CHAPTER 10

Later I decide to go to the park to clear my head. I like to de-stress by doing gymnastics. I can float into a world where nothing exists but me and the move. Like escaping to a parallel universe where everything makes sense.

I’m just getting existential, thinking, Who am I, anyway? when my phone buzzes. New message from Sal. I Google the current time in Melbourne. One a.m. Well, she’s always been a night owl.

All right CC,

Great news, one of the wallabies released last year is preggers! That means the colony is settled and starting to breed independently! Yay!

As for your new guy, he’s made the first move by friending you on Facebook. Probably wanted to oggle your photos, ha ha. Wait and see what happens and just be yourself.

Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a healthy bank balance and an excellent school record?!

Love ‘n’ hugs,

Sal

Just be yourself. Good advice. But easier said than done. And do I really believe it? It’s never got me anywhere fast before.

The sun is burning through a thin lace of cloud, the air suspended in autumn warmth. Reddish dust clouds around my feet as I pace the path. There are three tired-looking swings, their paint chipped and faded. A lonely roundabout creaks gently as I push it into a spin.

The evening feels like clay, sticky and orange.

I’ve done gym since I was a toddler. I remember my first somersault when I was four, the world turning as I spun in the air, only it seemed like I was still and things revolved around me. Seeing everything in a different way to other people made me feel special.

I unbutton my shirt and tie it around my waist. Underneath I’m wearing a vest. I draw my hair back into a barely contained blob and fasten it with an elastic band. I try to empty my mind.

I’m brimming with energy.

I pound the grass with my hands, twisting with force and determination, spotting my landings accurately. I do a one-handed cartwheel. I point my toes to an imaginary judge. I bound a few steps and lunge into a round off. Point toe. Grass. Left hand. Grass. Right hand. Grass. World. Upside down. Legs. Twist. Hands. Push. Spring. Both feet. Grass. World. Right way up. I sense a presence. My vest has ridden up exposing my oh-so-white midriff. I smooth it down with green-stained fingers.

I take a breath.

Then I miss one.

“You’re er …” he pauses, “dextrous.” Finn is sitting on the middle swing, grinning, eating fish and chips, the harsh, vinegary aroma clawing at my nostrils.

I shuffle on my feet like a loon, and skirt my tongue around my bottom lip. Just be yourself. I feel him take me in, look at me from top to toe, taking stock: nervous girl, unruly hair, vest strap off her shoulder, trouser leg tucked into her shoe… I shrink with embarrassment, then think, He’s here, isn’t he? Talking to me. Bloody well make the most of it!

“It takes some skill. Not much…” I trail off.

“No, really, that’s some bendy stuff. You double-jointed or some freaky shit like that? You got jelly bones? You made of rubber, tiger?” He called me tiger! All is not lost!

“Er, I, um… I used to do gym. Not any more.” COME ON! God Almighty, say something entertaining!

“You should, you’re good.” He pulls the chains to his chest, then lets them spring back.

“Nah, I had to pick, gym or puberty. I was pro-puberty.” Did I really just say that? Did I say the word puberty? Am I going to spontaneously burst into song and start serenading him with Britney’s “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”? OH NO.

I feel blood rushing to my cheeks. I cartwheel behind the swings. I see the school buildings in the distance, dainty like an architect’s model.

I run and do another spring. Must outrun the gaping hole of embarrassment opening up beneath me. Dive forward roll. Spring. My leg pulls and I feel a sharp twinge in my thigh. It’ll ache tomorrow. That’ll teach me to do gym without stretching first.

I gently lower myself to the grass and bring my knees to my chest, hugging them tight and feeling that hit of pain as I tense my leg muscles. The silence seems to linger like the warmth in the air.

“Uh … well, yeah, I’m all for that choice. Good decision. Want some?” he asks, offering me his greasy food.

“Ew, no thanks. I hate fish.”

He looks slightly embarrassed and I quite enjoy seeing his cheeks flush. He’s a bit vulnerable. Like a flash it’s gone, cheeky-chappy persona reinstated.

“You into sports?” I enquire, feigning innocence after my Facebook stalking.

“Mountainboarding’s my passion.”

“That explains the injuries.” I point to his lacerated elbows.

“I fractured my hand last year. It absolutely caned for weeks. Could stand the pain but not being able to ride really got to me. Set my training back and I messed up the comps. This is my year though. I’m ready.”

“When’s the comp?” July. Read it on Facebook.

“The UK Board Battle’s in July, but got a warm-up comp at the weekend. Come watch me win, tiger!”

“I might,” I say casually. I’m so there.

I get up and do another spring. And another.

“Slow down, you’ll tumble right out of the park!”

I muster an upside-down frown. “I like to tumble.”

“You’re quite the woman. Bendy. I like that.”

“I just do it now and then. Helps me relax.”

“You stressed then?”

“A little. New school. Coursework. Future depending on results. Pushy mother who wants me to be a scientist or a doctor or lawyer or practically anything other than what I might want to be.”

“You shouldn’t get hung up over that stuff. Havelock and school. It’s just another stick in the spokes. You gotta ride that bike of life, tiger. Grab the handlebars and pedal. Forget about them.”

“You come out with some bollocks. Really. You do.” I sit on one of the swings, out of breath. But maybe Finn’s right. I should do what I want.

“You love it, tiger.” I steal a glance at him, his eyes wide with excitement. “Hey, can you teach me how to do that flippy thing?”

I take a run and cartwheel. “This?”

“Yeah.”

“If you want.”

Finn gets up and bins his chips. He starts stretching, pulling one arm, then the other, across his chest. He touches his toes.

“Stand with your legs about a shoulder-width apart and raise your arms.”

“Like this?”

“A little wider.” Finn moves his legs further apart. “You might want to hoist your jeans up, so you can move more easily.”

“So I don’t get my knackers caught, you mean.” He pulls his trousers up and tightens his belt a notch. “This is not a good look for me.” He grins.

“Arms up.”

He lifts them but they’re still bent at the elbow. I walk towards him and pull his arms straight. His doe eyes sparkle in the evening light. I catch myself dwelling on them a little too long, caught in the power of those hypnotic pools. For a second it seems like he might lean in and kiss me. And oh, the thought is too much. I move to his side. Probably my imagination.

“Step out with your right leg. Rock from one foot to the other for a moment to get a feel for it. Imagine you’re a giant X.”

“OK.” Finn rocks backwards and forwards on the spot, like someone keeps pressing Play, Pause, Rewind, Play, on him.

“When you’re ready, build up some momentum. Then put your right hand down, followed by your left hand and kick up to the sky. Think of the X shape you’re making. Rotate your whole body.”

“Oh, just rotate your whole body. It’s that simple.”

“You should be good at this; you must do flippy things on your board all the time.”

I demonstrate the cartwheel again.

“I’ve got it, I think.” Finn hesitates. “OK, here I go.”

He throws his legs up, but it’s more of a hop than a rotation. I have to laugh.

“Good try. But you” – instinctively I pat him on the back – “might need some practice.”

“Diplomatic of you to say, but perhaps I’m not the tumbling type. Unless it’s off my board. Thanks for the lesson. Could we have another one, tomorrow at four?”

“Yeah, all right. Maybe I can help you, Mr Masterson, to master the humble forward roll.”