The Trouble with Flirting

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“There it is,” I say, pointing to the road sign as my mother navigates the narrow streets of Rondebosch in the ‘piece of crap’ I’ve decided to name The Tin Man. “Toll Road. That’s the one.”

“Oh, finally,” she says with a small laugh. Her relief mirrors my own. An entire day in the car with her yesterday was painful. She took the first driving shift, so I was able to sleep through the early hours of the morning. After I woke up, she insisted on driving further because she didn’t feel tired at all. I told her I need practice, and what better way to get it than the 1600 kilometres between Durban and Cape Town, but she told me to relax a little longer. So that left me in the passenger seat with my legs wrapped around a cooler bag wondering what to talk about and feeling anything but relaxed.

She asked me about random stuff, like what I’m most looking forward to this year and what societies I plan to join. When she ran out of questions, I tried to think of all the things I hadn’t yet told her about Germany—not the dark-eyed guy of noble birth I managed to fall for, of course—and after that, we lapsed into silence. I couldn’t handle it, though, so I put on one of my collections of epic movie scores and told her about the game Adam and I used to play. We’d put the music on shuffle and see who could name the movie first each time a new track started. But Mom didn’t know any of the movies—and didn’t seem to appreciate me yelling out “The Hobbit! Braveheart! Indiana Jones!”—so after a few tracks went by, we simply listened to the music. Three times.

I was so glad when we reached the B&B Mom had booked for last night, I think I climbed out before she’d even brought the car to a complete stop. She suggested we get to bed as soon as possible so we could leave even earlier this morning—and I had no problem agreeing with her.

Now, as we turn into Toll Road, I’m so excited to finally be here it’s all I can do to contain the squeal threatening to burst from my lips. “We made it, Mom. We’re actually here!” I squeeze her arm, then check my phone for the message from Adam to make sure I’ve got the right house number. “That one.” I point to a gate that was probably painted white once upon a time, but is now more rust than paint. I call Adam.

“Hey,” he answers after three rings. “Are you here?”

“Yes! Open up, please.”

As we reach the gate, it shudders, then starts rolling open at the speed of a granny pushing a walking frame.

Mom beams at me while we wait for the gate. “10:17 am,” she says. “We made excellent time.”

“We did.” My smile matches hers. “Well done.”

Mom drives through the gate, looking for a spot to park. Adam’s car—which belonged to his grandfather until two weeks ago—is taking up most of the short driveway. In front of his car the driveway ends at a single garage, which I’m guessing is where Luke’s car is.

“Well, I suppose we’ll be parking on the grass,” Mom says, turning the steering wheel and aiming for the tangled weeds in front of the house. We unstick ourselves from the car seats, climb out, and Mom places her hands on her hips as she looks around. “Well. The, uh, garden could certainly do with some work.”

“Hey, you made it,” Adam calls from the open front door.

“Hello!” I wave, then run—or rather, attempt to run—through the weed jungle towards him. “When did you get here?” I ask after I’ve jumped up the two steps onto the verandah and hugged his skinny frame. “Yesterday, right?”

“Yes. And my mom’s been in a cleaning frenzy ever since.”

“Livi! You’ve arrived!” As if to illustrate Adam’s point, his mother appears in the doorway behind him, complete with a pair of yellow gloves, a feather duster in one hand, and a bandana keeping her hair out of her face. “It’s wonderful that you’ll be sharing a house with Adam and Luke.” I smell Handy Andy when she hugs me. “Oh, hello!” She waves over my shoulder, and I turn back to see a startled look on my mother’s face. I doubt my mother’s ever held a feather duster in her life, and the only reason she knows which supermarket aisle to find the rubber gloves in is because she buys them for the two maids who keep our house clean. A second later, the startled look is gone, replaced with the pleasant smile she keeps for acquaintances and strangers.

“Lynda, how lovely to see you,” she says, walking up the stairs. “You poor thing, working so hard to clean this house. Livi will be happy to take over now.”

I give Adam a look. See how she doesn’t offer her help?

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Lynda says with a laugh and a wave of her feather duster. “I’m happy to do it. Cleaning everything out helps me to see all the amazing potential this house has. It was disgustingly dirty after a year with three boys living in it. And it’s half-empty because most of the furniture belonged to Mike and he took it with him to Wits, but we found this darling little second-hand furniture shop yesterday afternoon. I’m sure we can find plenty of affordable items there to fill the house.”

“Lovely,” Mom says. Her smile stays perfectly in place, but Lynda may as well be speaking a different language. ‘Affordable’ isn’t something my mother ever considers when furnishing a room. Lynda heads back into the house, saying, “And we discovered an ancient lawn mower in the garage, so Adam’s going to tame the garden later this afternoon.”

Adam gives me a look similar to the one I just gave him. “My mother is a slave driver,” he mutters.

“Your mother is awesome.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were the one forced to spend an hour scrubbing mould in the shower this morning.”

I make a show of sniffing the air around him. “So that’s why you smell like chemicals.”

“I think I lost a few thousands brain cells inhaling those chemicals.” He leans against the doorway and watches my mother following his. “Okay, so my mom is now going to give your mom a tour of all the parts of the house she’s already cleaned, she’s going to point out the layers of grime the landlord has either ignored or knows nothing about, and then the two of them will comment on how male students, and possibly men in general, are the messiest creatures on the planet.”

