Page 62 of Forever Summer

“Yeah, good,” he said, and then silence fell between us. Ghastly, drawn-out, awkward silence. There was never any silence between Adam and me, not in our entire lifetime had we suffered from the affliction. And if there was to be any kind of silence, it had always been a comfortable silence. This was not comfortable. This was drum-your-fingers-and-look-up-at-the-ceiling kind of uncomfortable.

“So, you heading back to Onslow on the weekend?”

I snapped to attention, relieved that Adam had broken the silence, excited he asked that kind of question.

Why, did he want me to?

I wanted to voice that exact question, perhaps use it as a means for some harmless flirtation. That’s what came to me naturally. Instead, something else entered my mind, something infuriating and responsible.

“Ugh, I can’t. Mum’s coming for the weekend.” I pouted, and then felt instantly awful. I know I complained about my mum often, but in light of Adam’s situation with his mum, I kind of felt like a spoilt brat. “Which will be good, to have some girl time,” I quickly added.

“Yeah, cool.”

Was that the sound of disappointment in his voice? I couldn’t tell what was real or what was overthought anymore.

Again, I kind of expected the whole “Hey, about last night” to pop up in conversation. Lord knows I had been mentally psyching myself up for it the minute I woke up. So, much like dousing myself in a self-inflicted stream of soda water, I thought I would put the ball in my court, so to speak.

“Listen, um, about last night—”

“Oh yeah, about that,” he interrupted. My mouth gaped, my body went rigid as I braced myself for the onslaught of “We’re friends, right?”

“You know what?”

“W-what?” I breathed, clutching my mobile with a white-knuckled intensity.

“I’d kind of like to do it again.”

I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face; if I could whistle properly I would be belting out Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah all the way to work, via the best coffee joint in the city, as my daily ritual would demand. I inhaled the strong, rich brew, basking in the fresh morning sunshine and how glorious life was right now. I couldn’t hear birdsong exactly, so I revelled in the city surrounds of the traffic, and general hustle and bustle from the manic crowd off to work. I took it all in, thinking it almost sounded like my name rolling across the wind, a very distant cry. Ha, today really was poetic, now I was hearing things, until of course I paused mid-sip, my eyes narrowing as the sound became louder, less sing-songy on the wind, and just damn well annoying.

“Hey, Ellie, wait up.”

Oh God, please, make it not be so.

I slowly turned, thinking maybe my mind was playing tricks on me; sure enough, as soon as I turned, my eyes widened, as right before me, closing the distance a good head and shoulders above the commuters, came Rory Fucking Franklin.

Thirty-One

I sat opposite Rory Franklin, my arms folded and a sceptical curve to my brow.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

“Yeah, look, mate, I’m not going to keep you long.”

Mate? Did he honestly just call me mate?

Long gone was the custom-made black suit and square-tipped Italian leather shoes. Instead, Rory wore baggy green running shorts over his bike shorts and a grey sweat-stained singlet top. He didn’t look like an expensive, high-end athlete. He was just a boy that could have been training with the Onslow Tigers, for all anyone knew. It kind of had me not thawing, but certainly less on edge as I saw him stumble over his words.

“Yeah, um, I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry, you know, for what I said.”

He looked down at the tablecloth for most of his delivery, but the one time he did look up, his baby blues looking at me, damn it if he wasn’t sincere. Regardless of however big of a dick he had been, I know he meant what he said.

I thought for a long moment, assessing Rory with great interest. I had often thought about what I might say to him if I had ever the chance to bump into him again. My fantasy was usually quite dramatic, where I would indeed spill another beverage on him, followed by a killer line and a hair flick, while I walked to the sound of Aretha Franklin’s ‘RESPECT’ (obviously the two were not related). But in that moment, nothing grand or abusive came to mind, no matter how many speeches I had rehearsed in my head.

“It’s not just what you said, Rory, it’s the fact that you thought it was acceptable to objectify me to your mates like that. To make a judgment based on my looks and intelligence within, I’m guessing, two minutes of me sitting in your penis-extension of a car.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I hired the car for the date,” he said sheepishly.

I burst out laughing. “What, to impress me?”

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