Blue Water High (31 page)

Which was Bec's inner mongrel. The hooter had gone just as Fly took off, which meant that, legally, she was allowed to finish the wave, but everyone else had to call it a day. Bec was standing there in the white water, her board under her arm, as Fly glided into shore. She was fuming.

‘You took me out.'

‘No I didn't,' said Fly. ‘I was on the inside.'

‘Only after you shouldered me!'

Simmo could sense the disharmony and was already striding towards them. ‘What happened out there?'

‘She pushed me off the wave,' said Bec.

Fly shook her head. That wasn't true …

‘You dropped in on me, Fly. You deliberately shouldered me.'

Not true again. And it was like Fly had used up her Twinkie points today because there just wasn't any growl left in her.

Simmo took over. ‘What's done is done. Stuff happens out there.'

Both girls snapped to attention as the PA crackled to life.

‘Sonja Grant – six, Corin Hardy – six, Fiona Watson – eight, Bec Sanderson – five … That puts Fiona Watson into the finals with a cumulative score of thirteen. She'll join Stacey Jervis, Ally Henville and Emily Cameron.'

Fly was stunned. She didn't know whether to be more stunned about the fact that she'd managed to make the finals, or the fact that the one time she'd gotten into a
tussle with Bec it had made the difference between her getting through or not.

‘I hope you're happy. That's me out, thanks to you.' Bec spat the words out as she stormed off.

‘Bec?!' Fly called after her. But Bec kept right on stomping.

How was it possible that two milliseconds after hearing she'd won the heat, she could feel so bad? This was not how it was meant to feel, was it?

‘Forget it, Fly. She'll calm down. It's all part of winning and losing.'

Fly looked up at him seriously. ‘Is it?' she asked.

Simmo nodded. ‘And right now, my girl, you are a winner. You did everything we talked about and more. Well done.'

Fly stared down at the boiling white water. If this was winning, she wasn't sure she wanted a bar of it.

It was not exactly happy campers all round on the drive back. Heath sat next to Fly, but not a word was spoken the whole trip.
Not a word
… Edge was sitting on the step of Simmo's caravan when they finally pulled into the driveway. He stood as soon as they bumped their way in. It had obviously been a long wait in Camp Simmo on his own. Simmo sat behind the wheel for a moment. Fly could see the weight on his shoulders. Now, after everything that had happened today, he had to deal with this! He stepped out of the car and used his finger to call Edge over. The two of them walked slowly towards the pit toilet.

Simmo told Edge what a stupid, stupid thing he'd done. Edge didn't need convincing. He told Edge that he was very lucky today's comp wouldn't affect Perri's ranking or he'd be stripping points off him left, right and centre. Then Simmo seemed to get very interested in the pit toilet. He explained that he and his mates had been camping there for close to twenty years and in all that time they'd had the same old torch for going to the loo in the middle of
the night. The magic torch. The torch that never ran out of batteries. Not bad for twenty years. Simmo went on to explain that last night, in the middle of a nature call, he'd dropped the torch … And he'd really like it back. The thing was, this pit was started last year and there were an awful lot of chiko rolls, hot dogs and pies down there – not to mention last night's pizza – so it probably wasn't going to be a pretty job.

This was Edge's penance, and as ugly as it sounded, Fly would've swapped it in a flash. Because she wasn't being offered a way out. She was just suffering the cold shoulder. Bec was the chilliest, but Anna and Perri were freaked out enough to be kind of coolish too. Fly couldn't really blame them. Who knew what it had looked like from the beach? The three of them had disappeared into the tent the moment they'd gotten back. They were probably deciding she was the biggest snake of all time for all she knew.

After ten minutes she couldn't stand it any longer; she edged over to the tent. She almost knocked, like it mightn't be okay for her to go into her own tent. In the end, she just cleared her throat and pushed on in. They didn't appear to have been making voodoo dolls with Fly's face on them. They were actually getting dressed. Perri was steering in a pair of coral earrings and Anna was actually in a skirt. Something serious must've been going on.

‘Where are you guys off to?' she asked.

‘We've been invited to a losers' party at the clubhouse,' said Anna.

‘Losers' party?'

‘It's a tradition,' explained Perri. ‘Those who don't make the final get to throw a party.'

Fly could feel Bec staring at her.

‘But seeing you're such a winner, you get to have an early night and rest up for tomorrow. Lucky you, eh?'

Fly stood there stinging. She had no response. Her inner mongrel was nowhere to be seen. And maybe that's because Fly didn't want it. She hated this kind of aggro. They were supposed to be friends and now, because Fly had been so interested in winning, they hated her. The more she thought about it, the more she thought she might cry, so she turned and pushed out through the flap of the tent.

As she stepped away she heard Bec defending herself.

‘What?
What?
'

Anna and Perri must've given her the eye, bless them, but Bec wouldn't be moved.

‘Did I say anything that wasn't true?' Bec demanded.

She hadn't. She just had a way of delivering the truth that made it feel like you'd been whacked over the head with a marlin.

