The Trouble with Flying

by Rachel Morgan

  “I give you permission to tie me up,” she says as Adam slings an arm around my shoulder and gives me a sideways hug.

  “Ooh,” I say, running my hand over his upper arm. “Did someone do some working out recently?” Adam is probably the ONLY guy in the whole world I can say that to without my face lighting up like a red traffic light. Five years of high school bonding will do that for you.

  “I know, he is looking so good, right?” Livi says as she steps back to admire him.

  “Sorry, ladies, but I’m already spoken for.”

  Livi laughs and puts her arm around me. “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t dream of stepping on Jenna’s territory.”

  “Never,” I add. Adam may turn out to be hotter than we could ever have predicted at school, but there’s no way I can think of him as anything more than a friend or brother. “So, are we doing this pool thing?” I ask Livi. “I see you’re all ready for the sun.” Her naturally orange-red hair is scooped into a bun on top of her head, the tied ends of a bikini are sticking out at the back of her neck, and she smells like she used a whole bottle of sunscreen.

  “Well, clearly I’ve got some catching up to do.” She holds my tanned arm up and compares it to her pale one.

  “You’ll never be as brown as me,” I tease. She sticks her tongue out, then crosses to the fridge and takes out three bottles of water.

  “Where are your parents?” Adam asks.

  “Oh, they’re playing golf today, so we’ve got the house—and, more importantly, the pool—to ourselves.”

  “I’m just going to change,” I call over my shoulder as I head out of the kitchen.

  Several minutes later, I step outside and join Livi and Adam on the warm stone tiles beside the pool. I lay my towel out next to Livi’s. Adam is on his stomach facing the two of us, and between our three towels sit a number of bowls of sweets, chocolates, and chips.

  “Wow, you were serious about the junk food,” I say, helping myself to a handful of M&M’s.

  “I’m always serious about chocolate,” she says.

  After a few minutes in which we all sample the contents from every bowl, Adam says, “So how was London, Sarah?”

  “It was amazing,” I say around a mouthful of cheese curls. “But I don’t want to talk about London. I want to hear about Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon and your epic road trip and the summer camp you worked at. And Livi, I want to hear about the family you stayed with and the brats you looked after and whether they’re actual, real-life royalty, and if you really did stay in an actual, real-life castle. And what about the BOY you mentioned?”

  “Oh, total swoon!” Livi falls dramatically across her towel and dangles her hand in the pool. “You are going to love this story. Well, except for the ending. That part kinda sucked.”

  Adam groans. “Can’t you keep the swooning-over-foreign-boys stories for a time when I’m not around?”

  “Fine.” Livi raises herself back onto her elbows. “The spotlight’s on you then, Mr Anderson.” She grabs her water bottle and holds in front of Adam’s face like a microphone. “How is Miss Jenna Mackenzie?”

  “Wait, I thought we weren’t doing girly talk,” Adam protests.

  “Just answer the question, Mr Anderson,” Livi says in her best Agent-Smith-from-The-Matrix voice.

  Adam sighs, but a goofy grin comes over his face the way it always does when he talks about his girlfriend. “Jenna’s awesome.”

  “She just finished matric, right?” I ask.

  “Nope, matric this coming year. One more year until she can join me in the real world.”

  “You cradle-snatcher, you,” Livi teases.

  “Hey, we’re only two years apart, okay.”

  “Which is, like, a decade in teenage years.”

  I throw a cheese curl at Livi, then turn back to Adam. “How did you guys handle having a whole year apart?”

  “Well, you know, it was tough. Lots of Skype, mainly.”

  “Wasn’t she crazy jealous about all the hot girls you were meeting over there?” Livi asks.

  “Pff. What hot girls? You know nobody’s hotter than Jenna.”

  “Ah, listen to him,” Livi says with the tone of a granny admiring her adorable grandchild. “Isn’t he just the cheesiest?” She picks up the cheese curl I threw at her and tosses it at Adam’s head. It bounces off, lands on one of the stone tiles, and he promptly picks it up and puts it in his mouth.

  “Ew!” I say through my laughter.

