That One Summer (The Summer Series)

  “He’ll be all right, you know.” Chris’s words broke me away from my thoughts, my eyes shielding their confusion behind his sunnies.

  When I didn’t answer he continued, “Ringer – he’ll only need a few stitches. Trust me, I’ve seen him banged up worse over the years.”

  Oh God. Ringer. I’d forgotten all about him.

  I inwardly cringed, feeling even worse. Poor Ringer, poor Tess. Who else could I pity?

  “You weren’t even thinking about Ringer, were you?” Chris asked, glancing at me and back at the road.

  I chewed on my lip. “No,” I admitted, hating how guilty I sounded when I said it.

  Chris sighed. “You’re not worrying about my bonehead brother, are you? I threatened him with grievous bodily harm if he goes stirring.”

  My mouth involuntarily curved upward. I could totally imagine Chris had done exactly that.

  “Although, thinking about it,” he continued, “probably a bit harsh considering.”

  “Considering what?” I asked.

  “Well, we are kind of provoking them to talk about us, so we can’t exactly get mad if they do.”

  “True. Still, you don’t want to be known as ‘Christopher Condom’ to your mates, do you? You know how a nickname can stick.”

  Chris laughed. “I’m guilty of handing out a few myself.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  Chris winced. “You know Alan Pasternack?”

  My smile fell from my face. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  I didn’t know whether to openly gasp or be impressed. Alan Pasternack was a year below Chris at school and had been famously known for being the paper delivery boy whose mates bet him one hundred dollars to cut his hair into a mullet. He never saw the hundred dollars and the mullet stuck around a bit too long. But more famously than that, Alan got a nickname: Pastel-Knacker. It was both cringeworthy and highly amusing and all of a sudden I saw the Onslow Boy in Chris, in the devious, boyish grin he flashed.

  It was kind of hot.

  I controlled my urge to smile and looked out of the window as I said, “Kids can be so cruel.”

  “Well, I imagine there isn’t much word play on a name like Tamara Maskala.”

  I thought back to a less happy time. “I think the worst I got in school was Tamara Mascara.”

  “Not the most imaginative lot,” Chris mused. A service station loomed on the horizon and Chris flicked the indicator on. “Better top up,” he said, veering off the main road toward the mustard and off-white service station.

  “Mmm,” I responded, my mind miles away, this time not haunted by the present but by the past.

  Chris pulled into the servo, unclipped his belt and slid out.

  “Did you want anything?”

  I shook my head.

  Minutes passed, but it could have been hours for all I knew as I stared off into nowhere, shucking off my shoes and hugging my legs so as not to jig them while lost in my thoughts.

  A burst of warm air flooded through the front seat as Chris opened his door and slid back inside, juggling an armful of drinks and chips: two of everything.

  He rustled through his goods. “Chewy?” He held out a Juicy Fruit packet. I smiled, held out my hand and he flicked two white parcels onto my palm.

  “Thanks,” I said, popping both into my mouth. I chewed my gum and watched Chris’s profile as he took a long swig on a bottle of creamy soda. I was thankful that he didn’t press me for my thoughts, demand to know what was wrong. He wasn’t that guy.

  It seemed I was more guarded than I realised, although I should have known, seeing as how I kept my guard up even with Amy, my best friend. It wasn’t normal to keep things bottled up, was it? Keeping things to yourself, keeping secrets? Look at Toby and the colossal mistake he was making by not speaking up. Not that I had such a burden of my own, still not thinking Chris would really care to know. I decided against my better judgement to voice my thoughts.

  I grabbed my knees tighter and parked my gum in my cheek so I could talk without chewing. “When I was in Year Seven, I remember all the boys compiled a list.”

  Chris lowered his drink, looking at me as if surprised his quiet companion was suddenly speaking. Or surprised I was out of the blue talking about when I was in Year Seven. Or both.

  He shifted in his seat, facing me to listen.

