Page 24 of Lights, Camera, Love

Two weeks passed with no reply, and after obsessively refreshing my inbox, I ended up handing in the assignment with the words ‘I don’t have a dad’ scrawled on the father’s side of the page. The next day, the teacher apologised to me with guilt-ridden eyes, and the school changed the family tree diagram they used for their printouts, making room for families with different structures.

‘When did you get into dancing?’ Kye asks quietly, and my eyes jump back to his.

‘Oh, gosh. I think I was about four.’

I smile at the memory of turning up at my first ballet class and bursting into tears when I was told I was too young to wear pointe shoes—ironically, a much happier recollection than the one I just conjured about my father.

‘It’s always been my thing,’ I say. ‘I’ve done all the styles—ballet, jazz, tap, funk, Latin—but I always loved hip-hop the best, so I ended up focusing on that.’

Our gazes cling together for a sticky moment. Kye’s thickly lashed eyes are hard to look away from.

‘When didyoubecome so good at hip-hop?’ I probe.

He ‘hmpfs’.Ha, it’s been a while since you’ve made that sound, Groucho.The familiarity of it makes me smile.

‘Just a bit of a natural, I guess,’ he says, running a hand up the back of his neck. ‘I’ve only ever donedrop-in classes, and I couldn’t even start doing that until I finished high school.’

‘Because you would’ve been teased?’ I guess. Some of the kids at my school were merciless to a boy in my year who took dance lessons—it was so sad.

‘Oh, I didn’t needthatto get teased. The idiots I went to school with already had it sorted,’ he comments. ‘It was more that I had to get a job before I could afford something like that.’

He turns silent, and I subtly study his profile.

Teased, foster kid, no money.Three facts about Groucho that I would never have guessed. I want to know more, but before I can think of an appropriate follow-up question, he climbs to his feet and stretches out his arms.

Biceps.That’s another word.

Yep, I might be a mayfly. Would that explain why the wasps were drawn to me? The winged insects recognised one of their own?

‘I should get going,’ Kye says.

‘Sure.’

Feeling a little deflated—I was quite enjoying our unexpected chat—I trail him back into the cabin.

Once we’re inside, he turns to face me. ‘Time to get into bed?’ he blurts, and we both flush. ‘Fuck, I don’t know why I said that, sorry. I meant, are you off to bed? I’m just … making conversation. Forget it.’ He rakes his fingers through his mussed-up hair.

‘It’s all good.’ An awkward chuckle tumbles past my lips. ‘Actually, I think I’m going to put a movie on my laptop. If the wi-fi behaves.’

‘Yeah? Which one?’ he asks politely as he rolls his suitcase towards the door.

His question catches me off-guard. The film I plan on watching, while it’s my favourite, is a bit random. ‘Oh, it’s just an old eighties movie calledHeathers.’

‘Really? I love that movie.’

Kye turns to face me as he speaks, one hand slipping into the back pocket of his grey jeans. And then something happens that I’m in no way prepared for.

The corners of his mouth lift, his eyes light up, and hesmiles.

‘I think it’s one of the best black comedies ever made,’ he continues, while I attempt to peel my eyes off the breath-stealing smile that I’m pretty sure any top fashion brand would pay millions of dollars for. It completely transforms his face. It’s … he’s … he’sstunning.

‘Goodnight, Evie.’

‘’Night,’ I scrape out, wondering if what I just saw was an optical illusion, some kind of trick of the light. I mean, it is pretty dark in here.

Kye glides the sliding door closed behind him, and as I reach out to lock it, I’m left staring at my dazed reflection in the mirrored glass.

CHAPTER 8

---