All the Ways to Here

by Emily O'Beirne

  Willa

  Finn’s mum, Anita, is the source of Finn’s grounded energy and her small, compact build. She shakes Willa’s hand when they meet, her brown eyes vice-principal keen.

  Willa does her best to smile, even through a clenched jaw.

  The house is modern and small, busy with books and stacks of paper and a large dog bed by the window, filled with fur. It takes Willa a little while to realise the pile of white is actually two dogs and a cat curled up together.

  “They say threes never work, but those guys?” Finn shakes her head as one of the small white dogs opens one eye, regards Willa, and closes it. “It’s like a weird cult love-in.”

  They eat takeaway at the counter that separates the tiny kitchen from the living area. Willa’s questioned over dinner, of course. But Finn must have briefed Anita already, because she asks about Nan and her brother and sister but not her parents. And Willa’s grateful. It’s awkward enough without that conversation.

  Once the requisite getting-to-know-you questions dry up, Willa relaxes enough to eat more than a grain of rice at a time. She tunes in to Finn’s workshopping over whether to help her friend with a project at a local community centre.

  “I don’t know if I’ll have time to help and try and do my captain stuff,” Finn says. “Especially now a Year 11 is going to be captain next year. I only just found out, and Zehra’s been all over it while I’ve been gone.”

  “Is there a student vote for captain?” Willa asks.

  “No. Just the teachers and the principal.” She prods at a piece of chicken with her fork. “I’ve got so much catching up to do if I want them to even consider me.”

  “That can’t be true.” Anita serves herself more rice. “You’ve been captain all year. You’ve been away on camp, being an ambassador for your school. And you won a prize for them while you were there. You’ve hardly been lazing around. The staff will recognise that.”

  “I guess. I just don’t know if I can manage both.”

  “Well, what’s more important to you?”

  “I don’t know. I want to help at the centre. It’s fun, and—I don’t know—it feels important. Some kids really need that place. I’m lucky. Imagine if Grandma was my mum? I’d need it too.”

  Anita sighs. “Possibly you would. She thought Martin’s sister having a baby before she was married was a criminal act. I don’t know what she’d have done if one of them had been gay.”

  “My grandmother’s still holding out hope it’s a stage,” Finn tells Willa. “Anyway, I want to help. It’s just a time thing, figuring out if I have enough to do both and everything else.”

  If there’s one thing Willa can sympathise with, it’s the pain of prioritising. “Just remember, being senior school captain looks really good on paper,” she reminds Finn, thinking of all the uni and job applications they’ll need to do in a couple of years. Willa already knows what she’d do. It wouldn’t even be a decision, let alone a hard one. But, then, she’s not Finn.

  “But good for what? Isn’t it better to do something that’s good for the world?” Finn asks. “If I’m just being school captain for resume fodder, isn’t that kind of self-serving in comparison to helping keep a space that’s needed?”

  “I guess.” Willa would still choose captain.

  “You’re certainly your father’s child,” Anita tells her.

  Willa can’t tell if that’s meant to be a good thing or a bad thing, the way Anita says it, all resigned and quiet.

  “I’d personally say that you should focus on being school captain,” Anita says. “You’re already doing that role. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” She smiles wearily. "Like there’s ever been any point in telling you that. Anyway—” She gets up from her seat. “I must go and do some work. Are you two doing anything tonight?”

  “We’ll probably just hang in my room and watch a movie or something,” Finn says.

  Willa pushes a forkful of food in her mouth, trying to smother the instant, delicious flicker of anticipation at having some time alone with Finn.

  “Okay, well, it was very nice to meet you, Willa.” Anita rests a hand lightly on her shoulder as she passes. “I’m glad you could come over.”

  Willa hurriedly tries to chew and swallow her food in time to reply. “Y-you too,” she mumbles, hand over her mouth. “And thank you for dinner.”

  “Don’t choke,” Finn teases as her mother carries her laptop to the sofa and drops down on it with a sigh.

  When they’ve tidied away their plates, Finn grabs Willa’s hand. “Come on.”

