They were halfway through the third pizza when Bec realized that Heath was missing. As if in answer, Heath bounded happily down the stairs. Fly didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so spruced. He had on a pair of cargo shorts and a crisp white shirt. It made him look browner and healthier than such a sneaky rotten liar had any right to look. He carried a battered notebook and a copy of Pride and Prejudice.
‘Bit over the top just to go bowling, isn’t it?’ said Matt.
‘Bowling?’ Heath seemed to be forgetting a lot these days.
‘Deb’s big bonding treat. We talked about it yesterday.’
Heath shook his head; it was like he genuinely hadn’t heard.
‘There was a conversation,’ Fly said, ‘about how it’d be good for us all to go out together tonight. You appeared to be in the lounge room when it happened.’
‘Missed it completely.’
‘Must’ve been thinking about something else,’ she said. Fly could feel the side of herself rising up again, the player, the finder of angles, the fiddler on the truth.
‘Well, have a good time,’ Heath said.
Fly watched him take a couple of steps towards the door. She couldn’t help herself. ‘Where are you going, just in case Deb and Simmo ask?’
As if that was the reason she was asking!
Heath flashed the book and pad. ‘I’m really behind on this novel assignment. Thought I’d go somewhere quiet, get my head around it. See ya.’
He vanished out the door.
‘Heath spending Saturday night on schoolwork?’ said Bec. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘Not really,’ said Fly.
Bowling was a riot. Deb had booked them into the local bowling alley without taking into account that Saturday night was worship night in the church of ten-pin bowling. There were serious competitions running in every single lane except theirs and men with enormous bellies trapped under their shirts lovingly polished their bowling balls and talked tips with each other. There was something surreal about the whole thing, as if everybody was in uniform. The women wore tight, bright T-shirts and polka dot skirts and the men combed their hair back a bit like Elvis. Even the littlies strutted about in their two-tone shoes, singing out the words to the fifties’ rock-and-roll blaring from the jukebox. The music was doing their heads in.
‘I feel like I’m trapped in my parents’ car,’ moaned Perri. ‘They love this stuff.’
Fly kind of liked them all for it. It was no different to the little Nippers, or to themselves really. They all wore a uniform whether they admitted it or not, they all basically thought the same things were good or bad, they all listened to the same music (except Anna, who could not be weaned off German hip-hop) and they all kind of knew who they were because they knew who they were not. They weren’t metalheads, they weren’t goths, they weren’t emos, they definitely weren’t the bowling brigade … So who was Jane?
The sudden Jane invasion put Fly completely off her game. She slipped just before the line and ended up down on the floor with the ball still attached to her fingers.
‘Whoa there, Fly. I think you’re supposed to let go of the ball,’ Simmo called. He was in an annoyingly chipper mood, having trounced them all on each of the six games they’d played so far. Deb, on the other hand, was sour as hell. She had never actually been bowling before tonight. It just hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be any good – she was a sporty enough kind of girl, she’d been sure she’d be picking up strikes in no time. But that’s not how it turned out. Deb was appalling – and Simmo was loving it. Every time she stepped up to collect her ball Simmo would pretend to be encouraging.
‘Do your worst, Deb,’ he’d say.
Deb would scowl and concentrate and send the ball straight into the gutter. She was a good-natured loser, though. She would turn, her hands in the air in mock frustration. ‘What am I doing wrong?’
No-one knew where to start.
Now Fly picked herself up off the ground and stared back down the alley.
‘Come on, Fly – show us how to do it,’ called Matt.
She brought the bowling ball up underneath her chin and looked intently at the pins. In her mind, the red stripes around the neck of the pins became the top of Heath’s T-shirt, and suddenly his face appeared just above it.
‘Right, Heath,’ she said softly to herself. ‘Cop this.’
