Blue Water High (21 page)

The crowd had gone very quiet. Heath suddenly looked around, and it must've freaked him out because he burst into a wide grin. ‘I know what you're thinking – the next day her family freaked out and there was a big war.' He shook his head. ‘They were a bit shocked, but it was actually cool. It ended up bringing about a long peace between the two tribes, so … yeah. There you go. That's the story.'

He passed the microphone back to Simmo and stood aside. Fly couldn't stop staring at him. She heard the bids ramping up through the numbers, but she wasn't paying close attention. She was thinking about how amazing Heath was and the fact that she'd pushed him away without even thinking about what it might have felt like to him. Maybe he was Tutanekai and she was Hinemoa? Or was she just being silly and this was a total coincidence? She wished Nell was here, Nell who could sniff out the truth at a thousand paces … but she wasn't here. Fly was going to have to work this one out on her own.

Heath's story, beyond raising $1900, had made him the star of the barbecue. A small crowd gathered around him, eager for more details of his history, where he came from, what it was like. It was nice to see him being the centre of attention for something other than goofing off.

Bec stayed very close to Fly during lunch. With only three boards to go, her date with embarrassment was drawing too close for comfort. It must've been bad – she couldn't manage more than a mouthful of her sausage sandwich. Fly's nerves seemed to be doing the reverse, the closer it got to her deadline, the calmer she was feeling. She was even able to give Deb a real smile as they passed in the drinks queue.

At 2.30 Simmo called them away from the barbie.

‘Time to really tie this thing up, people. Three boards to go, so it's now or next year.'

And with that, he pulled the sheet off Bec's board revealing the drawing of Edge. Matt and Heath exploded with laughter.

‘I didn't know it was a self-portrait competition,' said Heath.

Fly watched Edge stare up at the image of himself. She could see his mind racing. He looked across to Bec, who was glued to the spot, an intense blush screaming across her face.

Without warning, Edge stood and marched to the front. What was he doing?

‘Edge, you are shameless, man!' Matt called after him.

Edge took the microphone. ‘Just making sure everyone knows what the winner of this comp looks like.'

Fly stared at Bec. This was the last thing they were expecting.

The bids for Bec's board were respectable but not great – no-one really likes a self-promoter. Edge stood there and took it in his stride, ignoring the other boys' hassling as he returned to the lawn. He stared straight ahead, not meeting Bec's eyes either. There wasn't time for an explanation anyway because Simmo had unveiled the next board and it was Edge's – which meant Bec had to get up there and play her part. She had to take responsibility for the wildest grinding surf metal picture she'd ever seen in her life.

Edge had gone ballistic – there were waves being cut to pieces by razor-sharp guitars and lightning bolts and sharks' fins and … violence. Everything about the picture screamed
Aaaaarrrrggggghhhhhh!

Simmo stared at the board, then at Bec. He was surprised to say the least.

‘So … a very …' Simmo struggled to find the right word, ‘
strong
piece of work from Bec Sanderson. Just serves to remind us that surfing chicks don't just sit on the beach thinking about hearts and rainbows. Who'll start us off at $300?'

For the first time there was silence. Bec glared over at her parents, willing them to bid, but it was clear Bec's mum and dad were in shock at what had apparently sprung from the pen of their darling daughter.

Finally an older guy at the back stuck up his hand. He had a feral beard and a generous serving of tatts. Fly guessed he was one of those water westies she read about – guys who are into the surf as much as they're into panel vans and music which sounds like it was cooked up in the Devil's basement. He was the only bidder but he wanted to pay more because he thought it rocked, so he raised his bid
twice and ended up settling on five hundred and fifty dollars. Simmo tried to explain that he was only bidding against himself, that he didn't have to keep upping the price, but when the guy ignored his advice Simmo was wise enough to just go with the flow.

Fly watched Bec head back to where she'd been sitting, staring at the grass all the way as if it were the most interesting thing she'd seen in a long time. Heath and Matt headed off to beg for more sausages, leaving Bec and Edge more or less alone. If you didn't count the fact that Fly was right behind them.

Bec kept her eyes glued to the grass, but she whispered softly, ‘It wasn't meant to turn out like that, alright?'

