Paradise City (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

As if by some divine intervention Mr Clarkson, the PE teacher and designated detention monitor, stepped into the room, distracting Mr Branson before his head imploded in fury.

‘I’ve got it, John,’ said Mr Clarkson, whacking him on the shoulder with a friendly smile.

Mr Branson grunted something under his breath before storming out; Mr Clarkson’s brows rose as if he was equally relieved he was gone. He turned to take in the faces, his eyes moving from Boon to Ballantine.

‘Well, nice to see you are consistent in some things, boys,’ he said dryly.

Ballantine nodded his head in acknowledgment. ‘Clarko.’

Mr Clarkson, or ‘Clarko’, just shook his head; his demeanour was nothing like Mr Branson’s. I didn’t know if it was his casual Adidas tracksuit pants and runners that made him less intimidating but I actually think he was just a laidback character, the Yin to Mr Branson’s Yang.

‘Okay, folks. Just think of this as like ripping off a Band-Aid: do it without fuss and it will hurt less.’

Such wise words. Even Clarko nodded as if he was proud of his own analogy, taking a seat behind the desk.

Everyone fell into silence. It seemed the presence of Mr Branson brought out the worst in students, whereas Clarko’s calm ways earnt respect from Boon and Ballantine, who readied themselves with their books and work. Well, ‘work’ being Ballantine doodling inside his exercise book. A myriad of waves, swirls and circles made up an inky mural that was both intricate and beautiful. Drawn in red and blue ink, he now added flecks of black from my pen and there was a happiness inside of me that bubbled to the surface, a ridiculous satisfaction knowing that my pen was participating in some small way.

Dear God, get over yourself, Lexie.

I shut my overactive thoughts down.

Don’t think about the boy, the hot boy who, for some reason, out of all the chairs in all of Siberia, chose to sit next to you.

I tried to not get too excited about that. I had been surprised at the time but now I’d had a whole hour to reflect and think and basically be tortured by his presence, by his mind-numbing scent. I wondered if swooning over a boy was a legitimate cause to be admitted to the sick bay?

My thoughts were distracted by the jigging of Boon’s leg in front; his short attention span would be hard work for him, especially with no-one to pass notes to, no-one to taunt.

It had me thinking, and then, before I knew it . . . doing.

There was one way to pass the time and I slowly tore out a lined piece of paper from my book. I watched as Clarko was busying himself, marking papers.

I scribbled on the paper, smiling a small smile and feeling a little giddy at what I was about to do. I was going to break the ice with Ballantine. Treat him just like any other boy, strip back the fact he was ludicrously hot; let’s just be two normal people in detention.

I slid the paper over to him, causing him to still from his masterpiece. His eyes flicked up to Clarko. Ensuring the coast was clear, he pulled the paper over to him, which shot an unexpected thrill through me.

He read my slanted writing, short and sweet.

Where did you go last night?

If he was surprised by the question he didn’t show it, or maybe he was just using that poker face again. He looked at the note for a long while, so long that I thought he wouldn’t respond, that he would just leave me hanging and feeling mortified. But then he committed pen to paper. Printing in neat, clean writing, and with the same care with which he’d received the note, he slid it back to me.

Home.

Talk about short and sweet. I frowned, looking at the one-word reply.

He went home? He didn’t go to the Wipe Out Bar?

I scribbled a reply and slid it back.

No Wipe Out Bar? Isn’t that the place to be?

I watched intently for his reaction; he breathed a laugh and shook his head, writing his reply.

There’s so much more to see than Dean’s crusty old tourist bar.

There was that name again. It seemed that Dean was very much the character behind the Wipe Out Bar, and with what I had gathered from the bits and pieces of conversations, I hadn’t made up my mind yet whether he was a hero or a villain, but I was looking forward to finding out.

I could’ve asked more, but the note exchange wasn’t exactly riveting stuff; still, I folded the sheet up and tucked it away. I felt a little sad knowing that I would probably moon over it later, like some pathetic pining woman wandering helplessly through the English moors fixating on a love that would never be.

Clarko stood up, stretching. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes, guys. I expect the room to be as I left it, okay?’ He said it more as a joke, and I laughed, not because what he had said was particularly funny, but I remembered Mr Branson telling us how teachers would not periodically disappear, leaving us to our own devices. Guess in the real world though, even teachers need a toilet break.

Mr Clarkson had no sooner left the room than Boon rested on the back of his chair, his mischievous eyes flicking from me to Ballantine and back.

‘Eyes forward, Emilio,’ I said, cutting him off before he had a chance to say something smart.

Boon laughed.

‘You heard Molly, eyes forward,’ Ballantine added in mock seriousness.

