Blue Water High Read online

  ‘Gonna have to do better than that, Fly.’

  The others gradually joined her, popping through the surface like a club of seal pups. Fly had come last, but she didn’t let it get her down. There were going to be plenty of opportunities for her to show what she was made of, she told herself.

  That’s what she told herself during the soft-sand jog – good for lactic acid tolerance in your large muscle groups: the quads, hams and the glute max. Helps you hold it steady down the tube. And that’s what she told herself during the short sprints on the hard sand – excellent for promoting fast-twitch muscle fibres. Speeds up reflexes and response times. Gets you up on your board faster. She gave up telling herself anything halfway through the kneeboard paddle – which was brilliant for burning off excess hamburgers. She was only halfway out to the buoy while the others were already on their way back to shore.

  As they sat on the grass up near the house recovering, Simmo wheeled out a large whiteboard. It was ruled into forty columns across, with all their names written down one side. While they caught their breath, Simmo established the rules of the game. They would be in competition with each other throughout the year. At the end of the year there would be a final comp and whoever won on that day would get the prize. One girl and one guy would get wildcard entry into the World Championship Tour. They would be sponsored for an entire year, surfing the world with the pros. You could feel a ripple of excitement run through the group as they took in the enormity of the reward. It was almost too good to think about.

  Simmo returned to the whiteboard.

  ‘But,’ he said, ‘you don’t automatically get to compete in that final event. You have to earn it. And that’s where our friend Mr Whiteboard comes in.’

  Simmo explained that the whiteboard would be the guide to how they were going. In order to qualify to surf in the finals, they needed a minimum of sixty points. You got points from regular comps, for training exercises, for generally doing everything Simmo said. You lost points if you didn’t do enough of your schoolwork to pass, if you failed to pitch in with the cooking and cleaning, and if you gave Jilly grief.

  ‘So, just to show you how it’d work …’ Simmo pulled out a marker and started scribbling on the board.

  ‘If today’s training had counted, Matt and Bec would’ve taken out five points each, Edge, Heath and Perri three points, Anna two and Fly … just the one today.’

  There it was in black and white.

  ‘Don’t take it personally, Fly. Someone’s gonna come lucky last every week.’

  Fly smiled bravely. She just hoped that the someone wasn’t always going to be her. Even though Simmo quickly wiped the example off, it still burned in Fly’s brain. What bright spark came up with the idea that last was lucky?

  It was only eight o’clock on the first day and Fly felt like she could sleep for a year. Not that sleeping was an option. They had twenty minutes to eat, get into uniforms and dive straight into their new school. Fifteen minutes of that time Fly spent waiting to get into the bathroom. Perri was in there tweaking her uniform – turning up collars, rolling up sleeves, struggling to find some sort of style in the seriously daggy skirt. Fly couldn’t have cared less about the uniform – if it meant she didn’t have to think about what else to wear, she was thrilled to have one. Fashion was never a big-ticket item on the farm.

  Bec marched up, toothbrush in hand. When Fly explained what Perri was doing Bec was much less polite than Fly. She just barged in, leaving the door ajar. She motioned for Fly to join her. Perri was now up to her elbows in a large and expensive toiletries bag, transferring an army of skincare products from the bag onto the top shelf of the bathroom cupboard.

  ‘You can have the bottom shelf, Fly, cause you’re the …’ Perri trailed off.

  ‘Shortest?’ asked Fly.

  Perri turned and flashed the superwhites. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment. It was just the truth.

  Fly placed her toothbrush and solitary bar of soap on the shelf beneath Perri’s department store of products.

  ‘Plenty of short people at the top of their field,’ Perri added. Like that made it better?

  At the other end of the sink Bec was furiously brushing her teeth. She spat out savagely, stared at Perri.

  ‘Yeah, those seven dwarves really rocked.’ She spat again.

  Perri and Fly both stared at her – shocked at the harshness of the words.

  ‘What? I’m not saying Fly’s a dwarf or anything.’

