Drop (8 page)

I gently lower myself to the grass and bring my knees to my chest, hugging them tight and feeling that hit of pain as I tense my leg muscles. The silence seems to linger like the warmth in the air.

“Uh … well, yeah, I’m all for that choice. Good decision. Want some?” he asks, offering me his greasy food.

“Ew, no thanks. I hate fish.”

He looks slightly embarrassed and I quite enjoy seeing his cheeks flush. He’s a bit vulnerable. Like a flash it’s gone, cheeky-chappy persona reinstated.

“You into sports?” I enquire, feigning innocence after my Facebook stalking.

“Mountainboarding’s my passion.”

“That explains the injuries.” I point to his lacerated elbows.

“I fractured my hand last year. It absolutely
caned
for weeks. Could stand the pain but not being able to ride really got to me. Set my training back and I messed up the comps. This is my year though. I’m ready.”

“When’s the comp?”
July. Read it on Facebook.

“The UK Board Battle’s in July, but got a warm-up comp at the weekend. Come watch me win, tiger!”

“I might,” I say casually.
I’m so there
.

I get up and do another spring. And another.

“Slow down, you’ll tumble right out of the park!”

I muster an upside-down frown. “I like to tumble.”

“You’re quite the
woman
. Bendy. I like that.”

“I just do it now and then. Helps me relax.”

“You stressed then?”

“A little. New school. Coursework. Future depending on results. Pushy mother who wants me to be a scientist or a doctor or lawyer or practically anything other than what I might want to be.”

“You shouldn’t get hung up over that stuff. Havelock and school. It’s just another stick in the spokes. You gotta ride that bike of life, tiger. Grab the handlebars and pedal. Forget about them.”

“You come out with some bollocks. Really. You do.” I sit on one of the swings, out of breath. But maybe Finn’s right. I should do what I want.

“You love it, tiger.” I steal a glance at him, his eyes wide with excitement. “Hey, can you teach me how to do that flippy thing?”

I take a run and cartwheel. “This?”

“Yeah.”

“If you want.”

Finn gets up and bins his chips. He starts stretching, pulling one arm, then the other, across his chest. He touches his toes.

“Stand with your legs about a shoulder-width apart and raise your arms.”

“Like this?”

“A little wider.” Finn moves his legs further apart. “You might want to hoist your jeans up, so you can move more easily.”

“So I don’t get my knackers caught, you mean.” He pulls his trousers up and tightens his belt a notch. “This is not a good look for me.” He grins.

“Arms up.”

He lifts them but they’re still bent at the elbow. I walk towards him and pull his arms straight. His doe eyes sparkle in the evening light. I catch myself dwelling on them a little too long, caught in the power of those hypnotic pools. For a second it seems like he might lean in and kiss me. And oh, the thought is too much. I move to his side. Probably my imagination.

“Step out with your right leg. Rock from one foot to the other for a moment to get a feel for it. Imagine you’re a giant
X
.”

“OK.” Finn rocks backwards and forwards on the spot, like someone keeps pressing Play, Pause, Rewind, Play, on him.

“When you’re ready, build up some momentum. Then put your right hand down, followed by your left hand and kick up to the sky. Think of the
X
shape you’re making. Rotate your whole body.”

“Oh, just rotate your whole body. It’s that simple.”

“You should be good at this; you must do flippy things on your board all the time.”

I demonstrate the cartwheel again.

“I’ve got it, I think.” Finn hesitates. “OK, here I go.”

He throws his legs up, but it’s more of a hop than a rotation. I have to laugh.

“Good try. But you” – instinctively I pat him on the back – “might need some practice.”

“Diplomatic of you to say, but perhaps I’m not the tumbling type. Unless it’s off my board. Thanks for the lesson. Could we have another one, tomorrow at four?”

“Yeah, all right. Maybe I can help you, Mr Masterson, to
master
the humble forward roll.”

Next day, I’m marooned on Swoon Island. In Tutorial, I stare at Finn’s back like he might grow wings and fly off like an angel. At break, I’m as chatty as a tree stump. At lunch, I can’t eat any of the red brick that is Dad’s spicy chorizo pasta.

In Biology, Sienna invites me to go to the cinema this evening with her and Lauren.

“It’s not the most refined movie but Gabriel Grayson’s in it, and explosions,” she says, blowing eraser mulch on the floor. “Actually, it’s the antithesis of cultural highbrow. But you’re welcome to come.”

Every instinct wills me to go, and I almost let the “Yeah, sure” slip from my lips but, then…
How could I forget?
Carla’s Gym Class is in session at four.

Normally, I’d jump at the chance to get to know them better. But the pull of Finn totally trumps any doubts I have about turning them down. There’ll be other movies. But maybe not another chance to be alone with him.

“I can’t…” I pause. What can I say? I have a date to show Finn Masterson how to do a forward roll? “I have to do my Biology coursework. I’m really behind,” I lie, and feel instantly terrible.

“It’s not due for weeks, Carla. What’s the deal?”

I’ve never been good at lying. Once, Dad caught me siphoning vodka into an Evian bottle so it would look like water. I told him I needed it to clean hairspray off my mirror, which I thought was pretty ingenious, until he pointed out that I hadn’t worn hairspray since “The Great Fringe Singeing of 2010” when I had frazzled my locks with a sparkler on Bonfire Night.

“Fine, fine.” I give in. “I’m meeting Finn. I ran into him last night and he asked me to meet up again tonight.”

“I
knew
it,” Lauren says.

