Fake (11 page)

As I speak I fumble with my phone. I'd been checking the action on Aaron's profile. I can't get his and Lana's conversation out of my head. The Lana I spoke to at midnight on Saturday wasn't the same as the one who warned me off her brother at Sweety's.

He points over his shoulder. ‘I asked Chay where you might be.'

Chay is hovering across the courtyard. When she sees me looking her way, she gives me a thumbs up and a grin, and disappears in the direction of the canteen.

He came looking for me. I can't help the happy smile spreading across my face.

I'd raced into school early this morning in the hopes of seeing him, but without luck. The disappointment I've carried around all morning disappears now he's here.

‘Please, sit down.' I wave to a prime patch of lawn next to me.

He eyes it with some trepidation but then sits, all gangly long limbs. He's never looked more awkward, or adorable.

‘Am I likely to end up with a wet patch?'

I consider his jeans carefully, enjoying the excuse to let my gaze linger. ‘Probably.'

He squirms. ‘Great.'

‘You could always sit on a jacket.' I shift slightly so he can see my leather jacket spread out beneath me.

‘Now she tells me.' He appears to consider my jeans and I flush as though he's touched me. ‘Someone borrowed my hoodie last week and hasn't returned it. Is that thing big enough for two?'

‘Yes. And I will return it. Soon.'

I edge over and he squishes beside me. He leans back against the trunk of the tree and stares up at the overhanging branches. ‘That's better.'

We're touching shoulder to thigh, so close it's hard to tell where I stop and he begins.

Think of something brilliant to say
.

But my mind doesn't obey. Sebastian shifts his weight and I wonder whether he's as aware as I am of every point where our bodies touch.

‘Tell me about yourself.'

I look up and he's so close and so interested that I can almost excuse the corny line. ‘Is that like a question from an interview?'

He nods with mock seriousness. ‘My boss, Dave from the Emporium, gives me all his best lines.'

I laugh and suddenly I'm not lost for words anymore. I pretend to consider his question. ‘What do you want to know?'

His eyes are the darkest green but alight with a fire that snatches my breath from my lungs. ‘Everything.'

Tingles spread across my skin. If I look down I'm sure there'll be goosebumps on the backs of my hands. ‘That could take a while.'

‘Lunch first then?'

‘Sure.'

It doesn't take long to eat our rolls, but I'm too nervous to finish my jelly.

‘Red jelly, huh?' he says. ‘A girl after my own heart.'

‘It was the only one left.'

He looks at it sideways. ‘Are you going to finish that?'

I hand it over and he polishes it off in a few mouthfuls. ‘Right. Lunch is done.' He tilts his head. ‘Favourite colour?'

I hesitate. It's a simple question. I know it's a simple question. Everyone has an answer ready to go for this one. Everyone except me … Decisions really aren't my thing.

‘I like … green.' It's hard not to when I look into his eyes. ‘But sometimes blue. And scarlet can be stunning. And nothing beats the yellow of a sunshiny day.'

He shakes his head, taking it all in. ‘Favourite song?'

I puff out a breath. ‘Lots of different tracks have merits.'

‘Food?'

‘That one's easy. Mum's homemade lasagne … Although a good authentic sushi can hit the perfect spot.'

‘You are crazy.'

I wince. My inability to decide stuff has always driven my mum and Chay mental. ‘In a bad way?'

He chuckles and slips one arm around my shoulders. ‘Uh-uh. Crazy cute.'

‘What about you?'

With the arm around my shoulders, he taps his thumb against the top of my knee. ‘Dark blue of a midnight sky. Anything punk. And hot dogs.'

I file his answers away and ask a question that's been bothering me for days. ‘What's the story behind your belt?' He glances down but if he's wearing it today it's covered by his black t-shirt. I clear my throat. ‘I saw it the other day.'

He hesitates. ‘It was my grandpa's. We were really close.'

Were … I notice his use of past tense. ‘Is he still alive?'

