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Age 18
I already planned to go to uni in Melbourne before I knew Charlie was going to study there too. I know I have a…preoccupation with Charlie, but I’m not such a stalker that I’d follow him to the same city.
But I’ll admit, the morning that the university offers came out, when Mum told me I was going to the same university as Charlie…I felt happier than a child on Christmas morning.
And I’ll admit, when Mum suggested we live together, I didn’t dismiss the idea immediately, the way I would’ve when I was younger. In fact, I said it was a good idea. I said it’d be more affordable to share a place, to split the rent and utilities. I said we should do it. I said I wanted to.
Mum said that Charlie’s mum would talk to him about it, and every day after that, I felt suspended, waiting for an answer.
I didn’t get my hopes up; instead, I expected the worst. Charlie would say no. Of course, he would. We hadn’t been friends, or even friendly, for years.
Sure, now that it was the final year of high school, I’d made an effort to be more polite. I know I wasted too long being an asshole, but at least I was both self-aware and disciplined enough not to take out my anger on him. So, sure, we’d been civil to each other throughout Year 12. But you don’t decide to live with someone you’re merely civil with.
Especially when that person has a history of being a massive prick.
But for some inexplicable reason, Charlie said yes. And that’s when I felt it: the rising, warm hope in my chest. That maybe, I could fix things, and maybe, if I played my cards right, I could make him mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Now
By the time the kids have left and the volleyball nets are put away, I’m exhausted. The remainder of the session consisted of games. Chelsea and the other two volunteers umpired the games while Lucas and I wandered around, helping out if we needed to. When there was only half an hour left, Newton started calling out to Lucas, saying, “I bet I can beat you” and “come on, play me unless you’re scared.”
Lucas being Lucas would retort things like, “You couldn’t beat me even if it was twelve on one.”
Newton, possessing the outrageous confidence all eleven-year-olds have, said, “Bet.”
Lucas raised his brows at me. “What about it?” he asked. “You wanna play?”
“That’s cheating!” Newton immediately argued. “You said twelve on one, not on two.” He was still excited to play though, and so it was me and Lucas on one side of the court, and twelve kids on the other side.
We didn’t destroy them the way Lucas said we could, but we didn’t humiliate ourselves either. In fact, it was pretty equal. I think the fact that there were twelve kids squished on one side was more of a hindrance than an advantage, though.
Lucas and I actually played pretty well. At first, every time I made a mistake, I’d instinctively stiffen, expecting Lucas to ask me ‘what the hell was that’, but he’d just say ‘good try’. And in fact, we made a good team — I’d set, and he’d spike, hard enough that I was scared it’d be a safety hazard. The kids seemed to find it exhilarating, running out of the volleyball’s path as if it were a meteor.
Now, I drag my feet into the men’s changing rooms. From my bag, I pull out a towel and some soap, and head to the door labelled with a shower symbol.
I was hoping for cubicles, but it’s an open shower with taps and shower heads spaced around the room. Oh well, I’ll just quickly rinse myself off, and then I’ll have a proper shower back home.
I’ve never used a communal shower before. In high school, sometimes we’d travel to sports facilities that had them, but I was always too shy to get undressed in front of my classmates and opted to change in the toilet cubicles and spray on a lot of deodorant instead. I was never too smelly because I barely moved in sports class anyway.
Standing in one corner, I pull my clothes off. I turn the tap on, and when the water is warm enough, I step underneath it.
I’m in the middle of rubbing soap all over my chest when the door behind me swings open. I whirl around. Lucas.
We both turn sideways, avoiding looking at each other directly. Even though most of my body is angled towards the wall, I still feel exposed, skin turning hot from my cheeks to my toes. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. He shouldn’t be embarrassed either — it’s nothing he hasn’t already seen.
“I can, uh…” Lucas’s voice is quieter than usual, and over the running of my shower, it is barely audible. “I can wait for you to finish.”
“It’s fine,” I say bluntly, trying to hide my self-consciousness.
Why am I feeling like this? It’s fine. This is just what happens in communal showers. I wouldn’t care if it was anyone else here.
But this is Lucas. And if I feel his eyes on my naked skin, then I’ll think about what we did in his bed in the middle of the night.
In order to stop thinking such thoughts, I keep my eyes firmly on the tiled wall while washing myself off as quickly as possible. I can’t help but strain my ears to listen for Lucas’s hesitant steps as he pads across the room and takes a place in the corner opposite to mine. There’s the whisper of clothes being pulled off, the squeak of the tap, then the rush of water.
As I soap my shoulders, I act before I can stop myself. I glance over, and I’ve already got an excuse composed in my head: oh, I was just making sure I was properly cleaning my shoulders. I wasn’t actually trying to peek at you.
