Written in the Stars: A Girls of Summer Short Story (The Girls of Summer) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  What’s next?

  Other books in the series

  Written in the Stars

  SR Silcox

  Copyright SR Silcox 2017

  Published by Juggernaut Books Pty Ltd

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No reference to an real person, living or dead, should be inferred. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without consent is strictly prohibited.

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  www.srsilcox.com

  ONE

  Bridget leans in closer than she needs to, looking over my shoulder at what I’m writing. Her hair tickles my ear and gives me goosebumps. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

  “We need to get this done, Bridg,” I reply. Of course I want to kiss her. We don’t get many opportunities, so normally I’d take every single one of them. This time though, we’re running late on the first part of our big history assignment thanks to kissing instead of studying, and we’re only two weeks into the new school year. Plus, my mum’s home and she could walk in on us at any time. Mum knows I’m gay but she thinks Bridget is just a friend.

  “It’s not due until the end of semester. There’s plenty of time.”

  “The assignment’s due at the end of semester, but the outline is due next week,” I correct her.

  She wriggles closer to me across the floor so our bodies are touching from our feet all the way up to our shoulders. “Come on, Quinn. Don’t you want to kiss me?”

  I turn to look at her and my heart skips a beat. Our faces are so close our noses are almost touching. Her eyes are sparkling with the same mischief they did when we were kids, and when I glance at her mouth, the corner of her lip quirked up just a little, my heart almost stops. I have to focus. I can’t afford to fail history. I can’t afford to fail anything. I kiss her on the tip of her nose and turn back to my notes.

  Bridget doesn’t give up. In fact, she ups the ante by running her fingers lightly down my arm. It takes all my strength to not respond.

  “If we start, we won’t get any work done.”

  “And why is that a problem?” she asks. God she’s good at this.

  I suck in a breath, more to keep myself calm than anything else, and let it out slowly. I turn back to her, kiss her quickly and then pull away. “Do you want to explain to Mrs Kirkman why we didn’t get the outline done?”

  She pouts. “You’re so boring.”

  She hates being rejected. I try to smooth things over. “Bridg, if someone finds out why we’re spending so much time together studying, even though we’re supposedly not friends at school, what do you think will happen?”

  “We’re friends,” she replies defensively. “We just don’t hang around the same people.” She rolls over onto her back and crosses her hands under her head. “Do you remember when we put those up there?” she asks.

  I look up at the fake stars on my bedroom ceiling. They’re faded now and most of them have lost their glow. “You gave them to me for my eighth birthday,” I reply.

  “Yeah, but do you remember us putting them up?” she asks again.

  “I guess,” I reply, not getting where she’s going with it. “Dad told us to wait until he got home from work and he’d do it.”

  “But we didn’t wait,” Bridget says. “We got your dad’s ladder from the shed and—”

  “I held it while you stretched right up to stick them on,” I finish. I smile at the memory.

  “I fell for you that day,” Bridget says.

  “You fell onto me and I fell onto the bed,” I correct her.

  “No, I mean, that was when I fell for you.”

  My whole body tingles. I’m not sure why she’s never told me that until right now. “Really?”

  She pokes me in my side with her pen. “You practically saved my life. How could I not fall for you?”

  I laugh. “You’re so melodramatic sometimes, Bridg.”

  She looks at me intently. “You know now would be a good time to kiss me.”

  She’s right and I really, really want to kiss her. I decide instead that now would be a good time to take a chance on something I’ve been thinking about. “I tell you what, I’ll kiss you if you do something for me.”

  Bridget leans in closer. “Anything,” she whispers.

  “Go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me,” I say. It’s a long shot and I’ve been trying to work out how to ask her to the dance for weeks.

  Bridget rolls away and looks down at her books. “You know I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not. I have to go with Josh.”

  “You don’t have to,” I reply. “I’ve worked it all out.”

  “Have you just?” Bridget asks.

  I nod. “People go with friends all the time, right? We could all just go as a big group of friends. Me, you, Luke, whoever else you want. Josh, even.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Bridget says. “We don’t have the same circle of friends, remember?”

  “Or, we could go separately and meet up at the dance,” I say. I know I’m sounding desperate but I can’t help it.

  “Quinn, it’s not going to happen.” She puts her hand on mine and lays her head on my shoulder.

  “It was just a thought.”

  “A nice thought,” Bridget says. “We could dance to Strings and hide out in the kissing booth.”

  “So you have thought about it?” I ask, surprised.

  “A little.”

  I shrug my shoulder under her head.

  “Okay, a lot,” she says and then she sighs heavily. “I’m sorry we’re so complicated.”

  “I’d rather complicated than not at all,” I reply, and kiss her on the top of her forehead. “And I think our song should be Unconditionally.”

  There’s a knock on the door and Bridget and I jolt apart and look like we’re studying.

  Mum sticks her head around the door. “Hey, girls. How’s the study going?”

  “Fine,” I answer at the same time Bridget says, “Good.”

  Mum looks at us and smiles. “Are you staying for dinner, Bridget?”