  “Remember the rule,” Anita calls from the couch.

  “I know.” Finn leads Willa down a short passage and into an orderly, colourful little space. Half the bed is covered in a rainbow chaos of pillows, and her bookshelf is piled neatly with books. Willa can tell from the stack of slender kid-book spines on the bottom that all Finn’s lifetime literary treasures have a place there.

  There are posters on the walls, mostly art prints, but Willa’s eye is immediately drawn to a small one pinned to the wall above the desk. It’s painted on a piece of paper about the size of two postcards—a landscape, sort of—but everything is done in this swirling watercolour, like the edges of everything are made from coloured wisps of smoke. It’s fragile and lovely.

  “This is one of yours, isn’t it?” she says.

  “Yup.” Finn switches on a bright yellow lamp and shuts her curtains to the night. “It’s one of my favourites. I’ve been meaning to get a frame for it so it doesn’t get messed up, but I keep forgetting.”

  “You should. It’s beautiful. Nothing can happen to it.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Finn says as she slides her arms around Willa’s waist.

  “You’re so stupidly talented.” Willa turns to face her. “So, what’s the rule that your mum was talking about?”

  “Door-open policy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I have, uh, special guests over, the door stays open.” Finn grins and rolls her eyes. “Not that I have, like, a parade of people coming through or anything.”

  “Oh.” Willa feels like such a child. Of course that’s what it means.

  “No rules like that at your house?”

  “It hasn’t really been necessary.” Willa blushes. “I’m such a boring innocent.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re…” Finn shakes her head like she can’t finish her sentence.

  For the millionth time, Willa wonders how this girl happened to her. She wants to kiss her, but instead she stands, head tipped, listening for movement in the rest of the house.

  “Don’t worry. Wooden floors. You can hear her coming.” Finn taps Willa’s nose. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  If there’s one thing no one ever calls Willa, it’s cute. But she might like it when it comes from Finn.

  “Come here,” Finn whispers, pulling her close enough to press her lips to Willa’s.

  In minutes they’re sprawled on her bed in a kiss so deep Willa has to drag herself up for air. “Isn’t this exactly what we’re not supposed to be doing?”

  “Mum knows we’re together,” Finn says. “She expects us to be kissing. I think the whole open-door thing is more of a make-sure-the-clothes-stay-on-while-we-kiss thing.”

  “Right.” Willa’s cheeks flame as she smooths her finger along a pale stretch of Finn’s throat. This is a whole new world for her. Parents. Bedroom rules. Policing the potential of sex. All of it.

  “So don’t worry,” Finn whispers, reaching for her again. “And come here.”

  And Willa obeys. Because this is where she knows she holds her own. In the social, normal stuff, Finn runs rings around her, while Willa is all awkwardness and patchy silences. But when the two of them are like this, curled around each other, Willa is just as capable. Somehow, without ever being aware she did, she knows how to make Finn pull in a breath. She knows the ways, with the right kind of kiss or with a finger slowly tracing a stretch of ski
n, to make Finn slide an urgent arm around her and pull her even closer. Here, Willa feels equal to the task of being in this thing they’ve become.

  As they plunge into another kiss, Willa decides she almost likes Finn’s mum’s rule. Because while she’s confident about what she can make happen, she’s less confident about what she should make happen. Willa already knows, after camp, that Finn’s cautious about moving too far too fast, but she’s not sure exactly where the line is. Only that it exists. This way, with the door wide open, it’s firmly drawn for them. Hands roam but never go truly astray. Breath gets heavy and limbs tangle, but it all happens in the enforced safety zones of over the clothes and above the waist.

  And Willa’s happy in the knowledge that she can just lie here and trace and retrace the smooth, half-moon curve of Finn’s waist through her T-shirt, learning the lay of this land by heart and not worrying about what should happen next. With the door open, she can just wallow in the deliciousness of here and now, and not overthink a thing.

  They kiss and kiss, and they don’t stop until a rainbow avalanche of pillows ends in a pile on their heads. Willa giggles and bats one off her face. “Are you sure you’ve got enough pillows? Is there one each for all your special guests?”

