Air (9 page)

“She is?”

“Er, yes. I'm usually a ten or twelve, depending on the brand, and she's probably an eight. Or a six.”

“You're a twelve?” Zeke said.

“Yeah. A British twelve. How do you not know that?”

“I'm supposed to go through your clothes and look at the labels?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Let's go, but you are both banned from taking pictures, got it?”

Zeke went to change into Chase's clothes and came back wearing a very loud shirt and skinny jeans three inches too short. Chase made him wear this outfit with a trilby hat, which was quite the contrast with Zeke's scruffy surfer hair.

“I think I have a cab number,” Zeke said, looking for a card in his wallet.

“No need,” Chase said, nodding his head at the white stretch limousine parked up closest to the gates. The driver, who'd been on a smoke break, caught Chase's eye and put out his cigarette.

“To Flavor!” Chase said.

Leaning over the pool table, my knee hitched up over one side to get the best position, I cracked the cue as hard as I could, blasting the white down the table. It caught the stripe on the left side and sent it spinning into the bottom pocket.

“
Banzai,
” I said, punching the air and grinning at Zeke. He sat down on one of the sofas set around the pool table and leaned back into tapestry cushions, legs stretched out in front of him, readying himself for imminent defeat.

I lined up my next shot and potted another stripe. I didn't think I could get away with punching the air again, so I went with, “I bloody love pool.”

He hooked his foot over his other knee, and the second he did it, Chase swooped in, laughing, and ran away with his shoe, holding it to his chest like a baby.

“Random,” I said to Zeke, and we watched Chase twirling a size-eleven Vans trainer around the pool table.

“You gotta get some new hobbies, bro,” Zeke said to Chase, sinking his fifth JD and Coke.

“Erm, why
does
he have your shoe?” I said.

“Tradition,” was Chase's only reply.

I went after him to retrieve Zeke's trainer, but Zeke didn't seem bothered. He stood up lopsidedly, sock on the sticky floor, and picked up his own pool cue.

“Hey, I haven't finished,” I said. “It's still my turn, thank you very much.”

“My bad. Show me how it's done, boss.”

He sat down again, cue between his knees, and I sank another stripe, leaving only one of my balls on the table, along with the black and Zeke's five spots.

Chase deposited Zeke's shoe on the top of the metal lamp hanging over the table and said, very seriously, “Surrender, Ezekiel. A guy just can't come back from this kind of epic ass-whooping.”

“Sure he can,” Zeke said, grabbing his shoe and looking determined. “That's literally the story of my pro-surfing career right there. Which barroom legend taught you how to shoot pool, Iris?”

Daniel. My ex-boyfriend Daniel taught me how to play. In the first autumn, when the weather was hideous, the waves were a mess and the only thing to do was hang around Newquay's excuse for a youth club and kill time until the ocean was surfable again.

But I didn't want to talk about Daniel, especially not to Zeke, given that they absolutely hated each other.

Zeke put on his shoe and stuffed the laces down the side. He never tied his laces, even when he went jogging, for reasons that were unclear to me.

“Kelly's really good at pool,” I said, which wasn't a lie, because my best mate
was
brilliant at pool, but it wasn't exactly a truthful answer either. “Want me to pot something for you?” I offered. “Get your balls out of the way of my shot on the black?”

“It's all about the balls, dude,” Chase chipped in. “And Iris is handing you yours.”

I could see a flicker of annoyance on Zeke's face as Chase teased him about his dodgy pool skills.

Then the cloud passed and he laughed. He tucked some hair behind his ear, and just looking at the curve of his jawline gave me an attack of the butterflies. Cue still in my hand, I went and kissed him, but he withdrew from me after about three seconds.

There it was again: that horrible feeling. Something was wrong. Something about Zeke was different.

No.

I had to stop obsessing about Zeke being different in Miami. Like he said, he was on vacation. Of course he wanted to relax. He'd had a few drinks, but he wasn't hammered. He just wanted to concentrate on our game of pool without being mauled.

I'd obviously inherited the stressing-out-over-nothing gene from my mother. Why couldn't I just let myself enjoy it? The hassle of life back in Newquay was behind me. Homework, housework, drizzle, annoying customers—I didn't need to worry about any of it anymore. I was in a foreign country with new friends, new waves and new adventures.

Zeke went off to the bar and queued behind a throng of sorority sisters and football players who were milling around.
I didn't take my eyes off him, my mind jumping ahead to our hotel room. The alcohol would take the edge off my nerves, which was just as well, as my body was about as relaxed as a headstone.

Then, as if he sensed I was staring, he looked over his shoulder and blew me a kiss, and I felt my cheeks flush red. He'd quite often do dorky stuff like that, not caring how it looked to other people.

I dropped my gaze back to the pool table and potted my last stripe, but I messed up the white positioning and couldn't get a clear shot on the black. I was snookered.