  “Five-second rule,” he tells me while crunching. “It’s perfectly uncontaminated.”

  “And what about the twenty seconds it just spent next to Livi’s towel?”

  He shrugs. “You know I’m not a germophobe like you.”

  After some American stories from Adam and some German stories from Livi—and a dip in the pool to cool off before continuing our tanning efforts—Livi looks over to where Adam is lying on his back with a cap pulled over his eyes. “So, I’ve been thinking about next year, Adam, and I’ve decided that you and I can totally ditch our nerd image once we get to varsity. Clean slate. No more orchestra geek for me and no more skinny nerd for you.” She pokes his almost-there six-pack, causing him to yelp. “Just don’t make noises like that,” she adds. “It isn’t exactly macho.”

  “Hey, leave me out of this,” Adam says. “I’m secure in my nerd status.”

  “Come on,” Livi urges. “We can use Sarah as our example.”

  What? The water I’m drinking finds its way down the wrong tube, and I end up choking for a few moments. “Excuse me?” I say when I can breathe again. “How exactly am I the example of shedding one’s nerd status and going on to become wildly popular?”

  “Well, it wasn’t quite like that,” Livi says, “but you totally transitioned in matric after Mr Popularity asked you out.”

  I start laughing, which sets off the choking reaction at the back of my throat again. “I did not ‘transition,’ okay,” I manage to gasp out between coughs. “It’s not like I spoke to anyone else from the popular crowd. I never even sat with them or anything.”

  “Hey, you’re ruining the story,” Livi says. “Just accept that you went from nerd to cool, and we can do the same.”

  “But without having to date Mr Popularity,” Adam pipes up from beneath his cap.

  “Yes.” Livi nods.

  “Hey, that’s my Mr Popularity you’re making fun of.” I squirt water at both of them, and Livi squeals while Adam does his non-macho yelp again. “Okay, truce, truce,” I yell as Livi pulls off the cap of her own bottle and squirts water at my head. We both lay down our weapons and return to tanning on our towels. “Speaking of Mr Popularity,” I say slowly, “why, uh, why do you think Matt still wants to be with me?”

  Livi raises an eyebrow and Adam remains silent.

  “Seriously. I’m not fishing for compliments here. I genuinely want to understand this. I mean, he’s good-looking and smart and confident. He could have anyone he wants, so why me?”

  “Seriously, Sezzie?” Livi says. “I mean, it’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

  “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  I stare at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “Well?”

  “What, you want me to say it out loud?”

  “Yes.”

  She stares at me a moment, then sighs and looks out across the pool. “Matt wants someone he can control. Someone who won’t step out of line and embarrass him. And … well … you’re easy to control. You’re shy and quiet and you don’t challenge him on anything. You’re a whole lot of other things too, of course, like pretty and intelligent and kind, but mainly …”

  “I’m easy to control,” I say quietly.

  “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Livi hurries on. “I just mean that you have the kind of personality that someone like Matt could take advantage of.”

  “Because I let him take advantage of me.”

  “Sarah …”

  Adam removes his cap and looks over at us,
obviously sensing a shift in the mood.

  “No, that’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?”

  “Okay, fine,” Livi says. “Yes. You could stand up for yourself sometimes. You don’t have to do everything Matt tells you to do. You don’t have to follow him around like a puppy craving love because you think so little of yourself that you don’t believe anyone else could ever care for you like he does. You’re worth more than that, Sarah. There are guys out there who are ten times better than he is. Guys who might actually deserve you. I wish you’d realise that and stand up for yourself and stop living in his shadow.”

  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open. Part of me realises she thinks she’s being helpful, but I’ve never felt so hurt by her before.

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” I mutter, standing up and grabbing my towel.

  “Sarah, wait, come on. Just talk to—”

  “Goodbye,” I say without looking back.

  “What? Are you leaving? You can’t leave yet.”

