My Private Pectus by Shane Thamm

that.’
    â€˜Don't worry,’ she says, and prods my ribs with her finger. ‘I'm not about to jump your bones.’
    I feel strangely deflated.
    She looks down the street.
    â€˜So what do you suggest we do?’ I ask.
    Then she just heads off. ‘Coming?’ she calls over her shoulder.
    I catch up. ‘Where are we going?’
    Sam looks at me critically. ‘Not so experienced now, eh?’
    There's not much I can say to that, so I don't say anything at all. I just keep pace with her as she makes for the mall. We follow it all the way down to the end, then turn right. We go past the Stamford Plaza and into the Botanic Gardens. We wander along the river bank, looking at the yachts.
    â€˜Who's wild imagination are we following now?’ I ask.
    â€˜I was trying to think of what we should do my whole shift,’ she says. ‘I didn't come up with anything either.’
    We laugh and sit by the river, in the long cool shadows of the trees. We hang our feet over a retaining wall and watch the city ferries go by.
    â€˜I saw you at school the other day, talking to Lisa and Gez,’ she says.
    â€˜Yeah, I know.’
    â€˜You looked bored. You should've come over and sat with me.’
    I grin. ‘I couldn't do that.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    I shrug. ‘I dunno. It just doesn't seem right.’
    â€˜Seem right?’ she says, turning to me. ‘So you're avoiding me?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Then what's not right about it?’
    Jeez, so much for a chilled-out afternoon.
    She picks at the lichen on the rocks. ‘Sometimes I feel like you're avoiding me.’
    And I thought I had been playing the role of subtle avoidance quite well. The odd wave. The occasional chat when she's on her own, when no one's looking. ‘I'm just not sure what to say to you,’ I say. I don't tell her I keep clear because of the guys.
    â€˜Maybe you don't like me,’ she says. ‘Except when it's convenient for you.’
    I breathe out, slowly, obviously. ‘I'm not used to being friends with girls,’ I say. ‘It's come as a bit of a surprise.’
    She's silent for a while and I think, jeez, that really worked, so I go on. ‘I'm not good with surprises.’
    Then she faces me, her eyebrows furrowed, critical. ‘Some people like surprises,’ she says. ‘They like to be swept away.’
    â€˜What does that mean?’ I ask, annoyed by the criticism in her voice.
    She shakes her head and throws a pebble into the water.
    Then it dawns on me. ‘Are you saying you swept me away? One walk home and I'm falling for you? Get real.’
    â€˜Then what are you doing here?’ Her huge eyes penetrate, as if seeking the truth I'm not game to say.
    I gasp and stutter, but stay on the defensive. ‘I'm no pushover, you know.’
    And then she laughs. A full-throated laugh. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘Well that's a shame. Because you're such a fine catch.’
    â€˜Hey!’ I snap.
    She lies back on the grass, rolls over and looks at me. ‘Jack, I'm just asking you to talk to me at school. That's all. It's nothing to get defensive about.’
    I lie down next to her. All of a sudden I like those eyes, that dark hair. ‘But you've got it all wrong,’ I tell her.
    She props herself up on an elbow. ‘Enlighten me.’
    â€˜I am a good catch.’ I put one hand on my chest. ‘I'm the finest catch St Phil's has to offer.’
    She rolls onto her back and laughs at the sky. ‘What rubbish!’
    â€˜I am!’
    Then she says sarcastically, ‘And there's such a fine selection on offer.’
    I edge closer. ‘Well, how many St Phil's guys have come into town to see you? That's gotta count for something.’
    She sighs, then stands dramatically and wipes the grass from her clothes. ‘I guess it just means I have to settle for second best,’ she says, matter-of-factly.
    I get to my