Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CADENCE
The trail down to the private beach is cut into the side of the cliff face, a metre across at its widest point with a foot or two of leeway on either side. We pause at the top to lean on the iron railing and stare across the harbour.
The sparkling beauty of the water against the backdrop of the hill range fills my heart with throat-tightening joy.
An unusual attack of shyness hits me when we reach the beach, and I see the teenagers laughing and jumping around on the swimming platform. They look completely at home, born to this extravagant lifestyle and even the perfect fit of my brand-new swimsuit can’t wipe away the fear they might judge me because I’m not.
“Aren’t you going over?” Mum is surprised at my reticence when I’m usually gregarious, quickly making friendships, even if they’re shallow. “They look harmless enough.”
“There must be ten of them out there,” I mutter, hugging my knees to my chest, sitting on a rainbow striped towel. “That’s gang numbers.”
She lies back, supporting herself on her elbows to keep everything in view. “Would you like me to swim out with you? Tell them all to treat my girl nicely.”
I laugh, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. My mother has been known to embarrass me—deliberately—on occasion, just to satisfy her perverse sense of amusement.
At least, that’s my assessment. She might legitimately think she’s helping.
There are nine when I count properly. Six boys and three girls. A few of the males are worth closer inspection, but my mind immediately shuts down the observation.
Not a surprise considering what happened with the last boy I crushed on.
Even before the ‘incident,’ I’d been useless at that stuff. Awkward or reticent when everyone else was enthusiastic. A few pashing sessions under the bleachers form the extent of my experience. A casual grope on top of my clothes.
But while what happened with Drake made me wary—for good reason—these teenagers aren’t like the damaged youths at my last school or the gang members living near our emergency hostel. They’ll be normal, well-adjusted, probably with a shrink on speed dial to sort out any fledgling crises. Daddy’s credit card to sort the rest.
Chances are they won’t be interested in my impoverished arse, but one might be in search of a fixer upper.
There’s no harm in looking.
A slender girl waves at me, her short blonde hair in a pixie cut that matches her small, slightly pointed ears. She puts her hands either side of her mouth, the makeshift blow horn no equal to the noisy waves.
“Go on,” Mum encourages me.
I clamber to my feet, wiping the coarse sand granules from my legs where they adhere despite the thick towel. “You’re going to keep watch here, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.” She immediately lies back, slipping the sunglasses from the top of her head down over her eyes. “I’ll shout if I want to head back in.”
I return the girl’s wave, and she gives me a thumbs up, then jumps off the edge, upright, holding her nose. By the time I’ve walked deep enough to swim, she’s bobbed to the surface, hair plastered flat, a laugh cutting through the ocean’s roar.
She’s sitting on the side again when I reach the platform. There’s no ladder, so I lean on the edge, a demonstration of gangliness as I lever myself from the water.
“Hey,” I say, then roll onto my back. Swimming in the ocean isn’t the same as a council pool. Far less chlorine and far too much saltwater up my nose.
The pixie makes that joyous laugh again. “Hey, yourself. I’m Gretchen.”
“Cadence.”
“Oh, yeah. We all know who you are.” Another girl with a wide mouth and tits so huge I’m instantly envious, laughs from behind me, and I sit upright, on alert.
“Is that bad?”
“Hell, no. We’re all jealous as fuck.”
“Speak for yourself, Rox,” a sporty-looking girl says.
“I’m speaking for all of us, Felicity,” Rox counters. “And don’t pretend any different.”
The undercurrent loses me, but with them focused on each other, the pinch in my stomach dissipates. “What are you jealous of?” I waggle my eyebrows. “My new stepdaddy?”
“Ew. Arnold must be like… sixty?” Gretchen pulls a face. “No, it’s your step brother we’re interested in.”
Felicity nods. “Blaine is the brooding king of Ashford Crest.”
My ears perk up at the news, adding a new dimension to my anticipation. If we get on, it seems like my new sibling might be another asset to my already overflowing cup.
“You’re friends with him, then?”
Gretchen’s expression shifts while the other girls glance away. “He’s got more of a mysterious loner vibe going, but acolytes swarm around him, you’ll see. They have done ever since he first transferred.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I heard he was in prison last year and that’s why his dad shifted him to a different school.”
My stomach clenches with worry.
Prison isn’t a term I expect from these elite teenagers, and I can’t imagine the trouble he got into if his dad’s riches couldn’t free him.
Or it’s just gossip with the same level of truth as any salacious tale whispered behind backs.
“Blaine ain’t king of shit.”
A towering Pasifika boy with fierce brows delivers the soft-voiced verdict, his scowl dissolving into a languid smile as Gretchen rolls her eyes. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of what? He’s too chickenshit to even try out for the team.”
“Not everyone can be a sporting legend, Salesi.”
He nods in my direction. “You want a real Tu’i, come to me.”
“I’m not the one making claims.” I turn back to Gretchen. “Blaine isn’t home yet, so I’ve never met him.”
“But you’ve seen pictures, right?”
Her eagerness makes me laugh. “In the hour since I arrived? No.”
“Ugh.” She stands, tugging at the elastic base of her suit while Salesi’s eyes glue to the sight. “Where’s he gone, anyway?” Then, before I can answer. “You’ll have to invite us all over once he’s back.”
Another boy, a few inches shorter than Salesi, but otherwise his doppelganger, looks disgusted. “We’re right here, ready to service your needs. You shouldn’t be talking about another boy when you asked us out today.”
