The Other Side of Summer (16 page)

In the morning I was relieved to wake up in my own bed. I hoped Wren wouldn’t remember that I’d been in hers.

The first thing I thought about was the dream. Parts of it were as clear as a movie but the rest was patchy, full of dark blobs of people and places. I knew I’d been on the tube, so it had to be London. I was skateboarding and I’d fallen, but had I been Gabe or had I been me? The more I tried to reach for details, the more they slipped away.

Next I thought of my unfinished emails to Mal. If I’d had the courage to send one of them, I might have had one from her by now. That is, if I could dare to think
she would ever speak to me again. I got out of bed and pulled out the bottom drawer where I’d stashed the three parcels Mal had sent. She’d wrapped them so tightly that I had to find scissors to cut them open.

So that makes me your third thought, now?

Floyd, no. It’s just … I haven’t forgotten you. Don’t think that.

I’m kidding, Summer. You know me, and I know you. Now open those parcels, would you?

I gulped and a few tears escaped but I concentrated on what I was doing.

In each parcel there was a book and a note. In the first the note said, ‘Because our friendship is past, present, and future. No matter what. First: the past. Look out for the next one! Love, Mal x’

The first book was a battered copy of
Charlotte Sometimes
by Penelope Farmer. It smelled musty like Gran’s laundry room and looked like it had been read lots of times. As I held it, I remembered what books had felt like to me before Floyd died. Like friends.

The second note simply said, ‘The present. Love, Mal x’ and the book was
Goodbye Stranger
by Rebecca Stead. It was a brand-new copy and smelled like glue and paper and ink.

So the third book meant ‘the future’, and that’s what the note said, too. It was a homemade book.
The front cover was filled with stick-figure drawings of two girls – one small and one tall – doing every kind of activity, around a title written in 3D lettering:
A Day in the Life of Summer and Malinda
.

Relief and shame swirled in my tummy. I wanted a future friendship with Mal so much. I promised myself that I would send her the best story she’d ever read in return. But first I had to work out how it was going to end.

At school that day, every time I thought about Gabe’s apartment building my heart lurched and I lost track of the lesson I was in. I felt conspicuous, even though I’d done such a good job of making myself into the Invisible Girl.

Though, not invisible to everyone.

‘Hey, Summer, I’m going to this bookshop after school.’ Becky grabbed my arm in the corridor and pushed a piece of paper in front of my nose. It had a picture of an author and details of a book-signing event.

‘Um … That sounds … fun?’ I didn’t know if it was an invitation or she was just telling me she was going.

‘I can never pronounce the author’s name. You’re good at French. How do you say it?’

‘Lar-bal-est-ee-air, I think?’

‘Great. So you’ll come, yes?’

‘I, well, I …’ My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single excuse. ‘Yes?’ It just slipped out.

Becky looked so happy that I couldn’t back down. What did she see in me? I was still blushing as she ran off to her final class.

We met up after school and set off towards the bookshop.

Gabe and I had agreed on five o’clock. I’d thought that having something to do before I went to find him would stop me feeling so nervous, but now I was anxious about being out with a maybe-new-friend. What if I said something stupid? What if I couldn’t think of anything to say at all? My brain felt like it was being dissolved by acid nerves, sloshing and hot inside my skull even though it was only fifteen degrees outside.

‘Can we stop at the milk bar for a drink?’ I said.

‘At the what?’

‘Milk bar. Isn’t that what it’s called?’ My heart squeezed tight. ‘It’s what my dad says.’

‘Cool. Well, I’ve never heard that in my life, but it’s cute. I like it! Let’s go to the milk bar.’ She winked at me.

I felt ridiculous, even though Becky wasn’t the sort of person who’d make fun of anyone. Dad said
everyone
called it a milk bar back when he was a kid growing up here. But things changed. Maybe things had already changed back home, in London. Maybe I’d go back one day and there would be new words for things, and everyone I knew would be different, and then I’d feel like I didn’t belong here
or
there.

There’s another way of looking at it.

Floyd, you’re here! Please stay, I can’t do this.

You’re okay. Listen. You
said
the words ‘milk bar’.

Exactly! And Becky hasn’t even heard of it!

Dad would have loved hearing you say that, even if it did turn out to be extinct. Think about that.

Floyd was right. My heart unclenched. It was just a word. And I missed pleasing Dad. I missed knowing that I was special to him.

We arrived outside the bookshop and Becky grabbed my arm and gasped. ‘I’m so nervous.’

‘Of meeting the author?’

She nodded rapidly, wide-eyed.

‘Becky, she’ll love you. I mean, you’re great.’ I wasn’t lying; she was. Becky knew how to talk to anyone. She opened her mouth; words came out! She didn’t know how magical that was to people like me.

She turned and hugged me. I held my breath and
squeezed my eyes shut and very softly rested my hands on her back.

‘You’re great too,’ she said.

I am?
I thought.

