Silver Tides (Silver Tides Series) (5 page)

school

I tried really hard to look my best on Monday; that required no less than an hour in the bathroom. We had the city’s smallest and ugliest bathroom. Everything in the room was 60s pink—the basin, the tiles, the toilet, the shower curtain, everything. Over the years Mum had tried to break up the pinkness by adding different colored towels and floor mats, but it was a losing battle. I wondered how Dad could spend so much time sitting on the toilet when so much pink surrounded him.

Dad banged on the bathroom door before my bus arrived. “There is nothing you can do about your face,” he grumbled with his Russian accent. “If I win a lotto, then I’ll get you a new nose and you won’t have to spend so much time with the mirror.”

“That’s so kind,” I said sarcastically, hurt by his comment. “Maybe you should get yours done first, since my nose is a hand-me-down.”

“Ha, ha,” he said seriously, rushing past me into the bathroom to get ready for work.

I wandered into the kitchen wearing my blue tartan skirt, white shirt and the blue school blazer. Despite the uniform being ugly and unflattering, it was better than having to go through the drama of a free day. Whenever there was uniform-free day Jaimie would descend upon my pink bathroom trying to make me presentable.

I was lucky to have Jaimie, but I was happy for the reduced stress of the uniform. I pulled my white knee-high socks up and fiddled with my black designer shoes, hand-me-downs from Jaimie. That was our group’s thing—white knee-high socks and black designer shoes. The drama kids were big on hats, while the Goth kids had their pale faces and black eyeliner. Despite having a set uniform, it was obvious who belonged to each group.

“Is my nose that bad?” I asked Mum, running my fingers across the bridge of my nose.

“Your nose is perfect because it’s yours,” she replied with hippy flare.

“I told John I’d meet him at the gate,” I said, fluffing my hair for the zillionth time, “but I think I’m going to be late.”

“Let me take you,” Mum said helpfully. “I’ll check with the secretary agency if they’ve got any temp work on the way home.”

Mum was a job connoisseur; she had held no less than thirty jobs in my short life. She maintained that she hadn’t found a vocation to dedicate her life to other than motherhood. Fortunately, Dad made enough money to keep us clothed and fed, even if we didn’t live in a mansion by the sea like most of my friends. I felt blessed to have a home and family, even if I didn’t have any new designer stuff.

“Thanks so much, Mum,” I said, genuinely grateful to avoid the smell of uneaten sandwiches and deodorant that accompanied the bustle of the school bus.

Mum dropped me off at school before the buses arrived; I watched each bus unload its teeming contents into the empty school grounds.

Jaimie bounded up to me looking like she'd spent the majority of her morning preening in the mirror. "Is he here yet?"

I shook my head, and she did a decent job of not looking disappointed.

"Maybe he remembered his identity and he's on his way home," she sighed, deflated.

"Who?" asked Tim, draping himself around Jaimie.

"John," I replied, chewing my lip.

"Pretty boy?" Tim asked, obviously put out by all the attention John was getting. "He's over there."

John was making his way through the crowd toward us; girls and guys alike turned to watch him.

The sun glinted off his golden hair as his mesmerizing blue eyes caught mine; a smile of recognition played across his lips. He made his way over to us looking cool enough to freeze water.

"Hey." He greeted.

"Hey." I smiled, lost in his gaze.

"School uniform suits you," John teased.

"You too cool for it?" Tim challenged, fighting the awe splashed across his face.

"Just don't have one yet," John replied casually.

"You can borrow one of Tim's," Jaimie offered helpfully.

"Babe..." Tim began, sounding exasperated.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get a couple today." John laughed, letting Tim off the hook. "So, will you take me to the office?"

I nodded as he slung his arm over my shoulders. "Lead the way."

Girls were giving me jealous looks as we walked down the hall, while some boys gave me a second glance. It was weird that people looked at me differently when John had his arm around me.

"People are staring," I whispered.

"So, let them," he whispered back and threw his head back and laughed. His laugh was contagious, as was his confidence. I felt like the rock-star version of myself around him.

Everyone had been staring at me and whispering about me for over a fortnight, but with John it felt like it had more to do with him than me. We meandered past the art room with its try-hard displays and made our way to the office.

John enrolled in all the classes I was taking. Mrs. Watson, who abhorred kids copying their friends’ schedules, told him it was great he'd know someone in every class.

I noticed that John’s presence seemed to lobotomize people so that their entire purpose was to please him. The popular table at lunch seemed to do it with the most pizzazz.

"OMG!" Tammy squealed as John and I sat down at the table.

"I hope you don't mind me joining you for lunch." He smiled his dazzling smile. "I'm John."

"I’m Miranda," she purred, putting herself straight in line of his vision. "I heard you've lost your memory."

"Afraid so," he acknowledged, cagey.

"Maybe I can help you retrieve it." She smiled, leaning forward so he could see straight into her bra. "I can take you down the beach and help retrace your steps."

I felt an overwhelming urge to slap Miranda; she had a boyfriend after all. I didn't want to admit that I was jealous, but my feelings were betraying me. John felt like he was mine, but he wasn't. If he wanted to canoodle with Miranda, he was free to. After all, they were in the same echelon of attractiveness.

