by Harry Cook
All the random dog walkers on the beach melt away, the streetlights behind us seem to dim and it’s just us two. My heart throws itself around my chest, my feet tingle, my arms tingle, my face flushes.
And just like that I’m hit with what I can only describe as
full
blown
fireflies.
26
Rye
Did that just actually happen?
Thelma comes waddling over to me with her tongue hanging out and when she gets to my feet she greets me with her usual wiggle dance. I bend down and give her a kiss and then sit on the floor as she jumps all over me, quickly wearing herself out and rolling onto her back for a much-needed belly rub.
“Who’s my girl?” I say as she wiggles from side to side.
“Hey, hun,” Mum says as she leaves the kitchen, a chakra crystal wand in her hand.
“Hey.”
“Well, look at you,” she adds, pointing up and down in my direction with her ridiculous wand.
“What?” I say. “Also, what is that?” I point back at her wand with a laugh.
“I’ve seen that look before . . .” Mum says, sitting down in front of me and giving Thelma a rub on her belly as well. “And it’s been because of two things: my fabulous fudge brownies.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”
“Or a boy.”
Mum knows me too well.
I look down and stare at Thelma, trying not to show how difficult it is to articulate what I’m feeling.
“It’s just weird because . . . Is it bad to have feelings for someone else right after a relationship ends?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is it wrong for me to like someone so soon after . . .”
“After Eric?” Mum asks, her eyes scanning mine. “Hun, sometimes relationships are over long before they are actually over . . . You know?”
I actually do know what she means, but I’m still not convinced.
“You’re so young,” Mum says. “You think far too much for someone so young.”
I shrug.
“So, spill?” Mum smiles and bounces her eyebrows up and down. “Who is he?”
I can’t help but laugh. Mum has this uncanny way of always making everything better. Maybe it’s just a general “mum” thing. But my particular mum is truly great at that.
“Firstly, don’t do that with your eyebrows. You look kinda frightening,” I say. “Second, before we get into that, I need to say something.”
Mum looks at me with her questioning face on, then she takes a breath. “Oh no, what is it? Are you skipping school? Are you on the run from the law? Have you killed someone? Let me get my shovel . . .”
I laugh.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you. Oh my giddy aunt, who’s the father?”
“Mum. Enough,” I say. “No, I want to say thank you.”
“Thank you?” And she drops the joke and stares seriously at me for the first time all evening. She’s smiles and waits for me to continue.
“You have . . . no idea how grateful I am for you,” I say, and I don’t even care that I’m getting emotional the moment the words leave my mouth. I need her to know.
“Oh, hun,” Mum says, taking my hand.
“No, I mean it. When I came out to you, you said all I had to worry about was making sure you liked whoever I was dating.”
“Which is the truth.”
“And now I have someone I think you might like, my friend . . . Fin.”
Mum’s eyes light up. “And is this friend someone you . . . like?”
I smile. “Of course. But, not the point, Mum,” I say. “His family are the furthest thing from you. He has no support, nobody to tell him that everything about him is perfect and just the way it should be. Nobody to tell him life is going to be all right.” I’m trying not to be an emotional wreck, but I let the tears come and Mum squeezes my hand. “I don’t tell you enough how . . . incredible you are and how lucky I –”
Mum scoots over and brings me in for a hug. “I’m the lucky one, Rye,” she says, squeezing me tight. “You are everything and more I could have ever asked for in a son.”
We look into each other’s eyes, then laugh as Thelma makes a grumble to let us know there’s no way we’ve petted her enough yet and it’s totally unacceptable that we’re leaving her out of our love-in.
“Now, Rye-bread, get yourself a glass of water, wipe your face and take yourself to bed,” Mum says, smiling through shining eyes.
“Night, Mum. You’re the best.”
*
The following morning, I wake up before my alarm and jump to the shower. This is the first day since my big admission that I’m actually going to see Fin and for some reason my brain decides that now is the perfect time to question the way I look.
I get dressed, throw some product in my hair but then quickly rinse it out over the sink because my attempt at styling has made me look like I’ve been electrocuted. And not in a cute way. But whatever. I love my curls and everyone else can too. Deal with it.
When I get to school, I’m practically running through the halls while simultaneously trying to come across as chill as possible. As I turn the corner in A-block, I feel immediately deflated when I realise Fin’s not at his locker. Mine is a few down from him so I put in my combination and throw my bag in, taking my phone out to check for texts. Nothing.
I slam my locker shut and, as I’m about to give Poppy a call, Fin, June and Poppy round the corner together. He’s even more handsome than I remember him a day ago. Is that what happens when you realise you like someone? They automatically become a million times more irresistible?
The three of them are laughing about something and I hug the girls first before moving in for a hug with Fin.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says.
Poppy and June exchange a look.
“How are you?” I ask, suddenly feeling a bit sweaty and self-conscious.
“I’m good,” Fin says, looking up at me and down at his shoes three times in a row.
