by Harry Cook
I look at Fin. “You okay?” I whisper under my breath.
He flashes me a smile that just about melts me into the tarmac.
I can feel the warmth of his body next to mine. “You,” I tell him, “make one incredibly hot activist.”
31
Fin
Well, that was one of the most exhilaratingly terrifying afternoons I’ve ever had. The only thing that comes remotely close is when I swam with sharks. Without a cage. Ha. I’m lying. I would never swim with sharks. I’m not crazy. But I imagine it would come close to being as terrifying as a face-off with Bronwyn, Paisley and their bigoted-on-every-level families.
Thankfully I am now nestled next to Rye in a booth at Penny’s opposite Poppy and June who have made up (for what seems like the thousandth time this month), and we are about to chow down on the biggest plate of nachos completely covered in delicious gooey melted cheese, guacamole, sour cream and salsa. And, of course, milkshakes.
The stereo is playing an awesome combination of our favourite music – Poppy dictatorially commandeers the jukebox every time we visit.
“We did great today!” June exclaims while chewing on her paper straw.
“We did,” Rye says, looking over at me and interlinking his fingers with mine.
I haven’t had this before. This awesome feeling of belonging and acceptance where it feels okay to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public. Or to have a boyfriend, period. To sit and feel comfortable around friends without fear of being judged for who I am. Or of them being judged for who they are. It’s awesome.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Dad. But for once he’s not spoiling my vibe. I’ve told him I’m having dinner with some friends to which he has responded with a simple thumbs-up emoji. The coast is clear, and I can now happily enjoy my nachos.
“So, what are we doing this weekend?” June asks, surveying Rye and me like we should already have something planned.
I look to Rye who has scrunched his face up and is looking anywhere but at me.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “What’s that look for?” June and Poppy glance at one another and I’m unsure if they know what he’s acting weirdly about or are just as confused as I am.
“Nothing,” Rye says, stroking my knuckles.
I’m about to respond when I see Poppy’s face scrunch up too.
I turn to find Bronwyn and Paisley standing next to our table, looking as sinister as the twins in The Shining. But not as well dressed.
“What do you want?” Poppy asks, shaking her head.
Bronwyn smirks and looks around the table at all of us. I avoid her eyes to save myself from running screaming down a hotel corridor, but Rye squeezes my hand tighter and he looks truly pissed.
“Can you leave? Seriously. You’ve done enough damage for one day,” Rye snaps, his voice on the verge of shouting.
“We just came to tell you that we’re sorry,” Paisley declares loftily.
All four of us stare at one another and blink a few times. June couldn’t have looked more shocked had Paisley burst into flames.
“What’s the catch?” Poppy asks, her brow furrowing.
“There is no catch,” Bronwyn says, and for a second I genuinely wonder whether I fell and banged my head on the way in here. I don’t understand what’s going on, but something about Bronwyn’s eyes seems sincere and I actually believe her.
“Um . . . Okay,” June says slowly, the words hanging in the air as we all try to take in what’s going on.
“Yeah. We’re sorry,” Bronwyn says.
I’m eyeing her suspiciously; take back what I said about sincerity, this is all a bit too good to be true.
“Super sorry,” Bronwyn adds. “About this.”
Before I know what’s even going on, Bronwyn has grabbed Poppy’s milkshake and what happens next seems to occur in dream-like slow motion.
I somehow manage to intercept the giant glass as Bronwyn aims it at June and it does this weird backflip, front flip, side flip thing where none of the milkshake actually moves until it’s pointed back at Bronwyn where it lets loose in all its sugary thick gloop and douses her from head to toe.
The heavy glass bangs against the side of the table once, showering Paisley with sticky remnants of milkshake, and then bounces to the floor.
Silence.
I look from June to Poppy to Rye and then up at Paisley and Bronwyn. Paisley looks like the Scream mask. Bronwyn isn’t moving. I’m worried she’s died of embarrassment.
