“So what made you come back?” I ask. I seem to be on a roll with the questions.
“My uncle invited me back. He said he was setting up this dive school and would train me to be an instructor in return for a bit of help with the club. Diving was my thing in Dornie. Nothing else to do. My mum was happy to pass me back to my dad again. She’s given him instructions to make sure I don’t stay out all night. He even searches me and confiscates anything I shouldn’t have. It’s not cool having a cop as a dad. I thought that it would be good to come back, to hang out with Danny and Mick again, but this place is still a shithole. And Mick’s hardly ever free to go diving.”
“And Danny?”
“He thinks he’s the boss—always telling me what to do, who to speak to.”
“Ignore him. He doesn’t own you,” I say.
Tay smokes silently. “No, he doesn’t,” he finally says.
“What’s wrong with this place, then? I think it’s okay.”
“The people. You know—small place, small minds.”
“Oh, thanks.” I suppose I’m one of those people.
“Apart from you, of course.” He turns to face me. “Noodle girl.”
And then he’s kissing me and I kiss him back. He tastes like cigarettes and weed and strawberry lip balm, and his lips are soft and smooth. Our mouths work together, and there’s no crashing of teeth like with the last boy I kissed. I’m living in the moment, I think to myself. And then Eddie pops up and tugs on the inside of my rib cage, and he wants to play chase. Not now, Eddie. But he pulls me away.
“You okay?” Tay whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back, trying to lean in again.
“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “They’re so green.”
“Yes.”
“It’s late.” Suddenly he turns away.
He gets up to go.
“Wait,” I call. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head and lingers at the entrance.
“No, of course not,” he says, his voice all gravelly. “I just don’t want to make my dad mad.”
Then he disappears. My lips tingle, like he’s still there, and when I close my eyes, the tingles go right to my toes.
When I crawl out of the boathouse an hour later, I see Danny down on the harbor wall, staring out to sea. Giddy from the kiss and the smoke, I decide to confront him. Before I’m even halfway along the wall, he turns around.
“I thought I told you to stay away.”
His hair looks shiny in the moonlight and rustles gently in the breeze. One of us is swaying slightly. I think it might be him.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do. It’s not really any of your business where I go or who I hang out with.”
He walks closer, and I smell beer on his breath.
“No, but if you had an ounce of sense, you’d listen to me. Tay is not good for you to be around. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s reckless, and he probably won’t even be here for long.”
“He’s here to help you and your dad, you know.”
I feel myself getting hot, but I want to have my say—someone needs to stick up for Tay. Danny’s too close. I take a step back.
“Watch out,” he says sharply as he grabs me by the shoulders. For a second I think I’m going to tumble into the water, but then he pulls me to him. “You were too close to the edge,” he says.
“Christ, I can look after myself,” I say, releasing my arm from his grip. “My mum said you were odd—she saw you the day you dropped me home. She said you looked untrustworthy, and I think she’s right.”
Danny snarls. “That’s rich coming from her.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
I feel tears building up and quickly blink them away. I hate it when strangers say stuff about my mum when they’ve never even met her. Tay’s right: this is a small town.
He looks out across the bay and folds his arms. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just know that she’s had a few issues. Look, are you okay to get home? I can drive you if you want.”
“No,” I say. “You’ve been drinking.”
I make my way back down the wall and across the road. When I finally turn back, he’s still standing on the wall, and I feel a tickle in my throat. Tay’s kiss keeps me warm on the way back, but the nice feeling is tainted with Danny’s cruel words. Eddie stays quiet all night. He doesn’t want to talk to me.
11
THERE’S CHEWING GUM IN MY HAIR. A NASTY OFF-WHITE COLOR against my black mop of curls. In the toilets, I cut it out with scissors I took from the art cupboard, along with the curl it was stuck to. The first chance I get, I spit on the gum and slip it into Ailsa Fitzgerald’s bag. I get caught and have to spend lunchtime in the library under supervision.
Dillon is in the library too, doing a bit of last-minute studying before his Business Studies exam. He’s hunched over the desk with his head in his hands, and his pens are neatly lined up beside his notebook.
“What’s happened to your hair?” he says, grabbing the small tuft on top of my head.
“Ailsa and chewing gum.”