Boon shook his head. ‘This Breakfast Club sucks.’

•

There were no more notes passed. Ballantine kept working on his masterpiece and I kept rather unsuccessfully trying to work on my Maths pyramid project; trying to problem-solve was not a smart idea. Maybe I should just read some
King Lear
instead.

The bell sounded, ending another hour of misery. I couldn’t tell who was faster at packing up their gear, Erica fake-tan or Boon. It was like they had something amazing on their agenda. I had to hand in a Maths project. Surprisingly, though, Clarko was out the door before anyone else. I took my time, slowly packing up, holding off zipping my pencil case until Ballantine returned my pen. But when he moved to stand, having packed up all his gear, I looked up to where he stood, or rather lingered, looking down at me.

‘Are you going out tonight?’ he asked.

I stilled from pushing my chair out.

Did he seriously ask me a question?

I blinked, trying to think of something to say. I had no idea, I hadn’t planned on going out last night; in fact, nothing in my life was planned
ever
. I wanted a comeback – something smart, something witty and confident. Like, ‘Yeah, just heading down for a few at the local. Wanna come?’

Instead: ‘Any suggestions for a school night?’ I asked.

Ballantine seemed to be amused by whatever was running through his mind. ‘Some say that the Wipe Out Bar is the place to be,’ he said, repeating my very own words.

‘Really? Because I kind of heard that there are far better things to experience than that,’ I said, gathering my books and standing. Even on my feet I still had to look up at him, into those dark brown eyes that glinted with trouble.

‘I guess it depends on what experience you’re after?’ he said in all seriousness.

‘Oh, yeah? And what experience would you give me?’ I blurted it out, quick and unthinking, and just when I hoped he might take it the wrong way, Ballantine’s brows rose in surprise, his eyes ever watchful as I blushed and squirmed under their scrutiny.

The bell sounded for the last time, and I prayed that it might break the awkward moment between us. But it didn’t. So before he had a chance to reply I did what I did best. ‘Um, better get going,’ I said, brushing past him, trying not to think about how good he smelt or the feel of his eyes boring into me even as I walked away, thinking it was probably best he just keep the pen.

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘I know something you don’t know,’ Amanda tauntingly whispered into my ear as she passed me on her way to beat me to the front seat of the car where Uncle Peter waited for us.

Unlike the jovial array of questions about our day Aunty Karen would hit us with, Uncle Peter was too busy talking to himself, or rather the phone glued to his ear. Our laughter was cut off by a rather deep scowl and a finger to the lips for us to be quiet. Do you know how hard it is to close a car door quietly? Near impossible. Aside from Uncle Peter’s business dealings, the commute home was a silent one. Still, it didn’t stop Amanda from torturing me in the rearview mirror. Making kissy-kissy faces and hubba-hubba expressions. My insides were giddy with excitement; I just wanted to scream. What did she know? What did she have to tell me? Wasn’t it enough with Boon’s cryptic message about what a certain ‘mate’ of his had said about me? Was this related? Oh God, would this car ride ever end?

We finally pulled into the driveway. Uncle Peter was still deep in conversation about building permits when we dived out of the car, caring little about being quiet. I chased Amanda up the garden path and through the entrance, dumping our school bags just inside the front door. We ran down the hall into Amanda’s room, her beating me by a clear mile, she was so bloody fast.

Amanda launched onto her bed, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath; I was trying to catch my own as I slumped in the doorway. She clawed herself into a sitting position on the edge of her bed, her eyes wild with excitement. ‘Shut the door,’ she said breathlessly.

I didn’t hesitate; I closed it and dived onto my own bed, ruffling up the immaculately made sheets. ‘What do you know?’ I bounced on my bed like an eager child on Christmas Eve.

‘Sixth period was woodwork with Boon,’ she said with a smile.

‘How romantic,’ I mused. Trust Amanda, who didn’t strike me as the crafty type, to choose woodwork for Year Twelve – the things you do for love. I tried to appear all casual, but my heart skipped a beat at the thought that maybe Boon had said something to her.

Amanda sighed. ‘He sanded my birdbox for me.’

I snorted. ‘Wow. Is that what they’re calling it these days?’

Amanda blinked at me, before my words slowly registered. ‘Oh gross!’ she said, throwing a pillow at me. ‘And here I thought you would be the biggest prude.’

I dodged the pillow, laughing. ‘What made you think I would be a prude?’ I asked, genuinely intrigued by what her answer would be.

Amanda’s head canted, as if it was obvious. ‘Well, let’s face it, playing with waterbombs at the Red Hill Field Day is a little less advanced than what you’ll find here.’