Fly strode forward like a freight train and let the ball go with everything she had in her. There must’ve been something special about her take-off because even the serious bowlers in the next lane stopped to watch. Fly’s ball was going so fast it almost set the floorboards alight. It curled out wide to the right, humming all the way, and then, just at the critical moment, it swung back towards the centre, lined itself up with the target and blew all ten pins to smithereens. The noise was astonishing. Every head in the place turned. There was a long silence. Even the jukebox seemed shocked into stillness, and then the oldest and fattest of the bowlers started a long, slow clap. His fellow bowlers picked up the pace until the whole of the bowling alley was drowning Fly in a round of applause.
She stood there dumbfounded. Fly didn’t have much experience with ‘nasty behaviour’ – it had never seemed like a good option to her. And somehow, getting a round of applause for it didn’t make it seem any better.
They were still talking about Fly’s killer strike when they pulled into the driveway. Fly was first through the door. Maybe she was feeling guilty about having had such a bad thought about Heath in the first place that made her want to check he was okay. Or maybe she just wanted to know that he was home, that he had finished ‘studying’ with Jane, that he was back with the crew. But Heath wasn’t home.
The rest of them sat up till Deb and Simmo went to bed. They were waiting up for a reason. They’d given Fly till ten o’clock to make her decision about the judging session tomorrow. They couldn’t wait any longer.
Matt looked at her. ‘You made a decision, Fly?’
Fly turned to the others. ‘Everyone else wants to do it, don’t they?’
Matt nodded. Fly tried to snap her mind into gear. What did she think about them cheating? It just didn’t seem cool, did it? But she couldn’t manage to make the thought process go any further than that. Her brain just kept switching channels to a thought that ran something like: it was 10.30 and Heath still wasn’t home. What had happened to Deb and Simmo? Why weren’t they ringing him, telling him off for being out past curfew?
Matt was still waiting for an answer.
‘It just feels totally like cheating.’
‘It’s to protect all of us against unfairness, Fly. It’s the reverse of cheating.’
And so, because she didn’t have the energy to argue with him, Fly nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll do it.’
Fly hovered around in the kitchen long after the others had gone up to bed. She got a glass of water. She put the washing-up away. She got another glass of water. When she couldn’t find any other reason to be in there, she finally turned the lights out and headed up the stairs. She was halfway up when she heard the glass door leading towards the kitchen slide open. She was back down the stairs in a flash.
Heath was standing at the door, gently gliding it shut, trying not to wake anyone. He slunk quietly towards the stairs, starting to feel more confident that he’d made a stealthy enough entry, when Fly spoke out of the darkness.
‘How was the study?’
Heath jumped so high he nearly hit the roof. ‘Fly! You scared me half to death! What are you doing?’
‘Coming down to get a glass of water,’ she lied. Heath was too jittery to notice she already held one in her hands.
‘Twelve-thirty – nearly six hours solid. You must know the book pretty well now.’
Even in the darkness Fly could see Heath fidgeting.
‘Yeah, well, it ah, it wasn’t all study.’
‘I bet.’
‘I mean, I did take a break now and then.’
Fly could feel the
glass of water trembling in her hands. She tried to remember what it was that Matt did to banish the shakes, but she couldn’t think of it there and then.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I’m not your mother.’
Heath was no idiot, he knew Fly was not in her usual state of mind. He wasn’t at all sure how to play it.
‘I know that. I was just saying –’
Fly cut him off sharply. ‘Don’t, Heath! Don’t say anything more. There’s no point.’ She turned to the stairs, feeling out on a precipice with no idea how to finish this thing off. She hated confrontations, she just didn’t know how to end them. ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve got a competition tomorrow and I’m going back to sleep. Might be an idea if you got some too.’
She heard how strange and formal it sounded, almost as if the previous conversation hadn’t happened. But it was out now, all she could do was scurry away.
Fly’s blush was in full swing by the time she hit the top of the stairs, her words ringing in her ears. Who knew what Heath would be thinking? What she was certain of was that if he’d ever thought of her as a Hinemoa candidate, she’d just managed to blow that out of the water.
