Pictures of You

Chapter 21

21

Evie

“Pretty sure he’s single,” Drew says, as he looks back in his camera’s viewfinder. “He had a thing with Bethany for a while.”

Is it completely over? He didn’t kiss me earlier, so it’s hard to be entirely certain.

“He seems nice,” I say, and watch Drew’s shoulders slump a tiny bit before he straightens again. I wonder if the rivalry Oliver described runs both ways.

“He’s a prefect.”

That’s not what I’m asking at all.

“He’s on track to be Dux of Year Twelve. He’s school captain. Captain of the first fifteen rugby team …”

“I don’t want his CV,” I explain, laughing—I’ve already committed that to memory. “I want information about his love life.”

Drew stops looking into the camera and turns to face me, dark hair blowing across his forehead in the breeze. His face is open. Expression clear. I can see what Bree meant when she said he was good-looking, although it’s in that interesting way that grows on you, unlike Oliver with his indisputable, movie-star attractiveness. “I don’t think there’s one particular girl,” he confirms.

It’s not exactly the answer I wanted. I imagine all the girls Oliver might have kissed, or more, and when I see myself joining that club, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of one of those tiny paths on the side of a cliff face, scared to open my eyes.

“You auditioning for the role?” Drew asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply.

I do know, though. There’s something about Oliver that feels inevitable, so much energy between us I literally have to catch my breath. Between how he looks and all the attention he’s paying me, after I’ve been totally starved of romance my entire school career, he’s irresistible.

“How about you?” I ask. I want to know why he’s not spending late nights on the beach with Mila and Blyth and Sage from my imaginary warehouse. I watch as he sets up his camera to capture some star trails, swirling circles of light as the earth rotates.

“Nuh,” he says, as he presses the remote trigger carefully and steps away from the tripod, focusing back on me. “Don’t really have time.”

I know that’s not true. “You’ve just set up one photo that’s going to take a full thirty minutes. Time is not the problem.”

He glances back at his mum, who is very unsubtly giving us space by the fire. Tension creeps into his stance as he runs his fingers through his dark hair, like he’s uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is taking.

“Alicia was clearly interested!” I tease him.

“Ha! Can you imagine Alicia out here, doing this?”

An awkwardness descends between us, before he adds, “Not that this is, like, a date or anything.”

No, this is definitely not a date. I’ve learned from my very limited and recent experience that dates feel terrifying. Not relaxed.

“Seeing you and your mum together is making me homesick,” I admit. “I’ve been at school in Sydney for five years now, but I’ll never really get used to the distance. This is the kind of thing Dad and I would do at home in Newcastle.”

It’s also a stark contrast with the way Oliver was with his father earlier.

“People don’t get how important parents are,” Drew says, while he checks the viewfinder. “Until you’ve never known one, or you’re at risk of losing one …”

My hand finds his arm, just briefly. We’re cocooned in the ocean’s noise, and in this private truth. Moonlight plays across his face and I think how attractive it is when someone shares their secrets.

“Toast some marshmallows?” he says, clearing his throat.

I carry my camera toward Annie and the campfire. He lays out blankets on the sand, where I sit across from the two of them and stick marshmallows into the fire on a long barbecue skewer. I can’t help thinking how much more in my element I am here with Drew and his mum and the roar of the waves, the warmth of the fire, and a thermos of coffee than I was at that party with the loud music and flashing lights and alcohol.

My marshmallow catches alight, and I blow out the flame and slip it into my mouth, a sweet, gooey mess that makes me broadcast some primitive, guttural noise that I follow up with a snort of laughter. It’s so different from the sandwich anxiety earlier.

Drew smiles and throws me the whole bag of marshmallows, goading me into a repeat performance.

I catch Annie smiling at him, and there’s a whole history conveyed between them when their eyes meet.

“How often do you do this?” I ask.

“Not often enough. I haven’t been well,” Annie says, and I stop chewing and swallow. “It’s taken so much time away from Drew’s social life.”

He groans.

“It’s why he’s never had a girlfriend.”

“Mum!”

“What? It’s true, Drew! I know you’re not a saint …”

“MUM!”

“But as for long-term girlfriends …”

I watch him squirm. “I’m sorry you’ve been unwell,” I tell her, saving him, desperate to decode his tormented expression.

“I’ve had a lot of treatment,” Annie continues. “I just … It’s hard, sometimes, to get motivated.”

Firelight plays across Drew’s face. He’s reassumed that serious expression I noticed the second I met him. The heaviness. The depth. Even with this tiny glimpse into what might be going on in his family, I’m suddenly glad I acted on instinct and covered for him over the formal mix-up. It feels like it’s one small thing I can lift from his plate.

He catches me looking at him, and there’s a brief spark in his eyes, like the flicker of an engine about to roar to life. But I’m distracted by my phone buzzing again. He watches me resist it as I lie back on the blanket, staring at the stars.