virtual stranger was bizarre.
John slung his arm over my shoulders. "So, this is it? Home sweet home."
He savored the mismatched furniture and photos that made up my home. Until that moment I hadn't realized how much I wanted him to like it. With all its quirks, my house was a reflection of my family and me; I hoped he'd approve.
"This is it," I said, sweeping my hands around the room with exaggerated flair. "Mum, I'm home."
"That was quick," Mum said, emerging from the kitchen with her hair wrapped in a gypsy style scarf and flour all over her nana apron.
"Sorry," John apologized disarmingly. "I gave Mya a ride home. My foster parents lent me the Blue Bomb to ferry myself around."
"John Smith, I presume," Mum said, wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron before extending her hand with a smile.
"That's what the doctors call me." He blushed, shaking Mum's hand.
"Is it OK if we study in the dining room?" I asked Mum.
"I've got some serious catching up to do." John gave Mum a charming grin.
"Sure," Mum replied. "Would you like to try the banana muffins I made?"
"Definitely!" John and I agreed in unison.
Mum laughed. "Would you like a hot or cold drink to go with it?"
"Cold," we answered unanimously again.
"Looks like you two have a lot in common." Mum laughed as she whipped the scarf from her head, causing her caramel curls to tumble out like a shampoo commercial. I wished for the millionth time that I'd inherited Mum's natural ability to turn an awkward moment into a glamour shoot. A moment ago she had looked like a gypsy baker, and now she looked ready for a close-up. Mum disappeared back into the kitchen.
I led John through our lounge to the dining room table, which was the only clear space in our house. John and I set out our books as Mum delivered muffins and drinks and disappeared. I knew she was lurking nearby to make sure I was safe, but at least she was being discreet about it.
Despite John asking for my help, he seemed to better understand most of what we were studying. I could feel his eyes surveying me as I grappled with a logic question. He didn't even pretend to do his homework as he brazenly studied me.
I glanced up, and he smiled at me. "Did you know that when you're really concentrating, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth?"
"A family habit; my Dad does it too." I shrugged, my face reddening.
"It's cute." He smiled, displaying his perfect teeth.
"Thanks," I said, trying to look like I was distracted by homework and not the fresh scent of the beach that accompanied John.
"How much have you got to go?" he asked.
"Just one more question," I replied, crestfallen at the prospect of his imminent departure.
He sat quietly sipping his drink and studying me. I focused on the numbers on the page, reading and rereading them, while all I could think about was John’s eyes watching me. It took twice as long to finish the mathematical question because of his presence.
"Finished?" he teased, with a playful smile. He was planning something; I could see it in his eyes.
"Yes, why?" I asked, suspiciously.
"How about we go to the beach to see if it'll jog my memory?" he offered.
My heart fluttered as he smiled at me. "I'll ask my mum," I replied, only realizing how lame I sounded after it came out.
Mum was fine with it provided I was home before dark. For the first time ever I loved the longer day due to daylight savings.
The Blue Bomb lived up to its name. Stopped at traffic lights it backfired, causing a cyclist to wobble precariously for a few minutes. It smelt like swamp, and drove like it was about to die, but it managed to get us safely to the beach.
The shadows were lengthening, heralding the end of the day as I dug my toes into the crisp sun-hardened sand.
We walked past the fire pit where the party had been and headed down near the rocks where I'd pulled John from the grasp of the sea.
John’s cold fingers took my hand in his; after a fortnight of holding his hand in
John slung his arm over my shoulders. "So, this is it? Home sweet home."
He savored the mismatched furniture and photos that made up my home. Until that moment I hadn't realized how much I wanted him to like it. With all its quirks, my house was a reflection of my family and me; I hoped he'd approve.
"This is it," I said, sweeping my hands around the room with exaggerated flair. "Mum, I'm home."
"That was quick," Mum said, emerging from the kitchen with her hair wrapped in a gypsy style scarf and flour all over her nana apron.
"Sorry," John apologized disarmingly. "I gave Mya a ride home. My foster parents lent me the Blue Bomb to ferry myself around."
"John Smith, I presume," Mum said, wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron before extending her hand with a smile.
"That's what the doctors call me." He blushed, shaking Mum's hand.
"Is it OK if we study in the dining room?" I asked Mum.
"I've got some serious catching up to do." John gave Mum a charming grin.
"Sure," Mum replied. "Would you like to try the banana muffins I made?"
"Definitely!" John and I agreed in unison.
Mum laughed. "Would you like a hot or cold drink to go with it?"
"Cold," we answered unanimously again.
"Looks like you two have a lot in common." Mum laughed as she whipped the scarf from her head, causing her caramel curls to tumble out like a shampoo commercial. I wished for the millionth time that I'd inherited Mum's natural ability to turn an awkward moment into a glamour shoot. A moment ago she had looked like a gypsy baker, and now she looked ready for a close-up. Mum disappeared back into the kitchen.
I led John through our lounge to the dining room table, which was the only clear space in our house. John and I set out our books as Mum delivered muffins and drinks and disappeared. I knew she was lurking nearby to make sure I was safe, but at least she was being discreet about it.
Despite John asking for my help, he seemed to better understand most of what we were studying. I could feel his eyes surveying me as I grappled with a logic question. He didn't even pretend to do his homework as he brazenly studied me.
I glanced up, and he smiled at me. "Did you know that when you're really concentrating, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth?"
"A family habit; my Dad does it too." I shrugged, my face reddening.
"It's cute." He smiled, displaying his perfect teeth.
"Thanks," I said, trying to look like I was distracted by homework and not the fresh scent of the beach that accompanied John.
"How much have you got to go?" he asked.
"Just one more question," I replied, crestfallen at the prospect of his imminent departure.
He sat quietly sipping his drink and studying me. I focused on the numbers on the page, reading and rereading them, while all I could think about was John’s eyes watching me. It took twice as long to finish the mathematical question because of his presence.
"Finished?" he teased, with a playful smile. He was planning something; I could see it in his eyes.
"Yes, why?" I asked, suspiciously.
"How about we go to the beach to see if it'll jog my memory?" he offered.
My heart fluttered as he smiled at me. "I'll ask my mum," I replied, only realizing how lame I sounded after it came out.
Mum was fine with it provided I was home before dark. For the first time ever I loved the longer day due to daylight savings.
The Blue Bomb lived up to its name. Stopped at traffic lights it backfired, causing a cyclist to wobble precariously for a few minutes. It smelt like swamp, and drove like it was about to die, but it managed to get us safely to the beach.
The shadows were lengthening, heralding the end of the day as I dug my toes into the crisp sun-hardened sand.
We walked past the fire pit where the party had been and headed down near the rocks where I'd pulled John from the grasp of the sea.
John’s cold fingers took my hand in his; after a fortnight of holding his hand in
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