A Kiss For Carter Read online

  She handed over her credit card and sighed with relief when it all went through fine.

  As she left the shop, a little frown knotted her forehead.

  There were three thousand dollars sitting in her savings account.

  She knew her PIN off by heart.

  So why hadn’t the payment gone through?

  Chapter 2

  When Carts arrived at his parents’ home, the kid who’d been torturing the piano was leaving. Even from a distance he could see Mum had her teaching face on, nodding and smiling, though he knew all she wanted was for the helicopter parent to take her daughter and go hover over her at netball or tennis or whatever class she had next.

  He could see dark rings under the kid’s eyes even from the footpath.

  As the woman and her daughter got into their car, Carts headed up the path.

  Mum’s mouth tilted into a relieved smile at the sight of him, but the furrow between her eyebrows remained. He hugged her hard. Rosemary Wells was on the up-side of six foot, but she seemed small and fragile in his arms.

  She ushered him inside and shut the door.

  “Where is she?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket.

  “In her room with the door barricaded.”

  “You’ve locked her in!”

  His mum sighed. “No, love, she’s locked me out.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Carter, can you please not swear.”

  “Sorry. So, what’s happened this time?”

  This time was getting to be the standard phrase with regard to Avery. Not even a year ago, Avery had been a model kid—studious, quiet, dedicated to her music and intent on getting a scholarship to the Conservatorium in Paris.

  Then something changed. She became sullen. She avoided eye contact. Grunted at Mum and Dad. Even grunted at him. Like, what? Avery had always adored him. He’d been fourteen when she was born and he remembered holding the tiny bundle in his arms, marvelling at those teeny-weeny fingers, her crumpled, plum-coloured newborn face with all that dark fuzz on top of her head. He’d been totally smitten ever since.

  And up until a month ago she’d adored him too. As she grew from a baby to a toddler, her nappy hanging low on chubby legs, Avery had followed him around the house like his shadow. He was there when she started Kindy, and for her first day of primary school. Had watched with pride as she received the music prize each year, and attended each and every one of her concerts.

  “You need to talk some sense into her,” Mum said, as Carts strode into the music room and flung his jacket on the old leather sofa.

  “I need the full story first.”

  Mum busied herself tidying music sheets. “She’s—” stopping abruptly, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Was she about to cry? After a second, to his relief, she dropped her hand and continued to sort papers. “She’s saying she won’t take the scholarship if she gets it.”

  “Where’s this suddenly come from?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “What about?”

  Mum closed the piano lid with a thud. “Oh, some party she wants to go to next weekend. That awful girl Zany—or Zammy or whatever her name is. You know the one, with skirts that practically show off her knickers.”

  “Urm—“ He didn’t. He’d occasionally dropped Avery at school, but he wouldn’t be able to tell one kid in uniform from another. Unless they had purple hair or something.

  “She’s the one who dyed her hair purple,” Mum supplied.

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Now he recalled a conversation at dinner a couple of weeks ago, about Avery wanting to put silver streaks in her hair because her friend had dyed hers. Goodness, me, Mum had said, you’ll be old before you can blink, why on earth do you want to speed the process up? Dad had muttered his standard line of listen to your mother, then focused on cutting up his lamb chop.

  A sudden bass beat raised both their gazes to the ceiling. Mum shook her head and pursed her lips. “See! This is what I have to put up with every day after school.”

  Carts’ ears pricked. “Triple J radio.”

  “Sounds like a cat fight to me,” Mum grumbled.

  “What does Dad say?”

  “I’m trying not to bring him into it. What with his interview last week for the new head of department role—he’s very stressed about the restructure.”

  Carts sighed. He wanted to get home and try on his new suit again and work out whether to wear Baz’s tie. If so, should he keep it on, or take it off just after he’d met her? He rather liked the idea of tugging it off, pocketing it casually, then flipping open his shirt collar, maybe even seeing Judith’s gaze linger on his neck for a moment.

