42
‘H EY, babe,’ Paul drops to the sand beside me. He nods at the book I’m holding. ‘Looks like another one bites the dust?’
I flick to the back page.
‘Yep, just another twenty-two pages and I am D-O-N-E.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Better than I expected, look.’ I turn the pages and he takes in my highlights and scribbles. ‘You surfing?’
‘It’s average, but yeah, going to give it a crack. You want to come in for a quick swim?’
‘Let me get this done, and I’ll see. Where’s your board?’
‘Top of the dune.’ I look behind me, and there are the Neanderthals high above me, surveying the surf. ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking.’
‘That sounds dangerous,’ I say. ‘You okay? You need a massage?’
‘Very funny.’ He nudges my shoulder with his. ‘And yes, I do, actually. Right now would be great. Maybe with your lips.’ He pulls me to him and kisses me.
‘Hey!’ I say against his lips, but I take my time in moving back from his kiss. ‘Can’t you see I’m working?’
‘Well, something’s working.’ He sits up. ‘But you’re right, stop kissing me. You’re very distracting. Go back to your book.’
‘You started it, but what were you going to say? What have you been thinking?’
‘I was thinking it’s time we go out properly, you know, have a proper date. Dinner in town. Movies. What do you think?’
‘I’d love that. When?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Sounds good. I’ll get Mum or Dad to drop me off at your house?’
‘Oh hell, no,’ he laughs. ‘It’s a date; I’ll pick you up. Around seven? Give you a chance to get some work done. I don’t want to get yelled at again for taking you away from the most important year of your life.’
‘Point taken. Off you go. Go play with your friends.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m going,’ he says. ‘See you out in the water?’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
I watch him lope up the beach, his shoulders impossibly wide, the muscles in his back tapering down.
A dog trots towards him, its owners lagging, and Paul crouches down to pet it.
Ugh. Could he be any more perfect? I return to my textbook and try to convince myself that the amoebic structure is infinitely more interesting and appealing than my boyfriend.
Sweat trickles down my spine, and my brain is starting to feel foggy.
I read the same paragraph three times. I take a slug of water and it’s warm.
There’s shouting coming from the dune; the Neanderthals run down, boards under their arms. Paul waves, I close my book and rise.
‘You all done?’ His arm comes around me when I reach him. ‘That was quick.’
‘Nope. I’ve had enough for now.’ I wrap my arms around his waist. ‘I can’t seem to concentrate; I keep thinking about that massage I owe you. You know, the one with my lips?’
‘I know the one,’ he says, ‘and now I can’t concentrate.’
‘Hey, Paulie,’ Tom yells. ‘That a gun in your wetsuit, or are you just happy to see Cat?’ The Neanderthals laugh and Paul blushes and shifts his surfboard.
‘Can still see it, mate,’ Tom says.
‘They can see that one from space,’ Cavey says.
‘The Great Wall of Batter’s Cove,’ Tom hoots.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Paul turns his back on them. ‘Okay, that’s embarrassing. See what you do to me?’
‘Apparently the International Space Station can see what I do to you,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if I’m flattered or just mortified.’
‘I’m mortified,’ he says. ‘Come on, let’s get in the water. That cures everything.’
‘I didn’t realise you needed a cure for me, but whatever,’ I say. ‘I’m not going past the shallows, though.’
‘Yes, you are,’ he says. ‘It’s safer out the back and you’ll be with me.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive. Let’s go.’
We move through the swell, Paul duck diving under the waves on his board, resurfacing each time to find me beside him. ‘Do you want to hold on to my leg rope? You okay, babe?’
‘I’m all good.’ And I am. It’s the furthest I’ve been out all summer. I dive through the waves, the sun pulsing through the green, the whitewash luminescent. I swim out the back, Paul paddling beside me, far beyond the Neanderthals at the line up. Paul straddles his board.
‘Take a seat.’ He slaps the deck.
‘Is there room?’
‘There’s plenty.’ He holds his hands out and wrenches me out of the water and across his board. ‘Now just swing your leg over.’
‘This isn’t very dignified or lady-like.’ I cross my hands across my lap. ‘Nonna would spontaneously stroke if she saw this. No wonder the girls wear board shorts.’
‘I won’t look,’ Paul says. ‘I’m a gentleman, remember?’
‘So you keep telling me. You know you’re looking right now, don’t you?’
‘I’m only human,’ he says. ‘But you’re right. I’ve barely recovered from the beach incident. If it bothers you, scoot a bit closer.’
‘I was born to scoot closer to you,’ I say, ‘watch me scoot. Don’t I scoot well?’
‘You scoot like a boss.’ His arms enclose me, my head tucked under his chin. My bathers have shifted and the wax from his board is sticking into my, well, where surf wax doesn’t need to stick.
‘Isn’t this going to make it hard for you to surf?’ His wetsuit is cool and soft against my body. His hands move across my back.
‘I’ve never been so happy to miss the lineup. You, the sun, the water, your skin. If I die now, I’ll die a happy man.’
‘Me too,’ I say. ‘Happy girl, not man. But your wetsuit sucks. Why am I almost naked and you’re like a nun here? How is that fair?’
‘Not fair at all,’ he says, ‘but man, it’s the only thing keeping me together right now. Hold on, babe.’ He tips himself off the surfboard. I grip the decks as it wobbles precariously. He pops up beside me, bobbing in the water.
‘Why’d you do that?’
‘Just need to cool off a bit,’ he says. ‘You okay?’
‘Actually, my hips feel like they’re going to pop from their sockets.’ He holds the board steady while I swing my legs around to lie face down. I cross my arms and rest my chin on my wrists. Paul moves to the front of the board to face me. Salt flakes crust his eyelashes and eyebrows.
‘That better?’
‘This is awesome,’ I say, ‘I reckon I could sleep here. Maybe surfing isn’t so bad after all.’
‘Technically, this isn’t actually surfing,’ he says, ‘but I’m glad you like hanging out with me in my natural habitat.’
‘I love it.’ I lift myself up on my elbows. ‘And I love you, Paul Lightwood.
‘I love you, Caterina Kelty.’