The Boys of Summer (17 page)

Chris was flat out taking money and filling
pots; he looked up to see us standing before him as he pulled on
the beer tap. His serious gaze didn’t change.

“Two Lemon Ruskis, please, Chris,” Ellie said
sweetly.

“Everyone’s in there, don’t draw attention to
yourselves.” He set two glasses of coke on the bar for us, and
walked away to serve the next customer. I guessed that was a no to
the Ruskis, then.

Ellie slumped in bitter disappointment.
“Could we look any more like teenagers?”

“We are teenagers,” I said.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to be reminded.” She
took a long draw from her straw. “I suppose people might think it’s
Bourbon and Coke?” she said hopefully.

“Well, don’t complain too much, they were
free. I doubt Chris’s generous mood will last.”

The poolroom was packed, a trail of gold
coins lined up along the pool table’s ledge indicating there was a
fair wait for the next game. The forty-four-gallon barrels dotted
around the room were stained by circles of drinks and ashtrays, as
people sat around them on bar stools. The couch in the far corner
was overcrowded to the point people were forced to sit on the
coffee table or perch on the arms of the chair. The French doors
were wide open letting a breeze roll off the lake and filter
through the bar, which helped a little with the smoke and strong
cologne all the boys caked on for the night’s festivities. I was
only interested in one kind of cologne and I looked around,
wondering who Chris had been referring to when he directed us to
the poolroom.

Then I saw him.

Toby was leaning in the alcove of the French
doors, talking to someone I didn’t know, a shorter guy with a buzz
cut and a sock tan that clashed against his boat shoes. He leaned
closer to him struggling to hear over the loud music. ‘Hurts So
Good’ blared from the flashing jukebox. A couple of girls flipped
eagerly to find some Shania Twain. Ellie spotted Stan leaning over
the bar for a straw; she made her way over, sneaking up behind him,
and whispered in his ear.

“Hands behind the bar, please,” she said. He
spun around, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re not going to tell the big guy
upstairs, are you?” he teased.

“Maybe, can’t make any promises.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at the goofy looks
they were giving each other, but an inner pang of jealousy overcame
me. I envied how they could be openly flirtatious with one another.
They were sending out signals to each other, and they both knew
they were reciprocated. I was used to unrequited love and just as I
was about to cast my usual doe-eyed longing glance across the room
to the boy I knew I couldn’t have, I froze to see his eyes were on
me. I smiled, and he mirrored me. I made my way over, and he
watched my every step as he took a deep drink from his beer then
placed it on the window ledge and leaned back on the doorframe.

I looked at his beer with an arched brow.

“Can’t even hold your own beer,” I said. “Are
your arms that sore from all the swimming today?”

“Almost as sore as my ego, but I’ll live.” He
looked at my drink with a frown. I didn’t want to have to confirm I
was only drinking Coke. I wanted to pretend as Ellie had done that
I was not seventeen, and that I was just hanging with a boy in a
bar on a summer’s night.

“I’ll have the contract drawn up by my
solicitor and have it to you as a matter of urgency.” I felt
nervous, half thinking that he would laugh at me and say,
“You
didn’t expect me to follow through with the bet, did you? I was
only joking, kiddo.”
But instead he grinned; it was the
teeth-exposing kind, the true grin, the unhinged Toby that made my
tummy flutter.

“I suppose two out of three would be out of
the question?” he mused.

“Not on your life, I couldn’t handle the
humiliation,” I said.

“Yours or mine?” he laughed.

“Wow, were you seriously not there today when
I shamed you? You were literally choking on the lake water I was
kicking up in your face.”

He crossed his arms, laughing. I sipped on my
drink, innocently looking at him, loving every minute of our
exchange, the exchange I was hoping to have this afternoon that
never happened.

Toby was wearing jeans and a navy polo shirt.
He smelled amazing, his cologne was fresh and sharp. I wanted to
step closer to bask in it all.

Instead, I played it cool, waiting for his
retort.

“Tess, if it wasn’t for your manicured nails,
I would have beaten you today, that’s how close it was, photo
finish.”