Edge looked straight ahead. He nodded.

‘And you can have the difference because yours sold for more.'

Another nod from Edge. Fly could feel Bec wriggling awkwardly, hating this. She wanted to bust right through the middle and give a bigger explanation, but even she knew when to keep her nose out.

‘Funny,' Bec said. ‘You'd rather everyone think you're up yourself than that I … you know … had a thing for you – which I don't.'

Edge looked up at her briefly. ‘That's not why I did it. I'm used to them paying me out. I figured you could do without the hassle.'

When Bec was cornered she was an attacker, not a defender and she'd been working up a good, strong dose of attack. Now Edge was being so reasonable, so nice even, Bec had nowhere to go.

‘It's a pretty good likeness,' said Edge as he pulled himself to his feet. ‘Even if it's not meant to be me.'

He headed off to the barbecue to join the boys without waiting for a response. Fly could feel herself grinning like mental, full of happiness for her friend. If nothing else good happened today, Fly would go to bed feeling like everything was right with the world.

But it wasn't time for bed yet. There was one board standing, and it was hers. Simmo invited her to the microphone before he pulled down the sheet.

‘Come on, lucky last,' he said.

Fly unveiled her own drawing. In the cold harsh light of day, that monster wave was no less evil. It was a twenty-five footer, thick-lipped, curling and growling and rising up so high it blocked out the sun. Just beneath the surface Fly had sketched out the coral heads, red and blue and purple, jagged and beautiful and sharp as knives.

Yesterday, before she talked to Matt, she would've drawn her fear, she would've scribbled her tiny body grabbing onto those coral heads beneath the surface, holding on for dear life in spite of the fact that the grip would be shredding her hands to pieces. Sometimes that's what you had to do when the truck unloaded right on top of you. If you weren't holding onto something you could be sure the wave would suck you right up by the feet before it chucked you back into the rinse cycle. But that's not what she drew.

Fly leaned in towards the microphone. ‘I've drawn myself making the kind of wave which gives me nightmares.'

There, halfway through the bottom turn, on the way to safety, was the tiny figure of Fly. She wore a beaming grin. This was what she was seeing now, thanks to Matt.

‘What's the can all about?' a woman yelled from the crowd.

When Fly scanned the group, she saw that the question had come from Deb. She turned back to the board. Floating harmlessly away in one corner was a large empty milk can, its lid bobbing along beside it.

‘It's a milk can. It's what I used to keep my fear in.'

Deb smiled, gave her a nod. She wasn't one hundred per cent sure she was off the hook, but she felt like it was a definite possibility.

‘Well done, Fly,' Simmo said. ‘Who'll start me off at two hundred and fifty dollars for this fine piece of fear-facing?'

A young bloke near the back called out, ‘Two hundred and fifty!'

‘Three hundred!' came the call from the front. Deb?!

‘Three fifty!' The bloke upped his bid.

‘Four hundred!' called Deb.

What was she doing? Maybe she was trying to push the price up, make sure they made a good amount for the surf club.

‘Good to see you haven't run out of puff. Any raises on four hundred dollars?' Simmo called

The bloke was quiet for a good ten seconds. Fly started to panic. All the good vibes she'd managed to squeeze out of Deb by finally naming the fear could be exploded in an instant if she ended up lumbered with a board she didn't want and had to fork out four hundred big ones for the privilege.

Finally the bloke piped up again. ‘Four fifty.'

Deb was back at him in a flash. ‘Five hundred.' Was she mad?

Fly prayed for the man to bid again, she looked at him pleadingly, she couldn't have peered up more puppishly if she tried.
Pleeeeease
bid.
Pleeeaaassse
?

But he shook his head.

Simmo seemed to be thinking the same thing as Fly because he was reluctant to call it a done deal.

‘Come on, sir. A man of your taste, you sure you can't find a couple more coins in the old back pocket?'

But the man shook his head again.

‘Hmmm. Well, I guess that means you're it, Deb.'

Fly couldn't tell whether Deb's smile was genuine or whether it was hiding a whole host of horrors.