  He needed to practise his moves in the mirror.

  “I’ll go up and see if she’ll talk to me,” he said, patting Mum on the arm before taking the stairs two at a time.

  As he got closer, the thump, thump, doof-doof practically made the door vibrate. He tapped lightly.

  No response.

  He tried again, rapping harder with his knuckles.

  “Avery. Av-ery it’s me.” Louder, “Open up for your brother, will you?”

  Nothing.

  “C’mon Aves.” Wheedling was not the easiest over heavy metal.

  Carts leaned his forehead against the door, just as it swung open and he catapulted into Avery’s room like a human shotput.

  “WhatdyouWANT?” Avery shouted as Carts practically bounced off the far wall and she bounced onto the bed.

  “What sort of greeting is that?” Carts shouted back as he regained his balance, and tried to lean nonchalantly against the wall. “Can you turn that off?”

  Avery hugged her knees to her chest and scowled at him, then reluctantly reached for her phone. Carts’ ears gave thanks for the blessed silence that ensued.

  “You’re so unco,” Avery muttered.

  “Thanks.” He popped his eyes at her. “Hullo, big brother, how nice of you to come and see me.”

  Her chin dipped lower, but he caught a smirk hovering on her lips. Though, now he was looking at her properly, something was weird with her eyes. He pushed off the wall and squinted at her face. “What have you done to your eyes?”

  “It’s kohl.”

  “Yeah, looks like you’ve been down a coal mine, that’s for sure.”

  “Not coal, you tool, kohl. K-O-H-L.”

  Carts waggled his eyebrows. “The ghoul next door look.”

  “Haha, very funny. It’s goth. Guess you wouldn’t know what that is either, you’re so ancient.”

  “For your info, goth has been a thing longer than you’ve been alive.” Carts pulled a face at her. “I nearly dated a goth once.”

  “Yeah, right.” Avery’s lip curled, not buying a word of it. “Has Mum sent you up here?”

  He moved over and sat on the bed, rubbed her foot. Her toes were cold, they’d always been cold even as a little girl. Her toenails, he noticed with a jolt, were painted black.

  “Maybe.” No point in lying, sixteen-year-olds had an antennae for fibs. He rubbed her toes and she curled them away. “Don’t.”

  “Your feet are like icicles. Why aren’t you wearing your Uggs?”

  “In case my nails aren’t dry.”

  “Show me your fingers.”

  She splayed her long fingers out. The nails were thankfully bare. “Mum would just make me take it off, not worth wasting time doing them.”

  They sat quietly for a few moments, Carts still stroking her ankle, and working out his strategy. In the end he figured the no-bullshit approach was best.

  “So, what’s the story? About the flute?”

  Avery’s chin rubbed from one kneecap to the other, her eyes accentuated by the kohl, huge and the same velvet brown as his own. “It’s a revenge tactic.”

  “For what.”

  “For mum not letting me go to Zammy’s party next week.”

  “You’re not really serious about giving up your music?”

  “I will if she doesn’t let me go.
”

  “Oh, Aves, this is silly.”

  She glared. “Why?”

  “It’s so short-sighted. Think about what you’ve achieved. How amazingly freakin’ talented you are. If I had a teaspoon of your talent, I’d—”

  “You’d what, fart-face?”

  Oh, she really had a knack right now, did Avery. He thinned his lips. All he’d ever shown was an aptitude for numbers. Which meant he’d followed the career counsellor’s advice and become an accountant. Not even thought to question it. Unimaginative. Dull. Predictable. And here was his shining star of a sister about to throw away her brilliance. Hit the ground like a meteorite.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I’m past being able to make changes. But you, Aves, you have your whole life ahead of you. A career that could take you all over the world. A scholarship opportunity to study in Paris.”

  “Don’t want to.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “Oooh, I’ll tell Mum. She’ll make you put money in the swear jar.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to go to Paris?”

