Getaway

Chapter 2

        3) And most importantly I hadn’t played volleyball since the accident with Mum and I didn’t plan to. It had always been the sport she’d pushed me towards and without her here I didn’t see any need to play anymore.

Again, Dad had other ideas.

“Oh, Eleanor loves volleyball.”

I mentally tried to convey a message to him that he should not be sharing this information and that I would be considering seriously hurting him later – father or not he had overstepped the mark – but Dad didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Come play with us on the beach then!” The entertainment staff were relentless in their recruitment and Dad’s encouragement was not helping.

I looked at Dad, pleading with him to let me off. To help me come up with some excuse.

He replied to the look with a pleading expression and mouthed ‘For Me’. Damn this guy knew how to guilt trip me.

I had to admit that the idea of getting up off of the sun-bed was appealing (my legs were starting to go numb) but that didn’t make the prospect of playing volleyball, with people who had probably never played it before, any more appealing.

“Fine.” I sighed, trying to make it as obvious as possible to my dad – and the two entertainment staff whose expressions had become even more enthusiastic, if that was even possible – that I was not entirely happy with this decision and that not only would I only be participating half-heartedly, I would also be complaining about this to my dad for the rest of the holiday.

Dad just shook his head, trying to hold back a small smile and ushered me on my way.

“I’ll look after all the stuff, don’t worry. And Nell,” I turned to look at him at the sound of my voice, “Have fun sweetie.”

I followed the entertainment staff with a feeling of utter terror. I could think of very few things that this was better than doing. The list included things such as swapping saliva with Harvey Malham – again – and having Kyle style my hair – again.

We picked up several other ‘teens’ on the way, ranging from thirteen year old boys and girls who looked like they might actually enjoy this and kids more around my age who looked like they would rather be doing anything else. It was nice to know that what I was feeling was mutual.

It turned out that more people were going to show up once we arrived at the courts. Apparently another set of entertainment staff had been sent to scour the beach for willing teenagers and were taking longer than anticipated. And so I settled on a wall that ran alongside the court and waited patiently for the torture to begin.

Today could not get any worse.

“Let me guess. Portuguese?” A thick Australian accent asked from the other side of me shaking me from my thoughts.

I let out a sarcastic laugh, with my pale skin and freckles there is no way I am Portuguese and the boy knew it. He held back a laugh of his own – a laugh that was no doubt at my expense – and grinned, miniature dimples appearing in his cheeks.

Okay, so maybe this boy was kind of attractive.

He had short(ish) curly light brown hair with – presumably natural – blonde streaks running through it. His blue eyes completed the ensemble and, if at that moment I didn’t watch him fall of the wall for no reason, I might have thought he had the ability to surf.

“I’m Fletcher.” He told me, “You can call me Fletch.”

“Eleanor.” I replied, “Some people call me Nell. You are not one of those people.”