Read Online Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain by Steven Herrick - Free Book Online Page A

around in the heat for a few more minutes, before finding a spot.
    â€˜Let’s play frisbee, Hunts,’ said his dad, bounding out of the car.
    Hunter wondered whether he should bring his bag with the towel and swimmers. The harbour was almost as good as the beach.
    Mr Riley was already standing on the high ground near the poplar trees along the foreshore, waving his arms. ‘You go over there, Hunts,’ he yelled, pointing near the water’s edge. Hunter ran to the spot. Just below him were a young couple in swimmers, sharing a towel on the white sand, their child playing in the shallows picking up handfuls of water and throwing it into the sky. The child giggled when the shower landed on his upturned face. The frisbee zipped overhead and landed a few metres behind Hunter. His father yelled, ‘Almost got you!’
    Hunter, already sweating, walked to pick up the frisbee. He held it in his hand and noticed the name ‘Nathan’ printed on the rim in black texta. He covered the name with his hand and looked to where his father stood. He flung the frisbee with all his might. At electric speed, it flew a metre from the ground, aiming straight for his father. Mr Riley stood and watched it shoot toward him, his hands on his hips. At the last moment, he flung out an arm and caught it effortlessly, pirouetting as he did and flinging it straight back.
    For what seemed like hours, his dad insisted on throwing the frisbee. Hunter began to aim the frisbee away from his father, making him run, hoping he’d tire and suggest a swim. But Mr Riley returned the frisbee with childish abandon while more sunbathers strolled down to the sand where they read magazines or listened to iPods or swam in the cool water. Hunter wished he could do the same.
    Finally, Mr Riley whistled and waved for Hunter. At last, Hunter thought. But when he joined him, his dad grinned and said, ‘Try this, Hunts.’
    Mr Riley gripped the frisbee and turned to face the harbour. He checked to see his son was watching and then flung the frisbee high into the air. The frisbee flew out over the water and just when Hunter thought it would drop, it turned like a boomerang and sailed unerringly back to where they were standing. His father picked it up, laughing. ‘How’s that?’ he called to no-one in particular.
    â€˜Can I have a go?’ Hunter asked.
    His dad looked at the frisbee in his hands. ‘Sure, Hunts,’ he said, reluctantly, ‘but let me show you once more how to do it.’ He walked closer to Hunter and held out the frisbee. ‘You have to aim higher and when you release it, flick your wrist. That way it’ll bend and return.’ He grinned. ‘It’s a real skill.’
    His dad threw it again and, sure enough, the disc shot out over the water and returned, this time with even more backspin and force. It zipped over their heads and landed near a group of senior citizens sharing a thermos of tea on a park bench. Mr Riley ran to pick it up. He ignored the old people.
    â€˜You reckon you can do it, Hunts?’
    â€˜Sure,’ Hunter said.
    Hunter sits up in bed and laughs, quietly, so as to not disturb his mum. He recalls the look on his father’s face when the frisbee shot out over the water and kept going. Hunter had thrown it with every ounce of energy in his body. He guessed it travelled sixty, maybe seventy metres before plunging down into the deep water. No way his father was retrieving that frisbee. It was gone. Bye bye, Nathan.
    *
    â€˜Oops,’ said Hunter. Such a simple word, he thought, with so much meaning.
    â€˜Geez, Hunts, that wasn’t …’ His father’s words fell away, like a leaf tumbling in the wind. They both looked out across the water. A ferry approached from the west, on a collision course with the green plastic disc. Hunter could see the captain standing alone at the wheel and below him on deck were tourists in sunhats, filming the