  I step inside, grab my two bags, and hurry out to my car. Normally I’d change back into my clothes before leaving, but I don’t want to be here another minute. I don’t want to discuss what Livi said. I don’t even want to think about it. I throw my things onto the passenger seat and slam my door shut before turning the engine on and revving far more than necessary in my attempt to get away quickly. I turn out of Livi’s driveway, only glancing up at my rearview mirror at the last second. I see Livi standing at the open front door, Adam just behind her.

  And then they’re gone.

  The whole way home, I expect to hear my phone ringing. I expect to answer it and hear Livi apologising for the things she said. But when I sit in the driveway at home and check my phone, there isn’t even a message from her. There is one from Adam, though.

  Adam: You shouldn’t be asking yourself why Matt still wants to be with you. You should be asking yourself why you still want to be with him.

  Christmas is usually a tremendously joyful occasion, but I feel oddly subdued this year. Julia isn’t here, Matt isn’t here, I’m not speaking to my best friend, and Aiden hasn’t made any kind of Facebook contact since he accepted my friend request.

  After church, Sophie and I spend the remainder of the morning helping Mom in the kitchen. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Tom join us for lunch, along with some older relatives from Dad’s side of the family. When we were younger, our grandparents always used to join us for Christmas, but they’d all passed away by the time I was fourteen. Our visitors spend all afternoon with us, and it’s early evening by the time I get the chance to send Matt a text and thank him for the necklace he got me. He replies thanking me for the cologne.

  Sophie and I lounge on the couch watching old Christmas movies and picking at the leftovers from lunch until Mom and Dad shuffle down the passage to their bedroom, calling out “Goodnight” as they go. We look at each other, shrug, and turn the TV off. Sophie gets to her bedroom first, which means I’m left to lock up and turn the alarm on.

  I drop into bed, already half asleep, and it’s only then that I remember Aiden joking with me about arranging a secret rendezvous to exchange Christmas presents. I kinda wish we could have done that.

  ***

  Matt: Hey babe. Sorry I didn’t call to wish you merry Christmas yesterday. It’s been kinda crazy at the farm with all the family here. Anyway, we’re going to the aquarium at uShaka on Saturday. Want to come?

  Sarah: Sounds cool. Who’s going?

  Matt: Does it matter?

  Sarah: No, of course not. Just interested.

  Matt: Sorry. I’m in a weird mood. Me, Malcolm, Emily, Aiden, Mom, Aunt Hannah and you, if you want to come.

  Sarah: Cool. I’m in.

  Saturday brings a killer sun. The kind of sun that makes your seatbelt so hot it’ll give you first degree burns if your bare arm brushes against it as you slide into a car. The kind that gives you heat stroke and blistering skin if you dare to tan beneath it. The kind that leaves you wilting and begging for the cool breath of the storm that will almost certainly follow a day so horrifyingly hot.

  I drape myself across one of the couches in the lounge and wonder why the one and only air conditioning unit we own chose today to give up. Then again, it was probably foolish to expect it to survive this kind of heat. It’s at least ten years old, after all.

  I lift my head high enough to see the clock on the wall—half an hour until Matt picks me up—then drop it down again. Seriously, I had no idea my head was this heavy. How on earth do I manage to carry it around every day?

  Ding dong!

  The sound of the doorbell startles me, mainly because it doesn’t get used that often. Everyone who lives here has keys to get in, and everyone who visits has to stand at the gate at the bottom of the driveway and push the buzzer, so by the time they get onto the property, we’ve already opened the front door.

  I wait a few seconds, hoping someone else from my family might check who it is, but I hear no hint of movement in the house. I climb onto my feet, and everything goes white for a moment before coming back into focus. “Stupid heat,” I mutter. My strength is completely sapped. I’m weak simply from standing up and walking to the front door. I hang onto the door handle and blink a few times before pulling it open.

  My vision goes white again, and this time I almost pass out.

  “Hi,” Aiden says, raising his hand in a semi-wave. “Good to see you haven’t melted yet.”

  I blink again. It’s definitely Aiden. The sunburn that covered his face a few days ago has faded, leaving his skin a golden brown. I guess he’s one of those lucky people whose skin doesn’t peel after it burns. Focus, Sarah. WHAT IS HE DOING HERE? “I—um—how—what are you doing here?”