  “It was a list of the perfect dream girl; if they could take traits from each girl in our group, what would it be? So they chose Melinda Smart’s legs, Fiona Martin’s face, Amy Henderson’s body, Carla McKay’s hair … something of each girl in our group. They even chose hands, eyes, personality.”

  “Sounds like Frankenstein’s bride,” mused Chris.

  I laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “So what part were you sacrificing?” Chris asked, screwing the lid back on his drink and placing it aside.

  I stared at my knees. “They didn’t want anything from me.” I shrugged. “Not even my brain.”

  I said it so matter-of-factly I didn’t expect for Chris’s good humour to slide away, for his eyes to narrow. I wasn’t looking for pity; it was just what had been on my mind.

  The mind is funny how it can flow like a stream; wash from one subject to the next. Tammy Mascara wasn’t even all that bad; it certainly wasn’t my worst memory. Being the frizzy-haired, shy girl in school hadn’t been easy. I hadn’t fit in then and I didn’t now, but that was okay. Even though many of my personal traits remained the same, I was happy to say I wasn’t that shy girl anymore. I had worked hard to ensure that.

  Chris opened and closed his hand on the steering wheel, focusing on the motion, deep in thought.

  “Yeah, boys do things like that,” he said quietly. “In fact, I probably would have done the same thing if I’d been there.”

  What was he saying? That he wouldn’t have picked any part of me as his dream girl, either? Something panged inside me, a raw emotion that bubbled to the surface and pooled into a toxic slick.

  It was an honest admission. I just hadn’t expected my heart to sink so much.

  “Mine would have been a bit different, though,” he said, his brow furrowing, concentrating on the flex of his hands as they clasped the steering wheel. Clench and relax, clench and relax. Perhaps this was his leg jiggling equivalent. I was considering reaching out to stop it in a moment; I smiled a small, secret smile at the thought.

  His hands slid over the wheel, his beautiful hands.

  “Oh, and what would have made yours so different?” I half laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too forced.

  His hand stilled. Gripping the top of the wheel, he sat straight back in his seat.

  “Because if I’d had to choose perfect, I would have just chosen you.”

  He had said it so clearly. Matter-of-fact. So certain, and now his eyes were on me, deep and burning as if a fist had wrapped around my heart and squeezed it to a stop.

  I swallowed deeply, looking at him, waiting for him to break into laughter, to say ‘just kidding’ and start the car up and be back on our way.

  But he didn’t.

  “I would choose your legs even when they’re jigging and driving me to distraction. I’d choose your face because it creases into something so amazing when you find something funny (which, incidentally, isn’t often enough for my liking).

  “I’d choose the way your cheeks go red whenever you’re embarrassed, just like they are now.

  “I’d choose the fact that you’re smart, kind and funny and you don’t even know it.” His eyes ticked over my face in a long, silent study. “It’s a pretty big list, but yeah. I’d choose everything about you.”

  My chin trembled like I was a small child.

  “Well, you obviously don’t remember the frizzy-haired girl from school, because I assure you if you did—”

  “I remember,” he said, cutting me off. “I remember the knock-kneed, shy girl who used to drink raspberry lemonade in the restaurant and openly swoon at Sean Mur
phy every time he came into your vicinity.”

  I cringed. Yep, he remembered me.

  Chris smiled. “You’re not as invisible as you think.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  There was nothing like the blast of a car horn to pour ice water over a moment.

  Sean pulled in behind us, honking his horn in a series of annoying rhythms.

  “Way to go, lead foot!” he shouted out of the window.

  The whole way from Evoka Springs, Chris had overtaken every car until he’d had an open road in front of him. It had earned him some jeering, lewd hand gestures and aggravated toots along the way from Sean, Adam and Toby, but Chris had just coolly saluted and flattened the accelerator pedal to the floor.

  As I checked my flushed cheeks in the rear-view mirror, a yellow car appeared in the reflection as Ellie and Adam pulled in next. Seeing them brought me back to reality. They pulled into a parking bay. Toby and Tess wouldn’t be far away.