  “Very funny.” Finn tosses them to the side. “I like to have a lot. When I was a kid and I’d get scared at night, I’d put them all around me, even under my feet.” She snuggles in next to Willa. “They were like this magic protective ring. I used to steal them off the bed in the spare room. Even the sofa cushions. Then, finally, Mum bought me a heap of my own so our guests would have something to put their heads on when they stayed.”

  “What were you scared of?”

  “I don’t know. Just kid things. Witches, ghosts. Monsters I saw on TV.”

  That’s slightly adorable. Willa’s never been scared of imagined things. Just real stuff. She wraps her arm around Finn’s waist and stares at the little painting again. She already loves being here, snug in this nest of Finn-ness. Willa’s bedroom is a jam of her and Riley’s things—mostly Riley’s—and Willa’s attempts to keep the chaos at bay. There is no space in the world that’s just hers.

  There’s a sudden skitter of claws on wood, and a small, scruffy white dog leaps onto the bed. Then another. The scruffier of the two snuffles in, sniffing at Willa. She pats the ruff of white hair around his neck, and instantly he collapses onto his side next to her. She scratches his warm belly. “He’s sweet. What’s his name?”

  “Banjo. He’s twelve. This is Patter, his little brother. He’s eight.” She rubs Patter’s ears. “And the cat’s called Son. Are you sensing a pattern?”

  “As in Banjo Patterson? The poet?”

  “Yeah, my dad’s a dag, what can I say?”

  “So where’s the cat?”

  “Oh, she’ll be here. It can get kind of crowded in here at night.” Finn rolls over and pulls her laptop from under the bed. “Want to pretend to watch something? So when Mum drops by soon with the inevitable intervention in the shape of an invite for dessert, we can at least maintain a charade of innocence?”

  Willa laughs. “Sure.”

  “So, what do you want to pretend to watch?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Finn puts some sitcom on, and they ignore it, curling in close, the dogs pressed to their backs.

  Canned laughter erupts around them as Willa eyes her shyly. “Hey?”

  “Hey what?” Finn says dreamily and traces Willa’s jawline with her index finger.

  “You know I’ve never had a girlfriend, right?”

  “Neither have I.” Finn’s nose wrinkles. “Well, there was this girl last year. From my painting class. We ended up kissing every time I went to her house for a while there, but that doesn’t really count.”

  Willa has to bite down on the bitter spring of jealousy that accompanies the thought of Finn’s lips near another human’s. She wonders what Finn would think if she knew about the jealousy that ripples through her when Finn mentions her ex, Matt, or now this girl she hasn’t heard of before. Would she be flattered? Or put off? “But you’ve had boyfriends, right?”

  “A couple.”

  “So…” Willa bites her lip. “So, how do you know when you’ve gone from hanging out to something official? Like, when you’ve actually become serious boyfriend and girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know. Matt and I never made it official. It just was eventually. I guess some people have a conversation or formally ask each other out. Dan and his girlfriend did that whole commitment talk recently.”

  “Like when people used to ask each other to go steady in old movies?” Willa cringes. Why do her only cultural references have to be from films she’s watched with her sixty-six-year-old grandmother?

  But Finn doesn’t blink. “Mum told me that when she was at school, they used to call it ‘going round’ with someone.”

  “That’s kind of vague.”

  “Totally.”

  “But there are no rules about this stuff?”

  Finn smiles at her. “You know, this isn’t something you have to study for, Will. Or plan.”

  “I know that,” Willa mumbles. “Don’t tease me.”

  “But you’re so tease-able.” Finn’s about to nuzzle in and kiss her again when the sound of heels against floorboards invades their world.

  “Girls?”

  “Yeah, Mum?” Finn sits up. So does Willa, and then Patter and Banjo in a chain reaction of wide-eyed.

  “Would you like some sweets? I got some fancy ice cream.”

  Finn’s grin is sly as she mouths I told you. “We’re coming!” She shuts the laptop. “Come on. You can finish impressing my mum.”

