The Harper Effect

by Taryn Bashford

  ‘This is supposed to strengthen your core muscles,’ Colt says, dumping the board into the water. I wade out, whacking him with the paddle when a wave bumps me. Next I fall off the front of the board, bum up, head first, and then cap that by slipping off on top of Colt. He seems mildly amused, but he never takes his focus off the goal.

  ‘We need to both lie on the board, then get to our knees, don’t you think?’ asks Colt.

  I jump on first and suddenly he’s lying on top of me, lower down the board so his face is just above my butt. This is mortifying. He moves to his knees and I copy until we’re stable in the small waves. When we finally make it upright, Colt’s hands rest on my hips to keep us balanced, and my cheeks simmer. I concentrate on moving us forward until we succeed and we haul the board up the beach, our arms and legs spent.

  The sunset is a violent red slash across the sky, reminding me of what I was doing this time yesterday. And that’s when I spot Jacob on the sand next to Aria. A shiver of cold douses me.

  ‘You earned your dinner.’ Milo strolls toward us. ‘And in record time. I expected you to take much longer. Next time –’

  ‘Next time it’s your turn, old man,’ cuts in Colt.

  Colt is suddenly eclipsed by Jacob’s stormy face. I hug myself, rubbing at goosebumps as Jacob approaches. He’s jiggling the keys to his Jeep like they’re a weapon. His glare nails me. He sizes up Colt then swipes the towel from Aria, who’s mocking our efforts, and moves behind me, wrapping the towel around my shoulders and rubbing my arms to warm me. I go rigid. Aria’s eyes widen then swoop away, her brow furrowing.

  What the hell is Jacob playing at?

  Milo does the introductions because I forget.

  ‘What sort of name is Colt?’ asks Jacob.

  Colt, taller and definitely broader, examines Jacob like he’s weighing up several possible responses, one of them being to pound him into the ground. He focuses on Jacob’s hands, still on my arms, and appears to decide not to respond at all. Instead, he scans through Jacob at the restaurant behind.

  Milo takes the hint. ‘I promised you dinner. Good to see you, Aria. Jacob. See you another time, I’m sure.’ Relieved, I pull the towel tighter around me and Colt carries the board, leaning it against the wall of the restaurant.

  At the outdoor table, Milo orders steak all round and a jug of water, then asks us what we said to each other on the paddleboard.

  ‘Colt swore at me a lot. He was out of control,’ I tease.

  Colt cracks his neck, suppressing a grin. ‘Suggestions mostly.’

  ‘And when one of you got it wrong and tipped you over?’

  ‘I cracked up,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault – we both made mistakes – tummy muscles will kill tomorrow.’

  ‘And how do we take this onto the doubles court?’ asks Milo. ‘Number one: you always use the we or the us word.’

  I jump in with, ‘Never blame anyone for a lost point.’

  ‘Yes. It’s never one person’s fault,’ continues Milo. ‘Maybe the set-up wasn’t the best or someone just made a mistake. Either way, you both lost the point. And don’t tell each other what to do. Colt?’

  Colt’s foot taps repeatedly. I realise he’s watching Jacob and Aria exit the beach. ‘Keep your sense of humour,’ he mumbles.

  ‘True,’ says Milo, then orders bread from a waitress. ‘And when you’re physically close, it’s hard to get angry with each other,’ he continues. ‘Hence the fist-bumping and high-fives between points. They’re not just for passing on messages or encouragement, but to keep you close, almost intimate – you stay as one unit and don’t break away into two units when the pressure builds.’

  ‘Got it,’ I say, twirling a loop of hair and sucking the end.

  ‘Too hungry to speak, Colt?’ suggests Milo.

  ‘At least I’m not eating my hair.’ He eyes my mouth.

  ‘Okay, let’s try a distraction technique. Truth time,’ says Milo with a clap. ‘Swap one bit of information the other person doesn’t know about you.’

  Colt’s attention is suddenly on the swinging kitchen door, then the waitress, then the table next to ours. Arms folded, his leg bounces on repeat. The bread rolls arrive and he starts into them without waiting for the butter.

  I shrug. ‘I suck my hair when I’m unsettled. But I’m sure Colt doesn’t care.’