I walked slowly around the table, bending to look at the balls at eye level, even though I knew it was an impossible shot.

This was the first thing that Daniel had taught me. If you've got no play and people are watching, you have to make out that you've got it in hand, that you know what you're doing. So you front. You take your time and observe; pretend you're just working out the angles. Then, when you mess up, it seems to everyone else like you had a strategy: you were going for some insane trick shot, not flying blind.

I knew this type of bluffing was pathetic, but it was also fast becoming my surfing strategy.

Zeke came back, trying not to spill my pink drink with its tiny little umbrella. He had two beer bottles in his other hand. I walked up to him, wrapped my arms over his shoulders, bending to drink some of my cocktail in the process. It was so strong it made my eyes water.

“Go easy—the bartender put, like, five shots in there.”

“OK, I'll sip it. How much do I owe you?”

“I wasn't letting you pay anyhow, but it turns out happy hour was just about to start. Chicks drink for free. Guys drink half-off.”

“Whaaat? Free drinks?”

What kind of bar was this that could offer free drinks? And why didn't they have places like it in Newquay?

“Yeah, I mean I tipped the guy a few dollars and all—he's making minimum wage.”

“Can I get another one? Actually, maybe another two, since they're free?”

Which I knew was pushing it a bit, especially with my promise not to puke.

“Lady, you are gonna be so drunk after just that one that I'm gonna have to carry you all the way back to the hotel.”

“Think of it as good cardio,” I said.

Zeke held up a brown bottle and handed it to Chase, “Here. Porkslap. It's a kind of beer.”

Chase held it in two fingers, squinted at the label and handed it back to Zeke.

“You know what?” he said. “I love you like a brother, man, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but consider it yours. I need to get me a latte I have serious caffeine withdrawal going on here.”

He sidled off to the glitzy coffee bar, where I watched him set the barista to work on some novelty coffee concoction.

Zeke looked down at the pool table, “Huh, looks like you don't have a makeable shot.”

“Course I do.”

I whacked the white, missed the black by a foot and sat down with my drink.

My teasing obviously brought out the super-competitive side of Zeke, because he potted all five of his spots without breaking a sweat. Had he been hustling me? Or just trying to give me a chance? Both ideas annoyed me.

Then he paused to look at me, like he was asking for my approval to sink the black.

I shrugged, as if I didn't care, but I was rattled, because the black was only about two inches from the pocket, and even though the white was right up against the top cushion, it was still an easy shot.

“So, what's Chase's real name?” I asked, hoping to put him off his game.

“Hey, I already told you I'm not at liberty to disclose that information.”

I picked at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “I assumed you were kidding. What's the big deal?”

“The big deal is I gave the guy my word.”

“But you were, what, seven?”

Zeke stretched back, looked down the cue and sent the black hammering into the bottom right pocket. He was just going to seal the win with his signature double-shotgun surf claim, when the white bounced off the top cushion and followed the black into the pocket.

My win.

“Ha ha, Mister Always-Wins-at-Everything.
You lose
.”

Zeke slammed his cue back into the rack and took a swig of his Porkslap. I danced about, making an L on my forehead, but
after a few seconds I backed off, because even though Zeke was smiling, there was this fierce look in his eyes. He really hated to lose. At anything.

I'd seen that look before, when he competed in surf contests, but I'd never seen him use it on me.

He had another swig of beer and without saying another word he drifted away toward one of the big screens showing a basketball game.

As I was putting my cue in the rack, a stranger's voice said, “Damn, she fine,” and I felt someone graze their fingers across the back of my shorts.

I flinched and spun around to face two guys in football jackets. The first looked like an even skinnier version of Eminem and his friend was a ball of bad acne and garlic halitosis, which I found out when he breathed down the words, “Hell yeah, she fine.”

I was far from fine in the English sense of the word, and I wasn't fine in the American sense either. I instantly regretted my choice of outfit. I knew I should've gone back to the hotel and got changed. A flash of leg and some Lycra was evidently all it took to get the attention of these desperados.

Zeke still had his back to me, so he didn't see what was happening. The guy moved closer and held his hand out again, his fingers splayed.

I could feel myself staring at them, still not believing that they were genuinely being this gross. Was it some kind of bad joke?

For a few moments I was speechless, and then, when a punch line didn't arrive, I got it together and said to the Eminem-alike, “OK, let me stop you right there. Any part of you that touches
me, you're not getting back” which was Kelly's standard phrase for any creeps who tried to feel her up in crowded pubs or on public transport. I'd never had to use it before, but Kelly said it usually worked.

“Man, that accent. Australian or British?”

“Neither.”

They looked confused.

“Huh. So you're what exactly?”

“Cornish,” I said, feeling sure that these blokes had never even heard of Cornwall, and hoping they'd never get to see it either.