"I've had enough of the beach," John replied, noncommittally.

"Maybe a movie tomorrow; it's cheaper Tuesday?" Miranda offered.

"I've got a lot of catching up to do with schoolwork," he replied, obviously trying to weasel out of the situation. "I'll let you know when I'm free."

Miranda gave me a dirty look and I shrugged, secretly glad. I could feel that things were beginning to change.

Friends

It was surreal opening the door and inviting John into my house. I never thought I’d see him after he was discharged from hospital. Feeling so close and attached to a virtual stranger was bizarre.

John slung his arm over my shoulders. "So, this is it? Home sweet home."

He savored the mismatched furniture and photos that made up my home. Until that moment I hadn't realized how much I wanted him to like it. With all its quirks, my house was a reflection of my family and me; I hoped he'd approve.

"This is it," I said, sweeping my hands around the room with exaggerated flair. "Mum, I'm home."

"That was quick," Mum said, emerging from the kitchen with her hair wrapped in a gypsy style scarf and flour all over her nana apron.

"Sorry," John apologized disarmingly. "I gave Mya a ride home. My foster parents lent me the Blue Bomb to ferry myself around."

"John Smith, I presume," Mum said, wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron before extending her hand with a smile.

"That's what the doctors call me." He blushed, shaking Mum's hand.

"Is it OK if we study in the dining room?" I asked Mum.

"I've got some serious catching up to do." John gave Mum a charming grin.

"Sure," Mum replied. "Would you like to try the banana muffins I made?"

"Definitely!" John and I agreed in unison.

Mum laughed. "Would you like a hot or cold drink to go with it?"

"Cold," we answered unanimously again.

"Looks like you two have a lot in common." Mum laughed as she whipped the scarf from her head, causing her caramel curls to tumble out like a shampoo commercial. I wished for the millionth time that I'd inherited Mum's natural ability to turn an awkward moment into a glamour shoot. A moment ago she had looked like a gypsy baker, and now she looked ready for a close-up. Mum disappeared back into the kitchen.

I led John through our lounge to the dining room table, which was the only clear space in our house. John and I set out our books as Mum delivered muffins and drinks and disappeared. I knew she was lurking nearby to make sure I was safe, but at least she was being discreet about it.

Despite John asking for my help, he seemed to better understand most of what we were studying. I could feel his eyes surveying me as I grappled with a logic question. He didn't even pretend to do his homework as he brazenly studied me.

I glanced up, and he smiled at me. "Did you know that when you're really concentrating, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth?"

"A family habit; my Dad does it too." I shrugged, my face reddening.

"It's cute." He smiled, displaying his perfect teeth.

"Thanks," I said, trying to look like I was distracted by homework and not the fresh scent of the beach that accompanied John.

"How much have you got to go?" he asked.

"Just one more question," I replied, crestfallen at the prospect of his imminent departure.

He sat quietly sipping his drink and studying me. I focused on the numbers on the page, reading and rereading them, while all I could think about was John’s eyes watching me. It took twice as long to finish the mathematical question because of his presence.

"Finished?" he teased, with a playful smile. He was planning something; I could see it in his eyes.

"Yes, why?" I asked, suspiciously.

"How about we go to the beach to see if it'll jog my memory?" he offered.

My heart fluttered as he smiled at me. "I'll ask my mum," I replied, only realizing how lame I sounded after it came out.

Mum was fine with it provided I was home before dark. For the first time ever I loved the longer day due to daylight savings.

The Blue Bomb lived up to its name. Stopped at traffic lights it backfired, causing a cyclist to wobble precariously for a few minutes. It smelt like swamp, and drove like it was about to die, but it managed to get us safely to the beach.

The shadows were lengthening, heralding the end of the day as I dug my toes into the crisp sun-hardened sand.

We walked past the fire pit where the party had been and headed down near the rocks where I'd pulled John from the grasp of the sea.

John’s cold fingers took my hand in his; after a fortnight of holding his hand in hospital it seemed strange as well as familiar to have him hold my hand in return. My heart raced at the contact, and I reminded myself that it was a platonic thing—John was a touchy-feely guy.

White lacey froth danced on the peaks of the waves breaking heavily onto shore, the water was muddy from rain and pollution. Despite the sea being brown and angry, there was still something alluring about it. I had to dip my toes in the water even if the water was freezing, because it felt wrong to deny the sea some small homage.

The coastline looked different with the recent weather changes; there was less sand on the beach, rocks jutted out of the water enjoying the sun after being buried under the sand for some time.

"So." I sighed, motioning to the rocky area I remembered dragging him past. "This is the spot."

John looked under-whelmed by the experience, as his eyes scanned the jagged rocks. "It's not helping. I still can't remember anything."

"That must be so disappointing," I empathized.

"In some ways." John shrugged philosophically. "In other ways I wonder if my brain isn't trying to protect me. Maybe I was out fishing with my family and I'm the only survivor. Or I'm an asylum seeker who swam in off a boat. I want to remember, but then I get scared and feel grateful that the first thing I remember is you."

