Camp Canoa // Luke Hemmings

The One With The Kiss

Later that evening

He didn't say much else to me, the rolls of the waves washed away the hurt that I had, and I felt so numb that I didn't even feel it when he got up and walked away.

I stomp up the stairs onto the veranda, the lights are still on in Luke and Michael's dorm. It's not like I'm even interested in Luke. Why do I care what he thinks about me? What if he agrees with Emma, that I'm ugly? More importantly – why do I care? I like Sam, I have him to focus on. I just need to keep my damn eyes on the prize.

"Hey." I call out to Nora and Danni. I try for a casual attitude. "That was some night, huh?" They look at me for a second, confused and then they decide to drop it.

Nora is just putting her toothbrush back neatly into her wash bag, face already scrubbed fresh for sleep. She looks up to me. "It was crazy. I mean who even knew that Garth could belly-dance?"

They both laugh. Thankfully, they don't even mention Luke, let alone prod me for some sort of emotional reaction. They let me get change without bugging me, and ten minutes later, they even offer to get the door when someone knocked.

Despite grumbling, "It's nearly one in the morning – who the hell..." Nora good-naturedly opens the door. "Oh, hey! You okay?"

I am in the act of searching for my phone charger when I hear the low response which I recognise instantly. At this point, I'm wriggling around under my bed in my search, and I quickly slide out and try to dust myself off, conscious of my blushing cheeks.

"Yeah of course." Nora is saying from the door. "Sure thing. Hang on." She steps away. "Luke here for you, Grace."

"Oh, okay." I reply, coolly.

I cross to the door, exchanging a quick glance with Nora, who doesn't say anything but merely raises her eyebrows. I ignore it for now, slipping through the door and closing it gently behind me.

Sure enough, Luke is standing on the veranda, looking awkward and pink-cheeked. He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other; he fidgets with his hands.

"Can I help you?" I ask brusquely, feeling slightly stung from being left on the beach. It is only then that I become painfully aware that I'm only wearing a big t-shirt, it hanging off my pale shoulders. It's white, and slightly see-through. This is the part where Luke tells me that it wasn't real, that he was just screwing everyone over, he doesn't really fantasise about me – whatever.

He takes a deep breath. "I don't know how to say this."

"What?"

"God help me in two months." He says with conviction, like he's made his peace with it.

Then without further delay, he reaches out and takes my cheek in his hand and pushes our lips together.

I make a muffled sound of surprise against his lips, but there's no real heart in it. Luke is relentless. He walks forward and my back hits the outside wall of the housing block, probably audibly. Our lips fit together like they were made for each other. Like a hand imprinted upon the pavement; a jigsaw piece fitting into the puzzle.

And then Luke, for some stupid, stupid reason that I'm not really listening to is letting go and stepping back – breathing heavily, flushed hot – and his words are spilling over each other like his brain is trying to get somewhere and catching, stuck: "I'm sorry – I just – that's it now – we don't have to – that's the last time that'll ever happen-"

"Yeah," I agree distractedly, my hands already reaching forwards of their own accord to skim over his sides, gripping him tightly by his hipbones and pulling him against me. "Never again-"