  “I can’t speak French.”

  “You’ll learn.”

  “They eat frogs. And snails. That’s weird. I’d barf if I tried to eat that stuff.”

  “No-one will make you eat frogs or snails. Is that all?”

  Silence, then barely audible, “They won’t like me.”

  In a flash Carts’ arms were around her and her head rocked against his chest. A big hiccup of a sob tore at his heart. “They don’t like me here so why would they like me there?”

  “Oh, Aves.”

  “Only Zammy likes me. That’s why I have to go to her party. Everyone else hates me.” She tunnelled deeper into him, her words muffled. “You know what they call me at school?” She looked up briefly, tragic-eyed. “Budgie.”

  He gave her a perplexed look and she added in an exasperated tone, “Av-er-y. Get it? Why did Mum and Dad have to call me that stupid name?”

  A shot of pure rage hit Carts between the ribs. How dare the little shites say those things? “It’s a great name.”

  “It’s not,” she buried back into his shirt.

  “I used to get called Stick Insect. At least you’re one up the pecking order. Get it? Pecking order.”

  Avery groaned loudly, “Your jokes are so bad.” The snuffle turned to a sniff then something that might be construed as a giggle. “And Mum and Dad’s taste in names is up their arse.”

  “Swear jar.” He squeezed her tight.

  “Fuck off.” She squeezed back. When she pulled away, he looked down at the great damp patch on his shirt from her tears and snot and two great big black blotches of kohl. “The things I do for you, this is my best shirt.”

  “Then your tastes up your arse too.”

  Now they were both laughing. “I got a new suit today,” he said, relieved the mood had lightened.

  “Really, why?” She was swiping at her nostrils with the back of her hand. Carts got up and found a tissue box among the debris of make-up on her dressing table and handed it to her. Avery pulled out reams and scrubbed at her nose and eyes. He guessed it would be good to let her focus on his news while she put herself back together. Then he’d revisit the flute problem.

  “Maybe I’ve got a hot date.” A telltale heat crept up his neck.

  “Oooh, really?” Avery’s smudgy eyes lit up. “Tell me everything. Like where did you meet?”

  “Through a friend. Remember my mate, Polly?”

  “The one with the seriously curly hair?”

  “Yes, her. She introduced us and… then I suggested Judith—that’s her name—come to my Friday night yoga class, and we’ve kind of seen each other a few times after at the pub. Just friendly. Then when I had my thirtieth…”

  “The one you didn’t invite me to.”

  “You’re too young for drinks parties. Besides, we did dinner as a family the week before.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Whatever. Go on.”

  “So, then I invited Judith of course, and…”

  “Have you lip synched yet?”

  “What?”

  “Kissed, you mung bean; have you kissed her yet?”

  “Urmm, maybe.”

  “Tongues?”

  Carts pulled at his collar. “Not telling.”

  “Haha, then you have.” Avery air-punched. “Yesss. So, what’s she like?” Her lower lip jutted. “I bet she’s tiny, like Alice.”

  “No, she’s tall, probably taller than you.”

  “Really?” Her face lit up. “You’ve gotta date her. I need to feel like I’m not the only giraffe woman in the world apart from Mum.”

  She unwound her legs and bounced off the bed, then scooted over to the door. Carts stared, perplexed, as she pressed her back against it and stood ramrod stiff against the wooden frame.

  “What are you doing?” Teenage girls were unfathomable.

  “Measure me. See if I’ve got taller,” Avery demanded. “I’m paranoid I might still be growing.”

  “So what if you are?”

  “It’s horrible being over six foot when you’re a girl.”

  “Supermodels are.”

  “That’s different.”

  “You’re perfect Aves.”

  She gave a loud snort. “I look like I’ve got a tiny chihuahua head on the body of a greyhound.”

  “Oh Christ, Aves, where did you get that idea?”

  “TikTok, there’s a reel that does all these dog amalgamations. I look just like the Greyhuahua Hound.”

