Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey (8 page)

Dad was right about one thing. I am a
tough cookie; my new life in Australia is going to be awesome.

Things at Willowbank are a bit better; I
am wearing my socks pulled up, my collar on the outside, my tent dress neatly hemmed
and the yellow neckerchief tied jauntily round my neck. Every day I fix a winning
smile on my face and set out to wow the staff and students, and it works, a little
bit. I begin to relax, fit in. For the first time in years I am trying to make a
good impression instead of a bad one.

My teachers soon suss that I am not the
teen genius Dad made out and offer me study notes and extra homework to help me
catch up with missed coursework. I smile and pretend to be grateful, and in spite of
a strong urge to throw the extra work into the nearest bin, I take it home and do
the best I can. What can I say? It passes the time in the middle of the night when
jet lag comes to call.

Art is the only subject I am actually
good at – when Miss Kelly flicks through my sketchbook, her face lights up.

‘So much potential,’ she
says, and I bite my lip and hold my head high because it is so long since I’ve
had a compliment from a teacher I don’t quite know how to react. I have
potential. Who knew?

It’s not all fun and games,
obviously. On Friday, I stay on for Mr Piper’s after-school maths study group,
so that he can get a better idea of the gaping holes in my mathematical education
and work out where to start patching them up. In the past, staying after school
usually meant detention. Staying because I’ve chosen to feels deeply weird,
but Tara and Bennie go to study group too; it’s a group for people who love
maths as well as those who struggle.

‘You’ll like it,’ Tara
says. ‘Maths is cool!’

I smile weakly. Me and a dozen geek-chic
girls … life is clearly having a laugh at my expense.

I fix on my winning smile and try very
hard to listen to Mr Piper, even though my brain feels like it will freeze over any
moment. Luckily, he has the patience of a saint, which is just as well. My progress
is painfully slow. But progress is progress, and my reward is looming.

This morning, over breakfast, Dad
arranged to pick me up after study group so that he can take me to buy a laptop. He
says it is an early Christmas present, but that it makes sense to buy it now; it
will focus my mind and help me with my studies, and by the time the holidays start I
will be well on the way to catching up with my coursework. That and the fact that I
won’t be creeping about the house at four in the morning to Skype home on his
work laptop, of course.

‘Are you catching the bus, or
shall we walk?’ Bennie wants to know as we emerge into the sunshine after
school. ‘We could call into the cafe at Sunset Beach and grab some Cokes to
celebrate the weekend!’

‘I can’t,’ I tell her.
‘Dad’s picking me up. We’re going laptop shopping!’

‘Wow!’ Tara exclaims.
‘Really? That’s so cool! Your dad sounds amazing!’

‘He is pretty awesome,’ I
agree. ‘There was no chance of having a laptop of my own when I lived with
Mum … we just didn’t have the cash. But Dad says it’s an
essential, if I am serious about my studies. He’s really generous!’

Just then, my mobile buzzes.

Honey, not going to make it today
after all – I have a last-minute meeting that looks set to run late. I’ll
sort something tomorrow, OK? x

PS: Tell Emma not to wait for me
for supper. I’ll grab a sandwich at my desk. x

My shoulders slump. Dad has let me down
before, of course, but I hoped things would be different here. Still, I guess he
can’t help it if an important meeting comes up.

‘Problem?’ Bennie asks.

‘Yeah … Dad can’t
make it,’ I say. ‘Some big meeting. Which means just one thing,
obviously …’

‘What?’

‘I’m all yours,’ I
announce, hooking my arms through Tara and Bennie’s and setting off along the
road. ‘Let’s hit the beach!’

I don’t really expect to see
Riley at the beach, but I can’t help scanning around just in case. He’s
not there, of course. Some kids are playing cricket and a few people are walking
dogs, but it’s much quieter than Sunday. ‘I was going to suggest we do
something tomorrow,’ Bennie says as we lie on the sand. ‘Go into town,
go shopping or something …’

I shrug. ‘Sounds good. I need to
find some Christmas presents for my mum and sisters. I have to post them soon if
they’re to arrive in time.’

‘OK,’ Tara says.
‘Great! We should have a sleepover soon too. Eat pizza and watch movies and
paint each other’s nails!’

This sounds like something my little
sister Coco would do with her friends, but I smile politely and pretend to be
thrilled. I am out of practice at having friends; some time over the last couple of
years, my middle-school mates dropped by the wayside, scared off by my wild ways;
the hard-faced girls I replaced them with were never really friends, I can see that
now. With Tara and Bennie, I am starting right back at the beginning.