Everyone seems frozen in place. Then I hear a snort and I see Poppy covering her mouth with her hand, attempting to conceal a laugh.
June looks from Rye to Poppy to me and then at Bronwyn and Paisley but doesn’t manage to contain her laughter.
Then Rye and I lose it.
I’m talking full-blown, wet-yourself cry-laughter.
Bronwyn stands rooted to the spot and I even catch Paisley’s half-grin when she gets a good look at the banana milkshake monstrosity standing before all of us.
Bronwyn turns and leaves faster than I’ve ever seen dairy move and Paisley is fresh on her heels.
Jerry, who has been standing nearby watching the scene unfold, walks over.
“This. All of this. Is on me tonight,” he says, grinning as he motions to the food.
“No way,” Poppy stutters through a giggle as she wipes the tears from her eyes.
“Yes way,” Jerry says, wiping down the flecks of shake from the table. “I should have stood up to that bigoted pile of garbage years ago.” He looks to me and laughs. “Nice work!”
I shake my head. “I genuinely didn’t even mean to. It was more of an interception than a –”
“Yeah, good job!” Rye gives me a cheeky salute. “You did great.”
*
Now it’s just me and Rye, nestled in a booth together as June and Poppy have left to catch up with Chrissy, and we’ve decided to split another sundae because why not?
I can’t stop smiling. Literally. Not figuratively like most people who use that word actually mean. I mean I literally haven’t been able to stop smiling for about fifteen minutes and it’s because the guy sitting next to me keeps looking at me and stroking my hand and giving me all the feels.
It’s insanity and I’m loving every damn minute of it.
“So, this weekend,” Rye says, taking a spoonful of ice cream and mixing it with a piece of banana. “I was wondering . . . Have you ever . . .”
“What?” I ask, completely oblivious to whatever it is that Rye is getting at.
“Um . . . Okay, so this is really kind of tricky for me to articulate,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Have you ever . . . been with anybody?”
It takes a beat for the words to sink in and now I’m pretty sure my face, neck and entire body is fluorescent red. In fact, I’m willing to bet my life-savings on it.
“You totally don’t have to answer that by the way. Like, at all. I just . . . It was just.”
“No . . . I haven’t,” I say as I wipe my upper lip. “Have y–” I start, but Rye cuts me off faster than I intercepted the milkshake.
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Nope. Never.”
I feel a smile creep across my face, a blush still hot in my cheeks. It’s hilarious how dumb we’re being. I feel about twelve years old. It’s not like I’ve never spoken about sex before. This is just an entirely different scenario because I’ve never spoken about sex with someone I like . . . Or have potentially thought about doing it with. Yeah. This is strange. Cool, but strange.
“Wait. Are you suggesting this weekend we –?” I start, but then immediately regret it because Rye’s face tightens and he starts shaking his head vigorously.
“No way. No no no no. Oh god. No. No. I mean . . . No. Absolutely not. It’s . . .”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I mean, unless you wanted to?” he says, and I can’t help but laugh. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing. It’s early days
, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.” My heart’s kicking my ribcage like it’s out for revenge.
Rye is smiling now and I can see he’s nervous, but he’s not taken his eyes off of me.
“Me too . . .” he says and my GOD I just want to kiss him right here. So I do. I kiss him and he kisses me back hard. I don’t think we’ve kissed anywhere public but school before but I don’t care. I don’t care who’s watching. They can go to hell if they’ve got a problem. Because.
We’re talking about HAVING SEX WITH EACH OTHER.
When we break apart, we’re both glowing and smiling.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” I say back.
Did we just agree to . . . what? I don’t know. What I do know is that I probably shouldn’t stand up for a while.
*
The sun has set and I realise I haven’t checked my phone all evening. I even put it on silent which is a major rarity considering I usually can’t go ten minutes without opening up Instagram.
I take my phone out to check the time and find fifteen messages on my home screen from Elliot and a missed call.