  If this was the way Bec defended you, Fly was sure she never wanted to be on the receiving end of an attack. Not that it was the first time Fly had been nominated as one of the crew of seven. She squeezed toothpaste onto her brush and got on with it. If she was keeping score today this was strike two. This morning at training she’d come last. Now it was official. She was the shortest too.

  Maybe school would be better.

  Blue Water High was a rambling affair. It was perched high on the headland overlooking the coast, with lots of low buildings spread out across the grassy grounds. Before it was a high school, it had been a naval base.

  The morning assembly was held on what used to be a parade ground. It was a large square of gravel which had been dug down a couple of metres lower than the rest of the grounds. Fly supposed it was so the naval bigwigs could look down on the cadets while they marched around in funny formations pretending to be serious about the whole thing.

  The school principal, Mr Exeter, had clearly tapped into his inner bigwig, because he stood above the quadrangle of students with his chest puffed full, wielding that microphone like a light sabre.

  Assembly had clearly been going for some time when the Solar Blue kids snuck in late at the back. Over the summer break, Jilly had obviously forgotten how long it took to get seven separate bodies ready to do the same thing at the same time. Maybe they would’ve escaped Mr Exeter’s attention if almost every other kid in the place hadn’t turned around to have a giant perv at the new kids from the academy. The crowd rippled with murmurs and, without being paranoid, a lot of the staring didn’t look too friendly.

  Being a local, Bec was prepared for this. It happened every year. She assured them that the absolute hate wouldn’t last for more than a couple of weeks. You couldn’t blame them for being jealous. The Solar Blue crew got lunchtimes and sport to surf. They got to take time off school when there were regional carnivals; they had a shot at a spot on the world circuit, for goodness’ sake. So maybe a little aggro from the locals wasn’t too much to put up with.

  ‘Ah, our special friends from the academy have decided to join us!’ boomed Mr Exeter over the microphone.

  Bec raised an eyebrow and a hand. She gave the whole school a wave.

  ‘Yes, now’s as good a time as any to take a look. Get it over and done with,’ Mr Exeter went on. ‘Because even though they might look glamorous, I can assure you they are simply mere mortals. Flesh and blood, just like you. Bound by the same rules and regulations, just like you. One of which is being on time – isn’t it?’

  He was clearly hoping for a response, and finally the school gave in, winding up into a bored response.

  ‘Yes, Mis-ter Ex-et-er,’ they chanted slowly. Everyone except a couple of meatheads in the Year 10 row at the back, who yelled out, ‘Yes, Mr Exterminator!’ instead.

  A Mexican wave of sniggering wriggled its way right around the quadrangle. Mr Exeter suddenly looked like there was too much blood in his head. He very quietly, very calmly told Mitch Campbell and Simon Gardiner to wait for him in his office. Everyone knew that he wouldn’t be very quiet or very calm when he got there.

  After Mr Exeter had dismissed each of the years one by one, he made a beeline for the Solar Blue kids. He was smiling in a spookily friendly way.

  ‘Hello, hello.’

  Bec whispered under her breath. ‘He actually needs to be nice to us. They need us on the team for the interschool surf comps.’

  Mr Exeter reached them. ‘Apologies for the little wr
istslap about being late. Have to set an example to the others, you know.’

  Up close, Fly could see he was younger than she first thought. And maybe, just maybe, having to be a capital A Authority Figure all the time was actually a bit of a bore. It was like he was secretly allowed to be a normal person with the Solar Blue crew.

  ‘Anyway, what’s ten minutes lateness between friends. I saw the swell out there this morning. I just trust all this training is going to pay off at the Interschool Comp.’

  ‘I’m sure it will, Mr Exeter,’ said Bec.

  ‘Good-oh.’ He scanned the group. ‘So, I’m assuming most of you will be joining the fine folk in Year 11.’ His eyes came to rest on Fly. ‘I know you come from Western Australia, Fiona. But are you old enough to be in Year 11? Or do we need to find a Year 10 class for you?’