  “No, thanks, Mrs B. I’m going to the club with my family tonight.”

  I feel a stab in my chest. That means she’ll be having dinner with Josh and his family.

  “Oh,” Mum replies, sounding disappointed. I’m not sure whether that’s for me or for her. The house has been quiet since Dad died and Mum loves it when I have friends over. “Maybe next time.”

  “Sure. Sounds great,” Bridget replies with a smile. She checks her watch. “I really should get going. I have to pick up Hannah from dance on the way home.” She sits up and shoves her books into her bag. “Walk me out?” she says to me as she stands up.

  I put down my pen and stand up. “I’ll be back in a minute to help you with dinner, Mum,” I say as I follow Bridget down the hallway.

  Once we’re near the front door and far enough away that I don’t think Mum can’t see or hear us, Bridget leans up and kisses me. I kiss her back but I think she can feel my heart’s not in it.

  “Are we okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. I just hate you having to spend so much time with Josh, that’s a
ll.”

  Bridget takes my hand. “I know but the year will go fast. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so.” I kiss her on the forehead and open the front door.

  “I’ll see you at school on Monday,” Bridget says.

  “Wait, we won’t see each other on the weekend?” I ask.

  Bridget looks at her feet. “Sorry. Family thing.”

  She’s always got a ‘family thing’, but I let it ride. I’ll be at work most of tomorrow anyway, and at least if I don’t have Bridget as a distraction, I might get to finish the history assignment outline. I watch as Bridget skips down the steps to her car and stand there until I see her tail lights disappear around the corner and then I head back inside.

  “Hey, Mum? Can you make that potato salad Dad used to like?”

  “Sure, love,” Mum calls back.

  I could really use some comfort food right about now.

  TWO

  “Have you asked her out yet?” Luke asks. We’re picking over the remnants of our fish and chips, sitting on a rickety wooden table looking out over Poor Man’s Bay. It’s more of an inlet really, but I guess whoever named it decided that Bay sounded better than Inlet.

  I suck in a breath. “No,” I reply. He’s talking about Brittany Taylor, the girl he says likes me. He’s been trying to get me to ask her out for almost a year, but drama geek isn’t really my type.

  Luke jabs me on the leg. “You’re wasting time, you know that right?”

  I shrug. “If she likes me, she’ll wait.”

  Luke shakes his head. “She won’t wait forever you know.”

  Luke doesn’t know about me and Bridget. He knows me better than anyone, but I promised Bridget I wouldn’t tell anyone about us. Not even Luke. I wish I could tell him about Bridget. At least that might get him off my case about Brittany.

  “You should ask her to the Valentine’s Dance. It would be perfect. She wouldn’t say no.”

  “And you know that how?”

  Luke rolls his eyes. “She’s been making goo-goo eyes at you for ages. I can’t believe how clueless you are sometimes.”

  I throw a chip at him and he just laughs. We sit in silence for a while, watching two men in a tinny in the river mouth haul in a fish. Probably a bream this time of year. They’re good eating here. So are the crabs. Luke and I used to come down and check crab pots for my uncle John when we were in primary school. We’d get to keep one from every pot if there were more than one, and we’d sell them to the teachers at school for half what the fish-o was selling them for.

  I made enough money to upgrade my second-hand BMX to a shiny new Mongoose Special. Luke put his money in the bank and used it to buy his first car.

  “So how long have we got left?” Luke asks.

  I check my watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Just enough time to check the crab pots, wouldn’t you say?” Luke grins at me.

  “Why not?”

  We bin our rubbish, and Luke fishes around in his car for a pen and paper. He’s got some plastic zip-lock coin bags in his glove box that he uses for work. We write a note on the paper, stash it in the zip-lock bag and head off up the beach until we come to a little outlet that leads into the creek. It’s low tide so we shouldn’t have any trouble finding Uncle John’s pots. He only ever puts them in a couple of places, and Luke and I know his favourite spots. I see one of his green and red floats hiding in the mangroves on the other side of the creek and point it out to Luke.

  Luke takes off his shirt, tucks the bag into his shorts and wades into the water until it gets too deep for him to walk. He swims out to the other side and hauls himself up onto the mangroves.

  He sinks ankle deep into the mud and sucks and sloshes his way over to the pot. He grabs the float and pulls up the rope. “Only two jennies,” he yells back to me. I nod. He sets the female crabs free since we can’t keep them anyway, and pushes the zip-lock bag into the wire so it won’t come loose.

  Just as he’s putting the pot back, a tinny glides around the bend. It’s the fishermen we were watching from the table.

  “Hey! You kids, get out of there!” a man yells. He motors closer. “Oh. Hi, Quinn,” he says.

  “Hi, Mr. Jameson,” I wave.

  “And is that young Luke over there?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun. He’s called Luke “Young Luke” ever since we were kids. Luke’s dad is just plain Luke. Or Lucas if Luke’s mum is angry.

  “Hi,” Luke says, wading back into the water.

