Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  “One touched me! Oh my God, it touched meeeee.” She flapped her hands and jumped on the spot.

  I glanced down at her feet where my container of earthworms and mud were spread across the ground. “Great! Not only have you undoubtedly scared away every fish in the vicinity, you’ve also ruined my bait.”

  “Eeeeew.”

  “Stop jumping. You’ll squash the worms.”

  Ellie made a gagging sound and shivered as if she were in the middle of a blizzard. “Blergh, yuk. Disgusting. And don’t you blame me for not catching a stupid fish. That’s your fault. You were too cocky in the first place.”

  I bent down and started to scoop the worms and mud back into my broken container then stood up and walked away. “Come on, let’s head back.”

  “But … you didn’t catch a fish.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Connor, wait. Teach me. Please!” she called out, her tone urgent.

  I stopped walking and slowly turned around. “Teach you what?”

  “To fish.”

  “What?” I choked out.

  “Please. I want to learn.”

  “You want to learn how to bait a hook?”

  She cringed and tried to hide her distaste by over-smiling and over-nodding. “Uh huh.”

  “You want to learn how to cast a line, hook a fish, reel it in, and unhook it?” I took a step toward her. “That involves touching the actual fish.”

  “I know,” she said, continuing to smile, except now her teeth were clenched.

  I laughed like Mr Burns from The Simpsons and handed her the rod. “Okay, but first things first, we need to bait your hook. And we need to do it quietly.”

  “Can’t you do that bit and I’ll watch?”

  “No.”

  She whined. “Okay, but if I’m really going to put my life on the line to do this, you have to answer some questions.”

  “Your life is hardly on the line, Ellie.”

  “Sure it is. What if I get that hook stuck in my finger?”

  “Then you’ll get the hook stuck in your finger and I’ll help get it out.”

  “But … but what if I—”

  I handed her the container of worms. “Find me a big, fat, juicy one.”

  The panic on her face was real—eyes wide, cheeks rosy—and a small part of me felt guilty for putting it there. But it was so funny, and I really wanted to see how far she would go to prove a point. I wanted to know exactly how stubborn she was, how strong and determined. I wanted to see if there was more to Eloise Mitchell than the girly clothes, books, and notebook.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I held my breath as she lowered her trembling hand toward the container, her fingers pinched as she secured a worm between them.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeew. Now what do I do?” she wailed, jumping up and down on the spot, the worm dangling from her fingers.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You thread it onto this hook,” I instructed while handing it to her.

  She tried twirling the worm around the sharp, silver prong. “It won’t stay. Why won’t it stay?”

  The worm wiggled loose and fell to the ground. Ellie screamed and jumped back.

  I continued to laugh. “Because you have to hook it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hook it?”

  I nodded.

  “You mean stab it and kill it?”

  I nodded again.

  “NO!” She took another step back and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s so mean. Uh ah. No way. I’m not doing that.”

  “Why not? It’s gonna die and be eaten anyway.”

  “I know, but the fish will be the murderer, not me.”

  “What?” I shook my head and laughed some more, confused by her logic. “But you murder the fish in the process, so you’ll be a murderer as well.”

  She stared at me, her eyelids barely apart, her lips pressed before a sly smile spread across her face. “I like it when you laugh, Connor.”

  My laughing ceased, and I watched as she sucked in a deep breath, squatted down, and picked up the worm. “And I like that I can make you laugh,” she added, standing upright again. Ellie then took the hook from my hand and thread the worm on it like a pro before letting go to watch it dangle on the end of the rod. “There. Done.”

  She scrubbed her hands together then stood still, waiting for my response, a response I couldn’t give out of shock that she’d actually baited the hook without hesitation … until I noticed her fake wall start to crumble, her fingers twitching by her sides, her feet shuffling, and her face very slowly contorting.

  My smile returned just as she squealed her disgust and frantically wiped her hands down her jacket.

  “Yuk, yuk, yuk, YUUUUK!”

  Laughter burst out of me yet again. “Oh my God! You nearly had me.”

  “So?” She wiped some more and glared at the hook. “I still did it.”

  “Yeah, you did. Well done.”

  “I’m not doing it again.”

  I went to hand her the rod but decided I’d cast off for her instead. She’d earned it. Plus, I didn’t want to chance losing an eye.

  Twisting the rod over my shoulder, I let the bail go as I swung my arm forward, casting the hook and line into the river several metres ahead of us. The float broke the surface with a plop and the spool spun, unravelling as the hook and line sunk into the water.

  “Here,” I said, handing the rod to her. “Keep your finger here, and if you feel a tug, quickly pull the rod up.”

  She took it, tentatively, and eyed the river with unease. “What if I get pulled in?”

  “You won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Shh, you’ll scare the fish away.”

  Ellie grumbled and stomped her foot, and it was probably the cutest thing I’d ever seen. She was just so real. No crap. No pretending. And the more time we spent together, the more normal I felt again. I could smile and laugh without wanting to stop because Aaron wasn’t there to smile and laugh with me.