“For fun.”
His voice drops half an octave. “It would be hella fun. I’d make sure.”
“Chill, bro,” Salesi drawls, then glances at me. “This is Viliami. He got the slow sperm.”
I ignore the brewing outrage his words engender. “You’re twins?”
“Yeah.” Viliami squints as he gives me a slow once over. “That interest you?”
“No one is interested in banging either of you, let alone both.” Gretchen clicks her tongue, and I wonder what the hell they’ve done to her because they both look plenty tempting. “That’s Pete, Erik, Darian… and Darian’s friend,” she says, pointing to each boy.
“Hudson,” the boy supplies over their laughter. “Hudson Carter. Apparently, forgettable.”
The calm jade of his eyes doesn’t look forgettable; especially paired with his strawberry blond ringlets, ruched by the salt air until they stick out in a fluffy halo.
A delicious shiver unfurls as he scans me with the same level of attention I show him.
Yes, please.
“Nice to meet you, Hudson.”
Darian immediately parrots my intonation in soft hoots while the twins wrestle each other into the water.
“You want to grab the jet skis?” Pete asks, swivelling his gaze to encompass everyone.
“They need refilling,” Gretchen warns, not moving an inch. “There’s a tank in the floating garage. Grab the binoculars for me if you’re going.”
The boys depart in a group, swimming behind the rocky outcropping at the edge of the bay.
“Ignore them,” Gretchen says. “They might as well still be in year ten the way they act.”
I nod, turning aside so she doesn’t see my smile. Viliami’s indignant claim sounded genuine, even if things have gone south since. “Your house is the next bay round?”
“Yeah.” She points a little farther to the left. “And that’s Felicity’s. Rox lives over the other side.”
“The wrong side of the tracks,” she intones with such menace I burst into laughter, relieved when she joins in a moment later.
“Can’t say I’ve seen any wrong tracks around here. These hills are like a separate world.”
“We do like to look down on the plains dwellers,” Gretchen agrees. Then she taps my knee. “But I’m serious about inviting us over.”
I pull a face as she hands across sunscreen, and I slather it across my shoulders and chest with a smile of thanks. My earlier worries were apparently baseless. Even if it’s early days, I have a genuine sense that I’ve landed among friends and the relief makes me giddy. “There’s no problem on my part, but I’ll need to check. Arnold hasn’t really laid out the ground rules.”
“Eh.” She waves a hand. “He’ll be sweet. But if not, it’s my birthday in a few weeks. If I haven’t made headway before that, I might throw a party so you can bring him along.”
“Wouldn’t he come, anyway?”
Her eyes swivel back to the outcropping, tilting her head as the faint whine of engines deepens as they round the miniature heads. “Would you look at that?”
I wrinkle my nose at the blunt redirection, turning to wave to my mother. A gesture that goes unreciprocated as her attention is buried in a cheap paperback. Probably one of mine.
My eyes close as I tilt my head back to let the sun caress me. The engines grow steadily louder, the boys showing off their moves. A sigh drifts from between my lips. I can’t remember a time I felt more content.
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 spend the 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.
It’s more like a catalogue photo than a room lived in by an actual human boy with an actual human personality. The only sign of occupancy is the faint odour of marijuana smoke coming from the wardrobe.
I shouldn’t open it. It’s a gross invasion of privacy.
But it’s like the door wants me to slide it across and reveal its secrets. Along with the weed, there’s another softer scent. Salt from the ocean but with a musky undercoat that feels familiar. I take another long sniff, ringing my memory bells.
An ex of my mother’s, most likely. A bad one given how the scent makes my pulse race.
Any hope of finding any further clues to Blaine’s personality are dashed by the neat hangers and shiny shoes.
I close the door, moving to his bedside cabinet, hooking open the top drawer.
A zippo lighter sits atop a pocket pack of tissues.
Like flicking a switch, I’m back in the schoolyard. Cold liquid soaks my shirt. Mud blinds me. Panic shreds my senses.
The moment Drake tossed the lighter is lost to blackout.
I remember Mr Montgomery cursing as he tried to undo the knots, the school tie pulling tighter around my wrists the harder I fought to get free. He fetched a pair of scissors in the end.
The liquid Drake squirted on me was water.
I don’t know if they told me or if I pieced it together. What I remember most is waiting for the wave of relief to wash over me.
Relief that never came.
In the year since, I frequently wake with a scream building behind my lips, part of me trapped forever in the moment, helpless, waiting for the scorching heat of the flame.
The smallest sounds cause a jump-scare. My senses are hyper-vigilant, exhausting me with their constant attention.
I slam the drawer shut, face burning, fleeing to the comparative safety of my room. Under my pillow is a stash of pills and I snap a tab in half, dry swallowing, perching on the edge of the bed while I wait for it to take effect.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the bathroom, filling a small water glass. After a brief internal battle, I swallow the other half of the tab just to have a chance at sleeping tonight.
I hate that my fear followed me here to this wonderful place.
As I curl up in bed, growing woozy faster than I grow sleepy, my anger that I’m still dealing with fallout from the incident grows, along with the worry it will never go away, but I’ve been here often enough to know that’s my panic talking.
The reality is, the longer we can stay in this house, the better our mental health will be. Mum can stabilise, maybe even find a therapist who she won’t have to stop seeing the moment her government assisted sessions expire.
We can both heal. It will be glorious.
And I refuse to let one terrible night—one terrible reaction— infect my hope.