  ‘He must learn to care. This is all part of doubles strategy. Same as a good marriage – understanding each other, trust and communication.’

  Colt raises an eyebrow. I push down a gurgle of laughter.

  ‘My second-favourite sport – paddleboarding,’ adds Milo. ‘It’s one of the reasons I moved to Australia in my twenties.’ He raises his hands to the sky. ‘This great weather.’

  Colt pushes his chair back. ‘Need to take a – toilet.’

  Milo jerks a thumb at Colt’s retreating figure. ‘I tried. But you can’t milk a bull. Hopefully he’ll open up as time goes by.’

  Colt stays away for longer than it should take to pee, returning as the waitress hands out our plates. He tucks into the potato before he’s properly sat down then orders more bread. Milo chats to me and dumps several of his own potatoes on Colt’s plate.

  ‘He has the appetite of a pack of wolves,’ Milo explains.

  ‘The tattoo – I can and I will eat everything I see?’ I tease, and am rewarded with a chuckle from Colt.

  When Colt finishes his meal, after several more helpings of bread, Milo goes to pay the bill. Colt’s stare prises me open. ‘So whose boyfriend is Jacob – yours or Aria’s?’

  I half choke on a green bean.

  Something startles me awake. I blink, catching the 12.04 am on the alarm clock. A blurry shape approaches my bed and I make a squawking sound.

  ‘Shhh. It’s me.’ Jacob’s fingers push against my mouth. I haven’t seen him since the paddleboarding exercise with Colt earlier this evening. I told Colt that Jacob is a lifelong friend – and far more important than a boyfriend.

  I scramble up. ‘How’d you get in?’

  ‘Bathroom window has no fly screen.’

  ‘You climbed two storeys and through our bathroom window?’ I flick the lamp switch.

  Jacob sparkles with mischief and roosts on the bed, flashing a penknife. ‘Done it before.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’ I remember Aria and sneak to lock the door between our shared bathroom and my bedroom. Turning back to Jacob, I keep my distance. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘Missed you. And watching that guy with his paws all over you –’

  He’s staring at my mouth. Pulses of heat crease through me. I drift over to the window. The blinds are open – it’s easier to wake early in a sun-filled room than a dark one – and stars blink at me. The full moon is small and high. Jacob moves in behind me, holds my hips. I feel the warmth of him through my crop top and lick my lips. ‘What we did –’

  ‘Don’t say it. Don’t,’ whispers Jacob. His breath on my ear makes me shudder. Warm lips press against my temple. ‘How can it be bad or wrong to love you?’ he says. His lips flutter against my skin. He bends to kiss my neck and I lean into him, my legs like water.

  He loves me? His words hang in the air, glittering with possibility, but if I admit I love him too, how do we turn around from this? And turn around we must.

  But it’s like trying to roll up a hill.

  Hands slip under my T-shirt, splay flat across my stomach. My bones evaporate. I turn my face so Jacob’s mouth finds mine. His desire is strong and alive, alight, and I catch fire and kiss him back.

  But Aria –

  I start to shake my head. He tugs me to face him, kisses me deeper, trying to kiss the No right out of the room. But it won’t go. I draw back.

  ‘I know. I know,’ he whispers. ‘I’m the biggest prick ever.’

  I’m worse.
She’s my sister.

  He binds my wrists with his hands. ‘Don’t hate me. I’d give up frickin’ everything –’

  I’m shocked at how cut up his face is, partly stuffed with longing and craving, part crammed with regret and guilt. We’re not children anymore, playing childish games. This is real and big and hurtful and capable of blowing apart lives.

  This must stop.

  But the words stick in a throat that’s fat and prickly with tears.

  His mouth is on mine again, feverish. Desire that streaks hot and fast pulls me along as if I got a sleeve caught in the door of a runaway train. I kiss him, hard.

  But Aria? My limbs stiffen.

  Jacob releases me. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But Aria was a mistake. I was with her – and thinking of you.’ He kisses my nose. ‘And now, with you, it’s intense. Every touch turns the dial up. You make my pulse beat faster. And I can’t stop thinking about you. I crave you. I write songs about you.’

