Holden Peters expects nothing exciting to happen during the summer before his final year of high school. But in a spontaneous act of bravery, he saves his pretty next door neighbour from drowning and is deemed as a local hero.
Thanks to his newfound...
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We were invited to Flo's house for a Christmas Eve dinner party that same night. Beth made us dress all formal, so I wore my best –and only pair of black trousers— paired with a clean dress shirt.
I was hot. Literally. I was sweating like a pig with all the skin coverage.
As we cut the lawn and over to the neighbouring house, I kept a look out on the streets for any sign of Quinton. He didn't want his dad to spend Christmas Eve alone, but he also didn't want to spend it alone with him. So, instead, he scored an extra invite, which allowed him to bring his dad.
When we reached the front door, George knocked and within a second, Flo answered. "Welcome! Please feel free to leave coats in the laundry room, but do keep all personal possessions such as phones and cameras on person."
"Mum, I thought this was a formal party," Jace said from behind, giving Flo a look of what-the-hell-are-you-supposed-to-be.
She was dressed in tree-shaped papier mâché masterpiece, a long string of battery-operated lights twirled around her figure. Other random objects were strapped on with duct tape, like baubles and random bits of tinsel. To top off her attire, a star sat on the top of her head. It was attached to a spring so whenever she moved, the star would dance among her sea of curls.
"It is a formal party," Flo answered, seemingly unfazed by Jace's attitude. "What makes you think it's not?"
Jace looked down at her bare feet but didn't say anything. Instead, he pushed through and entered the house. One by one, we filed into the home until only Flo and I stood at the door.
"Festive," I said, tipping the star and watching it spring back.
She tugged on my loose tie. "Non-festive." She then tilted her head and looked past me. "And I'm not sure how to describe that."
Quinton's ute pulled up at the front of her house and Mr. Hudson jumped out from the front seat, wearing his signature leather pants and matching vest, showcasing a whole lot of chest hair. Quinton quickly climbed out from the car and looked at his father in humiliation before they headed towards us.
"Holden," Mr. Hudson said, slapping me on the back. "Long time, no see. You don't rock up at our house anymore."
"Been busy," I answered, grinning easily.
I could practically smell his mid-life crisis. Don't get me wrong or anything. Mr. Hudson is a great bloke, easy to talk to and makes a killer Mac 'n' Cheese, but ever since his wife died... I supposed this was his way of coping with his loss. But he was so focused on his own life that he wasn't taking his son's into consideration.
Quinton constantly complained about the mortification of his dad's behaviour, but that was insignificant compared to the real reason he was having such a rough time. With his mum gone and his dad acting like a reckless teenager, he had been brought the burden of too much responsibility. It was hard on him, having to continuously worry about the crap his dad did. He had already lost one parent. He didn't want to lose another.