  “It’s not my fault you drive like an old woman,” Chris called back.

  As he went to open the car door I grabbed his arm.

  “Do we have to go with the others?” I said.

  Chris’s gaze dropped to where my hand rested. I quickly drew it away, my mind whirring over how best to explain my outburst.

  From the look on his face, Chris was wondering the same thing.

  Please don’t ask me why. I didn’t want to face Toby and Ellie. I honestly didn’t know what I’d say to them if I did.

  He silently appraised me as if I were some puzzle that had to be solved. I braced myself for the questions to begin, so when he did nothing more than open his car door and slide out of the seat, I didn’t know how to feel about that. Had I angered him by wanting to ditch his friends? I guessed that was essentially what I was asking.

  “An old woman? On behalf of old women everywhere, I resent that,” Sean said incredulously as he ambled over to Chris.

  “You try lugging all this gear weighing me down – the ute’s half full of Amy’s beauty products.”

  “I heard that,” called Amy from Sean’s ute.

  Chris leaned his elbows on the open door of the van. “You going to wait at Portland for the verdict on Ringer?”

  “Yeah, I’ll call Stan when we get there,” said Sean.

  Chris nodded sombrely. “Okay. We might push on past Portland, catch up with you at Point Shank.” He said it so casually, like it was no big deal, but Sean’s eyes immediately darted toward me, then back to Chris.

  He flashed a less-than-subtle cheesy grin. “I see,” Sean mused.

  “What’s going on?” Adam sidled up with a bucket of hot chips and a Coke under his arm.

  “We’re getting ditched,” said Sean.

  “Get stuffed.” Chris half laughed before slinking back into the driver’s seat, shutting his door. “I won’t be sorry to leave your ugly mugs behind,” he quipped, starting up the car. Sean leaned his arms on the open window.

  “How do you put up with him, Tammy?” Sean asked.

  I eyed Chris. “Oh, you know, he kind of grows on you.”

  “Yeah, like a fungus,” added Adam.

  Chris gave him the finger while revving the engine, as if the purring growls were some kind of threat.

  “All right then, you know where we plan to meet up?” Sean changed the subject.

  “I know the place,” said Chris.

  “Remember?” Sean held a finger up to his lips miming, ‘Not a word.’’

  What was that all about?

  Chris nodded, as if whatever this secret was would be taken to the grave.

  I thought I was the only one burdened with a secret, but the boys didn’t look burdened – they looked smug. And there was nothing more frustrating than a smug Onslow Boy.

  There was no use even asking – they no doubt had some stupid boy code that wasn’t going to be broken.

  “You’re right to go?” Chris asked.

  “Yes!” I straightened.

  Let’s get the bloody hell out of here before Toby arrives.

  Chris’s brows rose, taken aback by my enthusiasm.

  “All right then.” He pulled into gear. “See you fellas at Point Shank.”

  “Keep the home fire burning for us till we get there,” Sean said with a wink.

  Chris sounded his horn and sped off, leaving the others as nothing more than small dotted figures in our rear-view mirror. I knew what would be happening; they would all be gathering around asking Sean what that was all about. There would be some sarcastic comments made and speculation would run high.

  Amy might have even been a bit pissed off that I hadn’t spoken to her before leaving. It had all happened so fast I hadn’t eve had a chance to think about it.

  When the question had tumbled out of my mouth, the last thing I had honestly expected was for Chris to agree and leave the others behind. At best, we had one more night together on the road before we reached Point Shank.

  My stomach churned and I didn’t know if it was relief or dread that filled me at the thought of reaching our destination so soon. The others may assume it was some secret lovers’ tryst, but, in truth, I just couldn’t face the group. Couldn’t stomach seeing the unhappiness in Tess’s eyes. I had to tell her what I’d heard, I knew I did. It was the most confrontational thing I would force myself to do and I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it. Something needed to be done, I just didn’t know if I would do it before or after the New Year. I had exactly one more night to figure it out.

