The Boys of Summer by C.J. Duggan

considering his job was to be
covered in grease and oil all day, every day. He must have some
heavy duty industrial cleaner to wash his hands with every night.
This thought led me to visions of him at home, showering, getting
ready for a night out with the boys at the Onslow for dinner and
pool. His hair was always slightly damp, with just the slightest
touch of hair product. He wouldn’t do much more than that, he
didn’t need to; he was naturally perfect. Whenever I brushed past
him in the crowded poolroom, there was always a hint of a fresh,
clean, crisp aftershave. It made me want to be close to him, to
bask in all that was Toby.
    I snapped myself out of my daydream when he
looked back up at me.
    “This chain’s history. Where are you
headed?”
    I didn’t want to confess I was just goofing
around on my summer holidays, giving little thought to much else.
That was the beauty of it. It was meant to be a voyage to forget
all my troubles, all thoughts of him and Angela last night. And
then here he was straightening up in front of me, looking down at
me with those questioning brown eyes.
    “Oh, I should be getting home, I hadn’t
planned on being out so long.”
    Ugh! God, that sounded like I had a curfew;
that I would be in trouble if I didn’t scurry home to Mum and Dad.
Why didn’t I just say I was headed to the Onslow to pick up my pay,
because I was a responsible working woman? I could have even asked
if he wanted to join me for a drink? Like grownups do. Have a
friendly chat.
    About what exactly? Cars? School? His
girlfriend?
    “If you want, I can give you a lift home,” he
said.
    I tried not to look so overjoyed, but the
thought of being rescued by Toby was an even better outcome than I
could have ever hoped for.
    “Yes, please! I don’t want to die out here,
not like this.”
    He smirked. “Murderers, death; you have a
dark mind, Tess.”
    And before I could hide my smile, he grabbed
my bike and lifted it onto the bed of his ute. The very same one I
saw parked in his drive, or occasionally at the Onslow Hotel. Deep
navy, big and bulky, this was a man’s vehicle. A vehicle I was
about to climb into.
    I fought to overcome my nerves as I opened
the passenger door. I hoisted myself up inside. Toby was busy
securing my bike in the back. On the passenger floor was a lunch
box and thermos. I slid my feet away from the items, which wasn’t
difficult considering the ample room inside. There weren’t
individual seats but a light cream bench seat, with nothing
dividing me from Toby. I leaned my arm on the open windowsill and
pondered. You could fit three bodies in for a ride with ease if
someone was pressed up next to the driver. I wondered who had
ridden in this car with him. Sean? Stan? Angela?
    Okay, let’s not think about that.
    Toby pulled open the driver’s door, and he
filled the rest of the cab’s interior. He fired up the beast of an
engine and pulled into gear, gloriously tearing up the bitumen. I
stole a quick glance in the side view mirror and grabbed my hair
that was flailing around from the open window. I held it back at
the base of my neck, and my wispy fringe momentarily blinded me. I
stole a sideways glance at Toby. He met my eyes briefly and smiled.
I looked quickly out the window. In my peripheral vision, I watched
as Toby’s suntanned arm rested on top of the wheel, his other arm
leaning casually on the open window. He was relaxed and confident
behind the wheel. It was of little wonder; if he got his learner’s
at sixteen he would have been driving for six years by now. I
calculated it in my mind. I would have been 11 when he started
driving. I tried not to think too much about that.
    An awkward silence swept over us, only to be
broken by Toby’s cough before he spoke.
    “So, where did you go last night?”
    I tried not to shift in my seat at his
question. I was hoping that my sudden disappearance after the
glass-breaking episode would go unnoticed. I guess not.
    “Oh, you know,