I bite the end of my biro.

“So is it a date?” Sienna asks.

“No idea. See what happens, I guess.”

I look to Lauren, who’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head and turned purple: weird. “What?”

“But
why
do you like him?” she asks.

“Um, have you
seen
him?”

“Er, yes, but he’s not exactly Albert Einstein, is he?”

“You fancy Einstein?” Now it’s my turn to do the double-headed purple look.

“No, but let’s face it, you won’t see Finn’s head in a copy of
The God Particle
or
On the Origin of Species
or …
Wuthering Heights.
”

“Show me a gorgeous boy with a bookshelf like that and I’ll abandon this quest immediately.”

Lauren opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Didn’t think so,” I say. In my head I’m jumping to defend Finn, to say he’s not dumb, but I keep the words inside. Instead I ask, “Don’t you just want to try running in those circles with Georgia and Violet, to see what it’s like?”

“Not really. I mean, there’s more to life than glossy hair and a big ego. Like getting into uni and finding a career beyond plucking your eyebrows to perfection.”

“Can’t you be intelligent
and
popular?”

“I’m not saying you can’t, but that lot have yet to prove there’s more than hairspray and nail glue holding them together. I guess the difference between Violet and me is that I only want my friends to like me. I don’t care what everyone else thinks.”

Who am I? Why can’t I be satisfied with being a Brainy Plain Girl? I get what Lauren’s saying but… Is it just something you tell yourself to make yourself feel better? Or is it the truth? I guess I’ve never felt happy as I am: mid-range, mid-beige, mediocre. Maybe if I try to be friends with those girls, not just to get closer to Finn, but as a way to, I don’t know … unlock my potential, I won’t feel so down about myself. Maybe if I’m admired by the rest of the school, accepted by Violet, Georgia and Finn, then I’ll finally be popular with me.

Tillsman gives out this week’s test results.
A
+
. Getting better. Intelligent
and
popular. It can be done, I’m sure of it.

In the corridor after class, I notice Finn standing with Georgia and Greg. He’s everywhere, a constant thought in my head, and all around the school, on the periphery of my vision. Like a sixth sense, I feel him near me all the time. He’s talking animatedly, but stops when he sees me. Smiles. Georgia catches the look, then kisses Greg and bounds up to Lauren, Sienna and me. She latches on to my arm and pulls me forwards, ignoring the others.

“Walk with me to Psych?” Georgia asks. I don’t think I have a choice.

“See you tomorrow,” I call to the girls as she drags me away. I feel bad for leaving them, but they have different classes now.

“Sit with me and Finn, OK?”

I feel a rush at this special treatment. Like finally I’m starting to be somebody.

In Psychology, sitting next to Georgia, opposite Finn, I’m distracted. I catch him looking at me more than once. I feel his foot against mine and agonize over whether it’s deliberate. In short, I go do-la-la crazy and can’t concentrate. Mr Green’s been talking for half an hour, but it’s only noise. I try to tune back in.

“Why is Bandura’s Social Learning Theory too deterministic?” he says.

WTF does
deterministic
mean?

The sun hangs like a canary diamond, glinting. The park is warm and dry. When I get to the swings he’s already there. My watch blinks 15.58. He grins at me.

“You look confused.” He kicks at the bark chippings with his Converse. “You do remember making this date?” So it’s a date!

“Course. I’m just surprised to see you.”

“It’s four o’clock.”

“I know.” I sit on the swing next to his. “You’re on time.”

“You’re worth showing up for.”
Guh.
The whole world washes with colour twice as bright as a moment ago.

Dear Lovegods,

Thank you for smiling upon me. Amen.

“Ready to learn some moves?” I ask.

“Sure.”

Finn proves better at forward rolls than cartwheels.

“Want to try a double?”

“Like, two in a row?”

“No, like where you hold each other’s ankles and roll together.”

“Sounds a bit advanced, don’t you think?”

“It’s not
that
difficult.”

“Maybe we don’t know each other well enough for ankle gropage. Let’s start with an elbow or maybe a toe.”

“Are you scared you won’t be able to do it, Mr I-Can’t-Cartwheel?”

“I rarely get scared, Carla. I would, of course, do a double forward roll with you in a heartbeat, but I fear you wouldn’t be able to take the weight of my manly physique with your delicate lady arms.”

“What a load of bollocks.”

“OK, but I could – and judging by my apparently non-existent cartwheel skills probably will – land on you and break your neck, or worse, break
my
neck.” He grins.

“Oi! OK, well, I’ve helped you, now you can help me … with my homework.”

“Homework. That’s
exactly
what I want to be doing right now,” Finn says. “Are you serious?”

I pull my knees up to my chest and rummage through my bag. I tug my sketchbook out and send a search party for my pastels.

I go to flip the book open to a clean fresh page, but Finn flicks the cover back down and snatches the book. I’m not that precious, so I skip the standard girlie scream
Giveitback! Giveitback! Giveitback!
But it’s more than a sketchbook, more than Art coursework, it’s my diary in pictures and words; doodles, poems, lists.

“I could draw you.”

“And my manly physique.”

“With my delicate lady hands.”

The cover is black, corrugated, simple. I’m not that girl who Tippexes guys’ names everywhere, draws hearts or calculates our compatibility according to the number of consonants in our names, or whatever. Finn’s not going to open the book to find
Mrs Carla Masterson
scrawled everywhere, and
Finn
+
Carla 4eva
in giant pink bubble writing. No, no, no. Give me some credit, please.