  Fly felt like she’d been slapped in the face. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her answer. ‘I’m still fifteen,’ she stammered, ‘but I’m up to Year 11 this year.’

  Mr Exeter just nodded. ‘Well good for you, Fiona. You’ll be the youngest in the year, I think.’

  He turned and motioned them to follow, oblivious to the blow he’d just dealt Fly. She tagged along in a daze behind the rest of the group, down the buzzing hallways towards their homeroom. Slowest. Shortest. Youngest. That’d be three strikes, any way you looked at it. Fly could hardly wait for the day to end.

  She dived straight into the breaking wave, letting its cool fingers do their work. She’d been hanging all day to get out of that uniform and into the water. Back where she felt like she knew what she was doing. It rarely failed to wash off the rubbish, and it wasn’t long before Fly’s smile was where it belonged.

  As they messed about in the gentle afternoon waves, Fly couldn’t help the odd glance at the other girls. Bec was a really solid performer; once she got onto a wave she wouldn’t be moved. Perri had lots of flair – she was the kind of surfer who somehow managed to disguise the effort involved. Perri’s style was much more like dancing – she glided gracefully to her feet and then kind of salsa-ed her wave down the face. Anna struggled – but that wasn’t too surprising – she was coming from a fair way behind. And even though her technique mightn’t be up there with the other girls, you could tell she was going to catch up fast. She had the physical training and the experience that meant she was going to be a real contender much faster than anyone thought.

  And even though they were all good, Fly didn’t feel they were doing stuff she hadn’t also done before. It made a dent in the small pot of homesickness she could feel herself cooking. And that was a good thing.

  She paddled hard for a looming wall of blue-green water, the wave’s lip curling and foaming playfully. This one’s mine, she thought.

  There was a jolt as she jumped to her feet, taking the wave, owning it. The curtain of water hollowed out around her, and she sped back and forth leaving a trail of frilly white seawater behind her. The wave found its second wind and suddenly Fly was in the green room – that’s what they called it. Being inside the tube was something there were no words to describe. This was the real Blue Water high.

  Fly could feel the power in the tube mounting. She could hear the wave take a deep breath, filling its lungs as it prepared to shoot her out. Fly braced for the sudden dose of speed. She aimed the nose of her board at the lip and shot straight into the air. She hung there, suspended while the wave raced onto the shore without her. She let her head hang back and shouted at the sky. ‘Yeaahhh!’

  And then thwack! Her board hit the water and she was still on it. She could suddenly hear the hooting and cheers from the rest of the crew. They might have been competitors but they couldn’t be happier to share in what she’d just pulled off. Matt’s voice was the last to add praise, and maybe that’s why she heard it most clearly.

  ‘Way to go, little Fly.’

  Those five tiny words punched a great hole in Fly’s good feeling. On any other day she probably wouldn’t have cared. But today, the day she was feeling slowest, shortest, youngest, adding ‘little’ to the pile burned.

  She glared at Matt. ‘Drop off.’

  The words were out of her mouth before she even knew that’s what she was going to say.

  Matt was dumbfounded. He had no idea what his crime was.

  But there was no time to explain. Edge was whistling hard to get their attention from the shore. He yelled out against the onshore wind – there was a message for Fly to call home.

  ‘Like now,’ he called out. ‘It’s urgent or something.’

  Chapter 9

  Fly pounded up the beach. She wasn’t thinking about how fast her ‘little’ legs could carry her. She was only thinking about home. She belted up to a surprised Simmo, thrust her board at him, and slipped through the glass doors, dripping all over the floor as she raced for the phone in the corner of the kitchen. Her hands shook as she jabbed in her phone number. She stood there frozen, the ring tone bonging around her brain, willing someone to answer. She tapped impatiently on the list of Emergency numbers pinned to the noticeboard – numbers for Deb and Simmo, for parents and Jilly. Numbers they weren’t ever supposed to need.

  Finally she got through. She heard her mother’s voice and was about to let loose with her flood of questions when she realised it was the answering machine.

  ‘Hello. This is Sandy!’