“Good. That’s –”
“Oh My. GOD!” Poppy throws her head back as she rolls her eyes at our idiocy. “Here,” she says, grabbing my hand and putting it into Fin’s. “Now can we please stop acting like you two aren’t cute as all fuck and just get on with our days?”
Fin and I look at each other properly for the first time and our shoulders relax and we smile, our fingers interlocking as our palms kiss.
June looks at us and puts her hand to her mouth. “Awww, you two. I can’t. Too adorable.”
Fin strokes my fingers with his as we all start walking towards B-block.
“If this . . .” he squeezes my hand, “is too fast, we can stop.”
I want to kiss him right here in the hallway. I don’t remember ever being asked whether I was comfortable or okay when I was with Eric.
“No way,” I whisper, squeezing back.
A few people look at us and the usual undead suspects, Paisley and Bronwyn, scoff as we walk past, but I don’t have a single fuck to give. Their narrow minds are their problem, not mine.
Even so, I still can’t wrap my head around what it must be like to grow up straight. To walk down the street holding your boyfriend or girlfriend’s hand and for nobody to even think to give you a second glance. To have nobody judge you as an outsider or as different.
I hold Fin’s hand tighter and bump hips with him as we arrive at our science class.
“I’ve got English,” Poppy says
“Maths,” June says.
We all hug, which isn’t necessary. But today is a good day and, whatever, it’s kinda cute.
“Remember, QSA meeting after fifth,” June says as she speed-walks up the hall.
I had completely forgotten, but any excuse to spend more time with Fin and these two is a win in my eyes.
*
After lunch Fin has geography and I have science and the girls are in food tech (whi
ch is basically a glorified baking class). We separate and when I’m sitting in science I let the day’s events wash over me. I’ve had Fin on my mind from the minute I arrived and now, sitting here while Mr Nguyen dissects a frog, I think about how much I want to kiss him. Fin, that is. Kind of a strange place for that visual to pop up as Mr Nguyen scalpels through the frog’s belly . . .
The bell eventually rings and I couldn’t be more grateful. The smell of frog guts is overpowering and, as we leave, I happily inhale the scent of bargain warehouse deodorant and D-list celebrity fragrances that fills the corridor from other students.
I find Fin and interlace my hand with his, as we stroll towards June and Poppy’s locker.
“Ugh,” Poppy says as we approach. “You two are the worst.”
June finishes putting away her books in her locker and joins us as we all head for the QSA meeting.
When we arrive the rest of the group are already sitting around chatting and a few faces smile when they catch sight of Fin’s hand in mine. He seems slightly nervous but he hasn’t let go of my hand (it could be the death grip I’ve got on his, but whatever).
We find some seats at the back and June closes the door with her foot, all business and ready for action.
“Hey, thanks for coming everyone,” she says, as she takes her place in front of the giant whiteboard. “Let’s get started. Now, I’ve good news and bad news. The bad news is the bathroom complaints haven’t stopped.”
We all groan. Fin and I share a glance, and I can’t help my eyes from drifting to his lips.
“And up until now I’ve not been able to do anything besides rant and rave in here every meeting. But the good news is, yours truly has found out that Paisley, Bronwyn and their crew are geared up for their walk-out protest next Friday.” She grins. “And the really good news is . . . it’s time for action.”
Poppy hollers woot woo and we join in. Fin and I even stop holding hands to fist pump the air.
“My undercover mission has revealed they’re planning to stage it after school,” June continues. “So I say we confront them. Ask what their deal is. As my dad likes to say, ‘No army is stronger than the intelligent fighting the ignorant.’”
“Can we make placards?” Poppy shouts, a bit randomly. “It’s not a counter-protest without placards.”
“For sure,” June says. “Let’s get our slogan ‘Keep Calm, It’s Just A Toilet’ out there!”
There’s a burst of excitement and plenty of others throw suggestions into the mix.
The rest of the meeting we decide on the slogans and signs we want to create, and June plots our battle strategy out on the whiteboard. Her rolled up sleeves complete the “we can do it” look.
*
When we leave the classroom, the sun is slowly departing for the day and the air smells of a strange mix of seaweed from the ocean and burnt cinnamon from the bakery nearby. Fin is walking next to me and our arms are touching – I honestly cannot get enough of him.
Fin and I are just turning to leave when June puts a hand on Fin’s shoulder.
“Fin, we’re sorry about Friday night,” June starts but he quickly waves at her with his hand.
“No way. No. Don’t be. Honestly, I’m –” he starts, but Poppy jumps in.
“I know, I know. Madly in love with me, but because I’m taken, you had to settle for Rye. I get it. I’m sorry, but June’s my numero uno.”
We all giggle. It’s the first time in a really long time that I’ve felt so completely at ease and it’s just perfect. After saying goodbye, Poppy and June head into town to buy art supplies for their placards, and Fin and I walk. It’s a good night for a walk.
We leave school, turn onto Maine Avenue and head towards home. The air has a bit of a nip now that the sun has gone for the day, but it’s the perfect excuse to take Fin’s hand and walk close to him. Our hands fit nicely in each other’s. His palm is soft and our fingers intertwine perfectly like a lock and key.