  Something ruptures inside me and every part of me wants to reach for him. All words bury themselves and I have to dig for them. I make my voice soft. ‘It doesn’t matter what we feel. I know you’ve split up, but no-one in my family would accept us being together. You can’t have us both.’

  He squeezes his eyes closed as if that will shut out the truth.

  ‘We could move away,’ he whispers, then opens his eyes. The moon glints off them. ‘My parents would be glad to get rid of me.’

  ‘Don’t say that. They do love you – they’re just crazy career people.’ I want to wring the hurt out of his expression so I add, ‘I love you. But Aria must come first.’

  He draws me to him, rests his forehead on mine. ‘You’ve never said it before,’ he says. ‘I see it in your eyes – all the time. So I knew. But it’s good to hear you say it.’ He kisses me again, mouth alive like summer, like the ocean, like laughter, needing me, making me kiss him back.

  ‘There has to be a way,’ he says against my cheek. ‘We can keep it a secret. Wait for the right time.’ In between sentences his lips brush mine. ‘Tell me you don’t want this.’ I clutch at him, kiss him.

  ‘Will you wait?’ he asks, a roulette wheel of emotions spinning across his face.

  ‘Yes.’ I snuggle against him, filling my hands with him. ‘But I don’t know when the right time will be –’

  He lifts my chin. ‘It’ll be right when Aria finds someone else.’ He maps my face, threads his fingers through mine and leads me to the bed.

  My belly loops. ‘We can’t.’ I pull away.

  ‘No-one will hear.’ I don’t want to think about how he knows that.

  ‘I said no, Jacob. You have to go. We can’t do what we want and not think about the consequences. Kissing is one thing – Aria’s next door.’

  My gaze finds the dark shadow of the woods through the window and we stand in silence, together but apart.

  ‘That day in the Purple Woods,’ says Jacob. ‘You were eleven and you jumped out of that freakin’ giant tree into the river – the one they cut down because it was dangerous for us kids to jump off. Remember?’ I nod, watching the love spill from his eyes. ‘I watched you – scaring the shit out of yourself – I knew then I wanted to know you forever. I wanted to dive inside your skin. That’s when I fell in love with you, with all my soul and probably all my bones and membranes and cells.’

  I recall the day; hours of swimming and picnics and tree climbing. A day of innocence.

  ‘You stare down the world. Fight it when it won’t give you what you want,’ he continues.

  But he’s wrong. I shake my head and put a finger on his lips to stop him talking. That was then. I’m not that person anymore – perhaps the tennis world beat it out of me. I’m no longer the lion of my jungle – instead I skulk through life just as a pussycat slinks between people’s legs in a crowd, hoping no-one will stand on me and notice I lost my roar.

  Jacob grasps my finger and kisses it. ‘I tried not to feel this way about you,’ he continues. ‘Back then I didn’t want our friendship to change. Then you left on the junior circuit.’ He strokes my cheek. ‘I think it’s why I eventually went out with Aria. When I looked at her, I saw you – pure torture. When I kissed Aria I got a piece of you back. And maybe it worked for a while. But not anymore.’

  I listen to what he says, recognise what he’s feeling, and wonder if it’ll ever be okay to tell the world we’re in love.

  The next morning Colt’s late for training. When he stalks onto the court, Milo stops our rally to study him. I wait for Milo to cut him off at the knees with some choice words, but all he says is, ‘Come warm up, Colt.’

  Milo would dish out a lot more than Come warm up if I arrived half an hour late. Is Colt such a Wonder Boy he can storm off, arrive late, and dictate where and what time we train?

  ‘You’re soft on him,’ I grumble.

  ‘When it’s appropriate. By the look of him, I’m surprised he turned up.’

  ‘What’s his story?’

  Milo examines me. ‘Best wait till he’s ready to tell you.’

  Days pass and Colt’s mood doesn’t improve. As if to shut out what’s bothering him, he trains harder than ever and I follow his lead – it’s the only time my head isn’t full of Aria and Jacob.