  Fly had always got a kick out of her mother’s name. Her mother hated the beach more than life itself, and yet her name was Sandy. Today Fly only cared that it wasn’t her mother’s real voice on the phone. She paced some more, waiting for the message to play through.

  ‘You’ve reached the Watsons. You can leave a message for me …’ There was a pause while Sandy passed the phone to Fly’s dad, George, who said his name in that soft, gravelly voice she knew so well, and then on to each of Fly’s sisters to do the same. First Kate, then Josie, then Liz, then Jen, then Nell, in chronological order – oldest to youngest.

  Fly remembered the first time they did it. She remembered the scuzzie answering machine they picked up on the street on hard rubbish day. Her sister Liz had fixed it, though the messages they got always sounded like they’d come from aliens. The phone was in the kitchen and there was a patch of worn lino the exact length of the phone cord. Her mum was a pacer. The minute she opened her mouth, Sandy’s legs would take off. One length of the phone cord in one direction, then back the other way … until the lino had worn down to the boards. They knew there was no point replacing it, Sandy would just wear the new stuff down with her talking too.

  Fly waited impatiently for the phone message to end.

  ‘Hi. It’s me. It’d be really good if someone picked up the phone … Mum? … Dad? … You said it was urgent. Is anyone hurt? Can you call me back, please, as soon as you get home? I’ll be right by the phone.’

  She hung up and just stood there. She didn’t know what else to do. In the so-not-dramatic Watson house, ‘urgent’ was one of those words not tossed about lightly.

  She turned around and saw Heath dripping in the kitchen. Jilly would have a fit at the amount of the Pacific Ocean the two of them had invited into the house. Heath just looked at her questioningly, wanting to know what was going on. Fly’s head was ramping forward like a freight train, so fast that she failed to start at the beginning …

  ‘They took my name off the answering machine.’

  Heath frowned. ‘That was the emergency?’

  Fly shook her head. She didn’t know what the emergency was, she just knew they’d taken her name off the answering machine and it didn’t feel right.

  ‘You’re not there. You don’t live there anymore.’

  It was true, but after today, after feeling like maybe she was way, way out of her depth, Fly didn’t want that to be true. Nothing seemed to be going right here, and something was clearly wrong at home and she just wanted to be back there. Right now.

  She looked at the phone, willed it to ring. But the phone didn’t care what she wa
nted. Fly slid down the wall, ending up sitting in the puddle of water she’d just dripped onto the floor. The clock ticked loudly. It ticked … and ticked … and ticked some more.

  It kept right on ticking until it was dinner time. Fly hadn’t moved an inch – even when Jilly threatened to mop right over the top of her. She sat there on the floor watching Bec and Edge arguing about the best way to cook sausages. They were rostered to cook in pairs and these two were off to a feisty start.

  At 6.45 the phone rang. Fly sprang on it like a cobra.

  ‘Hello?’ She could hear how desperate her voice was.

  It was for Perri, who lounged at the kitchen table flipping a fashion magazine. As soon as Perri heard it was for her she started frantically pointing at the fluoro pink list tacked to the noticeboard. Perri had been very specific about how they were to handle her messages. If Jason rang, she was home. Mark Fisher – she was out. Derek – she’d moved interstate. It went on and on like that. She knew it looked complicated, but if they just followed the chart it would be fine. Fly didn’t understand why she’d given out her number to people she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to in the first place. To Perri, it was completely obvious – she wanted to keep her options open.

  This call was from Aaron, someone who made it onto the list of people Perri was home for. Fly told Aaron that he’d have to make it quick because she was waiting for an urgent call.

  Perri took the phone and gave Aaron her mobile number.

  Bec shot Fly a look. ‘Aaron must be something really special to get the mobile number.’

  When Bec and Edge brought their smouldering plate of sausages to the table, Fly was still pacing around the phone. As she put the plate down Bec announced to them all that Edge reckoned they could cook the sausages in half the time at twice the temperature – she would let them be the judge of whether he was on a winning idea there or not.