Blue Water High (11 page)

Heath dragged on his T-shirt. ‘I sure hope Fly's having a better time than this.'

Fly was having a better time. Even though she was hot with sweat and down on her haunches cleaning grime from the hub cap of a ute. This dirty work was helping her come clean, so she didn't care how hard it got. She gave the ute's roof a final polish, handed the car keys to the
young driver and waved him off.

George tooted from the front of the car wash – there was another one ready. Fly wiped her sweaty face and headed back, her footsteps slowing as she got closer to the little blue hatchback waiting at the mouth of the car wash. The car was very, very familiar. It was the same car which had driven her back and forth to dormitory D her first night. It was Deb's car!

And there was Deb, standing at the boot of the car, giving instructions to George with one hand, and giving instructions to someone else on the mobile phone with the other. Fly froze. She had no idea what to do.

‘This lady wants a full interior clean,' George hollered.

Deb was too busy taking money from her wallet to turn around to see who would be doing the full interior. Then George pressed the start button, so the only idea that had found its way into Fly's frozen brain – which was to yell out in a low voice that she needed a toilet break and bolt the other way – was no longer an option. There was nothing for it but to pull her fluoro orange cap low, bolt for the car and scramble inside.

As she hurried to pull the door shut, Fly leaned on the automatic window control panel. Over the sound of the car wash machine grinding into gear, she didn't hear the soft whirring of the back window sliding down … All the way down. She was too flustered to notice. She swiped at the dash and sprayed and prayed that between now and when the machine spat her out at the other end she would've discovered the hidden key to invisibility. Soap squirted from nozzles. The soft curtain swayed. The huge whirling brushes bore down on the car and a steady spray of sudsy water flowed into the back seat.

It was only when the pool of water on the floor in the back was large enough to overflow into the front that Fly realised there was a problem. She leaned into the back seat to see the rolling car washers spinning soapy water in through the open window. A fresh spray of water copped her in the face. No question about it. Time to panic.

Fly jabbed at every button on the control panel, desperate to get the window back up. Perhaps it was the desperation that led her further into trouble. Finally the back window started to rise. As it jammed into the top of the door, Fly realised she'd trapped three long straps from the polishing unit inside with it. The straps hung down the window like huge, dripping German shepherds' tongues.

There was an awful screeching. There was smoke. A small explosion. And then she could hear Deb's voice.

‘What's happening? That's my car in there!'

Outside George lunged for the controls and the whole thing shuddered to a horrible stop. There was one more small explosion for good luck.

Fly caught sight of herself in the mirror. If she weren't her, she would've felt sorry for herself. Then, through the windscreen, she saw the sudsy cloth strips part, and the faces of an irate George and a completely bewildered Deb looking in at her.

Fly must've gotten out of the car, because at some point she realised she was standing in front of Deb. But something was wrong. It was like all her senses had gone home for the day without telling her. Deb suddenly seemed stupidly tall. And even though Fly could see Deb's mouth moving, the words glanced off Fly's ears, leaving only fragments of information. She could sense they were serious words, searching, but not unkind … Fly blinked.
Maybe she had swallowed too much Windex?

Some of the words she managed to hang on to were: ‘What were you thinking?' … ‘against surf school rules' … ‘We're responsible for your safety'. Fly realised the more she blinked, the more words were getting through, and even though she didn't necessarily want to hear what was being said, it made her feel less like she was going mad. So she started blinking. A lot.

‘If you have money problems, Fly, you have to talk to us. It's what we're there for. To help you.' Deb kept looking at her, waiting for a response.

‘Fly? Fly?' Deb was worried now. ‘Are you alright? You're blinking an awful lot.'

One of the things about living with six sixteen-year-olds (yeah, yeah, her birthday wasn't that far away) was that nothing,
nothing
, stayed private. She had no idea how, but by the time Fly walked in the door of the boarding house, everyone knew. She could tell by the way they looked at her. All sort of sorry and kind. Fly put her head down and went straight to her room.

Anna was at her computer when Fly opened the door. Much as she liked Anna she was the last person Fly wanted to see. There was no escape in this house – maybe she could take a late-night shower and just stay in there till morning. Anna was trying to set up a video phone to Germany on the internet. She wasn't very happy with how her efforts were going.

‘The stupid thing keeps crashing,' she said without
turning around.

Fly was so grateful that she didn't turn around with sorry eyes, that she didn't ask about the car-wash crisis. She knew Anna would have heard all about it, and she loved her for not asking.