‘We could do makeovers,’ I
say carefully, eyeing the girls speculatively. ‘Try some different styles
ready to wow the boys at all those Aussie Christmas parties!’

‘I don’t think I’m
going to any Christmas parties,’ Tara laments. ‘Only small, family ones,
with grannies and bearded great-uncles who smell of cough sweets.’

‘Wowing the boys is not easy for
us,’ Bennie says. ‘That’s where going to an all-girls’
school sucks. We’ve no idea how to act. We can’t flirt, we can’t
slow-dance … we’re clueless!’

‘We are,’ Tara confirms.
‘Two weeks ago, I was waiting at the bus stop when a lad from the boys’
school asked me if I had a pen he could borrow. I got so flustered I couldn’t
actually speak – I went crimson, shoved a biro into his hand and ran
away.’

‘She really did,’ Bennie
confirms. ‘Faster than the hundred-metre dash on Sports Day!’

‘If a boy tried to kiss me,
I’d faint with terror,’ Tara adds. ‘I am a lost cause.’

My eyes widen. ‘Hang on,’ I
check. ‘You’ve never kissed a boy? Really?’

Tara shrugs her shoulders, a slow burn
of pink staining her cheeks. ‘OK, so I’m a slow learner. Strict parents,
all-girls’ school. I’ve just never met the right boy. Or any boy, come
to think of it. I’ve led a sheltered life.’

‘You’re not missing
much,’ Bennie says cheerfully. ‘I kissed a boy called Bernard Harper on
holiday on the Gold Coast last year, and it was a bit like eating lukewarm soup
without a spoon. All slobbery and awkward.’

‘You never told me that!’
Tara gasps.

‘It wasn’t even good
soup,’ Bennie says thoughtfully. ‘More like dishwater. Boys are
overrated. He asked me out and I said it’d never work because we lived so far
apart, but really it was all about the dishwater kisses.’

‘Not all boys are
dishwater,’ I tell Tara and Bennie. ‘I’ve known a few who were
pure melted chocolate. They’re the ones that make it all
worthwhile.’

I think of Shay Fletcher, who was
definitely chocolate. There’ve been others since, and I thought that they were
chocolate too, at the time; most turned to dishwater in the end, like Kes.

Tara sighs. ‘Wow! Have you kissed
many boys, Honey?’

I laugh. ‘Too many. Bennie is
right – there are plenty of dishwater lads out there. It’s better to wait for
that first kiss, make sure it’s special.’

‘But how will we meet cool boys
when we’re at an all-girls’ school?’ Tara wails.

‘Easy,’ I say.
‘They’re everywhere! I bet I can find you some lads once the holidays
start – the chocolate kind. Meanwhile, I’ll train you up in the art of
flirting. And we may as well start now …’

Bennie looks around the beach, frowning.
An eight-year-old with a cricket bat and a middle-aged man in polka-dot board shorts
are the only eligible males in sight, but if I narrow my eyes and squint into the
shady reaches of the beach cafe, I can just about see Ash, the cute waiter with the
table-cleaning obsession. He might do for flirting practice for Tara and Bennie.

‘Chill,’ I tell my friends.
‘The first lesson is to ditch the anxiety – boys are not an alien species.
Well, actually, they kind of are, but that’s OK! You need to understand that
you are gorgeous, clever, confident …’

‘Not me,’ Tara says.
‘Any boy comes within a five-kilometre radius and I’m a nervous
wreck.’

‘Not any more,’ I say.
‘Last one to the ocean buys drinks all round! Come on!’

I grab their hands, the way I used to
years ago with my little sisters, dragging them out across the sand. We hurtle
forward, schoolbags flapping, the three of us screeching, laughing, howling. The
day’s rules and regulations peel away and I stop caring about whether I am a
rebel, a rule-breaker, a no-hope girl … or a newly invented version of
myself, someone with potential. None of that matters.

I reach the water’s edge first,
throwing down my bag, kicking off my shoes and socks. The next moment I am in the
water, shrieking, splashing, kicking up long plumes of surf. It feels childish,
exhilarating. ‘Now,’ I announce, knee-deep in the surf. ‘The
important bit. When I was little, my sisters and I used to make wishes at the
water’s edge, and they almost always came true. We’re going to make a
wish too. For sunshine, for friendship, for cool boys and true
love …’

I take their hands in mine again, as if
we are all five years old, pushing down towards the water.