“You mean I have my dainty nails, on my
dainty hands, to thank?”

He picked up his beer, and then nudged me
playfully with his foot.

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it,
right? When I said your hands were dainty. I meant it as a good
thing.”

“Oh yeah, sure.”
Act cool, Tess.

I knew it wasn’t meant in a spiteful way. Had
I gone home and looked up the meaning of dainty in my pocket
Macquarie dictionary? Maybe. Did the meaning state:

Dainty: Delicately pleasing in appearance of
movement?

It sure did.

And perhaps he didn’t know the meaning of the
word so thoroughly as I did now, but it definitely wasn’t meant as
a bad thing.

As we gave each other a sly smile, each
almost lost in our own world, a figure walked in the open French
doors and wrapped herself around Toby like an octopus.

“There you are! I wondered where you got to.”
Angela smiled.

And the moment was gone.

Angela completely ignored my presence,
turning her back to me as she pawed at Toby who stiffened in the
surprise of her appearance.

So much for being away for two weeks.

“You sure you won’t come?” She pouted.

“No, you go with the girls. Have a good
time.” He held her upper arms, which were linked around his neck. I
tried to sidestep away. I wanted to dissolve into the crowd,
retreat into wallflower Tess again. I was about to back out of the
French doors when I heard it, that all-too-familiar voice shout out
from behind me.

“TIC TAC?”

There are many levels of mortification.

I turned slowly around and there he was.
Scott, frozen on the footpath outside the French doors, looking at
me as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Oh no. No. Shattering
a glass had been embarrassing. Wearing the teeny tiny bikini had
been humiliating. But nothing – nothing compared to the flush of
mortification, the rush of horrible high school memories. I felt it
in Mr Burke’s Biology class when he read out that stupid note and
coloured the rest of my high school experience with that stupid
name. But nothing compared to the shame I felt now, in front of the
Onslow Boys – in front of Toby.

Angela, Toby, the girls at the jukebox, Sean
from outside and even Chris, flat out in the bar, still managed to
hear over the deafening music and collective chatter. He may as
well have shouted through a megaphone, it was
that
loud.

“I thought it was you, we were just on our
way to Stevie’s when Dusty said, ‘Hey isn’t that Tic Tac?’” Scott
said. “I thought ‘no way is it Tic Tac; Tic Tac Tess would never be
hanging in a bar’.”

Oh God, could he say that name any more
times?

It was like someone punching me, again and
again, punching a hole in my chest. And the worst thing was, he
wasn’t even trying to be malicious. To him, it was just my
name.

But to me, it really wasn’t. I couldn’t
breathe. I had to get out of there. I had to. Scott was polluting
the air with his mouth, and I could feel Angela and Toby’s eyes
burning into the back of my head. I just gave a small smile and
excused myself, darting through the crowd, straight to the refuge
of the Ladies’ toilets.

Again!

I slammed through the door and clutched the
basin with a white-knuckled intensity, thankful that I was alone. I
flipped on the faucet and concentrated on the water, its circular
motion around the sink and down the drain as it made its way out
into the great beyond. Oh, how I wished I could go where it was
going. I didn’t dare look at my reflection; I didn’t want to see my
scarlet flushed cheeks, or the tears that welled in my eyes. Why
here? Why now? I had been doing so well. I had finally started to
become something more than high school, more than that name. But
then Scott thrust me straight back there. No, he had done worse
than that, he had brought it into my new world, where I was not Tic
Tac, I was simply Tess McGee.

I had become a girl that could hold her own,
could verbally spar and even flirt with the best of them. But now
it was all tarnished. As soon as I gathered myself, I would walk
out of here and just go home. It was a good plan. Ellie wouldn’t
mind, she had Stan to hang with, and I would be home by a decent
hour, and keep my parents happy. Win-win.

The door opened, and I knew it would be Ellie
checking on me. But it wasn’t. Angela sauntered in and propped her
designer bag on the basin as she smoothed out a perfectly manicured
eyebrow with the tip of her equally perfectly manicured
fingernail.

