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and the other finished. I would have given anything to dissolve into someone like that, but I bet all my bones would get in the way.
    That was when Tim emerged, out of the shadows. I’d seen him at school—Timothy Cleary, surfing idol, skin like honey, eyes like magnets. Unattainable as planet Jupiter. But he was walking toward
me!
Maybe he’d mistaken me for someone else. I couldn’t bear to see his face sag with disappointment. I nearly fell over his feet.
    â€˜Hi, I’m Callisto May,’ I said, all in a rush. I edged him over to the light where he could see me better. ‘Are you looking for someone?’
    â€˜Someone like you,’ he sang. It was an old sweet song, and he had a lovely voice. I wasn’t a good judge, though, because I would have given him a Logie award even if he’d sung like a gorilla.
    There is a God after all, I thought fleetingly, and made up my mind to tell Grandma. But I knew she’d say it was just the power of pheromones.
    We chatted for a while, our voices straining over the beat of the music.
    â€˜Are you a good friend of Miranda’s?’ I asked.
    He shrugged. You could see the muscles in his shoulders gliding under his skin. He must be very strong from all that paddling in the surf, I thought. I bet he could pick me up with one hand. I felt a delicious ripple of excitement, like notes rising up the piano.
    â€˜Yeah, I guess so, we’ve known each other for years. She was my girlfriend for a while.’ He grinned. ‘She’s a gutsy lady!’ His voice was admiring.
    I nodded in a nonchalant manner. But I was alarmed. That piece of information changed things for a moment. I wondered if Tim approved of blowing up garbage bins andbullying Year 7 girls. I hoped he wasn’t as dangerous as Miranda. But he smiled at me again and lifted a curl from behind my ear.
    â€˜You have great hair, Callisto.’
    I put garbage bins and bullying firmly away.
    â€˜Do you go to Whale Beach much?’ he continued.
    I had a sudden vision of Tim and his friends sitting on their towels, looking at girls in bikinis as they strolled past. I’d heard that they rated the girls one to ten. Big breasts scored high. I shuddered and stepped back for a minute. The hair in his fingers pulled tight.
    â€˜Ow!’ I gasped. I said it under my breath, so I don’t think he heard, because he went on holding the hair.
    â€˜I don’t think I’ve seen you there,’ Tim went on. ‘We go most weekends—you know, the guys, José, Phil, Bob and me. There’s the best waves at Whale Beach, and José brings his dog sometimes. He can have a good run around in the park there, off the leash.’
    â€˜What kind of dog is it?’
    â€˜An Alsatian. He looks fierce but he’s as gentle as a possum. I used to have a dog, but he died last year.’
    Tim’s eyes were suddenly shinier, and he looked down at our feet. I took his hand and pressed it. It was very warm and I could feel the pulse in his wrist. I wondered if I should ask him what kind of dog his had been, or maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. But if I didn’t ask, he might think I didn’t care. I couldn’t decide. Also, that little beat under my finger was distracting. It made me see that Tim was vulnerable, he was a human being like me, dependent on food and drink and air to keep that beat going. We had something in common, as long as I kept holding his hand.
    We let the music into our conversation then. It filled the sea of dark between us with just the right words. I stopped agonising about the dog.
    Later, Tim went to get a drink and I wondered if he’d evercome back. I needed to go to the toilet, but what if I missed him when he returned? I stood there squeezing my thighs together.
    And there he was, blue eyes from a postcard sky, threading his way carefully through the room, bringing two glasses of green ginger wine.
    I wish I could