“I’m guessing you’ve had to listen to that little speech several times.”

“It’s a song that’s been on repeat since we got here.” He sighs. “This house is in pretty bad shape. Doesn’t bother me too much—being a messy male student and all that—but it’s going to be a definite step down for you, princess.”

I punch his arm; he knows I hate that name. “Hey, you have no idea how much I’m looking forward to living here, okay? I’m tired of being alone inside a house large enough to shelter a small village.”

“Really?” He looks doubtful. “You’re tired of Chateau Zimbali?”

“Yes! I want to be here. Creaky floorboards, old pipes, rusted window frames, the works. Bring it on, Toll Road.”

He smiles. “Well, we’d better unpack The Tin Man and get you moved in, then.”

“Wait, I want to see inside first. Give me the tour.”

Adam was right about the house being in bad shape, but his mother was also right about it having potential. The cracked window in the bathroom can be covered up with a curtain, the splintered floorboard on one side of the living room can be concealed with a couch, and the fireplace that looks like it was used as a rubbish bin on top of about twenty years of ash will be quite charming once cleaned up. The kitchen, which hasn’t yet been tackled by Lynda, is currently a health hazard, but the counter tops are probably a pleasant colour beneath the layer of congealed food. At least, I hope that’s a layer of something and not the actual colour of the counters. I put my hand over my mouth and try to keep my stomach from reacting.

Across the passage from the bathroom is a closed door, which is apparently where Luke is hiding. Further along, past a peeling section of paint, is Adam’s room. I recognise the grey-and-white striped duvet cover and the computer screen on the desk. Everything else is still in boxes.

“And here’s your room,” Adam says, gesturing to an open doorway opposite his. The room is empty, aside from the built-in cupboards along the wall opposite the window. Smudges of dirt cover the vomit-coloured paint, and the wooden floorboards are dull and scratched from years of wear. At least the room is a decent size, though. I walk to the window, which is wide and gives me an excellent view of the overgrown back garden. I think I spot a wheelbarrow out there, but it’s been taken hostage by a tangle of weeds.

“Well, this will be nice, won’t it, Livi?”

I turn as my mother walks into the room. “Yes, this place rocks.” I spot a poster of a half-naked woman on the back of the door. I wander over and push the door open completely so Mom won’t see it. Unlike her, I actually mean what I’m saying. She’s trying to keep her nose from turning up in disgust, whereas I can’t wait to get all my things in here and make this space mine. Sure, it’s not exactly Chateau Zimbali—as Adam likes to refer to it—but that’s the point. Chateau Zimbali is the last thing I want.

“Help me unpack?” I say to Adam.

We navigate back and forth across the weed wilderness while balancing boxes and bags in our arms. Adam’s long legs don’t have much of a problem, but I trip over hidden garden debris more than once. When I fall into a bush for the third time, spilling hangers out of the packet I was balancing on top of a box of shoes, Adam orders me back inside the house while he carries the last few items across the garden.

“You missed some hangers, Princess Clumsy,” he says as he squeezes through my doorway with my puffy winter jacket over his shoulder, a suitcase in one hand, and several hangers in the other.

“Hey, knock it off with the princess names, Mr Dust Bunny.” I take the jacket and open one of the cupboards to hang it up.

“Mr Dust Bunny?” Adam peers into the mirror inside the cupboard door. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s, like, a whole family of dust bunnies living behind your right ear,” I tell him. “Someone obviously told them your mom was on the loose with a feather duster, so they evacuated whatever cruddy corner they were living in. They’re refugees now. You should take care of them.”

Adam adjusts his glasses, then swats at the cobwebs in his dark hair and mutters something about my tendency to exaggerate. His hair is longer now than it used to be, and product-free. He did the short, spiky, gelled look in high school, like all the other guys who thought they were awesome, but this more natural look is so much better on him. I stand back and nod approvingly. “You are well on your way to completing Project Ditch the Nerd, Adam. Good job.”

He rolls his eyes and heads out of my room without commenting. He bangs on a door. “Hey, Luke, thanks for all your help with unpacking,” he shouts. “Livi really appreciates it.”

Crap! What the hell is Adam doing? I’m happy for Luke to stay hidden in his cave and never come out. I rush into the passage to tell Adam to shut up and leave Luke alone. The bathroom door opens and my mother emerges looking traumatised. I guess the toilet experience wasn’t up to her high standards.

“All right, then,” she says, holding her wet hands away from her body as though trying to avoid further contamination. “Shall we, uh, go and find some furniture for your bedroom?”

“Yes. Sounds great.” Maybe I can get out of here before Luke surfaces and starts the creepy staring thing. I dash back into my room and find my handbag. “Okay, Mom, let’s go.” I find her in the lounge watching Lynda kneeling in front of the fireplace giving instructions to Adam. “Thanks for helping me carry stuff,” I say to him. “We’ll see you later.”

He gives me a wide-eyed look that clearly says, You’re leaving me here?

“Um, hi, everyone.”

Crap.

I cringe at the sound of Luke’s voice behind me. I suppose I can’t avoid him indefinitely, though. I may as well get the awkward greeting over with, then try to stay away from his creepy gaze as much as possible.

I swivel around—and drop my handbag on the floor.

Oh. My. Incredible. Hotness.