"Ha, ha," I replied sarcastically, poking him in the ribs playfully.

"I'm not kidding," he said seriously. "You telling me to keep living is my first memory, and seeing you drooling all over me in my hospital bed is the first memory with picture I have."

I laughed. "Poor you!"

"It's not every day that I awaken, with a beautiful girl on top of me," he teased. "You must have been dreaming about ice cream with the amount of drool you got on me."

"You could have wrung your shirt out and filled an Olympic-sized pool with it," I added, laughing at myself.

"I'm just that appealing, huh?" he said, playfully.

"You have no idea," I replied, matching his playful tone.

"Lucky I'm sticking around then," he said with false bravado. "I'd hate to leave you destitute."

"You're too kind," I said, sarcastically.

"I do owe you," he reminded, in mock benevolence. "You did save my life. Don't I have to be your slave till I repay the favor?"

"I'm sure that was implied when I resuscitated you," I teased.

"You call it resuscitation," he shot back playfully. "I know you just couldn't keep your hands or lips off me."

"Whatever," I laughed, giving him a gentle shove.

John poked me in the ribs in response. "The least you could do is kiss me while I'm conscious."

His tone left me uncertain of whether he was joking or not. It was so easy for me to fall into flirty banter with John; I rarely knew when we were joking and when we were serious. The way he looked at me was unnerving, like he had x-ray vision and could see my nana knickers; the part I couldn’t admit was that I wanted him to want me.

John put his hands on my hips and turned me to face him. "What do you say?"

"I need to get home," I replied blushing, before turning away. John’s words left me confused and flustered, and my heart beating wildly in my chest. I barely knew John; a guy like him would have to have a girlfriend pining for him somewhere. I needed to heed the advice of those who loved me and not get too attached. John took my cue and we walked back to the car in silence. I wished that I could be more, but I knew that I’d never be good enough for him.

I slipped my shoes on in the car, happy for their warmth. I channel surfed radio stations as we drove home, seeing what music John liked. I made a game out of naming the type of people who listened to the music that appealed to John to categorize him.

"So you like Pink, Elvis, the Beatles..." I listed.

"Who doesn't like the Beatles?" John asked in exaggerated horror.

"That is a good point," I agreed.

"Robbie Williams, Katy Perry, Black Eyed Peas, George Michael, and Wham so far," I calculated. "That means you're sexually confused with a flare for drama and a propensity toward wigs."

"Wow, that's profound," he said, sarcastically. "It's like you read my soul."

"I'm very good, as you can tell," I replied with exaggerated pride.

"You liked the same music I liked," he accused, pulling into my street.

"I also liked Tom Jones and One Direction," I countered.

"That means you like teeny bopper music throughout the ages and need to meet the right guy," John replied, sincerely.

"Hey," I said, acting offended. "I thought we were playing the insulting each other version of the game?"

"Liking teeny bopper music
is
an insult," John pointed out, with a cheeky grin.

"I think we need to play this game with more than the golden oldies and FOX radio stations," I said as John pulled into my driveway.

"The Blue Bomb only has two settings, old and commercially exploited," John joked.

"I guess we should be grateful for anything at Blue’s age." I smiled.

I gathered my bag off the tattered floor of the Blue Bomb, retrieving the lip-gloss and mobile phone that had tried to escape.

"Thanks for today." John smiled. "Do you wanna play '
What does John like?
' again tomorrow?"

"Sure," I agreed, excited to spend more time with him. "We should go to Baskin Robbins and try ice-cream flavors."

"Sounds like a date." He grinned, his blue eyes dancing mischievously. "Be ready for school tomorrow at eight-thirty; I'll pick you up."

"I can catch the bus," I countered, not wanting to put John out of his way.

"You saved my life," he said, exasperated. "The least I can do is drive you to school."

"When you put it that way," I reluctantly agreed.

***

The next day John drove me to school as we listened to crooning golden oldies. John draped his arm over my shoulders as we entered the school grounds, unfazed by the intimacy of his action. He carried himself with the confidence of a guy who owned the world; it made me want to be braver. I so desperately wanted to be good enough for him.

Jaimie and Tim were waiting for us at the lockers, as we pushed through the jostling masses of inmates. John gave Jaimie a wink in greeting. Jaimie tried to wave in response forgetting she was holding a water bottle. She sprayed Tim with the contents of her refreshment. Her obvious attraction to John was becoming an in-joke.

John was turning heads everywhere he went; he was like an ice-cream van on a hot summer’s day, only way cooler. Miranda spent most of the day trying to get John alone, while his mission seemed to be avoiding her.

Before fourth period, Miranda was stalking the halls looking for John in the crowd; he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me into disabled toilet till Miranda had gone to class. We were both late to class, but I was reassured that Miranda wasn’t going to get her talons into him anytime soon.

John was starting to feel like the best friend I missed in Jaimie. While Jaimie and I were close, Tim got most of Jaimie's time and attention. Much of my animosity toward Tim stemmed from missing my best friend.

In John I was starting to find that connection that was both thrilling and terrifying. I couldn’t bring myself to admit my feelings for John were more than friendly.