catching the screen door before it slammed.
As I rounded the bend in the road, the squeals and splashes from the river grew louder.
Beneath the sprawling gums, bikes lay scattered as though tossed aside by a giant. Keith’s blue bike was at the edge of the pile. I dumped mine and stood surveying the riverbank.
Four kids from the senior school lay on towels, talking and laughing. A group of young boys in the shallows watched a kid grasp the rope swing. He launched himself off the fallen red gum everyone used as a platform.
The boys hooted. My guts tightened. Give me a diving board at the pool over that swing any day. The swing hung from a dead tree’s thick branch. Dad, Bull Jackson and Twiggy Mathes used to swing from it when they were young; at least that’s what Dad had told me. Hard to imagine him swinging and laughing.
The sound of Wright’s hyena laugh made me shudder. Just beyond the swing, he and his mates stood over Marian Cavendish, Sally Marshall and Angela Brown, who sat on striped towels. My heart stuttered at the sight of Marian’s long hair resting against the back strap of her green bikini.
When she turned to shoo a fly from her shoulder, I raised my hand to shield my eyes, pretending I was scanning the river, rather than checking her out. Heat spread from my scalp to my throat.
“Bower.” Keith stepped forwards. I hadn’t seen him past Wright.
I waved and trotted over to them.
Wright looked me up and down. “Nice pink swimmers.”
Stupid Nan. Stupid Bluey. Stupid ugly statue.
“Red, actually.”
“Like your face.” Wright roared at his own joke.
I walked around Wright to drop my towel beside Keith’s. “Coming in?” Keith’s hair was tousled and river reeds stuck to the back of his swimmers.
“Let’s go on the rope swing.” His lips curled into a grin. He knew better than anyone how much I hated that thing.
By the time I’d kicked off my Volleys and peeled off my T-shirt, Keith was at the swing. He rested his foot on the fallen tree and watched a girl drop like a stone to the river.
He wiped his hands on his bathers. “Double somersault, Bower? Me first, then you.” His voice was loud across the water.
My stomach did a triple flip. Dropping from the rope was one thing, but a somersault, a double somersault, in front of Marian Cavendish?
I twitched more than shrugged. Keith leaped onto the fallen tree, grasped the rope, then sprinted forwards, bellowing, “Geronimo!”
Wright pushed my shoulder. “We’re after you, Bower. If you’re jumping.”
A splash sounded across the water. Cheers and hoots filled the air.
Hair slicked to his forehead, Keith surfaced. He raised a triumphant fist and yelled, “Your turn, Robbie.”
I couldn’t move.
“You going?” asked Wright, elbowing this time.
“‘Course.”
“Marian’s watching.” Wright and his dumb friends sniggered.
I glared at Keith. He had definitely told Wright about Marian.
I shot Wright what I hoped was a defiant look, but felt more like a wince, and stepped onto the fallen tree trunk. I took a slow breath, allowing the scent of eucalyptus to fill me. Teeth gritted, I grasped the rope, stepped back, then ran. The moment my feet left the tree, I fought the urge to drop like I usually did. As the rope swung back, I launched. Instead of curling into a somersault, I flailed in the air, arms and legs splayed like a sugar glider.
My stomach hit the water first. The slap jarred my body and knocked the breath from me. Hot pain spread from my belly. Something sharp scratched my face. Embarrassment coiled like a python around my chest and squeezed.
I hung suspended in the water, wondering if I should just stay down there. My lungs had other ideas. When I broke the surface, I was ready for Wright’s insults. But the only sounds were the river and a cockatoo screeching overhead.
I swam against the current to the bank.
In the shallows I stood and wiped the water that was streaming down my face. The back of
As I rounded the bend in the road, the squeals and splashes from the river grew louder.
Beneath the sprawling gums, bikes lay scattered as though tossed aside by a giant. Keith’s blue bike was at the edge of the pile. I dumped mine and stood surveying the riverbank.
Four kids from the senior school lay on towels, talking and laughing. A group of young boys in the shallows watched a kid grasp the rope swing. He launched himself off the fallen red gum everyone used as a platform.
The boys hooted. My guts tightened. Give me a diving board at the pool over that swing any day. The swing hung from a dead tree’s thick branch. Dad, Bull Jackson and Twiggy Mathes used to swing from it when they were young; at least that’s what Dad had told me. Hard to imagine him swinging and laughing.
The sound of Wright’s hyena laugh made me shudder. Just beyond the swing, he and his mates stood over Marian Cavendish, Sally Marshall and Angela Brown, who sat on striped towels. My heart stuttered at the sight of Marian’s long hair resting against the back strap of her green bikini.
When she turned to shoo a fly from her shoulder, I raised my hand to shield my eyes, pretending I was scanning the river, rather than checking her out. Heat spread from my scalp to my throat.
“Bower.” Keith stepped forwards. I hadn’t seen him past Wright.
I waved and trotted over to them.
Wright looked me up and down. “Nice pink swimmers.”
Stupid Nan. Stupid Bluey. Stupid ugly statue.
“Red, actually.”
“Like your face.” Wright roared at his own joke.
I walked around Wright to drop my towel beside Keith’s. “Coming in?” Keith’s hair was tousled and river reeds stuck to the back of his swimmers.
“Let’s go on the rope swing.” His lips curled into a grin. He knew better than anyone how much I hated that thing.
By the time I’d kicked off my Volleys and peeled off my T-shirt, Keith was at the swing. He rested his foot on the fallen tree and watched a girl drop like a stone to the river.
He wiped his hands on his bathers. “Double somersault, Bower? Me first, then you.” His voice was loud across the water.
My stomach did a triple flip. Dropping from the rope was one thing, but a somersault, a double somersault, in front of Marian Cavendish?
I twitched more than shrugged. Keith leaped onto the fallen tree, grasped the rope, then sprinted forwards, bellowing, “Geronimo!”
Wright pushed my shoulder. “We’re after you, Bower. If you’re jumping.”
A splash sounded across the water. Cheers and hoots filled the air.
Hair slicked to his forehead, Keith surfaced. He raised a triumphant fist and yelled, “Your turn, Robbie.”
I couldn’t move.
“You going?” asked Wright, elbowing this time.
“‘Course.”
“Marian’s watching.” Wright and his dumb friends sniggered.
I glared at Keith. He had definitely told Wright about Marian.
I shot Wright what I hoped was a defiant look, but felt more like a wince, and stepped onto the fallen tree trunk. I took a slow breath, allowing the scent of eucalyptus to fill me. Teeth gritted, I grasped the rope, stepped back, then ran. The moment my feet left the tree, I fought the urge to drop like I usually did. As the rope swung back, I launched. Instead of curling into a somersault, I flailed in the air, arms and legs splayed like a sugar glider.
My stomach hit the water first. The slap jarred my body and knocked the breath from me. Hot pain spread from my belly. Something sharp scratched my face. Embarrassment coiled like a python around my chest and squeezed.
I hung suspended in the water, wondering if I should just stay down there. My lungs had other ideas. When I broke the surface, I was ready for Wright’s insults. But the only sounds were the river and a cockatoo screeching overhead.
I swam against the current to the bank.
In the shallows I stood and wiped the water that was streaming down my face. The back of
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