  “Total crap.”

  “Don’t argue. Go and grab a pencil from my pencil case.” She pointed at her desk, still standing like she was waiting for the changing of the guard, except the frayed shorts and tiny crop top didn’t quite cut it. Carts sighed and grabbed the pencil. Was it better to humour her, or try and talk her out of what she was doing to herself?

  Right now, just shutting his mouth was, he knew from past experience when Avery was winding up, his best choice.

  “Get a ruler too. It’s got to be exact.”

  Carts rolled his eyes.

  Avery stared at him fiercely. “Do it.”

  It struck him that it was little wonder Mum was pulling her hair out.

  After several admonitions that he wasn’t holding the ruler exactly straight on top of her head, and he’d made another pencil mark right next to the last one, Avery stood back and peered at it suspiciously. “Write the date next to it.”

  “It hasn’t changed since last time.”

  “I reckon it might have gone up a teeny bit.” With pincered fingers she measured between the two marks. “I have, look.” She held up her fingers with a tiny gap between them and her face crumpled.

  “Aves for god’s sake, they’re exactly the same. When did you last measure your height?”

  “A week ago. I must NOT grow before Saturday,” she said through gritted teeth. “Like, I fucking-must-not.” She spun around and now she had her cute face happening, the one that was always guaranteed to melt his insides. “Please, Carts,” she wheedled, “can you get Mum to let me go to Zammy’s party? She’ll listen to you.”

  Carts took her by the shoulders and sat her gently back down on the bed, where she blinked up at him with her hands sandwiched between her knees. His heart surged with the longing to put everything right. To take on the burden of being sixteen and not having grown into your body, of not having a clue who you were or where you were heading. Of all the awkwardness and sheer confusing misery of it all.

  If it hadn’t been for his mate Aaron, would he have actually got through that time?

  He shoved his hands into his pants pockets to try and look authoritative. “Is Zammy really your best friend?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Will she stand by you? Be there for you when everything turns to shit? Can you trust her to do that, Aves?”

  Her eyes skittered away for a second, her knees squeezed her hands, then she said defian
tly, “Yeah. She’d never ever do anything to hurt me. We’re like, you know, like sisters. We’ve done the blood thing.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, where you prick your finger and mix your blood together.”

  Carts shuddered.

  “And when we’re eighteen we’re going to get matching tattoos. Two bluebirds, one on her ankle, one on mine.”

  “Over Mum’s dead body.”

  “She can’t stop me.”

  Carts sighed and gave up on that tack. “If I go into bat for you, you must promise to shut up about giving up the flute.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Even he knew that was way too quick to get an agreement out of Avery.

  The next moment she flung herself back on the bed, grabbed the shaggy toy dog, Mutsy, that he’d bought her on her fourth birthday and hugged him to her chest. “I still love the flute. I do. But Mum thinks that’s all I should be doing. Like practice, practice, practice. I have to have a life.”

  He had to laugh; her tone was so melodramatic.

  Avery shot upright. “Why are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m not laughing at you; I’m laughing with you. Anyone would think you’re my age.”

  “I don’t want to get to your age and be like you.”

  Ouch, that hurt. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Just, you know, doing the right thing, never coming out of your nice safe box. I need to spread my wings.” She threw herself backwards on the bed and flung her arms in the air. “I need to be free.”

  Carts shook his head. You could almost smell the teenage hormones in the air.

  “I’ve bought this dress for Zammy’s party. Mum doesn’t know about it. Do you want to see it?”

  “Okay.”

  Avery jumped up, threw Mutsy aside and headed for her wardrobe. Garments flew onto the bed, until she found one at the back that she took out almost reverently. A tiny silver piece of material, with straps for a back, so low it would practically expose her buttocks.

  She held it up and her long legs with their slightly knock knees looked so vulnerable that he almost wanted to weep.

  Eyes bright with expectation, she asked, “What you reckon?”