  ***

  I expected Chris to ask why I had wanted to leave the others behind. But he didn’t. His stony silence was a welcome refuge; maybe he had simply wanted some peace and quiet too.

  But there was this thing wedged between us now, this unspoken elephant in the room. I couldn’t believe the others had interrupted us at that exact moment between us, leaving so much unsaid. He had mentioned things that made my stomach twist, but now as I glanced at his profile I saw nothing but the Chris of old, the shut-down, intimidating businessman, though I was well over being intimidated by him. If anything, he was just damn frustrating; his mood transformed within seconds and I just never knew what I was going to get.

  I placed the sunnies on top of my head, and turned to look at him – really look at him. “Why are you always so serious?” I asked.

  Chris scowled as if on cue, something I found more amusing these days. “What do you mean?” he asked. He rolled one shoulder, guarded. Annoyed.

  I watched him intently. “You’re not like the other guys.”

  Chris breathed out a laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Chris’s humour dissolved. “I have my own brain and I use it. I’m not a sheep. I don’t just follow anyone.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes it’s about just joining in and having a laugh,” I said.

  “So in other words you want me to be a stereotypical Onslow Boy?”

  Did I? Did I want him to be a larrikin? Flirty and bubbly, loud and occasionally obnoxious?

  That wasn’t Chris.

  Chris stared intently at the road. “To be honest, I really don’t care what people think. If a group of girls made a list of the perfect Onslow Boy, do you really think they would want any part of me?” he said with a smirk. “Ninety percent of the time I’m the only sober person, the buzz kill, the responsible one coaxing girls down from tabletops, breaking up fights, cleaning up vomit, calling last drinks, being designated driver.”

  “Why’s it always you, though?”

  “Someone’s got to do it. If they’re going to be idiots, I just want to make sure they’re being safe idiots.”

  And just like that I saw the real Chris. Responsible, hardworking, always looking out for others, and not giving a damn what it took.

  I realised I didn’t have to try so hard to work out what made Chris tick – it boiled down to ‘what you see is what you get’.

  My heart swelled; I was overco
me with attraction for the boy by my side. He didn’t think himself an Onslow Boy? Oh, he was an Onslow Boy, all right. He was the glue that held the ship together. The group would not function without him, and most alarmingly of all, I knew I couldn’t function without him, and it both thrilled and scared me to death.

  I decided I would tell Chris about Toby, seek his advice; but not yet.

  For now I had something else that needed to be said. “Don’t you dare change for anyone, Chris Henderson.”

  You’re perfect.

  Just as I had thought, Chris didn’t take compliments well. He shifted in his seat and glanced uncomfortably out of the window.

  He laughed nervously. “Does this mean I make the list?”

  “Yeah, you’re okay, I guess,” I teased, trying not to think of his perfect hands, kissable lips, and shoulders that I wanted to dig my nails into.

  I swallowed. Yeah, best not to think about it.

  He curved his brow at me. “Just okay?”

  “Well, all right then, how about NICE.” Ha! There’s a word for you.

  Chris’s smile faltered a little. I could just see his brain ticking through memories and landing on having called my evening attire ‘nice’ just last night.

  Now he understood how gutting it was.

  “You know that nice for me means ‘absolutely beautiful’, right?” he asked.

  What?

  I crossed my arms. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  Chris smiled. “Well, now you do.”

  Chapter Forty

  We wound our way through the last of the bushy canopy.

  As we grew nearer to Portland, the real sign of change was the ochre-coloured rock formations that intermittently sliced their way through the green landscape. Mercifully, it was on Chris’s side of the car in which the scenery plunged into a sheer drop with only a flimsy white railing in front of it that didn’t look like it could prevent a tricycle from plummeting over the edge, let alone a souped-up panel van. I would personally have preferred a six-foot-high lead fence.