I busied myself with washing my hands, a task
I pretended to be so fascinated by, that I couldn’t even tear my
eyes from them. She was still; I could feel her watching me in the
reflection of the mirror. I pretended not to notice. She tilted her
head a little in my direction.

“It’s Tess, isn’t it?” she asked in a gentle
voice.

“Yes,” I managed to say.

She ran her fingers through her hair, fixing
her already perfect reflection.

I could see her eyes dart to my chest, and I
felt myself flush even further, if that was possible.

“You’re not small, you know?”

Oh my God, this was not happening?

She turned fully to me, facing me directly.
There was no denying it: yeah, this was really happening.

“He’s probably never even touched a booby in
his life.” She shrugged and turned back to the mirror to reapply
her lip gloss. “I would seriously doubt he is an expert on the
subject.” She pouted at herself in the mirror and scrunched her
hair.

Was Angela Vickers going all deep and
meaningful on me? And did she seriously just say booby? Who
says
that?

She cast me a fleeting smile and without a
word, picked her bag up off the counter and sashayed out of the
bathroom.

I stood stunned from what I could have sworn
was a small act of kindness from Angela Vickers. I didn’t know
exactly how I felt about it.

I could do one of two things. Get Chris to
sweep up my shattered ego off the poolroom floor, while I ran out
the back door. Or two, I could play the ‘ignorance is bliss’ hand
and go out and pretend that it didn’t even happen, all while
completely avoiding Toby for the rest of the night. I was so
humiliated I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. Maybe Adam
was right. I had changed, and Scott had wrenched me jarringly back
down to reality. Reminded me who I was. I pulled my mobile out and
began to text.

To: Adam

Fashionably late as usual? Where R U at
bozo?

We’re at the O Hotel.

A second later the screen lit up.

Adam

Bozo?? I’m out the front.

And with that, I gathered myself together
(making sure I didn’t look too pitiful) and left my refuge to hang
with Adam. Instead of going with the flow, I was going to go with
what I know. And I knew Adam.

We made peace. Things seemed back to normal
between us as we both obviously didn’t want to bring up the
conversation from earlier. Turned out Adam was only home for the
weekend, so I was glad that I had this time with him. We sat on the
outside picnic table, sharing a packet of crisps, when we saw
Angela and four of her friends pile into a car. They were way too
overdressed for Onslow. They must have been heading to Redding, the
next biggest city half an hour away; it was the place to go once
you turned eighteen.

Adam snared the last chip.

“So you going to Stan’s later?” he asked.

“I don’t know, not fussed either way.”

“Who’s going to look after Ellie?”

“I think she will be right. Stan’s a good
guy.”

“Yeah. I don’t think she’d know if we were
there or not, the way they’re making doe eyes at each other.” He
shuddered.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” My
seat dipped as Sean sat down next to me. Toby was right behind him,
standing at the head of the table. His cool, reserved manner was
back and I mentally slapped myself for the flips my traitorous
stomach made at the sight of him.

Get a grip, Tess.

“We’re heading off soon, there is far too
much Shania Twain pouring out of the jukebox.”

“The netball girls are on a bit of a rampage
tonight,” added Toby.

Sean stood. “You coming?”

I made a point not to look at Toby even
though I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for my reply. Instead,
I looked at Adam and posed the question to my best friend.

“What do you wanna do? It’s your
weekend.”

“Hmm. Shania Twain or a party at Stan’s?” He
drummed his chin thoughtfully with his finger.

“I don’t know how much better it will be,”
Sean said. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be reduced to witnessing Ellie
and Stan suck face all night if their actions in the bar are
anything to go by.”

I cringed. I’d left her alone for five
minutes, and she had already publicly disgraced herself.

“One thing I
can
be sure of, though,
there will be no chick power ballads,” Sean added.

I pouted. “What? No ‘I am woman, hear me
roar’?”

“Definitely not!”

Either we were to stay at the Onslow with the
netballers and be subjected to tabletop dancing or head to Stan’s
for a game of pool and semi-decent music. Deep down, okay, not even
too deep down, I knew what my choice was. I knew it the second I
looked up at Toby.