‘Hope it works,’ Tara says.
‘I’m wishing for that first kiss …’

Bennie laughs. ‘I’m wishing
for a chocolate boy.’

I scrunch my eyes closed and one thought
flashes across my mind as my hands, twined with Tara and Bennie’s, dip into
the ocean.
I just want to be happy …

A huge, icy wave breaks over us and we
pull apart, screeching, clamouring for the shore. My face is sore from laughing so
hard and my lips taste of saltwater.

‘Honey Tanberry,’ Bennie
gasps, twirling round on the sand, ‘you are officially crazy! I haven’t
laughed so much for ages!’

‘I am soaked,’ Tara groans.
‘I think I swallowed half the bay!’

‘You were the last in the water,
Tara,’ I point out, grinning. ‘You get the drinks. That was the
deal!’

‘No way!’ she argues.
‘I’m not going into the cafe looking like this!’

I look at Bennie. ‘Don’t
even ask,’ she protests. ‘Look at us, Honey! We’re like drowned
rats!’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Watch and learn …’

I shake my hair and smooth down my
dress, the hem still dripping, and stride across the hot sand to the cafe, my
schoolbag swinging. Tara and Bennie follow, grabbing up stray shoes and socks,
giggling.

The beach cafe is deserted except for
Ash, sitting on a bar stool reading a book. He looks up as I walk in, scanning my
damp hair, my bare feet, the dark, wet patches on my dress. Tara and Bennie stumble
to a halt behind me, pink-cheeked and dripping.

‘Honey Tanberry,’ he says,
and I am secretly pleased that he remembers my name.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Been
swimming?’

‘It’s a hot day,’ I
quip. ‘Couldn’t resist.’

‘It might be different in Britain,
but I have to tell you, most people here get changed first …’

‘We are not most people,’ I
tell him. ‘We like to be different. These are my school friends, Tara and
Bennie. Girls, this is Ash.’

‘Good to meet you,’ he
says.

‘Hello,’ Bennie gabbles.
‘We weren’t actually swimming – it was just paddling really, and then we
got soaked by this huge wave that came out of nowhere …’

‘I saw,’ Ash says.
‘Looked like fun!’

‘It was!’ Bennie agrees. I
notice she is holding Tara firmly by the arm, as if she might wriggle free and make
a run for it any minute.

‘You were going to order
something, Tara,’ I remind her. ‘Right?’

‘Mnnnnfff,’ Tara says
through gritted teeth, her face scarlet. ‘I
mean … um … three Cokes, please.’

Ash slides down from the bar stool and
heads behind the counter, and I pick up the abandoned book, a dog-eared philosophy
text. It’s a pity Ash has major geek-boy tendencies because he’s very
good-looking, in a dark and smouldering kind of way.

‘Are you at uni?’ Bennie
asks.

‘School,’ he says.
‘Got my Higher School Cert next year.’

‘Oh … Nietzsche,’
Tara says, picking up the book. ‘I’m quite interested in
philosophy … I thought I might want to do it at uni.’

‘Yeah?’ Ash asks, pouring
Coke into chilled glasses. ‘I have a couple of books you can try. Schopenhauer
and Descartes, but fairly basic …’

Tara’s boy phobia seems to have
vanished – she and Ash are chatting happily about weird, long-dead boffins.
It’s a little disconcerting.

‘Whatever,’ I say, rolling
my eyes. ‘My philosophy is simple – live for the moment and make every second
count. And have as much fun as you can, obviously.’

‘That’s definitely the
impression I’m getting,’ Ash says, his attention back on me.
‘So … ice-cream floats in the Cokes then? On the house. One-time
special offer for mermaids only?’

‘We’re not mermaids!’
Bennie giggles.

‘But we’ll take the free
drinks,’ I cut in. ‘Thanks!’

Tara and Bennie take their drinks and
head outside into the sunshine. As I turn to follow, Ash touches my arm and I shiver
a little.

‘You’re quite something,
Honey Tanberry,’ he says. For about a millisecond I think that’s a
compliment, and then I remember the wet hair hanging around my face in
rat’s-tail ringlets, the sea-splashed school dress, the shallow puddle forming
around my sand-crusted feet. If it
is
a compliment, it is the strangest one
ever.

I start to laugh, and Ash laughs too,
and it feels like the start of a friendship.

I don’t get home until after six.
I forgot to call Emma to pass on Dad’s message, and she’s cooking
something complicated and stressful involving several recipe books and most of the
contents of the kitchen cupboards. Everything is strewn across the kitchen as if a
small tornado has just passed through, and she looks a little overwhelmed.