  But before Willa can make it to the door, Finn grabs her by her belt loops and pulls her backward. She presses herself against Willa’s back, sliding her arms slowly around her waist. “Hey, Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Want to go round with me?”

  “Maybe,” Willa says, walking out the door like it’s nothing. Like there’s no treacly, happy sensation surging like a tsunami through her. “I’ll think about it.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Finn

  Nona’s got her eyes shut and her cap pulled down low.

  “Hard day?” Finn asks as she sits down at the table.

  Bea leans in and pats Nona’s leg. “Baby, wake up. We’re starting.”

  “Huh?’ Nona sits bolt upright, blinking. “Oh, right,” she says slowly, looking around the warehouse. “We’re here.”

  “What’s with you?” Kayah snaps her fingers in front of her Nona’s face. “Get it together, child. We’ve got a community centre to save,” she says in her best after-school-special voice.

  Nona rubs her hands over her face and mumbles, “Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  “Party too hard?” Rosie asks. “No, wait, it’s Wednesday. Can’t have partied that hard on a Wednesday.”

  “Oh, you poor, misguided child.” Kayah pats Rosie’s arm. “Wait until you get to uni. You won’t be saying that.”

  “Yeah, but Nona’s in Year 10. So unless she’s got fake ID…”

  “True. I can’t exactly see that baby face passing for eighteen,” Kayah admits.

  Nona gives Kayah the finger. Kayah cheerfully sends one back.

  Kayah’s the black-haired girl with the huge earrings who showed Finn a chair at the first meeting. She’s in first year at uni, studying communications. She’s smart and opinionated and knows everything that’s going on in the world. She’s got pretty, dark eyes and wears blouses with wild, colourful prints. She’s seventeen, bi, and studying marketing with her boyfriend. Finn may already be harbouring the mildest of crushes on her. Not a serious one—no one stands a chance against Willa. It’s more one of those “I want to be as cool as you when I’m at uni” ones more than anything.

  “I didn’t go out last night,” Nona mutters, resting her head on Bea’s shoulder. “My parents kicked me out, and I
had to sleep in a friend’s garage.”

  “What for?” Finn asks, eyes wide.

  Nona shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Mum found a ticket from a queer party I went to and told Dad. They tag-teamed losing the plot at me for hours, and when I fought back they kicked me out.” She grins. “No regrets, though. That thing was lit. Full of babes.”

  Bea raises a perfectly shaped brow. “Excuse me?”

  “Just looking.” Nona curls her arms around Bea. “You were grounded, remember?”

  “You’re not going to be living in a garage for long, are you?” Finn asks. Poor Nona.

  “No, they’ll let me back in a week or so.”

  “How do you know?” Rosie asks.

  “Nona gets kicked out once every couple of months,” Bea tells Finn. “Like clockwork.”

  Nona grins. “Every time a bit of my gay leaks out.”

  “Isn’t that all the time?” Kayah grins. “Listen, we could probably push some reprobates off the couch at my place and make room for you for a few days.”

  “Aw, thanks, big sis.”

  “No problem. Come to mine after this.” She straightens the papers in front of her. “But we should get to work. Otherwise you won’t have this place to hide in either.”

  “What about using stories like Nona’s for whatever we do?” Bea asks. “I mean, everyone’s probably got one about why this centre’s so important for them. Unsupportive parents, safe places, all that. If we could share those somehow, surely someone would listen.”

  Finn nods. She loves that this place exists, and she also knows she’s lucky enough not to need it as an escape from anything. Not so far, anyway.

  “Sure, but then what do we do with the stories?” Kayah taps her fingers against the table. “If we include them in media releases, we’d only fit one or two short quotes at best, and that can’t tell a real story.”

  “What if we made a little book or something? We could give out copies,” Rosie suggests.

  “But can we afford it? Hey, Costa!” Kayah calls out to the youth leader. “What’s our budget?”

  Costa turns from the kettle and laughs like she just made some hilarious joke. Then he makes a circle of his thumb and forefinger.