A shadow crosses Sebastian's face and I fear I've said something I shouldn't. My grandparents passed away when I was little and I never knew them well so this is strange territory for me. I remember Chay's grandma died not long after we moved here and she cried for days because without Nana there was no one to keep her dad from losing his temper.

Sebastian's jaw works and I'm scared he's going to cry. He blinks and there's a single tiny tear on the end of his long lashes. He blinks again and it's gone.

Him not crying is about the hottest thing I've ever seen.

‘He died about a year ago.' He takes a shaky breath. ‘It was fast. One day he was the strongest, most alive, old person you could imagine. The next he was in a hospital bed with all these tubes hooked up to him.'

‘What happened?'

‘Heart attack. It didn't take long after that.' His gaze is far away. ‘It was almost a relief. He would have hated to be stuck in a wheelchair or something.'

‘Must have been hard.'

He's looking at me now, and seeing me properly again. ‘It's funny how talking about it with some people makes the remembering easier.'

I flush and dance the most inappropriate of jigs on the inside. He's talking about me.

‘Do you have a favourite memory?'

He hesitates. ‘It's hard to explain but just before he died some stuff happened at home and I packed my bags, left a note – the works. I'd had enough and was out of there. Gramps lived only a few minutes' walk away so I swung by there to do the right thing and say goodbye.'

‘He talked you out of it?'

‘Nope.' His lips curve. ‘He gave me some tinned food and a blanket for the cold nights ahead on the streets.'

I frown. ‘Then what?'

‘As I was walking out the front door, he clapped me on the shoulder and said I'd be sweet because I was his grandson and we Elliot men could handle anything.'

‘I don't understand.'

He chuckles. ‘You're a girl, you wouldn't.'

‘The man thing?'

He nods. ‘I headed straight back home and manned up to what was happening. It was typical of Gramps. He never lectured or anything but he had this complete faith in me.' His hand drops to the buckle and he gets that lost look in his eyes again.

‘He must have been an amazing man. Where did he get the belt?'

‘I think he won it in a bet or something. He said it would bring me luck.'

I love that a boy who's happy to be called a computer nerd wears his grandfather's belt for luck. Just another piece in the Sebastian puzzle. ‘What was the bet over?'

‘A woman.'

‘A charmer was he?'

‘He had a way of putting things that made it impossible to argue.'

‘So that's where you get it from?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not me. Lana maybe.'

Without meaning to I edge away and he makes a show of slapping himself in the head. ‘My sister, the romance killer. Look, I'll talk to her. Tell her to leave you alone.'

His hand moves to brush my jaw.

My skin tightens. I stop breathing. He said
romance
. I'm sure of it. I haven't even thought about what it would be like to kiss Sebastian. The very prospect is so huge and powerful that like the sun I don't dare look at it too long in case it burns me through to my soul.

He doesn't kiss me though. He turns away and gazes out over the lawn. ‘You going to the party on Saturday?'

‘I don't know.' Since Lana made Joel uninvite me I hadn't thought too much about it.

‘Pity.'

I glance at him but he's not looking my way. What does ‘pity' mean? Was he planning to ask me? Is
he
going?

‘I … I might. It's not like I'm doing anything else.' The words tumble out of my mouth and I can't seem to stop them. ‘Mum is fine with it. She'd let me have a later curfew, I think. If I was going.'

Stop rambling, he gets the idea
.

He looks my way then but looks away just as fast. His free hand wipes down the side of his jeans and the skin over his cheekbones is stained with colour. Cool, aloof Sebastian is nervous.

It makes me brave. ‘I'd like to go.'

He takes a breath that expands his chest and makes him even taller than normal. He meets my gaze with a hopeful smile. ‘Would you like to go with me?'

‘Yes.'

That's one decision I don't have a problem making.

CHAPTER

10

Mum is waiting for me when I get home from school. From the look of things she's been pacing the kitchen but there's no cup of coffee in sight. Downstairs in the salon there is one lady under the dryer and another at the sink. It must be serious.

‘When were you going to tell me?' she asks.

