said, winking at Laura as if letting her in on the joke.

Laura was blushing profusely, probably over-analysing that very wink. Ballantine backed away before turning and thumping the footy across the field to where a cluster of boys played in front of us. Where Ballantine played in front of us. I sighed. Try as I might, there was no escaping him and, more disturbingly, I didn’t really want to.

•

For the most part, the sound of the lunch bell elicited fist-pumps and whoops as everyone clambered for freedom. I wished I could enjoy that feeling; instead, I slinked my way to Siberia. If I had a rock and a chisel I would engrave a second line on the wall. I was deliberately the first one there, even ahead of whatever poor teacher had drawn the short straw and had to watch over us. I slid the door closed behind me, making my way towards the very back today; might as well mix things up a bit.

The next to arrive was a boy I hadn’t seen before, with spiky hair that was a bit too long. I think he was going for punker-rock-badass with a dog chain hooked on the hip of his jeans. He wasn’t quite pulling it off – something about the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose didn’t exactly intimidate, somehow.

The door flew open and I saw an arm point into the room before I followed it to a familiar elbow-patched jacket and moustache.

Mr Branson. My heart stopped, thinking – no, fearing – that he was the teacher who would be watching over us, but instead he merely stood in the doorway, pointing to the front row. ‘Sit,’ he bit out, as if commanding a disobedient animal.

‘But, sir!’ came a long, pained whine from the hall.

‘Now, Erica Yatesby, I will not be telling you again!’ His face was flushed; I could tell he was on his last ounce of patience before exploding.

There were heavy footsteps as a girl with unnaturally blonde hair and unnaturally tanned skin (both a result of a bottle) sighed and slunk her way into her seat, pressing her head against the tabletop. ‘It’s not fair,’ she whined.

‘No, it never is, is it?’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she exclaimed, tears of frustration causing pale lines to streak through her foundation.

‘No, it never is, is it?’ Mr Branson repeated. He reminded me of an unenthusiastic Willy Wonka who would like nothing more than to send all the naughty children to the boiler room.

He switched his focus to across the room. ‘Got plenty to do I hope, Robbie Robinson?’

My head snapped to the spiky-haired boy.

So that was Robbie Robinson, definitely not a badass.

Before he could reply, everyone’s attention shifted to the two figures that appeared in the doorway.

‘Mr Branson.’ They both nodded, but with an air of cheekiness as they rather miserably attempted to stifle their grins.

‘Well, well, it wouldn’t be a complete detention without Boon and Ballantine, would it?’ Mr Branson said, shaking his head.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Mr Branson was this bitter all the time.

Ballantine and Boon made their way into the class.

‘How about we sit apart, boys, wouldn’t want you to be distracted now.’

The boys stilled, looking at each other with guarded amusement.

Boon broke off down the middle aisle, throwing his books onto a desk and taking a seat. ‘Yeah, Ballantine, stop distracting me.’

Boon had slunk in his chair much like the overly dramatic Erica Yatesby had, but my amusement was short-lived when Ballantine continued down the aisle, all the way to the back row. His steps closed in and his silhouette appeared in my peripheral vision as I forced myself to read my textbook, concentrating not so much on reading the words but on keeping calm and breathing evenly.

His books crashed down next to mine, the scraping of the chair legs across the floor shrieked as if someone had run their nails across a blackboard. A shiver ran down my spine, but for all the wrong reasons, as he took a seat next to me. The smell of his cool, crisp scent washed over me; I wanted to lean into it. Instead, I busied myself by foraging through my pencil case and without a word, pulled out the black ballpoint pen from last detention and held it out to him.

Ballantine’s eyes flicked from me to the pen with interest. He reached out his hand and clasped it over mine. His fingers were soft and warm; they slid over my skin in a fleeting caress. I wondered if it was just a matter of me overthinking everything, but there was no overthinking the devious look in his eyes when he took the pen from me. It was like he was toying with me, much like a lion would prey on a wide-eyed gazelle. I wished he would stop. But, in other ways, I hoped he would continue. Were boys always this confusing?

Boon raised his hand. ‘Mr Branson, I thought you didn’t want Ballantine to be distracted,’ he said with a cheeky backwards glance.

Ballantine laughed, scrunching up a piece of paper and turfing it in Boon’s direction. Boon ducked too late, causing it to bounce off his shoulder blades.

‘Mr Branson, Ballantine threw paper at me,’ Boon whined like a small child, or like Erica Yatesby.

Mr Branson pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. He paced across the front of the room, placing his hands casually on his hips.

‘This is not a summer camp, and it sure as hell isn’t
The Breakfast Club
. There will be no teachers periodically leaving you to your own devices so you can open up about each other’s lives or wreak havoc in an eighties montage. There will be no Judd Nelsons.’ He pointed at Ballantine. ‘No Molly Ringwalds.’ Pointing at me. ‘And no Emilio Estevez.’ He pointed the finger at Robbie. ‘Capeesh?’

Ballantine leant over to me. ‘He knows way too much about that movie,’ he whispered, causing me to snigger.

Boon was lost in thought, as if he was deeply troubled by what Mr Branson was saying. He raised his hand.

‘Yes?’ Mr Branson snapped.

‘Can I be Emilio Estevez?’