  “Connor,” she said, quietly, “tell me something about you.”

  I shot her a sideways glance. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Who’s your favourite singer?”

  “Um … I like Phil Collins and Bon Jovi.”

  “Cool. I like them too.”

  Water lapped the riverbank, the sound breaking our sudden silence, and I felt compelled to ask her something. “Do you like sport?”

  “Sure. I play netball every Saturday. I’m Goal Shooter. I shoot the goals with the Goal Attack.”

  “Cool. I’m a shooting guard.” I quickly corrected myself. “Was a shooting guard.”

  “What team did you play for?”

  “Peninsula Panthers, and we also represented Victoria in the East Coast Challenge.”

  “We?”

  “Aaron and I. We’d both had our eyes set on the Australian Junior Championship League.”

  She turned to face me. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Before Aaron got sick, I reckon he was a strong chance of being selected.”

  “Wow! That’s cool but also sad. I’m sorry.”

  My chest tightened again and, this time, I wanted to change the subject. “What’s your favourite food?”

  “Pizza. You?”

  I smiled. “Pizza.”

  “What’s your favourite topping?”

  “Meatlovers.”

  “Mine too!”

  We both smiled and laughed, but then Ellie stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I felt something,” she whispered, nodding her head toward the rod.

  “I stared at the line and it jerked.”

  She stiffened even more. “There it is again!”

  “You’ve got company.”

  “What kind of company?”

  “I don’t know, maybe cod or perch. Maybe even trout.”

  “Quick! Take it.” Sh
e tried handing me the rod, so I put my hands behind my head.

  “Uh ah. You can do it.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Take a breath and relax, and next time you feel it, wrench the rod up quickly to try and snag the fish, and then wind the reel.”

  We waited for what seemed like minutes. It was the quietest she’d been since I met her.

  “I think it’s gone,” she whispered but then screamed and wrenched the rod up. “No. It’s still there.” The rod bounced as she frantically wound the reel.

  “You hooked it,” I said, excited for her.

  “I DID?”

  “Yes. Is it heavy?”

  “Not really. It’s just pulling.”

  “Good. Keep winding and slowly pull back then wind again, like this.” I helped this time, stepping up behind her and wrapping my arms around her body to guide her actions.

  “I caught a fish,” she squealed.

  “Not yet, you haven’t.”

  “What?” She tried to turn in my arms to look at me. “Why not?”

  My breath caught at the glimmer of her pretty green eyes, my body tense that she was so close. I’d never felt anything like it in my life.

  I choked. “Because it can still get away.”

  “Over my dead body.” Ellie’s grip on the rod tightened, and she wound the spool with more determination. “That fish is mine. I didn’t touch a disgusting worm for nothing.”

  Chuckling, I inched back to give her the space she needed, and then I laughed again. And it was probably the most I’d laughed since long before Aaron’s death.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellie

  In the days that followed, Connor had somehow managed to get me to touch a total of four more fish. Four. He’d even tried to get me to kiss one before throwing it back because, apparently, that was ‘fish law’. If you didn’t kiss the fish, no mutual ‘fish respect’ was created. Pfft. I hadn’t believed him. I also hadn’t kissed Trevor the trout despite Trevor’s annoying pleas for me to do so.

  The two of us had pretty much spent nearly every waking minute together for the remainder of our holiday, and if we weren’t fishing or sitting by the river—him playing his guitar and me writing my notes—we’d been talking about sport and music … and Aaron.

  It still wasn’t easy for him to open up about his best friend, but I’d found that the more time we spent together the more he smiled, laughed, and sang. And I couldn’t help but feel a very big part of that breakthrough.

  After starting at our respective schools, Connor and I saved each other a seat on the bus every morning and every afternoon. He’d tell me about his day and the friends he made or didn’t make, and I would do the same.

  Connor’s school was the newest in the district and had fancy buildings and facilities. Before it opened a few years back, Dad had taken Chris and me for a tour, maybe in the hope we’d like to go there.

  We hadn’t, and Dad had been okay with that.

  Part of me now regretted my decision, and not just because of Connor but also because of the library. It was huge, new, and full of books—so many more than what my school had.

  Not long after we started the second term of school, I’d thought about asking Dad if I could transfer. But Dad’s school uniform colour was yellow, green and grey, which clashed with my bright red hair.

  It had been the deciding factor.

  What had also helped me decide to stay at Eastside was Connor’s invitation to hang out at his house after school, because I just knew it was the beginning of the two of us spending even more time together, and I wouldn’t have to change schools for that to happen.

  I really, really, liked him and hoped that one day, when we were both ready, he’d ask me to be his girlfriend, because I definitely wouldn’t ask him. That was the boy’s job, not the girl’s. What if he asks me tonight, after school, at his house? What if that’s why he wanted me to go there?

  Sucking in a deep breath, I wrung my hands in my lap as the bus turned a corner.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to ask your parents or Chris if you can hang at my place? I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

  I shook my head at Connor who was getting ready to stand up as we approached his bus stop. I had other things to worry about now, like what we were going to do, alone, at his house. Plus, I’d already let Chris know my plans before we’d left school.