  “Did you know your gate is open?” Aiden gestures over his shoulder.

  I let out a very unladylike “Huh?”, but since I’m seriously considering the fact that I did actually pass out and am now dreaming, it doesn’t bother me too much.

  “Yeah, I thought I’d just mention it, since you South Africans are kinda pedantic about your gates and security and stuff.”

  “Uh huh.” This is definitely weird enough to be a dream.

  “And why didn’t you tell me you live opposite a cemetery? That’s seriously cool. Must have made for some awesome ghost stories when you were little.”

  “Uh …”

  “Oh, sorry, you asked what I’m doing here. My aunt was supposed to drop us off at Matt’s, but we got there a bit early, and no one was home. I called Matt and it seems he’s still at gym, so I asked him for your address.”

  “You … what?”

  “Yeah, I know. He was ecstatic about that.” Aiden rolls his eyes. “I guess he isn’t wild about me spending time with you since I led you astray on a mountainside and got you stranded in a storm.”

  I wipe a hand across my sweaty forehead. “So … I’m not dreaming?”

  Aiden laughs. “I don’t think so. Not unless I’m dreaming too.”

  “And …” I try to remember what he said. “Did you say ‘us’?”

  “Uh, yes. Emily and my mum got excited about a flower in your driveway. Something to do with wedding bouquets.”

  “Right.” I lean past him and see Emily and Aunt Hannah on the other side of the driveway bent over a bush. “Uh, well, come in.”

  I push the gate button on the wall beside the front door—because, as Aiden pointed out, we’re pedantic about security around here—and step back to let him in. Crap, what does the house look like? What does my room look like? No, why would he be going into my bedroom? He wouldn’t. Don’t be ridiculous.

  “Sorry to just show up like this,” Aiden says. “I can tell it’s got you all flustered.”

  “What? No. I’m not—”

  “Don’t even try,” he says with a grin. “I haven’t known you for that long, but it’s been long enough to know that you’re completely flustered right now. You shouldn’t be, by the way. It’s just me.”

/>   I pause for a moment to remind myself that he’s right. I already did this whole freaking out thing on the plane; it doesn’t need to happen again. I look up at him with what I hope is a coy smile. “Maybe it’s not you. Maybe it’s actually the heat.”

  “Of course. How vain of me to think I might have been the reason.” He tries to keep a straight face. “Does this kind of heat always fluster you?”

  “Uh, no,” I admit as I wander into the lounge with Aiden just behind me. “It usually leaves me draped over an item of furniture in a useless, sticky mess. Which is the state I was in before you rang the doorbell.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts. “And it’s what I still sort of … seem to be.”

  “I think everyone’s a sticky mess right now,” Aiden says. “I’ve certainly never experienced anything like this.”

  “Would you like some iced water?” I ask, heading for the kitchen. “It’s the only thing I drink when it gets this hot.”

  “Yes, that would be great, thank you,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he’s following me, though. I turn back and see him looking at the collection of family photos on the wall. Well, I suppose it can’t hurt to leave him there for a few minutes. The photos aren’t too humiliating.

  I move slowly around the kitchen, filling two glasses with water and breaking a few ice blocks from the tray I refilled last night. Then I think about Emily and Aunt Hannah outside and figure they might want some water too, so I take out another two glasses. When I eventually walk back into the lounge carrying all the glasses on a tray, Aiden is nowhere to be seen. I set the tray down on the coffee table and look out the door to the garden. Sophie is lying on a yoga mat beneath a tree with a pencil in her hand and a sketchpad in front of her, but there’s no Aiden. I walk back to the front door and peer out. Emily and Aunt Hannah are having an animated discussion about something, but Aiden isn’t here either.

  “Weird,” I mutter to myself. Perhaps he went in search of a bathroom. I walk down the passage to see if the bathroom door is closed, but before I can get there, I pass my bedroom. And there’s a tall male figure standing at my desk. With one of my notebooks in his hand. Open. He turns the page just as I blurt out, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”