At that moment I saw some girls approach Zeke and say something to him.

One of them, a girl with blood-red heels, long hair and spray-on jeans, got close enough that she was practically standing on his toes.

Inga. I hadn't even known she was there. She must've left the party and changed her outfit before coming out like I should have done.

Her friend started snapping pictures of them together.

Zeke bowed his head, and I watched as Inga whispered something in his ear.

I was itching to go over to them and find out what was going on, but thanks to the two jocks with the combined charisma of an armpit, I was completely cornered.

The quarterback looked down at my shorts yet again, and said, “Super-fine outfit, but I like what's in it even better.”

“Look, thanks for the compliment or whatever,” I said, properly creeped out, “but I'm one-hundred-per-cent not
interested in talking to you. Also, I have a boyfriend.
Who is here with me
.”

“Do you see him, Troy? Cos I sure don't!”

They thought this was hilarious, which made me wonder if they were in fact very stoned.

It was massively frustrating, because part of me, a big part of me, wanted to be really aggro and tell them to fuck off, but I just couldn't. It wasn't even that I was worried they'd turn nasty. I just couldn't bring myself to be that rude, even to confirmed dickheads. All of which made me feel even more unhappy with the situation.

Then garlic breath got down in my face so I couldn't even see Zeke's back anymore.

“Chill. We ain't gonna hurt you. We're just sayin' hey.”

Back pressed up against the cue rack, I stood there, frozen, as garlic breath put his hand up my top.

Suddenly my brain flashed to Daniel, and how he always said that if you were going to have to fight, it was best to get your punch in first. I inhaled, cracked my knee into garlic breath's scrotum and elbowed Eminem-wannabe hard in the gut. Caught off guard and totally hammered, they groaned.

My path was clear, and just as I was thinking my three tae kwon do lessons had paid off big style, I saw that Inga had her hands in Zeke's hair, and her tongue in his mouth.

What. The. Hell?

Zeke lovely loyal Zeke, whom I'd never even caught checking out anyone else was kissing another girl? The most annoying one on earth, no less? Right in front of me?

I pushed open the fire-escape door and walked out into the humid air of the Florida night.

Heart beating hard, all I wanted to do was get out of there.

I couldn't believe how fast things had turned bad. I'd just been groped and no one had seen or helped, and my boyfriend, who I was head over heels in love with, was apparently a complete shithead.

My face was on fire with I didn't even know what. It felt like embarrassment or shame, but that was crazy, because why would I feel like that?
I'd
done nothing wrong.

And then I got it: what I felt was humiliation.

It had happened. Exactly what Daniel, the moment he clapped eyes on Zeke, had said would happen.
You know he's gonna end up with a Barbie on his arm
.

Oh God. That made it so much worse, knowing that even an utter moron like Daniel had been right about Zeke. And it wasn't even just him. What had my mum said about Zeke? About “butterflies”?

“
He seems great, Iris. Capable and strong. Like the sort of person who could set down on a runway in some war-torn nation and know exactly how to get to where he needs to go and get all his surfboards there without putting a single ding in one of them. Seen it all, done it all, got all the T-shirts. But sometimes, you know, these world travelers are hollow in the center. They're looking for something, and even they don't know what it is. But they can't stop searching.
”

She'd had her soft face on the one she used when she really wanted to get through to me.

“
Do you see what I mean, Iris? You can't count on them. There's nothing holding them anywhere. They have no solid core weighing them down. They're just butterflies flitting through the air. And who can build a life with a butterfly?
”

“Zeke is not a frigging butterfly!” I'd said. “And anyway, I'd rather be a butterfly than a worm.”

“I think you mean a caterpillar.”

“Whatever!”

My mum tried to talk to me some more, but I was having none of it. Life-building sounded so old and boring anyway; it was the last thing I wanted to talk about right before I left for my big adventure.

I clawed at the skin on my throat, feeling my nails dig into the sunburn.

I hadn't wanted to believe that Zeke was hollow where it counted, or that he was just like any other manwhore pro-surfer
with a gaggle of girls ready and waiting on every beach. Zeke was different. He wasn't a liar. He couldn't be. Because if he was, everything we'd been through together was bullshit.

I turned a corner, and at the end of the block I saw two youngish black guys walking toward me. Deep in an argument, they didn't see me. One was waving his hands around, and the other had his head down, his mouth set in a grim line. As they came nearer, I heard the first one saying the same thing over and over: “
This is not working.
”

The other guy rubbed tears out of his eyes and looked up, straight at me.

I nodded, by which I hoped to convey an
I see you're having a bad night, I am too
sort of message.

Then I saw a girl who looked suspiciously like one of Zeke's female friends from the beach, walking arm in arm with two other girls. I kept my gaze on the pavement and made a sharp turn off the street.