The Summer of Kicks Read online

  ‘Kind of, but it’s not …’

  She looks to me. She’s asking for approval.

  ‘It’s cool. You go,’ I say. ‘I’ll um … I’ll just wait here. Reece’ll be picking me up soon anyway. I’ll see you at work, yeah?’ I say yeah, but it’s not the yeah that means I’m totally endorsing her skipping off into the night with Barry Big-arms, but what can I do? Sometimes a better offer just comes along.

  ‘OK, let’s go, Elle,’ Dylan says.

  Elle?

  He puts his arm behind Ellie’s back, his hand pats her bum and she doesn’t move it or tell him to stop and I want to but I won’t.

  She turns to me as they move away, and calls out, ‘See you in the morning, Ernie,’ and she looks at Dylan and they share a secret giggle that’s just for the two of them, and suddenly it’s just me. Me and the wind and the rain in my face and while it was endearing before, when I was watching it sprinkle down on Ellie, now it’s just stinging my eyes and pissing me off. And all the things I was too gutless to do earlier I’d do in a heartbeat. Just give me the chance right now and I’ll follow through this time, I swear.

  Sure.

  Now, I have the balls.

  Chapter 22

  Solo flow

  The Java Flow is a little quiet. The pre-dinner coffee drinkers have all headed home or moved on to have their evening meal somewhere else. It’s just me here.

  I walk to the counter. I’ll sit and hold a coffee. Hands around the cup, smell it in, and maybe it’ll take me back for a while. Back with Ellie, but still alone.

  ‘Four bucks, sunshine,’ says Biceps Matt, and I fumble through my pockets, pull out a dollar coin and some silver. Great. Can’t even drown my sorrows properly.

  I sit near the window, staring out onto the street, occasionally sipping on my complimentary tap water. People pass by and I notice those in twos, mostly. They’ve found their matches. Partnered up. Just beyond the window, it’s a parade of the connected, and it’s only glass that separates us, but it’s a barrier nonetheless, and I’ve not been invited to cross it.

  Twenty minutes, maybe more, have passed and as Java Guy mops the floor around me, I get the feeling he’s considering calling it a night, so I think about standing. It’s still a while till Reece’s mum is due to collect me and take us to Candace’s party, but I really couldn’t give a crap now whether we go or not. I think about those last few moments with Ellie again, and I just want to be there, and it’s funny how one syllable can make such a difference. When that Dylan guy called Ellie Elle – it’s almost like he knows a complete side of Ellie that’s all his, and has nothing to do with me.

  I pick up my glass, half empty now, and move towards the counter. Watching Java Guy swish and swirl the mop into the corners, I half jump as a hand taps my shoulder.

  ‘Ah, I see why you’re still here.’ I turn, and it’s Ellie. ‘The Java’s real drawcard is their bitchin’ tap water.’

  ‘But … what about that dude?’ I say. ‘Muscly hand-on-bum guy?’

  ‘Oh, Dylan?’ she says. ‘We were going to head to Stu’s but opted for a quickie in the car park,’ she teases. ‘Very satisfying. He knows just how to treat a girl.’ She smiles. ‘No, it was going to be just a hang with the guys from my old school, which would have been cool, but then they started making plans to go get liquored up and act like tools down by the water and as thrilling as that sounded I figured they’d have just as good a time without me, so … here I am.’

  We walk outside. The second-chance fairy has been good to me.

  ‘Are you sure you’re cool? I mean, do you need a ride anywhere or anything?’ I ask. I don’t have a ride but I ask anyway.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I texted my dad right after I left Dylan and the guys. He’ll be here in about five. Think I’m just gonna stay in tonight. I might listen to your mum’s sex show. You know. Learn some tricks. Take some notes,’ she laughs again.

  And the pressure’s on. Five minutes. Find the perfect place. Choose the perfect moment. Kiss the girl. All before her dad turns up. Only four minutes and fifty seconds left. Forty-nine. Forty-eight …

  The lights from the street are bright, but the shadows of night surround us and although we’re in a public place, it feels intimate. Just the two of us. I touch her face – Always a good start, Mum says. But remember to be respectful. Be manly, but not forceful – there’s a difference. And what’s that other thing Mum always says? Oh, is it, Wake up, you idiot – the girl of your dreams is standing in front of you, waiting for you to kiss her, and all you can think about is your mother? Nothing personal, Mum, but it’s time for you to go.