  Exiting the bus, we walked along the street to his house when Connor gently guided my school bag strap from my shoulder and slung it over his.

  “Oh,” I stuttered. “Thank—”

  “Jesus, Ellie!” he exclaimed, hoisting the bag for a second time. “What have you got in this thing? A car?”

  I giggled and rolled my shoulder, welcoming the rest. “No car. Just books.”

  “How many … a whole library?”

  I shrugged and rolled my shoulder again. “Um … you could say that.”

  “Why so many?”

  “Because I found them in the library at school, and I really wanted to read them.”

  “Surely you’re not going to read them all in one night, though?”

  “Of course not. I just didn’t want someone else checking them out, so I kinda borrowed them all.”

  “How many is ‘all’?”

  “Fifteen.”

  He stopped and gave my backpack a disgusting look. “FIFTEEN!”

  “Yeah.” I grinned, impressed with my efforts. “In that backpack is every Christopher Pike book I could find.”

  Connor’s look of disgust turned to one of confusion, his eyes criss-crossing as he shook his head. It was super cute, and I couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Remember that book I was reading on our camping trip?”

  “Yeah. Kinda.”

  “Well, it was sooooo good, like one of the best I’ve ever read. I loved it. And I’ve been reading his books ever since. He has a ton of them. I want to read every single one.”

  “So you borrowed them all at once? That’s crazy. You’re a Crazy McCrazy Head.”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes and flung my hand in his direction—I’d painted my nails bright pink and hoped he’d notice. He didn’t, so I continued. “The school library doesn’t have all of his books. As far as I know, I’m missing two: Scavenger Hunt, and his newest release, Fall into Darkness. Ugh! My school library is so stupid.”

  “By the feel of it, you’ll be busy reading these for quite a while.” He hoisted the bag again.

  “Oh, come on,” I said, flittering my pretty painted nails again. “Where’re all of your big manly muscles?”

  His back straightened, and I had to crane my neck and shield the sun from my eyes just to look up at him.

  “I’m not complaining because it’s too heavy for me, Ellie. I’m complaining because it’s too heavy for you.”

  “Says who? I didn’t complain that it was heavy.” And I hadn’t, even though my shoulders and back had silently cried in agony.

  Connor stopped walking and pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt before flexing his bicep. “There. There’s one of my manly muscles.”

  I blushed. Hard. His bicep was big for a boy of his age.

  Not wanting him to sense me crushing on him, I placed my hand on my hip and gave him a fake unimpressed smile. “Is that why you asked me to your house … to show me how strong you are?”

  Connor turned and proceeded to walk backwards, facing me, his dimples popping like bubblegum. “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see. It’s a surprise.”

  Surprise? My stomach flipped at the mention. I hated surprises. It was also the very second I remembered thinking the reason he’d wanted me to go to his house was because he might ask me to be his girlfriend. I wanted to be, more than anything, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be any good at it.

  “A surprise?” I squeaked. “What’s a surprise?”

  “The surprise, silly.”

  “But … I hate surprises.”<
br />
  His cheeks turned crimson. “Well … I’m hoping you’ll like this one.”

  Oh my God! What if the surprise is a kiss? What if he skips the asking and goes straight for a lip-lock?

  I’d never kissed a boy before. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how fast, long, wet, or dry. I didn’t know where to put my hands or what to say afterwards.

  I just … didn’t know.

  He stopped walking as I opened my mouth to tell him I had to go home because the dishes weren’t done, and that it was my job to do them, and I had to do them or I’d die a fiery death.

  “You okay?” he asked. “You’ve gone a little pale.”

  My hands flew to my cheeks. “Oh, really?”

  “Do you want to take a seat for a second?” He pointed to a double-storey, brown-brick house across the street. “Or we could just keep going, ‘cause that’s my house, just over there. I’ll get you some water or a Coke or something.”

  It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to lie and flee, but I couldn’t leave. I honestly didn’t want to despite how terrified I was of what was to happen next.

  I was nearly thirteen and never been kissed.

  It was time.

  The sudden urge to take out my notebook and write what I was feeling was overbearing, but as I stood under a Wildfire Gum, face to face with Connor, now wasn’t the time for words. It was the time to be brave and drink Coke with the cutest boy I’d ever laid eyes on.

  And it was the time to possibly experience my first ever kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  Connor

  Shortly after we arrived at my house, I offered Ellie a Coke. She was puffing from her spontaneous dash across the road and it worried me, because the distance she’d run wasn’t much farther than a basketball court yet she was clearly exhausted. She didn’t look unfit, and I was positive she didn’t smoke cigarettes.

  “You sure you’re all right?” I asked, eyeing her suspiciously as I leaned against our kitchen sink, my arms crossed over my chest, the rim of my Coke can resting against my lips. The urge to reach out and touch her, to offer some form of reassurance, rub her back, maybe even give her mouth-to-mouth was overwhelming. But I didn’t budge. I just hovered like a protective father instead.