The Girl Who Wanted Everything

Illegal moves

Sam and Jamie arrived back from the beach near sundown. That must have been the longest surfing lesson in history.   

Adam didn't seem to mind though. Through the living-room window, I watched Jamie pulling him into a long, wet, sandy snog. They stood on the deck, silhouetted against the darkening sky. His arm snaked around her waist and she held him close into her, the beach towel that was draped around her back now ensconcing them both.  

Why did it do strange twisty things to my gut to watch him kissing her like that? Why did I care at all what either of them got up to? Was it my own stupid insecurities? My complicated history with Jamie? I should be able to just let it go. As if in answer to all my questions, Sam's voice sounded from the kitchen:

"Oh my God this tea looks amazing, and I am famished. Can we eat now? PLEEEEZE.''  

Oh yes, that was why: because it wasn't just history with her and me. She was still taking things from me right here, right now.

The high-tea was a massive success. Adam's macarons were the clear show-stopper, but all the food was tasty and the others made a big fuss of the two of us. I was so unused to all the attention: not knowing how to accept the compliments, deflecting, denying, but equally feeling the warmth of appreciation glowing  in my chest.  

Adam took it all like he was to the manner born. Was this what it was like to be Adam every day? If it were not for the high level of visibility, I would take it.  

Noticing my face flushed by so many compliments, Jamie piped up: ''My gosh Nadine! You go red so easily. You remind me of... what was that boy in middle school? Beetroot Pete! That's it.'' She giggled.

''His name was Pete Stephenson,'' I glowered. Poor Pete. He was a nice kid, who, like so many of the boys, had had the most dire crush on Jamie back when we were twelve. His only error was to try to act on it. Publicly.  

I do understand how someone like Pete, who was chubby and socially awkward, could have felt that Jamie might reciprocate his feelings - unlikely though it seemed from the outside. When Jamie wanted to, she was incredibly skilled at making people feel that they were special to her. I had watched her one year, canvassing among the boys for Valentine's cards in the days running up to the event.  

''If you were to get a Valentine card,'' she would ask them with a flirtatious smile, ''would you prefer red or pink?'' When she received a boatload of cards herself, her performance of surprise would rival the crowning of Miss USA. She loved the attention it awarded her, and it helped solidify her popularity.

So Pete had taken his chances, and approached Jamie in the schoolyard where she was chatting with her posse to ask if she would be his girlfriend.

I am sure that, to this day, Jamie thinks she let him down easy. From across the playground, I had heard her chiming laughter.

''Oh, Pete!  That's so cute! You have a crush on me!'' she cooed. ''And look how red you have gone! Just like a beetroot. It's adorable!''    

She never actually said no, I suppose, but Pete had gotten the message and lived out the rest of his middle school career as Beetroot Pete.

Because we had eaten early, our evening routine shifted. We sat on the deck and listened to music, then watched Netflix till bedtime. Ronnie even remained sober enough to be coherent for most of the night. When the others retired, I was still feeling amped from all the compliments and I stayed up watching crime shows on my own in the darkness for a while. The house was still by the time I wandered down to my room on silent feet.

"Nades? Is that you?" my mum called quietly as I pushed open the door.

"Yeah mum, it's just me. You can go back to sleep,'' I whispered, my eyes adjusting to the dark enough to see her sitting upright in her bed.

"Thanks again for the tea this afternoon love,'' she said, and I realised how tired she was sounding. "It was quite special.''

"Well Adam's stuff was.'' I was at it again. "But thanks anyway.''

At that moment the shagging noises started up in the room next door. I could see from the rapidly expanding whites of my mum's eyes that she heard it too.

"Is that...?" She pointed at the wall.

"Yep, Mum. Yeh it is.'' She clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Well," she said resolutely. "I hope they are using protection.''

The following day was Friday, the day of Tyler's party.   

Adam had unearthed an old volleyball net in the garage and he was insisting that the four of us play beach volleyball in the morning. Lovely idea for the tall people, I thought. I was six inches shorter than Jamie, eight shorter than Adam, and Sam? Too many to count. Worse still, Adam had divided us into teams with Jamie and him being one obvious pair and Sam left to partner up with me. 

What if I made a complete ass of myself?  

Quite apart from my height limitations, I was neither strong, nor fit, nor talented. But Sam was a good sport and tolerated my repeated failings with humor. He even seemed to be having fun, and before long we were having some of the best moments we had shared so far together as a group. Maybe Adam was right and we could be one big family after all.

Towards the end of the game, when Sam and I were losing horribly, we hatched a plan. We would position ourselves close together and after one return he would hoist me onto his shoulders for a surprise spike at the net. It was highly illegal, but no-one was taking the game too seriously anyway.  

It was unbelievable how quickly he managed to swing me onto his back, a thrill running through me at his strength and the contact of his skin on mine. I could smell his hair and the coconut scent of his sunscreen. His shoulders were beading with sweat; hot and slippery. It was visceral.   

The ridiculous tactic somehow worked and Adam fell on the sand laughing while Jamie yelled: 

"Cheat! Cheat! You guys can't do that! It's not allowed.''

"I think it's time for a drinks-break,'' said Sam, lowering me back to the ground and opening the cooler for a soda.

I was running on elation still.

"Race you to the water!" I yelled and paced my way to the ocean, plunging under gleefully.  

This is what it felt like to be one of those girls, I thought, as the waves bubbled over my head. Carefree, accepted, nonchalant. As I rose again to the surface, I expected to see the others bobbing alongside me, but not one of them was.    

Adam, Jamie and Sam were all standing around the cooler back up on the beach, drinking their sodas and chatting. They were seemingly oblivious to little old me.