  Ellie’s skin is cool and softer than I expect against my hand. I look into her eyes, their greenness drawing me in, telling me that this is right. I lean towards her and she brings her face closer to mine. Her eyes close, a symbol of her wanting me, her surrender to me. Our lips share the slightest touch and I feel her breathe in, a hurried shallow breath. And then we connect. Her lips pressing gently against mine. This is happening. And it’s this moment, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night. I’ve been waiting all night and all week, all my life for this, and her hands are around my neck and my right hand is on her shoulder and I can feel her bra strap under my fingers – not intentionally, but it’s there and it’s the first one I’ve ever touched – well, except, I suppose, for Mum’s bra, but that’s different. That was hanging out the washing. And technically I’ve hung out Rue’s too, but … God! Don’t think about your sister’s bra! Crap. Christ. La la la la … new thought, new thought! OK, OK, it’s the first bra I’ve ever touched while someone’s been wearing it. Good. Good. Unless you count when I was a baby and breastfeeding, but – Jesus! Now I’m thinking about my mum’s boobs! Focus, dammit – focus!

  Our lips are together and there’s definitely kissing going on, but there’s something that’s not quite right.

  Is it that her lips are too dry? Or mine? Did we make an awkward mouth connection? Whatever it is, they’re not sliding around like I expected them to. It’s all too … weird. Pull away. Abort. Restart the mission.

  ‘Um … can we …?’ I don’t even know how to say it. ‘Should we start again?’

  ‘Sure,’ she whispers. ‘Let’s.’

  I watch her eyes close and I bring my face to hers again. We meet, our lips together, and this time her mouth opens with mine, and I’m finding her tongue with my own, or at least I’m trying to, because her teeth clang awkwardly against my teeth and I can’t ask for a second restart, so I continue – keep moving my tongue, but her teeth are in the way again. Is her mouth open too wide? My hand is on her cheek and I quickly slip it down to her jaw, to investigate. It feels exactly like a jaw and I’m none the wiser. And suddenly her tongue is nowhere to be found, and it’s just lips and teeth now. Good God – what is this? I know I’ve had zero per cent drive-time in the kissing department, but it feels a little like I’m making out with a steel pole or a surgical skeleton with braces or … what the hell was that? Did she just breathe out into my mouth? Holy crap – where did she learn to do that? I remember being thirteen or fourteen, practice-kissing Candace McAllister into my pillow at night, and I’m pretty sure that I had the whole process nailed, ready to road-test, but I get the feeling that Ellie might not have shared my enthusiasm for perfecting the technique before trying it out in the real world. And where the hell are you now with your bag full of kissing advice, Mum? I can’t tell her she’s an awful kisser, can I? But surely if this is how she kisses, someone else would’ve brought it to her attention in the past. Wouldn’t they? And her tongue is back again, but I have no idea what it’s trying to do. I lick at it or something. I don’t even know. I just want this to stop. This is not the ride I bought a ticket for.

  We pull apart and I have no idea what look my face is projecting, and Ellie – I can’t even imagine what’s going through her head.


  ‘Mmm,’ she says, a smile spreading across her face. ‘That was nice.’ And now I know. She thinks that what we’ve just taken part in – that clanky, uncomfortable coming together of mouths and teeth – is exactly how kissing works, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. She thinks it was warm and wonderful and something to smile about, but it wasn’t. She thinks it was us taking the next step, but honestly I feel like stepping away.

  And here’s her dad, right on time, and I’m so glad. If there was even as little as a minute between the kiss and the pick-up, I don’t have a clue what I’d say to her. How I could comment or where I would even start. Her dad pulls up and I almost want to shake his hand.

