ONE

Sierra and I are in my bedroom. I’m on my iPad and she’s on my laptop, so even though we’re together, we’re not. Sierra’s parents have banned her from the internet, but we’re figuring our mums will be chatting downstairs for hours, so they’re not going to catch us.

‘I’ve got one,’ Sierra says.

I look over. She must be bored because she’s on Mysterychat.

a s l, the message asks.

‘Can I pretend to be you?’ she pleads.

‘No, Sierra. Don’t you dare.’

‘We’ll just see where it goes.’ She turns and taps at the keys. ‘I’m doing it real, though. Just in case it’s a guy and he’s cute.’

I laugh. ‘Since when are we going to meet a cute guy on that site?’

‘Well, he says he’s eighteen, a guy … Oh my god! And he lives in Melbourne!’ Sierra squeals.

I sit up on my bed and take notice of what she’s doing. She taps madly at the keys.

We are two. Both 16. Both f. In Melbourne too! You can call us S & T.

‘Sierra! We’re not sixteen!’

‘He doesn’t know that. We gotta make it legal,’ she says.

‘Yeah, but if he’s actually nice and anything ever happens – which it won’t, it never does – but if it did, you’ve already lied!’

‘Oh, chill. One year is nothing. And it’s not even a year. We’re almost sixteen.’

Hi S & T. U can call me J. Nice to meet u.

‘At least he didn’t ask to see our boobs,’ Sierra says. We both giggle.

Sierra types.

Where in Melbourne?

A reply comes back instantly.

Brighton.

‘Oooh, Brighton. He must be rich,’ Sierra says.

‘Yeah, or he might be a thirty-year-old sleazebag from Craptown.’ I shudder at the thought and look back to my iPad.

‘What are you on?’ Sierra asks.

‘Facebook. Talking to Riley. She broke up with Joel over the holidays.’

Sierra rolls her eyes. ‘Again? She needs to listen to Taylor Wolfe. Have you heard her new song?’ Sierra stands up and sings into a pen. ‘Never go back, I told you so, once it’s over, let it go.’

She actually sounds just like Taylor Wolfe, but I hold back telling her. She doesn’t need any more encouragement. She has the same blunt fringe as Taylor Wolfe, wears the same clothes, talks like her and sings just as well as her. And even though Sierra’s just spent the six weeks of the summer holidays in the North American snowfields, her long slim legs are tanned, just like Taylor Wolfe’s.

‘These are the same shorts she wore on Ellen,’ Sierra says as she does a three-sixty to show me her bum.

‘Yes, I know, and yesss, you look just like her.’ I roll my eyes but she knows I don’t mean it.

‘Well, you got her name. I wish Mum had called me “Taylor”. Imagine that.’

‘Oh, yeah, because “Taylor Gray” is such an interesting name,’ I say, sarcastically. ‘At least “Sierra Carson-Mills” sounds … sophisticated.’

Sierra fishes for compliments all the time and for some reason, even though I know what she’s doing, I give them to her. Sometimes I time myself to see how long it takes. Before long, compliments gurgle out of me, like oil from a well.

She sits back down at the computer when a soft blip indicates contact. Why does Sierra always get all the guys?

‘I thought you had a crush on Callum,’ I say, trying to sound indifferent. ‘Didn’t you two, like, kiss at the end of last year?’

‘Just a little kissing sesh; it was nothing, really.’

I pretend to keep going through whatever Facebook page I’m on. I’ve had a secret crush on Callum since forever. I hid my disappointment when Riley told me what she saw: I was on the other side of the room … It was crowded, but it definitely looked like they were kissing. They were Riley’s words. I had left the party early because I’d had a headache. Now I wish I’d stayed. I stressed about it all summer: did they or didn’t they? I was practically dying for Sierra to get back so I could ask her what happened. I didn’t think she’d go for Callum … and I didn’t know he liked her because he doesn’t seem to pay her that much attention. Maybe he’s one of those shy guys who, when the girl they like is around, talks to her friend as a distraction …

‘I didn’t want things to go too far,’ Sierra continues. ‘I have to keep myself single for Chumpy Pullin, number one snowboarder in the universe.’

‘Oh god, please, not him again.’ I groan. But I’m still distracted by what ‘a little kissing sesh’ means. Is that one kiss? Two? What type of kisses?

‘He’s sooo hot.’ Sierra sighs. ‘And he was there. I saw him from a distance. I pashed him three years ago, you know.’