  Colt and Milo travel to the Chengdu Open in China at the end of the month for a men’s ATP event. I’m left with instructions to hit the gym, work on conditioning, and knock up with nineteen-year-old Kim Wright, a fellow Aussie ranked 113 in the world. I still haven’t quite broken the 150 barrier.

  Kim has muscles and a figure that belong to Superwoman. Across the net her severely short red hair and fixed jaw give her the air of a warrior. But it’s those green eyes, always narrowed, always strategising, always weighing me up even when we chat, that get me shaking in my tennis shoes.

  We train on the court at my house, and following our first practice match, having thoroughly beaten me, she quips, ‘Even without the home advantage I can whip your arse.’

  The competitive streak Colt woke in me growls.

  Kim’s faster than me, fitter than me, stronger than me, but as the week advances I lose by smaller margins. On the day we each win a set, Kim’s not impressed.

  ‘What’s with her?’ asks Aria after Kim’s stormed through the kitchen and out the front door. Aria twists to flick on the radio and Jacob, who’s just finished jamming with his band in the studio, gives my hand a secret squeeze. A gang of butterflies attack my stomach, and I squeeze back.

  ‘Scared I’m going to beat her,’ I answer, opening my laptop to see how Colt’s going in Chengdu.

  ‘S’pose you and Dad will be leaving for China soon,’ adds Aria. ‘Can you not hijack him with tennis talk at dinner tonight? I’d like a little quality time.’ Aria’s tone is even, but her mouth looks pouty. Since she broke up with Jacob, she seems even more jealous of the time Dad spends away with me. Is that what drove her to Jacob? She took him because I had Dad?

  ‘It’s not a territory war,’ I snap. Aria slams the fridge shut and storms upstairs. I flash a look at Jacob, who tugs at an ear and blows out his cheeks.

  ‘Sisters,’ he says.

  Aria’s opera music blasts from her bedroom, making the walls throb.

  Part of me believes it was Aria who betrayed the sister code first – she took Jacob for herself. Sure, she didn’t know I loved him, but she knew she was making something that was a threesome into a twosome. I realise now that I resented her for that, maybe enough to let our bond diminish.

  She must’ve known it would change the Raggers, yet she selfishly did it anyway. Maybe my choosing to be with Jacob now isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe she deserves a taste of her own medicine.

  Stuff her. With more force than is necessary, I scrape back the bar stool, perch, and punch in a URL on my laptop. Jacob turns off the radio, then wraps his arms
around me, watching the screen over my shoulder. His touch quells the streaking anger inside me. I click on the link for Colt’s compulsory post-match interview. It’s more of a sound bite, though. He’d reached the second round before being knocked out and says five words: ‘I executed my game plan.’ He looks as though he’d rather wrestle crocs in a river than endure an interview, and even before the camera switches away he swivels to leave, any hint of ‘human’ switched off.

  ‘What’s with him?’ asks Jacob. It’s exactly what I want to know. ‘Maybe I should hook up a camera so you can watch me in the studio?’ he adds.

  ‘Doing what? Eating and sleeping?’ I plant a kiss on his cheek.

  Three days later Dad and I travel to meet Milo and Colt at the China Open. I’m more than a little curious about being at a tournament with Colt, even though we won’t actually play together – they only have mixed doubles at the Grand Slams, so we’ll compete separately in men’s and women’s doubles matches to gain experience. But for almost the whole competition, Colt’s the invisible man and doesn’t even stay in the same hotel as us. I remember his words about caravans and youth hostels.

  ‘Is he always a monk at these events?’ I ask Milo.

  ‘Colt is one-tracked at tournaments. It’s complicated,’ says Milo, spinning a racquet. He changes the subject. ‘Fancy visiting the Great Wall?’

  ‘Seen it, thanks.’ I recall that fight with Kominsky – he’d preferred a training session over sightseeing.

  While training with Kim I’ve developed a superstition of always bouncing the ball five times at the exact same height to stop my ball toss wandering. It mostly works and I decide to try it out in my first-round match. Milo has nicknamed my opponent, Monica Moreau, Pocket Rocket. It’s soon clear why. She’s smaller than most players but somehow manages to reach the very inch of the court my ball bounces in every time. But my ball toss is more consistent and I feel fit and strong, and I find myself ahead after the first set.