  Once inside the car she puts down her window. ‘That was a nice night, Ernie,’ she says, and I guess she’s looking at me, but I feel guilty looking into her eyes, so I fake a sneeze and look away. ‘See you at work, then?’ she says, and she really seems to have no idea that anything is wrong. To Ellie, our kiss was the perfect end to a perfect night. But for me it’s changed things. Is that superficial? I honestly don’t know how I feel. From what I’ve heard, feelings are feelings and they speak the truth. There are no right or wrong feelings, Mum says. Just right and wrong actions. So how do I feel? Weird? Definitely. Disappointed? For sure. And as I stand alone on this footpath that just half an hour ago had me desperately wanting the chance to kiss Ellie, to have that moment, feeling all the things I was feeling for her, right now I’d give anything to go back.

  ‘It’s coming up to nine-thirty on another beautiful summer evening, and from now until midnight I’m all yours. If it’s a quiet night at home, maybe just you and the cat, meet me on the other side of the break. I’m Sheila Sweet and I promise you won’t be disappointed.’

  Not words you particularly want to hear your mother purring across the radio. Telling the world that if they spend a couple of hours with her they won’t be disappointed.

  ‘Your mother, Starrphyre, she really know her stuff,’ Reece’s mum, Mrs Chen, says as we pull up to a set of lights. ‘You know I phoned in one night? She gave great advice.’

  ‘Really, Mum?’ Reece says. ‘And do you think we want to hear all about it? Change the subject. Seriously.’

  ‘I’m just saying she was helpful,’ Reece’s mum says. ‘Helpful in all kinds of ways.’

  ‘Holy frick, Mum, are you kidding me? Now I have mental images to erase. Just stop it, will you? Stop it!’

  ‘Oh, shoosh-oosh, Reecey, she’s back on,’ Mrs Chen says and we’re all silent again, waiting for my mother to smear her vocal cure-all over the next sexually inept caller.

  ‘Welcome back,’ she says. ‘You’re listening to Sweeter Sex. I’m Sheila Sweet and tonight we’re navigating that rocky road, that sometimes challenging pathway, from the friend-zone to the bedroom. Now before we take another call I’d like to open up a much more innocent topic. There’s a young man I know, who shall remain nameless, who has found himself in a situation that many of us might have been in at one stage or another. This young man, who incidentally once lived in my uterus, has himself a rather huge schoolboy crush on a lovely young girl, who seemingly ticks all his boxes.’

  ‘Dude, who do you know that lived in your mum’s uterus?’ Reece laughs as an elbow jabs into my ribs.

  But I’m not laughing.

  ‘Holy crap, man, she’s talking about Candace!’

  I say nothing.

  ‘This is what we typically refer to as a fantasy crush,’ Mum continues. ‘From a distance only. It’s a safe crush in that the chances of it ever developing into something real are quite slim.’

  ‘Harsh,’ Reece says.

  ‘From what I understand, she’s the “it girl” – the ninety per cent girl, the one that ninety per cent of the boys are fixated on. Now the young man in question has been infatuated with this one for years, never wavering. But recently he met another girl, whom he’s really quite keen on. She’s different from the “it girl”. Not as pretty, so I understand. Not quite so Barbie doll. But she makes him laugh and as it turns out, he’s a little smitten with her, too.

  ‘And thus we’ve entered the “Like Triangle”. At this point, although it’s all very innocent, we need to be mindful that there are real people involved, and there’s the very real potential for someone to get hurt. So listeners, we’re faced with questions. Can the real girl he’s just met live up to the fantasy girl he’s built up in his mind and idolised for so long? Can he have a healthy, rewarding relationship with the new girl while he’s still obsessed with the other? And which boxes are the right ones to tick when selecting a potential partner? The lines are open. Nine two four sixty-nine sixty-nine. Let’s take your calls.’

  Yes, let’s do that.

  But please shoot me first.

  Chapter 23

  Beauty and the geeks

  It’s not like she personally handwrote me an invitation and delivered it to my door or anything. Not like she invited me on purpose. It was a blanket invite. Everyone on the netball team. Everyone on the football team. Anyone from dance, the drama society or the musical. And so here we are. Or here I am. And Reece? He’s my plus-one, I guess.

  Candace McAllister’s house is not at all like ours. The gravel driveway is a huge semi-circular beast. Cars going in, dropping off, looping back out again. The front door is the lumberjack of doors – three metres high, with a chunky pewter handle that would have cost more than Mum’s car. There’s a heavy smell of decking oil or wood varnish, and I get the impression that the house is new, completed just in time to be showcased at Candace’s end-of-year party.