The last message sent three minutes ago reads:
Elliot: Dude. Call me. Urgent.
I unlock my phone and don’t bother reading any other messages, but instead hit dial and let it ring. My uneasiness disintegrates when I feel Rye’s hand slide into mine.
“You okay?” he mouths as I hear the ring tone drone on through my phone.
I shake my head in apology as I wait for Elliot to pick up.
“Fin,” comes a voice.
“Elliot, hey,” I say, a bit unsure.
Then, when there’s no answer, I check my screen and realise the call’s cut out.
“That’s so weird,” I say to Rye, as we walk down the steps of the diner. “I could’ve sworn he answered.”
Then my blood runs cold; not even Rye’s gentle hand in mine does anything to warm it back up.
Dad is standing in front of us.
I feel like running. Running as fast as I can.
But, for both of us, I don’t.
I hold Rye’s hand tighter.
I stand up taller.
I brace for impact.
32
Rye
There are only a handful of times in my life so far where I’ve wondered whether my heart has physically stopped. The first being when I went on the Screamer rollercoaster at Pluto Park, the second when I ate the Carb Monster Burger at Penny’s for their annual Eat It Challenge, and now. Right now. Standing here holding my boyfriend’s hand while his homophobic dad takes steady, measured steps towards us, his face rigid with fury.
I don’t know what I’m thinking but I take a step forward and outstretch my hand.
“Hi, Mr Whittle. It’s great to see you again –”
He brushes my hand out of the way and I instead step back and take Fin’s hand again. I’m not letting him go.
“Fin. Get in the car,” Mr Whittle says, disregarding me entirely.
I feel Fin’s hand in mine and I squeeze it to let him know I’m not going anywhere.
“Dad, I . . .” Fin starts, but his words fizzle out and he goes quiet.
“Mr Whittle, I know this is strange for you, but I really care about your son. I –”
“I don’t know who you are,” Mr Whittle spits. “But I suggest you stop talking immediately.”
I feel anger burn like fire through my veins, but I keep my mouth shut for Fin’s sake. I know that if I continue talking I could really screw things up for him. The way I’m feeling right now I want to go straight for his dad but I stay still, keep quiet and breathe.
“Dad,” Fin says. “This is Rye and he’s my boyfriend.”
His words barrel straight into my gut.
Mr Whittle stands rooted to the spot staring between Fin and me like we’re some circus freak show from a hundred years ago.
I look to Fin and he smiles at me before turning back to his Dad, his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched.
“Dad?” Fin says, his voice stronger than I’ve ever heard it. “I said he’s my boyfriend.”
Mr Whittle opens his mouth but I cut in before he can say a word.
“I am crazy about Fin, sir,” I hear myself say. “This isn’t some phase or rebellion against you. We genuinely care about each other. We’re not trying to cause any trouble. It’s –”
“Fin. We’re going home,” Mr Whittle declares icily, heading towards their car before turning back to check Fin is with him.
I don’t want Fin to go but I don’t know what else to do. My anxiety intensifies as he faces me.
“It’s fine. I need to deal with this,” he says, his face strangely peaceful. “Thank you for being the best,” he adds, which just breaks me. I don’t know why, because it’s like music to my freakin’ ears, but I bite back the choke in my throat.
“Let me know when you’re home,” I say.
“Sure.” Fin gives me a weak smile.
He gets in the car and I watch it turn the corner.
I’m not quite freaking out. But.
This is bad.
Really, really bad.
33
Fin
Dad hasn’t said a single word to me in the week since that night at Penny’s. Mum has tiptoed around me like I might burst into rainbow-sparkled flames at any moment and Elliot has texted me constantly asking how I’m doing because it’s too awkward to have an actual conversation at home. To be honest, I just want to sleep for a year.
School has been my only respite. Like the cheerleading squad of my dreams, Rye, June and Poppy have rallied around me to keep my spirits up.