My attention piqued. ‘Oh?’

Amanda pushed off from her bed; walking over to her dresser and pulling her lip balm and loose change from the pockets of her school dress, chucking them into the glass bowl next to her perfume stash. ‘Let’s just say the boys in Paradise City will only hold hands for so long.’

It hadn’t gone unnoticed. Year Seven girls wearing foundation, the senior boys having to shave their five o’clock shadows and driving. I didn’t know if it was something in the water but everyone seemed so much more advanced in every way; well, except academically. That’s where I could hold my own.

How depressing.

Even Amanda walked with an air of confidence: her hips swayed, her head was held high as she lazily applied lip balm before chucking it back into the dish. I could pretty much guarantee that she wouldn’t be a virgin; she seemed too street smart, overly confident and super comfortable in her skin. Even though she blushed like mad at the mention of Boon’s name, I had no doubt that she was doing more than hand holding, and here I was over the moon that Ballantine had used my bloody pen. Amanda was right; she had me pegged as tragic from day one.

Well, that was about to change.

I was here for a good time, not a long time, and if it meant experiencing every pleasure this city had to offer, then so be it. The last thing I wanted was to have any regrets or wasted opportunities. Now, with Amanda by my side and in good spirits, I would have to think of a plan. Even though I was not wholly comfortable with having to hang with Amanda, Gemma and Jess, she was the link to the Kirkland surfers, to Ballantine.

I straightened my spine, trying not to focus on the waves of anxiety overtaking me. ‘So, what do you know that I don’t?’ I tried not to make out like I really cared, asking it with a nonchalant attitude, knowing that the more she thought I cared, the more Amanda would string out the information. I had to play this cool.

‘Let’s just say that a little birdy told me something
very
interesting in woodwork today.’

‘This wouldn’t be the same little birdy that sanded your birdbox, would it?’

‘Lexie, please, I simply cannot reveal my sources. But, yes, Boon told me.’

I laughed. ‘Remind me never to do a bank job with you.’

Amanda shrugged. ‘Hos before bros.’

I grinned fiercely; I was loving this new connection with Amanda. I clasped my heart. ‘That’s the most beautiful thing you have ever said to me.’

‘Yeah, well, if we’re going to be double dating we’re going to have to get along.’

‘What?’ I barely breathed out the question.

Amanda beamed. ‘Boon told me someone likes you.’

My heart pounded wildly in my chest; all I could do was stare wide-eyed at my deliriously smug cousin.

‘Who?’ I managed, swallowing deeply.
Oh God
,
I’m going to be sick
. Suddenly every interaction with Ballantine ran through my head: the times we had made eye contact, the times he had sat next to me in detention, our first real playful display on the beach . . . My heart soared with hope and with the disbelief that something I wanted so badly could possibly be true, that my time in Paradise was going to turn from shit-ordinary to absolutely magical.

Amanda moved to sit next to me, her eyes alight with excitement. She bit her bottom lip and grabbed my hands, forcing me to turn towards her as she looked me in the eyes.

‘What do you think of Woolly?’

Wait. What?

I blinked. Twice. I could literally hear a record player scratch in my mind, right before the bone-jarring feeling of disappointment plummeted down to my feet.

Amanda must have read it all over my face. ‘Oh, that much, huh?’

‘I– I don’t even know him.’

‘Of course you don’t, you don’t know anyone, dummy.’

I blinked again, the true weight of the situation washing over me.

Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Relax, he wasn’t offering a marriage proposal; he just thinks you’re cute. Trust me, you could do a lot worse than Woolly. He’s actually one of the better Kirkland boys.’

Perhaps he was but I really didn’t care, he could be a saint for all that mattered. I wasn’t interested. Nope, I had hoped beyond measure that Amanda would speak of Ballantine’s undying infatuation with me. I dreamed of him knocking on my window of a night, me flinging my arms around him at the bus stop, passing love notes to one another in detention, me holding his towel for him and waiting for him to emerge from the ocean like the Adonis he was. Okay, yeah, maybe I had given all these thoughts way too much attention. But I couldn’t help it. Try as I might to forget about Ballantine, each and every day seemed to have me crossing his path, and it did strange things to my insides. When I thought about experiencing new things in Paradise, what I really wanted above anything was for Ballantine to be a part of it, not Woolly.

‘Well, that was anti-climactic,’ said Amanda, her shoulders slumping. ‘I had it all worked out, someone to talk to on our dates while the boys talked about surfing.’

‘Are you and Boon going on a date?’ I asked.

‘Well, not exactly, that shit only really happens in the movies. Still, a girl can hope, yeah?’

She certainly could, I thought. She. Certainly. Could.