I laugh loud. ‘You were twelve three years ago. You so did not kiss Chumpy Pullin. Did you even talk to him?’

‘No.’ She smiles. ‘But I saw who I think was his little sister at the chairlift.’ She turns back to the screen.

Still @ school? Sierra types.

Yr 12 this year. My family travelled a lot when I was younger so yeah, I’m a bit too old for school. Hope to do medicine. U?

‘Now what are you going to write? He’s not going to go for someone in year ten,’ I tease.

Yr 11 aiming for law, she writes.

‘You’re terrible. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? This “J” guy’s going to be super-hot and super-cool, and you’re going to have to swallow your lies forever.’

‘How do you know I’m not striving for law?’ she says with a pout.

‘Because you’ve got to get, like, one hundred per cent in every subject to get into law. Hello? It’s out of reach. For both of us,’ I add.

‘It’s out of reach for me, you mean.’

Because having an intact family, money to burn, being fab at sport, gorgeous, and a dad with a business in the American snowfields isn’t enough.

J is for Jacob appears on the screen.

T is for Taylor, Sierra replies, posting it before I can stop her.

‘I said no. And I mean it.’ She goes online as me all the time. I hate it.

‘Sierra! Time to go.’ It’s Rachel, Sierra’s mum. Crap. She’ll flip her lid if she finds us on Mysterychat after what happened last time. I jump off my bed and charge at the door. I open it a crack. Rachel’s right outside.

I open the door wider, smile and feel the heat in my cheeks. ‘We’re just coming.’ I block the doorway as casually as I can, for the few seconds it takes for Sierra to appear right behind me. She’s also flushed.

‘I’m ready,’ she says to Rachel. ‘I’ll see you at school on Monday,’ she says to me and winks.

I help Mum with dinner and set the table before going back to my room. I check my phone. I have an email from Jacob Jones. Jacob Jones? Then I remember J is for Jacob.

I stare at the name in disbelief. How could Sierra give him my address? I open the email.

Hi Taylor,

Nice to meet you this arvo. Just wondered if you wanted to continue chatting?

Jacob.

I write back.

Jacob, It’s my dear friend, Sierra, who you’re after. I’m Taylor. I’m 15, I look nothing like Taylor Wolfe, I do not want to do law, and I have no interest in sending you a picture of my boobs.

T

I sit back, staring at my inbox, allowing my blood to cool.

Another email comes in.

Dear Taylor,

I can understand you not wanting to do law, I couldn’t think of anything so boring. You’re 15 – I can’t tell if you think this is good or bad so not sure how to respond to that. I realise that all girls named Taylor do not look like Taylor Wolfe, just like all girls named Kylie do not look like Kylie Minogue, so on and so on. And please, DO NOT send me a picture of your boobs. That would totally embarrass me.

Jacob

PS I realise now it was your friend, Sierra, who was online this afternoon. Although you seem a bit random you also seem very interesting.

PPS What are you interested in, if it isn’t law?

PPPS I look nothing like Jacob from the Twilight series, nor do I have powers to turn into a wolf.

I read through his email a few times. What an idiot he must think I am. I read it once more and my eyes rest on ‘seem very interesting’. Interesting. My heart speeds up a notch and I can’t stop the corners of my mouth turning upwards.

I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before letting it go.

Dear Jacob,

Please let me apologise for my ridiculous email prior to this one. Although I can see it might be hard for you to recover from the Taylor Wolfe and boob comments, I just wanted to tell you I am not simple or mad. I just didn’t know Sierra had given you my email address and I was angry. I do not use Mysterychat and would never give out my email address to someone I just met, in case they were a weirdo stalker.

TG

PS You actually seem nothing like a weirdo stalker.

I press ‘Send’.

‘Taylor, dinner’s ready.’

Mum’s voice startles me. I drop my phone onto my bed and fly down the stairs two at a time.

Mum and I chat over dinner about Sierra’s ski trip.

‘Is Sierra over her jet lag?’ Mum asks.

‘She slept right up until they came here this afternoon, but was still pretty wrecked. But she’ll catch up on sleep before school on Monday – she’s busting to go. She misses everyone over the holidays.’ I pause and put down my fork. ‘Sierra wants me to go skiing with them next year.’ I watch her expression. ‘Do you think I could go?’

Mum hesitates. ‘We’ll see,’ she says.