Anna was sitting up in their darkened bedroom as Fly crept in. She didn’t say much, she just moved across and sat next to Fly on the bed.
‘Everything alright?’ Anna asked the darkness.
‘Yeah … No – not really.’
‘Can I help?’
Fly thought about it. Could anyone help? ‘Wish you could, but no – this one’s between me and …’
‘Heath?’
Fly nodded.
They sat in silence for a long time. Fly found herself watching the moonlight twinkling off the fine blonde hairs on her legs.
‘Should I shave my legs?’ she suddenly asked.
‘I don’t think it would make any difference.’
It wasn’t what Fly had meant – had she? Shaving her legs to be more like the fillies … But Anna sensed it and she was right, it wouldn’t make any difference. Fly could feel the tears threatening to spill. She knew if she spoke it would be an invitation for them to stream down her face. So she just nodded instead.
Anna didn’t push it. They just sat there for a while, listening to the ferocious winter waves trying to dismantle the headland outside. That was all Fly needed: nine-foot swells to deal with tomorrow.
After a while she realised there was a warm gentle pressure on her shoulder. It was Anna’s arm, and Anna’s head was asleep on top of it. Fly didn’t think she’d liked anyone more in her life. Not even Heath.
Chapter 21
The swell had managed to get over itself a little by sunrise, but the waves were still steely grey and messy as hell. The ocean seemed to have abandoned any sense of order and waves were coming left and right and any which way in between. So out of whack were its rhythms that every now and then a wave formed close to shore and headed back out to sea, only to smack into an oncoming wave like a head-on accident on the freeway. There had been a brief discussion about whether they should put the whole thing off until next weekend, but Deb was right; the pro circuit didn’t seize up ’cause of winter.
The wind chill factor was enough to help them all choose steamers this morning. Simmo huddled on the beach waiting for them, a beanie pulled down low over his ears. A beanie and a pair of boardies – this was Simmo’s response to winter. Deb, on the other hand, clearly spent many of her winters on the snowfields and had decided to raid the wardrobe early. She turned up ready for battle in a ski parka and thermal legs.
Simmo had set out judges’ chairs for them all and a table, but until they actually sat in the chairs, they kept blowing over, catapaulting down the beach like kids on red cordial. He yelled out against the wind, ‘Did you bring your manuals?’
No-one had. And they had the judging sheets in the back. Fly volunteered to race up and get them, as much to have a few seconds out of the wind as anything. As she bolted up towards the house, something in the park next door caught her eye.
Standing behind the open passenger door of a lemon Volkswagen was Jane. She couldn’t see who was sitting in the driver’s seat, but she could see who was standing next to Jane shooting the breeze. She could tell Heath’s back a mile away. It didn’t knock her for six this time; maybe she was getting used to the idea. She still hated it, but maybe that would pass in time too. Fly picked up the pace, concentrating on getting to the house, on finding those seven manuals, like it was the most important job on the planet.
Back on the beach, listening to Simmo reminding them of what needed to be done, she did everything she could not to watch Heath sloping down the beach. She didn’t see his face, hard and set against the wind. She didn’t want to see his face.
‘Now the girls will surf first,’ Simmo shouted out above the roar, ‘and the boys will do the judging. Everyone clear on how to fill in the forms?’
They mumbled and nodded.
‘Excellent. Perri? I reckon you’re up first.’
Perri was the first out there facing the washing machine. It was churning and turning and serving up a double dose of the spin cycle. Nature had dealt them a card they hadn’t planned on. Getting onto three rideable waves at all, let alone surfing in a way that might’ve scored between six and eight was going to push them all. Even if they managed to pull it off, they were going to have to work for it. After five solid minutes of floundering around, Perri finally managed to find a small left-hander she could stand up on and delivered what could only be described as a very average ride. As she flicked off the back of the crumpling wave she looked to the shore. Fly couldn’t be sure whether her questioning look and hands in the air was a message to the rest of them that this might not come off at all, or whether she was looking to Simmo, asking for some serious rescheduling. Simmo didn’t seem too worried. He just waved her on.