We went inside. It was gorgeous: cool and dark with the smell of wood and furniture polish and books stretching around two corners, inviting you to go exploring. Becky had brought a whole stack of books for signing and they all looked like they’d been read more than once. In fact, it looked like they’d been through some terrible times – or brilliant times, depending on how you looked at it. One of them looked like it had even been dropped in the bath.

‘Do you read much?’ she said.

‘I used to. I’m going to start again.’

‘These. Are. Seriously. The. Best,’ she said, and then she started explaining the story.

It was a series about magic, of all things: a door that led between two places that were geographically thousands of kilometres apart. The first one was called
Magic or Madness
. I wanted to laugh. The universe was playing all kinds of pranks on me. It took me back to the last time I’d really laughed with Mal – our wormholes conversation on Christmas Eve. I thought about the doorway I’d wanted between home and Melbourne. I thought about how somehow Gabe and
I had found doorways into each other’s lives. Only, at the moment it felt like it wasn’t the same door we were using.

‘You like all that kind of stuff then?’ I asked. ‘Magic and fantasy?’

‘Love it. Can’t live without it.’

‘Do you … I mean, obviously not, but do you ever think magic is real?’

‘You are so cute.’ She smiled.

I must have looked hurt because she put her arm around me and added, ‘I believe in it when I’m inside the book, if the book is a good one. One hundred per cent. But when the story is over and I’m outside it again, I don’t. That’s probably why I’m always reading.’ She held up her stack. ‘Better get in the queue. Want to come with me?’

‘You go. I’ll look around.’

Becky left me to it. For the first time in ages it felt good to be around lots of people, knowing that I had a secret place of my own to go to (the creek) and someone special to share it with (Gabe). Slowly I was making my own map of this place. And in only – oh, help, half an hour – I might be seeing Gabe outside of our bubble, here in the real world.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Because my new fear was that I’d find his house and he’d open the door and not know who I was.

As we left the bookshop, Becky hugged me again. It was still strange.

‘What was that for?’ I giggled, trying not to squirm out of her arms too obviously.

‘Nothing! Just to say thanks for coming with me.’

‘Thanks for … making me.’

We both laughed. Becky picked at something on my jumper. ‘Hey, look, you’re worth $34.99.’

I smiled and peeled the price sticker off the tip of her finger. ‘I’m expensive.’

‘I think you’re worth it.’

While I blushed, a tram hurtling along caught Becky’s eye and she started to run for it.

‘See you tomorrow, Summer!’ she shouted behind her.

When she said my name my lungs took an extra big gulp of air. And as I stuck the price sticker onto my English folder I realised that without me noticing, Becky Wong had burrowed her way in a tiny bit.

I walked up the high street towards Gabe’s neighbourhood. It was 4.55 pm and the sun was going down, leaving a purple dusk and drifts of pink candyfloss
clouds. The streets were quieter now that the school run was over. I couldn’t help checking behind me every few strides. Although we’d been able to see Gabe’s building from the river, I couldn’t see the river from here and didn’t even know which direction it was in.

It suddenly hit me that no one on the whole planet knew where I was. I was scared.

But I know where you are, Sum. I always did, remember? When we’d play hide-and-seek?

Yes, I remember.

I kept going, smiling at the memory of Floyd finding my hiding spots, putting his finger to his lips and walking away to find Wren instead, so that I wouldn’t always lose the game.

Stiff grass brushed against my leg as I walked up a pathway to the entrance of Gabe’s building. Now that I was up close, it looked so much bigger. It towered over me, solid and grim, and I was nervous again. There was a small, empty playground on one side of the path and the wind was moving the swings back and forth. Half of the windows were lit up and half were black. There was only one light on the top floor; Gabe’s floor.

I pushed one of the heavy double doors using my whole body, and once I got inside I wiped my feet on a huge mat while I tried to figure out the way to go. There was a lift straight in front of me, or a staircase
tucked away in the corner. The lift doors opened and a man holding hands with two cute children walked out. He smiled as they passed me. The lift didn’t smell very good even from here, but the stairwell was cold and grey. The wind whistled through it and there were at least twenty floors. I got in the lift and pressed the button.

At the top there were two ways I could go, so I chose left because I remembered that Wren was left-handed and she was always complaining that left got a worse deal than right. I went down the hallway, trying to peer into windows without looking like a burglar. None of the kitchens I peered into looked like the one in my dream, but a feeling that I might be nearing the end of an even bigger journey kept me going. On top of that, the view from up here was amazing and the sunset made everything so beautiful and mellow. Together they made me feel like anything was possible.

A few footsteps later I’d found the one. Yes, I realised, breathing frantically, this was the kitchen I’d visited in my dream. The orange lino. The pantry. The small stove with the red kettle on top. Everything was in its place. Peering closer, cupping my hand to the glass, I could see the room behind, where I’d taken the tea, through a wide doorway with no door. There was a square beige carpet peeling up at the corners like a slice of stale
bread. The television was on. I saw a small glass coffee table with a cup of tea resting on a coaster. Someone’s feet on a footstool. The rest of their body tucked away behind the wall. I breathed on the glass and drew a G in the mist. ‘Please be here,’ I whispered.