At least that isn’t ‘no’. Going on my own is the biggest issue. Mum thinks Sierra is left on her own too much and that’s why she gets into trouble. She doesn’t want me to be alone with Sierra. Also – and I feel kind of bad about asking because of it – I know we can’t really afford it.

‘Skiing can be pretty expensive,’ Mum continues, ‘but maybe we could both go for two weeks or something like that. I’ll think about it.’

‘Really?’ My voice raises in pitch. ‘Maybe I could get a job to help pay my half? A few kids at school have jobs now. I’m fifteen. I could get a job.’

‘Slow down. There’s no reason for you to get a job. I don’t want you working. We’ve got money; I’ve just been putting it away for your education.’

‘I know, I know. And your retirement …’

Mum smiles. We finish up and I stack the dishwasher.

‘So, you want to watch a movie with me?’ Mum asks.

‘No … I’m going upstairs – chatting to Riley. She’s a bit down because she broke up with Joel again.’ Mum rolls her eyes like Sierra did.

I walk upstairs. What I really want to do is check if Jacob Jones has emailed me. I sit down with my tablet and touch the screen. I have an email.

Hey,

You disappeared!

You didn’t tell me your interests …

J

J wants to know my interests. A little giggle rises from my chest.

Jacob Jones. Jacob Jones. Jacob and Taylor. Taylor Jones.

I pick up a pen and practise writing my signature as Taylor Jones. The ‘y’ and the ‘J’ sweep underneath the other letters. It looks nice.

Okay. Interests. Let’s see.

Hi J,

I love the beach, English lit is my favourite subject.

I then delete the bit about English lit. God.

… Bike riding?

If I write ‘bike riding’ he might expect me to be super-fit … I delete it and leave it at ‘I love the beach’. I send it without signing it. Music! Why didn’t I say ‘music’? Or ‘music festivals’? Damn. I definitely should have said ‘music festivals’.

He writes straight back.

Would you like to talk in Skippertychat?

He sends me the link.

I feel like I’m one of those girls in the old movies: I’m sitting by the wall at a ball and have just been asked to dance. I click on the link.

Hi, I write.

Hi back I love the beach 2. R u a surfer?

No, but I’ve tried it a few times. Lotsa fun.

What beach do you go to? he asks.

I like Torquay. Just can’t always get there.

Same.

I don’t know what to say. I grab my phone and text Riley.

OMG

What?

I’m chatting to a guy, online, right now.

What? OMG!!! Where did this come from? What’s he look like?

I don’t know.

Ask for a photo.

I can’t do that!

Ask for a photo!

Ok.

Btw, I’m back with Joel. Just hung up from him. SILWH … That means SO IN LOVE WITH HIM :D :D :D

OMG ur a freak! Asking for photo now.

I turn back to my tablet.

R u on Instagram? Can u send photo link?

I press ‘Send’. Oh god. I feel nervous and self-conscious. I can’t expect him to send me a photo without being willing to send him one of me. I go straight into Instagram and sort through some photos. In the photo I like most, I’m sitting next to Sierra. She outshines me, but if she wasn’t in it I’d look okay. My skin looks clear and my hair isn’t frizzy. I quickly crop Sierra out and enhance the lighting to make me look a bit suntanned. I email Jacob the link.

What comes back is not a link but a JPEG file attachment. I open it up. Jacob Jones. He has sandy-blond hair and clear suntanned skin. It’s hard to tell what colour his eyes are, though, because he’s not looking at the camera. In fact, because of the angle of his face, it’s hard to see what he really looks like. His side looks pretty good, though. He’s stripped to the waist, his wetsuit is hanging down, and there are water droplets on his shoulders. He has the most amazing arms … and chest. In the background is a vivid blue sky and the colourful boatsheds of Brighton Beach. He’s totally gorgeous.

I grab my phone.

Riley r u there? Hot hot hot. He’s so hot!!!

Before Riley has a chance to respond, I get a message from Jacob.

WOW! You’re stunning! he writes back.

My phone rings. It’s Riley.

‘Hi!’ Even though Mum’s downstairs, I try to be as quiet as possible. But I can’t contain the excitement in my voice.

‘So what’s going on? Where did you meet this guy?’

I explain what happened with Sierra and how she used my name. Again. And how she gave some random my email. Again.

‘She’s so out of control. Seriously …’ Riley and Sierra have been at each other for a long time. Riley would have pushed Sierra out of the group by now had it not been for me.