Just then the shark alarm exploded above them. Fly understood that it needed to be loud enough for people in the water to hear it, but really, that noise was off its face. Everyone scrambled to get away from the speakers. Two rescue choppers suddenly swung around the headland, followed by a couple of coastguard boats. Fly could see the old tannery man talking into his mobile, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. He was nodding and peering, nodding and peering. As soon as the alarm stopped the crowd clumped together again. You could feel the ripple of thrill dancing between them because as much as we all hate fear, we love it too.

The shark was a pregnant female, four-metre Great White headed north to give birth. The choppers and the coastguard were going to give it some encouragement to take a deeper route, one further from the coast, further from temptation.

They all stood watching, transfixed, until the boats grew small.

‘But how do we know whether the shark's really gone?' said Perri.

‘Or whether it'll just chuck a U-turn and head right back to finish us off?' added Bec.

‘And whether she'll be angrier now because of all the harassment from the choppers?' said Heath.

Deb spoke from behind them. ‘Guess you're just going to have to test out the fear strategies.'

Fly turned and Deb was looking straight at her. ‘The board … I'm so sorry you got stuck with it.'

‘Really?' said Deb. She wasn't smiling so Fly had no idea where to go.

‘Shouldn't I be?'

‘I think this assignment went quite well in the end. I want to use your board as an example next year. The academy will pay for it. We'll call it a teaching tool.'

Fly couldn't believe it. This was how her big stand ended? This was the result of her digging her heels in?

Deb was already headed to the car. ‘I still want what you said on paper, Fly,' she called back. ‘Two hundred and fifty words. No less. And I want it by the morning.'

Fly just nodded. The way she was feeling right then, she would happily have sat up the whole night writing an encyclopedia about her fears.

At least she would have if she weren't having some other, more exciting thoughts. Something had happened to Fly during the auction, maybe it was watching Bec and Edge inching awkwardly towards each other, maybe it was getting through Deb's assignment, maybe it was the love story of Hinemoa and Tutanekai … But something made Fly decide there was another fear she wanted to face. She was going to bite the bullet and tell Heath she'd changed her mind.

If Fly thought she had a few butterflies in her tummy after her ‘kissing Heath' dream, she had a whole herd of the flappers down there now. She lay in bed that night trying to work out how to word her change of mind, but nothing sounded right. Every now and then she'd come up with something so ridiculous it made her giggle out loud. Maybe it was the nerves or something, but once she started she couldn't stop, she sniggered and snorted until Anna threw a pillow at her … and then she had to fight to keep that naughty laughter at bay. She could feel it wriggling up through her belly and she had to hold her breath and squeeze her stomach muscles hard to hold it down. In the end, she decided to steal Heath's own words. She would say what he had said to her in the caravan. She would say …

‘Heath. I only have nine words to say to you. I don't think of you in a friendly – strike that – brotherly way.'

That way if he thought she was weird, he only had himself to blame. Right? She must've tired her nerves out because by the morning she was too tired to laugh anymore. Maybe she'd get halfway through her sentence
and fall asleep in her dinner. Not that she was planning to make the big announcement at the dinner table. No siree. She needed to find a chance when they'd be alone together. She just needed to keep an eye out and seize the opportunity when it came up.

The butterflies took off again as soon as they got to school. Heath and Fly were in the same maths class and, as unromantic as algebra was, it might be the only chance she had. Unfortunately their teacher, Mr Savin, was selfishly pursuing his own agenda and sat them in groups to solve a savage set of calculus problems.

The flutterbies stayed in flight all of lunch. She sat with the crew and nodded when she thought it was appropriate, but she didn't hear a word they said and even looking at her lunch made her want to throw up. It was a kind of nice nausea though, if such a thing were possible. It made her feel all trembly and excited.

It was bizarre. Absolutely nothing on the outside had changed. But everything had changed too. Because of one thought inside her head, one thought, Fly's whole body was popping and snapping, sending volts of new and strange feelings all over the shop. How was it possible that a thought you had in your head could make your stomach turn, or your hands sweat, or your heart take off like a rabbit? Maybe it was the same thing Matt was talking about; if having fearful thoughts sent your body a whole heap of fear signals, why wouldn't having – she could hardly even think the word – love-ish thoughts send your body some love-ish signals?