Bec, Anna and Perri went off to the losers' barbie, so Fly was the only girl at dinner. Edge had been busy on his torch-finding mission and Heath and Edge were too embarrassed to serve pizza two nights in a row so they'd decided to brave the fire and cook something. Fly was halfway through her bowl and she still didn't know what the something was. Not that her tastebuds were in gear anyway. She was too busy replaying the afternoon's incident, going over every angle, trying to see where it had gotten so tangled up.

Simmo offered to go through some strategies for tomorrow, but Fly's heart just wasn't in it. She felt like the sooner this whole thing was over and done with the better. Edge was finally allowed to give up his search due to darkness, but only on the condition that he took it up again at first light.

When the tinned peaches came out for dessert Fly excused herself. She needed a walk. Heath declared he suddenly felt in need of an old leg stretch himself. They walked high out along the headland, watching the first of the stars come out. Fly knew she should probably talk to him about the hurricane in her mind, she knew that's why he'd come, but she didn't know where to start.

Finally she just came to a standstill.

‘I don't know who to be anymore. The old me was a loser who was nice to everyone and everyone liked her. Now I'm this aggro nut case who knocks people off waves.'

Below them a huge sheet of water crashed against the rocks, unleashing a giant wall of spray.

‘You didn't do anything wrong. If you had the judges would've disqualified you.'

‘You know the weird thing? For a second there I was really happy that I won. That I beat Bec.'

Heath looked up at her. ‘So what? You think Bec would have worried if she'd beaten you?'

Fly stopped and sat on a rock. ‘I don't want to be like that. A person who thinks that winning is everything.'

‘What do you lose if you win?'

She looked up at him, confused for a second.

‘Um … well if you go by today's example, I lose my friends.'

‘So they're your friends when you're cute little Fly. Nice and polite, happy to let them take the lead.'

Fly stared out to sea, she wanted him to stop, but at the same time she wanted him to go on.

‘I think she's a fake.'

Fly looked up. She did a quick U-turn on her last thought; maybe she didn't want him to go on at all.

‘Beg yours?' she said.

‘I do,' Heath nodded. ‘I think she's old school. She's a habit. And sometime – could be this weekend, could be next year, could be ten years from now – you're going to work out that she's actually a pain in the butt.'

Fly couldn't believe what she was hearing.

‘Are we … Are you supposed to be my boyfriend?'

‘It's your theory: old Fly/new Fly. I'm just going with it,' he said. ‘Seriously, what would the old you do about what's happened?'

Fly thought for a minute.

‘I'd wait up feeling miserable till the girls got home, and then I'd apologise to Bec, because she was probably right, and then things would go back to normal.'

‘So why don't you do that?' he asked. ‘Why are you sitting out here freezing your knickers off talking to me about it?'

‘I really don't know.'

‘'Course you do. You're out here ‘cause the old you doesn't fit anymore. Telling Bec she was probably right would be a lie and it sticks in your throat. And that's a good thing.'

They sat in silence for a while.

‘And worse than that,' said Heath, ‘now that I'm on a roll, the old you might even go out there tomorrow and end up performing ordinarily enough to make sure she only came second. ‘Cause no-one hates seconders, do they? They only hate winners.'

Maybe Heath was right. Maybe, ever so slowly, she'd been leaving the old Fly behind. But she was stuck in the middle at the moment, and she didn't know which way to swim.

‘Could you whip out your flute and bang out a few riffs for me to follow?'

Heath smiled. He got the Tutanekai reference and he liked it. ‘Ah, if only I could. But it's your swim, Fly.'

He got up and left her there. She didn't know whether to curse him or thank him for the talking-to. What she did know was that if Heath put as much thought into school as he did into the way the rest of the world worked he wouldn't be in the jam he was in. But it wasn't him in the hot seat right now; it was her.

She sat there for a long time, batting around the options. Heath was right. Waiting up and grovelling felt like the island she'd left behind. Gritting her teeth, ignoring it and not caring about the consequences turned her into Edge. Maybe there was a middle way. Maybe she would talk to Bec and state her case, calmly and gently, and whatever happened at least she would go to bed with the truth as her friend.

She strode back to camp and nudged Heath, who was snoozing by the fire, with her foot.

‘You want to come for a walk?'

‘Another one?' he said.

This walk was quicker. It was a walk with purpose. By the time they reached the clubhouse, it was going off. There was a DJ, a drumming troupe, fire twirlers and a huge projector showering them all in the reflected light of wicked big wave surfing. These losers really knew how to celebrate.

It didn't take long to find Bec. She was by the bar talking to one of the other losers. Fly marched up without preparing a speech. It was time to shoot from the hip.

‘This is a party for losers, remember?' Bec said.

She'd got in first. Fly was on the back foot already.

‘I just wanted to say I'm really sorry about how things worked out.'

That was a good, calm middle-of-the-road kind of thing to say. She wasn't taking the blame, she was just expressing she wasn't pleased with what had happened.

‘So you admit you shouldered me?' Bec said.

This was where it'd get interesting.

‘No,' Fly said. She could feel herself holding her breath. ‘I'm just sorry you're knocked out and I don't want us to not be friends.'

Maybe she should've prepared a speech. Bec was a street-fighter from way back and she didn't cut Fly any slack.

‘So if you're actually not apologising, what are you here to say?'