I ignore Riley’s comment; I’m too excited. ‘Anyway, she did that and he contacted me, thinking I was her, and I dunno how it’s happened but now I’m chatting to him.’ I tell her everything we’ve said so far. Riley’s killing herself over the boob comment.

‘Sierra’s gonna spew when she hears this. Have you told her?’

‘Not yet. I’m not going to talk to her until school on Monday. I want her to think I’m pissed with her for giving him my email. I am pissed about that, even though – god, listen to me! Nothing’s going to happen … It’s just nice, you know, to have a guy say I’m interesting, and …’ Suddenly I feel ridiculous.

‘Is he still online?’

‘I think so. I didn’t know what to write back. He said I was stunning.’ I feel the heat flush into my neck and face.

‘You are stunning! Just say thanks and tell him you think he’s hot.’

I turn back to the screen. WOW! You’re stunning! sits there.

Thank you, I type, then delete it. I then write, Cool pic. I love those huts. I post and instantly regret it. ‘I love those huts?’ Oh my god. So lame. I tell Riley what I wrote and she cracks up laughing.

‘You know what, Taylor? This is why you’re so gorgeous. Oh, your email’s just come in.’ I’ve forwarded Jacob’s picture to Riley. She starts to giggle. ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘very nice huts.’ She laughs loud. ‘He’s freaking gorgeous! Ahhh, what a classic.’

‘I’m so bad at this,’ I say.

‘You so are.’ She laughs again. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I just can’t stop looking at those huts.’

We chat some more and then say goodbye. I need to concentrate my attention on Jacob, who’s just written, Tell me about your pic. Where were you and what were you doing?

I tell him the story and, without trying, it actually makes me sound pretty cool. A party with friends … the story makes me sound fun. And he keeps writing back. We’re swapping stories. He has a little brother who also surfs. He’s really annoyed because he taught him to surf and now his brother is better at it than he is. His dad’s a GP. My mum’s a nurse. I want to ski, he likes to board. My school is Trueman, his is nearby: Windridge. I love Reece Mastin. He loves Guy Sebastian. We chat for so long that I have to have a bathroom break. Five hours pass before we log off, and we seem to know everything there is to know about each other. I even told him about Dad, how he died eight years ago and was sick for years before that. I don’t talk about it much with anyone except for Mum and sometimes Sierra.

I lie in my bed, my head spinning, not wanting to forget anything Jacob said.

I have to get hotter.

Starting tomorrow, I’m on a diet … and an exercise program. I have to look good in a bikini.

I wake late, ring Riley and gush over the phone.

‘I so want to be there when you tell Sierra on Monday,’ she says.

I had forgotten I was supposed to be pissed at Sierra. I have the urge to ring and tell her all about Jacob. She’d be happy for me. She’d squeal her head off, I can just hear her.

When I hang up, I go downstairs in runners and shorts, ready for a jog. Mum’s at the table reading the paper, having a coffee.

‘What’s this?’ She smiles.

‘I’m going jogging. I want to lose weight.’

‘How much?’

‘Um … not sure. I just want to look good in a bikini.’

She laughs.

‘We all want to look good in a bikini. As long as you do it sensibly and slowly, that’s great. Good for you.’

She doesn’t say I don’t need to.

‘I’ll be back soon.’

I sprint through the front door and start off down the road. After two minutes, my lungs are burning and my thighs are feeling heavy. I push through it.

Ja-cob Jones. Ja-cob Jones. Ja-cob Jones.

I sing the mantra, a step for every syllable, for the entire time I run around our suburb.

When I get back I collapse on the lawn in our front yard. The sun scorches my beetroot face. I sit up and shield my eyes. I roll onto all fours before I rise to my feet. Then I drag myself to the shower and let the water run over me. I’m going to feel it tomorrow.

When I finally get back to my room, I check my phone. I have an email.

It’s Jacob.

Flat as a pancake today so no surfing, but thought you’d like this.

I open the attachment.

It’s a photo of the vibrant beach huts, lined up on the clean white sand, beneath a bright blue sky.

I love it! Thanks. T x

I turn on my computer, save the photo and make it my desktop background. I want to see it every time I log on.

Jacob Jones thought of me first thing in the morning.

Jacob Jones. Jacob and Taylor. Taylor Jones.

Callum who?

I think I’m in love.