  “I haven’t seen you two since your dad’s funeral, Quinn,” he says. “How’ve you been keeping?”

  “We’re doing okay,” I say. The mention of Dad’s funeral doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s been almost five years. The anniversary is this week, actually.

  “Good, good,” he says. “So, checking pots for John, huh?”

  “Yep,” says Luke, “but we got nothing.”

  “Tide’s been too low,” says Mr Jameson. Luke and I nod in agreement. “Well,” he says, “I’d better keep going. I’ve got some nice bream I want to get home to Doreen for tea. You kids say hello to John for me.”

  “Sure,” I say, and wave as he heads back up into the main creek and around to the boat ramp.

  Luke swims back over and shakes himself off. “You know he’ll probably tell your Uncle John next time he sees him?” he says.

  “Yeah, but that won’t be for a while. Uncle John’ll be cursing Mr Jameson until then though,” I say. Mr Jameson and my uncle aren’t exactly the best of friends, especially when it comes to anything to do with fishing. Uncle John won’t be too happy to be getting a note from Mr Jameson thanking him for the feed of crabs he apparently had.

  Luke laughs. “I’d better get you back to work before Mike gives your job to someone else.”

  We pull up outside of Fatso’s, the take away shop I work at, and Luke says, “Still on for this arvo to try on your new dress?” He knows that I’d have to be dead to be caught wearing a dress.

  “Yeah, but I bet it’s not as pretty as yours,” I reply. He snorts. Luke and I decided when we were in fifth grade that we’d go to the year twelve formal together. I let him off the hook last year when I discovered I batted for the other team, but he insisted. “A pinkie-swear is a pinkie-swear,” he’d said. Secretly, I was grateful that he’d still wanted to go to the formal with me. Even the geeks had dates. I didn’t want to be the only one walking in by myself. It would be social suicide.

  Not that I’m a social butterfly. Far from it. I don’t really see the point in hanging out with people after school when you have to hang out with them during school. Except for Luke. And Bridget.

  “We’re going to look so fine,” Luke says, pronouncing fine ‘farn’.

  “Overdressed, you mean,” I reply, getting out of the car and shutting the door. “I don’t know see why we have to get fitted so early.” I’d be just as comfortable in a pair of jeans and a shirt, but Luke has insisted that we wear suits to the formal.

  “Because we don’t want to get the left overs,” Luke replies. “Are you in?”

  “Farn,” I reply and Luke laughs.

  “Great. I finish at around three, so I’ll pick you up from your place at around four?”

  I nod. “Can’t wait to see what you look like in pink,” I tease. Luke winks at me and laughs. He pulls out of the park and beeps as he leaves.

  THREE

  Right on four o’clock, Luke pushes his way through the back door of my house, a donut half hanging from his mouth and a box full of them in his hand.

  “Hey Mrs B,” he says. “I brought you some seconds from work.”

  “Oh Luke, you know I’m supposed to be on a diet,” Mum says. She’s always on a diet. This month, she’s back on Weight Watchers.

  “I know, but these are little ones that didn’t make the cut. Plus, you know, donuts have holes in the middle so there’s not so many points.”

  Mum swipes at him with her tea towel, and peeks into the box.
“There’s six points in a cinnamon donut,” she mumbles. “But they’re smaller than usual, so they’re probably half the calories.”

  Luke grins at me as Mum reasons with herself about whether she should have one or not.

  “Hmm, I didn’t have my latte this morning, and I’ll just go without the dressing on my salad tonight for dinner.” She plucks a donut from the box and takes a bite. She smiles at me and then back at Luke.

  She loves Luke and up until last year, she thought I’d marry him. I think she was more disappointed about not getting to have Luke as a son-in-law than she was about me being a lesbian. I’m lucky that she’s so understanding, but the flip-side of that is having her ask every time a woman appears on the TV whether she’s my type.

  She says stuff like, “Ooh, she’s lovely. Don’t you think Quinn?” And conversations about celebrity’s breast implants have taken on a whole other dimension. Once, a few months ago, we were shopping and a full on butch lesbian walked past. Buzz cut, tats, singlet, the works. Mum nudged me and said, “I think she was checking you out, love” loud enough for the whole store to hear. I pleaded with the earth to swallow me up right then and there. Later, when I was checking out some jeans, the woman came up to me and said, “Even though you think it’s embarrassing, you should be grateful your mum loves you.”

  And I am grateful that my mum’s so understanding. I just wish she wasn’t so damn embarrassing sometimes.

  “Come on,” I say to Luke, pulling him out the back door by his arm. I don’t want to give Mum a chance to eat another one of Luke’s donuts. She’ll only complain about it later.

  “See ya Mrs B,” Luke calls as we leave.

  “Bye sweetheart,” Mum calls back through a mouthful of donut, and I have no idea if she’s talking to me or to Luke.

  Luke pulls up in front of the menswear store. “Let’s go get us a dress,” he says. He slaps me on the leg and leaps out of the car. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d swear he’s on drugs. It’s hard to believe someone can be so happy all the time.