Fly sat on her bed. It was time to tell Anna the truth, but there was something she wanted to know first.

‘Do you feel homesick, Anna?'

Anna thought about it a moment. She shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

‘You're so far from home. Different language. And customs and stuff. But you never act homesick.'

Anna fiddled some more with the computer. ‘I miss things. I miss good black bread.'

In the short time they'd been living together Fly was well and truly across Anna's bread issue. Anna stood in the kitchen every morning, holding a piece of white, square bread between two fingers as if it was a specimen she'd found in a drain. Her question was always the same: how could any of them, seriously, call this square of foam rubber
bread
?

‘I miss German TV,' said Anna, warming to the topic. ‘And Mum and Dad. My friends.'

She turned around, but Fly had fallen asleep.

In the morning, after training, Heath found Fly out on the grass. She had her knees tucked up under her chin.

‘I've got a problem,' he said.

‘Join the club.'

‘Yeah, well mine's massive. I'm supposed to be making a documentary about the year and no-one will speak when I turn the camera on.'

Fly just nodded – massive problem.

‘Except Perri that is. I have more footage of Perri than I know what to do with. Guess I could sell it on the internet. She'd probably buy the lot.'

They sat in silence, watching the waves rock in.

‘Yeah, so I guess I wondered if you wanted to talk about Anna's phone bill.'

Fly's temperature suddenly hit the roof. Her face was on fire. How did Heath know about that bit?

Heath gave her a smile. ‘It's alright. Anna knows too. She's known for a week.'

Fly's head was reeling. Anna had known, and she hadn't said anything? She thought back over every encounter she'd had with Anna over the last week. They were all the same. Nice, kind, normal.

‘I shouldn't be here.' Suddenly it was pouring out. ‘I'm just not … everyone else is so … together. And that's why I lied. ‘Cause I just felt so stupid. So young and so … stupid.'

Heath just nodded, gave her the space to go on.

‘I mean, I don't even know how to switch off a mobile call! And I think Deb and Simmo got it wrong when they picked me in the first place.'

‘So, according to your logic, Deb and Simmo aren't to be trusted, and they're not very good judges of character?'

Fly didn't answer. She was confused by where this was headed.

‘And if they wouldn't know a good surfer from a watermelon, then they probably got it wrong when they picked the rest of us too. Which would mean none of us deserve to
be here.'

‘That's not what I'm saying.'

Heath nodded some more. ‘No offence, but I don't think you know what you're saying … And that's cool too.'

They sat in silence while the waves pounded in on the shore. Then Heath suddenly jumped up. ‘Come on. There's something I want you to see.'

The rest of the gang were in the front yard. As they saw Heath and Fly approaching there were howls of distress. They weren't finished yet. Heath was supposed to keep her there for at least ten minutes.

Fly saw what they hadn't quite finished, but she had no clue what it was. It was a stick. A signpost, sort of, with lots of arrows pointing in different directions. Bec pointed to Heath – it was his idea, he should do the explaining.

Heath shrugged. ‘It's a reality check.' He pointed to the sign. ‘Here's Bec – 6 k from home. Then me – Ballina: 598.4 kilometres.'

He reached for another arrow. ‘Perri – Gold Coast: 684.8 kilometres; Edge – Melbourne: 715 kilometres; Matt – King Island: 938 kilometres; and here's you – Margaret River: 3314 kilometres. And then, lucky last …' He looked at Fly. ‘See, it's not always you. Anna – Hamburg: 16,300 kilometres. Anyway, it was just to kind of remind us that we're all a long way from home. And it's okay to feel homesick every now and then.'

Fly felt overwhelmed. She imagined them at breakfast, talking about her mobile bungling, about how she was homesick.

‘Nothing's private here, is it?'

Heath thought about it for a bit. And then he shook his head.

Nothing was really private in Fly's household either. Six girls, two bedrooms. It would have been impossible. But that was family. It was different. The Watsons kept their stuff to themselves. As far as Fly knew, everyone did. At least everyone in Capel, population 750, 200 k from the nearest 7-Eleven. But she was about to be shown there were benefits in giving the privacy thing up.

As news of her situation had spread around the boarding house, the number of heads on it had grown. More heads meant more chances of coming up with a plan. And they had come up with one. A plan which would pay back the cost of the damage to George's machine, cover Anna's phone bill and deal with that pesky community service issue.