Read Online Freia Lockhart's Summer of Awful by Aimee Said - Free Book Online Page B

it’s only an interim gift until I’ve sold enough brownies to get that
Star Wars
box set. I undo the gumnut-shaped buttons of my cardigan and throw it on the pile of discarded knitwear on the couch.
    â€œBe back by sunset,” calls Mum when I yell that we’re going for a walk.
    It’s still sunny when we get to the park and the walking path is packed with kids showing off on their new bikes and skateboards. Unencumbered by our bikes for once, we walk hand in hand across the grass.
    â€œI hope you’re not too disappointed not to see me in my polo shirt,” says Dan. “I
accidentally
spilled beetroot salad and half a bowl of cherry trifle on it. Auntie Bev doesn’t think the stains will ever come out.”
    â€œI’d call that a win for you. What does that take the score to?”
    â€œDan: 97, Dr Phil: 12. I scored another point during lunch when Auntie Caz was admiring Dad’s hair and I told her he’s been having hair replacement therapy.”
    â€œDan! Your dad must’ve been ropeable. I’m surprised you lived to tell the tale.”
    Dan laughs. “He was pretty narked, but then all the aunties started hassling their husbands about how they should take better care of their looks, so he couldn’t do his nut about it.”
    â€œI take it they let you sit with the grown-ups, then?”
    â€œYep. And I’ve demanded to go back to the kids’ table next year. Compared to listening to my uncles go on about their golf swings and the size of their mortgages, the little kids are fascinating.” He comes to an abrupt stop and I pull up sharply next to him. “Close your eyes.”
    Only after I’ve clamped my eyelids tightly shut do I ask why.
    â€œSo I can give you your present,” he says, leading me by the hand. “It’s too big to wrap.”
    For some reason, I immediately think of a labrador. A gorgeous golden labbie puppy, lolloping about on the grass with a red ribbon around its neck. But Dan would never get me an animal; he’s heard Dad’s rant about how a cat as sensitive as Boris has to be an only pet. I try to think of something else large and outdoors-y but none of the things that come to mind (a tent, a surfboard, a picnic table) seem feasible.
    â€œOkay,” says Dan when we come to a stop, “you can open them.”
    We’re standing in front of Our Tree. I look around but I can’t see anything that isn’t usually in the park. I turn back to Dan. “Umm … you’re giving me the tree?”
    â€œI, uh …” he mumbles shyly, taking a step closer to the tree and gesturing at the spot where he usually leans.
    Then I see it. Carved into the bark between “Elsie” and “Sara” is a new message: “DTF + FL”.
    â€œI know it’s not a real present,” he says before I can say anything. “I didn’t know what to get you and I thought–”
    â€œIt’s perfect.” And it is. If Siouxsie was here, she’d give Dan a lecture about eco-vandalism, but all I can think is that this is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me. And that there’s no way I can give Dan Santa-Darth now. “I couldn’t find the right present for you, either. I mean, I could, but I couldn’t get it in time for Christmas and then I tried to find you something for today, but everything at the Metro was so crap and then Belinda was there and …”
    Dan puts a finger to my lips to stop me talking. “I don’t care about presents, Fray,” he says as he leans back against the tree, pulling me with him. “This is all I want for Christmas.”

    We stay at the tree until the sky is tinged pink and orange and the last of the picnickers are packing up. When we get back to my place we kiss one last time before Dan unchains his bike from the front fence. I wait until he’s out of sight before turning my key