Fly watched the boys shooting nervous looks along the judging table as Perri hunted for her second and third wave. They too delivered distinctly average rides.
Bec was up next. Round two of the very ordinary surfing finals. Bec fought a bit harder than Perri but it didn’t deliver different results. Maybe that was a good thing, since she wouldn’t be given a very different score at the end of the day.
And let’s have it one more time, for Anna. Same awful conditions, slightly more difficult to justify that average score. Anna was doing her best, but she was less experienced in the mess. She looked guiltily at the others as she headed in. No-one held it against her. No-one was sure they could do any better.
Fly was shivering with cold as she bashed her way through the white water. It was so rugged out there she thought she might spoil the whole plan by not even making a wave at all. She could feel the pressure of the team on the shore. What would Matt and his old ‘see what you want’ theory do now? Even as she was thinking it, she felt the wind drop. She knew it had dropped because the pressure on the back of her head gave way. Up until then it had felt like an effort just to stay upright on her board, like there was some giant hand pushing her forward, wanting her to lie down – and suddenly it was gone. The waves weren’t drastically better, but at least she could see.
And what she saw was something almost like a rideable set sweeping around the headland. If she could get onto it, that was one down. And she did. She slid down the charcoal face like a speedskater, and then, remembering the kind of performances she needed to match, she made a deliberate bungle of the bottom turn, almost falling off, before she righted herself and surfed floppily to the end of the wave. Simmo would skin her alive if he knew what she was doing. It was a similar story for her second and third waves. She hated doing it, but she hadn’t stood up for what she believed was right, so she couldn’t really complain.
As Fly pushed in through the white water she saw Deb collect the score sheets from the guys and take them over to Simmo. She saw them talking quietly together.
‘Well if nothing else you were all pretty consistent. And while I�
��d quibble on a couple of points here and there, overall the scores seem pretty fair,’ said Deb.
Fly saw Matt and Edge share a brief glance of triumph – this was going just as they’d planned.
‘Well done, girls. Nothing brilliant, but, given the conditions, all good, solid performances,’ said Simmo.
The girls gave half-smiles and did their best to act natural.
‘Righto, guys – we’ll go, Edge, Matt, Heath, in that order. Ladies, up to the judging table.’
The wind continued to back off as the boys took up their positions. At least Edge and Matt were actually making rides which deserved six, seven, or eight. Matt’s clever thinking looked like it might actually pay off.
And then it was Heath’s turn. Heath was not looking too sharp. Maybe that would teach him not to stay up half the night pretending to be Mr Darcy. He hauled himself to his feet and sloped off towards the water. Even though she was angry with him, Fly couldn’t help hoping he’d do well. She was such a sucker.
Heath sat out the back for a long time. A couple of solid, rideable waves passed him by and he made no move. The rest of them tried not to look at each other, tried not to show on their faces what was in their brains: what was he doing?
Finally Heath took off on a medium-sized wave. It was the kind of wave he’d ridden a bazillion times before. There was no reason on the planet that he shouldn’t have made the drop … but he didn’t. There he was, free-falling through the air like it was his first time out there.
At the judging table, the four girls looked at each other, frozen. How could they possibly stick to the plan? But the train was in motion. Perri was the first to take the plunge. She drew her eight large enough for the rest of them to see that she was sticking to her guns. Bec sighed and drew a large seven on her form. Anna was next, scratching out a six. Fly stared down at her empty page. She bit her lip, hard enough that she tasted the salty spurt of blood shooting forth beneath her teeth. As she scratched out her number in that thick black texta, Fly could feel trouble brewing.
Blue Water High Page 17