We don’t talk. We are more than happy just strolling while the crickets holler at each other and the birds overhead chirp their goodnights.
Before I realise where we are, I see the turn off for Kettle Lake. We swat through the bush and the crackle of dry leaves and old pebbles underfoot makes an echo that seems to bounce off of every tree for miles.
We get to my spot and Fin looks over at me with a smile as he sits down on an old piece of driftwood.
“Well, today was a good day,” I say, bumping him lightly with my shoulder and grinning.
“It was,” Fin says.
We both lean into each other as much as we dare. We smile, the air between us is electric.
“It’s cool hanging out with you, Fin,” I tell him, my stomach humming like a swarm of bees.
“Yeah?” I catch his dimples in the corner of my eye. “It’s pretty cool being with you too.”
I turn to look at him. His eyes flicker to mine and then back out across the lake.
The first few fireflies blink to life and I feel my shoulders relax and my breathing slow.
“About time,” I say, looking out as the lake winks and glimmers as the thousands of fireflies make their way through the reeds and across the surface.
“What do you mean?” Fin says, turning his head to face me.
“They help with my nerves,” I say.
Fin smiles. “What are you nervous about?” he asks, his eyes jumping between mine and my lips.
“Doing this,” I say.
And, before I let my nerves ruin this moment, I lean in and kiss him.
27
Fin
Rye’s lips are on mine. I repeat: RYE’S LIPS ARE ON MINE. WE ARE KISSING. THIS IS HAPPENING.
We stop for a second and I stare at him for what feels like for ever before I lean in again and kiss him harder.
You know in the movies where people can’t get enough of each other? I always thought that was just ramped up for dramatic effect. Kind of like how the robbers from Home Alone manage to survive falling from a three-storey building or having their heads smashed by paint cans without dying – I figured it was all just a Hollywood illusion. But get this! It’s not. Not at all. I mean, the kissing thing, anyway.
I genuinely cannot get enough of Rye’s lips and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual because he’s not stopping, and neither am I.
When we finally do break apart, we smile dopily at each other and I lace my fingers with his. He is blushing and the few freckles across the bridge of his nose seem to blend into his cheeks. His curls fall haphazardly across his forehead and I grin as he shakes them out of his vision.
“You’re good at that,” he says which makes me snort laugh and then bury my head in my free hand in embarrassment.
“Smooth, aren’t I?” I say, shyly meeting his eyes. “Kissing and then a snort. So sexy.”
“Sexy enough for me.” He smiles. “So, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing, how come?” I say.
“You wanna come over and listen to vinyls?”
Is the earth round?
“Yes,” I say. “For sure.”
*
I walk through the front door and I don’t even bother wiping the smile off my face. I’m ridiculously happy. The happiest I’ve been in months. Rye and I just spent an hour making out while watching a lake full of fireflies. It’d take the four horsemen of the apocalypse to wipe the grin off my gob right now.
I shut the door and am two steps up the stairs when I hear a “Hey” from behind. When I turn, I see Elliot scooping a giant dollop of ice cream from a tub and walking towards me.
“Hey,” I say, still smiling.
“Look at you all googly-eyed. Where you been?” he says.
“Out,” I say, unsure of how much I’m willing to give away. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I trust Elliot. I really do. But we haven’t spoken about much. I don’t know how much it’s safe to tell him. Or whether he is genuinely on my side or not.
“Ooooh, mys
terious Fin.” He laughs, shovelling up another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream. “Is it a boy?”
And just like that, Elliot breaks the ice with a sledgehammer. He’s smiling and there’s not the slightest hint of malice on his face.
I nod. But my smile is a half-hearted one; I’m checking to make sure this isn’t some “Gotcha” situation with Mum and Dad.
“Cool,” Elliot says. “What’s his name?”
I can’t believe this is happening. “Rye.”
Elliot smiles. “Rye? The dude on the doorstep? Where does he live?”
I’m about to answer when –
“Where does who live?” Dad appears in the kitchen doorway, his eyebrows raised in question.
I tense, immediately snapping into fight or flight mode and I feel like I’m leaning more towards flight. I’m close enough to the door to get out of here. How much did he hear?
Elliot looks at me and then at Dad.
“Fin’s friend,” he says, and I take a deep breath in and hold it in my chest.
Dad looks between us. He then lets out a half-laugh. More of a scoff, really. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head.
“You know, Fin,” Dad says, speaking to me like Elliot isn’t in the room at all. “I really was starting to think you were coming through since being here.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “What?” I say.
“I was truly starting to think that these . . .” He looks at the floor and back at me. “– unnatural tendencies had been left behind in Pittford.” He shakes his head again, now glancing up to the ceiling as if for inspiration. “But I’m starting to –”
“Hang on, Dad. Just –” Elliot says, to which Dad holds up his hand in a gesture that reads, Don’t you dare.
I try to steady my breathing.
The air is icy and I don’t know whether I should speak or stay silent.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Dad says, his eyes burning into me with a look that I can only describe as total disapproval.
“No, I don’t,” I say. “I don’t know what you want from me.”