Page 9 of Unexpected Boyfriends

“Oh well, I had a good teacher,” I mumble, and hide my discomfort by turning away to get us a couple of glasses of cold water.

When I return, the conversation has moved on. Axel is talking with the others and accepts the glass I offer him, with a nod of thanks. I disappear for a few minutes, ostensibly to change out of my sandy gear, but actually to quietly berate myself again for being a dumbass, and then I try to compose myself.

Not long after, Axel and his parents say their goodbyes.

After he’s gone, I realize we didn’t even exchange phone numbers. And I need to be realistic. He’s twenty-two, I’m only just eighteen. He lives here, I don’t. What interest could he possibly have in maintaining a friendship with me?

There’s no way I’m hearing from him again.

******

The sun creeps over the horizon in a display of pink and yellow and grey, and another hot summer's day begins. The early morning clouds dissipate, the sun beats down and the air grows heavy with heat.

It's another perfect beach day. Straight after breakfast I head down to the water and spend the morning practicing my new bodysurfing skills. I love the buzz that comes with learning something new and I’m pleased with my progress. I’m having more success at selecting waves and getting better at staying onthe wave as it breaks. When I haul myself out of the surf after a couple of hours, I'm stumbling like an old man up onto dry land. Every tired muscle from yesterday is screaming at me, and joining in the concert are a few more from today. I throw myself onto my towel and groan as I hit the sand. It’s been fun, but I miss having Axel there to enjoy it with. I try to put him out of my mind.

Walking back up the hill to the house is an agony of burning muscles and sweat in the blazing sun, that I only accomplish after resting for half an hour. I'm sure the only thing that propels me up the hill, past the wealthy holiday homes with their gardens filled with colorful hibiscus and frangipani, around the hairpin bends, until I reach the crest of the hill, and the long driveway down to the house, is my excitement over my achievements this morning.

Pans clatter into the sink and food is sizzling on the stove as I stagger with relief into the house.

"Justin?" my grandmother looks up as I enter the kitchen. "Just in time for lunch. How was the beach?"

"Good. I was bodysurfing."

"That's nice. How was the water? Any bluebottles?"

"Didn't see any. It was perfect down there."

"Oh well, I might have a swim later when all the tourists go home. You can't get a parking in the middle of the day. Go and get changed. Lunch will be ready in ten minutes."

Lunch is a full sit-down affair, so there's no possibility of swimming for a while after, and I'm so pleasantly worn out from my morning that when my grandmother goes into the local village after lunch, I decide to give the beach a miss andaccompany her. She’s only doing grocery shopping – boring - so I go off on my own to the newsagent to pick up some extra art supplies.

The rest of the afternoon I spend working on my drawing of the lorikeet. I also start a painting, which I plan to make an abstract of a wave. The art keeps me busy until dinner time, and I scarcely think about Axel. Not much, anyway. And when I do, I mentally kick myself again for my stupidity, which doesn’t help at all.

We’ve just finished dinner and are clearing up when the shrill ring of the wallphone in the kitchen interrupts us. My grandmother answers it, "Beecham residence."

"Yes, of course." She holds the phone out to me. “It’s for you.”

For me? No-one has my number here. Except for my parents. But when I answer the phone, it’s not my parents.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Justin? It’s Axel.”

“Oh, hey.”

“Sorry to call on the landline, but we forgot to exchange numbers. Remember the blowhole I told you about?”

“Oh, yeah. It sounded cool.”

“Well, I checked the tides and we could go tomorrow if you’re still interested. The tide will be extra low.”

“Oh. Yeah. Ah, sounds good.” I’m scrambling to catch up. I hadn’t dare hope I’d hear from him again. “Where and when?”

“I can pick you up around 10am. Tide’s at full low about midday so that gives us plenty of time to get out there and back before we get cut off.”

I shiver at the thought of getting caught by the tide and maybe having to spend a night out on the rocks, but…

“Let’s do it,” I agree enthusiastically. "See ya then."

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