  Reece and I step inside and I’m hoping to God that it doesn’t take long before we see someone we know. The place is buzzing with six-foot-three buff, tanned guys in boardies and no shirts and super-model-quality females. Three girls in bikinis slink past us, holding plastic cups and giggling their way towards whatever hot boy has sparked their interest. The house itself is enormous and I’m guessing that the McAllisters don’t struggle to put food on the table. High ceilings and polished concrete floors. There’s lots of white. Lots of glass. We step through the crowd, single file, shimmying past groups of kids our age who all ooze confidence without trying to or even realising it. Something wrapped in pastry is cooking in the kitchen, trays coming out of the oven, trays going in. The whole process operated by people my age. I don’t see any adults. It’s not a concern, just an observation. We’re out by the pool, beyond the dance floor – because every house needs one – and we pour ourselves a drink to at least give us something to do. Reece suggests Coke over Fanta, because to someone else, someone you might want to impress, Coke could be anything at a glance. Fanta? Not so much.

  ‘Oh, hey, guess what, Starrph?’ Reece says. Without giving me time to guess, he answers his own question. ‘Hemmo’s got us a gig.’

  ‘Got us what?’

  ‘A gig, New Year’s Eve,’ and he’s smiling like a cat with opposable thumbs who just stumbled upon the key to the mouse cage. ‘It’s just one song, but it’s a live gig, man. They want us to play.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘The Tavern,’ Reece says. He whips out his phone, and scrolls up to show me his most recent photo. As I enlarge the image on the screen, I see that the big white sign that alerts punters to the goings on at the Tavern is proudly displaying the following festive information:

  New Year’s Eve at the Tavern: Tony & Vera – Tango Magic, Mystic Maureen – Hypnotist, the Brittney Pigs – YouTube. Entry FREE!

  ‘They want us because we’re famous, dude! Well, technically, you’re famous,’ he says, ‘but hey. Hemmo reckons the lady he spoke to is totally into the song too, but she wants us to switch it up, you know, do a Christmassy version.’

  ‘A Christmassy version? Of “Do Rude Things to Me”? Are you freaking kidding?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Reece. ‘That’s what he said.’ He pulls a folded
A4 page from his back pocket. ‘How about “Do Rude Things to My Reindeer”?’ he suggests with a laugh. ‘We can work on some lyrics or something now if you like?’ and I guess it’s not a bad idea. It’s not like anyone’s likely to require our services for any other reason while we’re here.

  ‘Reece-eeeaay!’ says a voice I don’t recognise.

  ‘Luke-eeeaay!’ responds Reece, and with Luke-eeeaay’s arm around his shoulder, they turn towards the house and are immediately swallowed up by the crowd.

  And here I am.

  Half an hour or maybe even an hour has passed and I haven’t spoken to a soul. I’ve been outside, circled the pool area three or four times, been up the back near the stack of branches and offcuts that will become the bonfire later on, but Polar Fleece Reece has seemingly done a runner. So I’m on the sofa. Sure, I’m at the party, but I’m not a part of the party. Not an essential element. Like the feature wallpaper above the fireplace, I’m merely décor, and it’s a safe bet that between me and the wallpaper, it’s going to score the most attention tonight.

  ‘Hey, I know you. You’re that guy, the YouTube guy.’

  I nod.

  Candace sits down on the couch next to me, kind of flops down into it, and her thigh instantly becomes attached to mine. ‘Hey, I’m Candace,’ she says.

  What the hell?

  ‘Hi,’ I say. What else can I say? You already know me? I was the lead in Grease and so were you? We’ve been in a bunch of the same classes together since year seven? You probably don’t know it, but I sit and stare at you for thirty-five minutes straight every science lesson and for the past four years I’ve had such a huge crush on you that most days my only focus is how to catch another glimpse of you so I can file it away in my mind and add it to my collection?

  ‘I’m Starrphyre,’ I manage.

  ‘What’s that?’

  I say it again. God, I just wish my name was Tim.