Free Paradise City by C.J. Duggan Page A

the world.
    Bingo!
    The cogs quickly started turning in my head. I didn’t know why just yet, but somehow this was very useful information to have.
    ‘So are they like together or . . .’
    ‘Oh, ew! I have no idea and I don’t want to know about my brother’s love life.’ Laura’s face screwed up in horror and she kind of had a point there. We neared one of the bench seats under the shade of a tree overlooking the Year Tens playing cricket in the nets.
    ‘What’s with the questions anyway? I thought for sure you’d be grilling me about Ballantine.’ She smiled, fluttering her eyelids dramatically.
    I straightened a crease out of my skirt, feeling uneasy about the insinuation. Had I been so obvious? ‘Why would I ask about him?’ I scoffed.
    ‘Because you’re a girl, and you have a pulse,’ she said, laughing. ‘Ballantine is certainly not lacking in female admirers, that’s for sure.’
    I shrugged. ‘Hadn’t noticed.’
    ‘You have to admit, he’s fine.’ Laura jolted her head side to side like a diva; it was so ridiculous I had to laugh.
    ‘I suppose he’s all right,’ I lied.
    ‘Lord of the Beach Bums, he is,’ joked Laura.
    It got me thinking; he didn’t remind me of a stereotypical surfer. When I was packing for Paradise City, I had all these grand visions of bronzed surfers with long blond hair matted with saltwater and bleached by the sun. They would say things like dude or bro and drive around in Kombi vans, covered in name brands like Rip Curl and Quiksilver. In reality there wasn’t any one of them who really fit that image.
    Ballantine had a deeply bronzed tan that highlighted the stark white flash of his teeth every time he smiled. He was tall and lean with toned rips of muscle in all the right places. I could tell this by the way he coolly yet casually had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up his forearms – the fabric tight across his square shoulders. He was definitely athletic, but his thick dark hair wasn’t the surfer platinum I’d imagined. It had a beautiful tinge of brown to it and when he moved his head a certain way, the sun highlighted the blonder strands. I wondered what it looked like fresh out of the water. What had been a curiosity before had now turned into a burning desire to find out.

Chapter Eleven
    The bus dropped me at the top of our street. I smiled to myself triumphantly as I stepped off, hooking my thumbs into the straps of my backpack. I had survived my first day. Ha! I didn’t need Amanda to help me find my way around, I thought, lifting my chin to the sky.
    Nope. Lexie Atkinson: Lone Wolf.
    I could have almost pulled off the confidence that soared within me if, in that very moment, the edge of my shoe hadn’t clipped a jagged piece of footpath, causing me to stumble. I quickly straightened, spinning to make sure the school bus was far enough away so that no-one would have seen my clumsy moves. How mortifying.
    With the bus safely out of view I bolted along the last stretch of the street, the zips on my school bag clinking as I ran until the manicured ball trees came into sight. Aunty Karen’s Volvo was in the drive, and I was unexpectedly excited to tell her about my day. Even in my haste I took care to dodge around the box hedges of the terracotta-tiled path towards the front door. Pulling up short, I almost toppled over in my squeaky new school shoes.
    Amanda sat on the front steps. The deep blue of her eyes was accentuated by the heavy eyeliner framing them. Her hair was dark and straightened to within an inch of its life; this I knew for certain seeing as she took over an hour to get ready in the morning and what had awaited me was a trashed bathroom, strands of her hair all over the basin. If she was going to ask me about my day I was seriously going to throw a shoe at her.
    ‘If Mum asks, you had a great day,’ said Amanda, not an ounce of emotion in her voice.
    Her words slowly registered.
    ‘But I did have a good