‘What?' I have to hedge my bets because it could be any number of things that have put the slightly hurt, slightly annoyed expression on her face.

Her brows squeeze together. ‘That you opened the envelope.'

‘Oh … that.' I make to step past her and head to my room but she edges in front of me.

‘Is that all you have to say about it?'

I cross my arms and shrug. The guilt that I opened it at all has me unable to meet her eyes. ‘I could ask what you were doing snooping in my room.'

‘If you'd taken out the rubbish as I asked I wouldn't have been in there.'

Some of my bravado vanishes. Now I remember her calling out something along those lines as I jogged down the steps this morning, but at the time I was in too much of a hurry to get to school and see if I could accidentally bump into Sebastian. Still, I'm not quite ready to let my annoyance go. ‘Being in there gives you a right to go through my stuff?'

Her eyes narrow. ‘Don't start me on rights, Kathleen McKenny. I didn't go through anything. As a matter of fact I happened to see the envelope in the rubbish bin. It was right on top.'

‘Was it?' She's probably right. Typical me. I worried about putting the actual letter out of sight but just dumped the envelope. I'd make a terrible spy. ‘Maybe I did open it.'

She nods. ‘Do you want to talk about it?'

As if I have a choice. ‘You're mad that I didn't tell you I opened it but you're giving me the option of not telling you what it said?'

A pulse tics in her jaw but she doesn't snap. ‘I'm not mad. I'm … disappointed. It's your communication with your father and it's up to you whether you share it with me.'

I wasn't born yesterday. She's desperate to know what it said. If I refuse to share it now she'll get it out of me eventually anyway, but I do appreciate the sentiment.

‘I don't want to talk about it.' Her head bows at my words, as though I've struck a blow she didn't expect. A shaft of guilt pierces through me. I reach out to grasp her arm. ‘I don't want to talk about it … but I'll tell you what it said.'

Her head comes up but she doesn't press. Completely unlike my nosy mother.

Nor has she looked down toward the salon once.

I've never wanted to be the kind of kid who plays their parents off against each other, but I draw out the moment. I have her full attention and she's scared. I seem to spend my whole existence petrified, and the power to make someone else feel like that is seductive.

For that second I can see in her face how much I matter.

It feels just a little bit good.

And a whole lot mean.

‘He wants to meet.'

She reels a fraction. ‘And?'

‘I don't know.'

Her hand comes out, gentle but clutching too. The words come out too quickly. ‘It's up to you and I'll support you whatever decision you come to.'

It's what she says. But I hear different. I hear, ‘Please don't leave me. Please don't abandon everything we've built together.' I let myself enjoy the idea of her wanting to keep me to herself. My hand finds hers and I give it a reassuring squeeze.

But then I think of her dating, and the fact that I'm leaving for uni next year and I know it's only my imagination. Mum is a good person. She's never bad-mouthed my father to me and when our life blew up in the papers she did her best to shield me from what he'd done.

She means what she says.

Her eyes dart to the salon and our little chat is over. Her smile is back to its usual caring-but-hurried. ‘Let me know what you decide.'

I nod but she's already stepping back through the doors and asking something polite about a bowls game.

Whatever I decide? As I said to Sebastian, decisions are not exactly my best thing. I hate making mistakes, so every time, I carefully analyse the pros and cons and try to consider every angle. I usually end up in a tangle. As I trudge up the stairs, the high of lunch with Sebastian is only a distant memory. I never thought a decision about my father would be one of the hard ones to make.

* * *

On Monday night I'm online with Chay. I hurried through loading the dishwasher and managed to log in as Aaron first. She's late because she was busy being reamed out by her dad for walking in the door two minutes after she was supposed to be home. Once she'd have rung me crying, but now she only mentions it in passing.

Can you get used to your father hating everything about you?

I wouldn't know. But it's a reminder that while I'm theoretically missing some good stuff by not knowing my father, I'm also avoiding a whole lot of possible crap. Another factor to add to my mental will-I-or-won't-I-meet-him debate.