Page 10 of Fire Fight

Salesi drops off the binoculars and Gretchen perches her elbows on her knees as she scans the foreshore. After a minute, she jumps with excitement, nudging me and putting the glasses in my hand. “That’s the hunk of gorgeousness you’re sleeping down the hall from.”

The boy faces away from us as he walks out of the ocean, rivulets of water streaming down his long body. They follow the curve of his lower back to be absorbed by his board shorts, the drips beneath snaking through the dark hair on his muscular thighs.

His shorts sag with the water weight and gravity gives me a tempting peepshow of his arse cleavage before he yanks up the waistband.

Gretchen snatches the binoculars back, resuming her perusal with a satisfied sigh. “He’s absolutely dreamy. You must schedule a sleepover.”

Hudson steers the ski near to the platform, sending his wake sloshing toward us. “Get on,” he calls out, jerking his head in case I missed the instruction.

I send Gretchen a questioning look, but she shrugs. “The jet skis are safe enough if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is he safe?”

She snorts. “He’s far less dangerous than he’d like to be but jump on board. You’ll never know until you give him a ride.”

And with that double entendre, how could I resist?

It takes a few minutes to work out how to clamber onto the vehicle and Hudson lifts me from the water in the end, a demonstration of his muscle power emphasised by the fact he’s not even out of breath.

“Hold on tight,” he says and when my tentative hands fasten around his waist, he pushes them lower, tilting a devilish smile over his shoulder.

He gives me all of three seconds of gentle forward motion to adapt, then floors the accelerator, speeding through the waves, then riding on top of them. The spray of saltwater mists my hair and face, the taste of it on my lips. The huge bounces and troughs make me hug Hudson tighter, my chest pressing into his back, screaming with a mix of fear and laughter into his ear.

“That was fun,” I shout when he eventually comes a halt, the petrol gauge edging lower.

“Yeah? Next time, I’ll teach you to steer.”

He and the other boys idle next to the platform and when Mum catches my eye, she points up the steep path to the house.

“I think that’s my cue to go.”

“Don’t forget to friend me online,” Gretchen reminds me before I start the short swim back. “Pass my number on to Blaine as well.”

“I will. Do you go to Ashford Crest?”

They all nod, and I feel a surge of gratitude. “Then I’ll see you in school on Monday.”

Back on the beach, Mum and I shake out the towels and I turn for one last look at my new friends. Viliami, Salesi, and Hudson are involved in a vigorous conversation and my chest hitches; they’re staring at me.

“Are you coming?”

I run to join my mother on the path, only glancing again once we’re safely to the top.

The platform is now empty, the jet skis racing towards the next inlet. Gretchen appears to have recovered from her earlier snit with the twins because she’s riding behind Salesi, arms wrapped around his waist.

It’s nothing. Their conversation was probably about how to allocate the seats home, and my paranoia is because I’m the new girl.

I follow Mum indoors, grabbing my phone to send requests to my new friends.

We spendthe rest of the day split between lounging on the patio furniture, reading, and seated in front of the enormous screen in the family room—foraging from the well-stocked fridge when we get hungry.

It’s just before ten when I hear Arnold’s car pull into the driveway and I kiss Mum goodnight and hurry upstairs, not wanting to get in her way.

Outside my room I pause, staring at the door opposite mine, recessed in a short hallway. Apart from foster care, I’ve never lived in a household with another person my age and I tiptoe across to have a peek.

A thrill of excitement races down my spine as I push open the door, then my face falls in disappointment.

The person who outfitted my bedroom put far more personality into the space than what I see here with its bare walls, clear desk, and bland beige curtains. The bed has hospital corners, using a spread and blankets rather than my fluffy duvet.

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