The fact I announced that Rye is my boyfriend to my dad and that it wasn’t a discussion with him directly feels a bit strange. It probably would’ve been a bit more special to have gotten to that point in, say, a more romantic setting, like, I dunno, anywhere but in front of my angry father in a car park while he’s on a mission to turn me straight. But it is what it is.
It’s Friday again, and apparently Dad is heading interstate for a job checking out a broken crane. We suffered another night of silence yesterday, but now thankfully the weekend is almost here and I can spend some time with Rye again.
That’s if Mum lets me.
For days, we’ve barely said more than, “Can you pass the Cheerios?”
The atmosphere in the house is so bad that it’s starting to make me wonder how in the hell things are ever going to be okay again. Christmas is going to be a ball at this rate.
The atmosphere outside is pretty odd, too. It hasn’t rained properly since we moved here, but I’m sure that’s only because it’s been saving it all for today. It’s coming down in giant sheets of water so I jump at the chance of a lift when Elliot offers. I’m completely drenched even in the time it takes to cover the distance between the front door and his car.
“Jeez. That is ridiculous,” Elliot says, shaking his head like a dog as I’m sprayed with even more water.
“Mmm. Agreed,” I say, wiping the side of my face most assaulted by the spray.
We drive in silence almost all the way before Elliot asks, “How’re you doing?”
I shrug. It’s hard to articulate being so happy with Rye while at the same time feeling so isolated from my family. I know Elliot’s on my side, but there’s not much he can do against Mum and Dad combined.
As we pull up outside the school, he looks at me. “I know it’s old news, but Dad told Mum and me what happened when he picked you up from the diner that night.”
I nod, not at all sure where this conversation is going.
“I’m really proud of you, Fin.” I blink at him in surprise, and he smiles. “Seriously. It was such a brave thing to do, telling Dad about Rye. I hope you know how happy I am for you – even though everything else is a bit of a shit storm at the moment.”
“Thanks, Elliot. It really – I really . . .”
He claps a hand on m
y shoulder. “I know.” He grins. “Now, go learn some stuff.”
I grin back, but my mood is very quickly reversed when I get out the car and I’m battered by another wall of water. I glance back and Elliot’s laughing to himself. I flip him the bird and head inside, taking my phone out of my pocket to message Rye to ask him to meet me at my locker.
“Hey,” he says before I’ve even finished typing. He’s always one step ahead. How does he do that?
He gives me a kiss and I’m immediately calmer. It’s like his lips on mine have some kind of superpower that lowers my heart rate.
“Hey,” I say, smiling.
“You okay?” he asks, curling my hand into his as we head to the lockers. “You’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” I laugh, as Poppy and June round the corner and see us.
“Okay, so, Rye,” Poppy says, looking determined. “I know tonight is your mum’s tent-party thing.”
“Uh-huh?”
“So, we were wondering if we could come along?” June cuts in.
Rye looks between the two of them and smiles. “Of course,” he says, beaming. “But we’re not staying there anyway,” he continues.
“We’re . . . we’re not?” I ask, feeling a little bit nervous.
“Nope.” Rye shakes his head. “You and I are staying in Little Bay. About a five-minute walk from home but far enough to not have to see Carl wandering around with no pants on,” he adds with a wink.
Five minutes is more than plenty of distance between us and the adults . . . I have a whole heap of stuff going on inside that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I think this is what happens when you hit gunpowder with a match.
“Sounds good,” I say, my voice a bit shaky.
June and Poppy look at one another and burst into laughter.
“Well then, maybe we’ll skip the sleepover but come for the food.”
Even Rye cracks a smile. I can’t help but laugh. It’s impossible not to know what we’re talking about.
*
I have a free period last thing this afternoon so I tell Rye I’m heading home to try to convince Mum to let me go tonight. At this stage I’m considering the old sneak-out-when-everyone’s-asleep tactic if all else fails, but I figure it’s worth a shot at honesty first.