Page 14 of Lights, Camera, Love

A month after I came to stay with the Reynolds family and was given the daunting news that school wasn’t actually optional for a nine-year-old, I went on my first-ever excursion.

Our class was bussed out to the local zoo, and each student got to spend an hour at a specific exhibit and learn how to become an ‘expert’ in whatever species of animal was living there.

Most of the kids flung up their hands for the lion enclosure or the gorilla habitat, but I didn’t volunteer for anything.

I was the new kid and shy as fuck, especially when my classmates kept gawking at me like I was the zoo exhibit.

They nicknamed me ‘pencil’ and kept asking why I was so skinny and pale.

On the way to the excursion, the biggest jackass in our year, Rowan Wilcox, slipped me a note that said: Do you use dental flose to whipe your bum? Dickhead.

I ended up in the insectarium that day, I guess because no one else wanted to hang out in a dark, creepy cave with a bunch of glow-worms, moths and stick insects.

The caretaker, a cool chick named Zoe who had silver dragonflies clipped to her ears, taught me that insects are unappreciated little superstars that are critical to the survival of the world as we know it.

It sparked a fascination with insects in me that’s never gone away.

The memory breaks apart when Austin’s mum, Leah, nods at the luna moth tattooed over my inner forearm. ‘That’s a new one,’ she says.

I twist my arm, which is half submerged in soapy dishwater. ‘Yeah. Got it in LA last year. A Christmas present to myself.’

Leah hands me a greasy roasting pan and smiles, even though she’s never been a fan of body art. As she does with most things, she defers to the Bible when it comes to tattoos. Leviticus 19:28— Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you.

The fact that Leah never pushed her expectations onto me the way she did Austin is part of why she’s always felt more like an older friend than a mother, despite being my former foster carer.

Perhaps she and Jeremy, her husband, thought I’d already endured enough in my life without having to listen to their lectures as well.

Either that or they just didn’t care that much.

‘He looks good,’ Leah says, jerking her chin at Austin through the kitchen window that overlooks the ocean-front balcony of the apartment we’re renting in Bondi.

He’s sitting at the outdoor dining table with Jeremy, who’s speaking with sharp gesticulations and finger stabs.

Austin’s stiff shoulders and tight expression make me ninety-nine per cent sure that Jeremy, a pastor at an evangelical church, is giving one of his moralistic speeches.

‘He is good,’ I confirm.

‘So, no hiccups?’ I can see Leah tensing as she speaks.

‘Nah, he’s been clean.’

It’s true. I haven’t seen Austin touch a drug or even a drop of alcohol since before we moved to LA.

She lets out a loaded breath. ‘That’s wonderful. Honestly, Kye, I don’t know what he’d do without you. I thank the Lord and pray for you both every day.’

‘Thanks.’

I admit, the first few weeks I spent living in the God-fearing Reynolds household were rough as hell.

Their constant Bible quotations frightened me, and I missed my mum; I didn’t understand how serious her abuse was because I had no frame of reference.

I thought it was normal to be fed only when I was so hungry that I fainted, to hardly ever be taken to school, to be left in charge of Jace, my baby half-brother, and to be slapped and kicked for every little thing I did wrong—which was everything.

After Jace and I were forcibly removed from our mum’s home when I was nine and he was three, we spent a couple of nerve-racking nights in emergency housing before being taken to Leah and Jeremy’s cosy brick duplex in Sydney’s north.

That was when I first met Mike, the kind-faced young case officer who I’m still friends with today.

Had I known that my mum would overdose in jail a few years later, I’m sure I wouldn’t have accepted the new arrangement so readily.

At first, I was scared about living with Leah and Jeremy, but the second I met their twelve-year-old son, Austin, everything changed.

He had a cool, shaggy haircut and knew the names of all the actors from the Batman movies.

Unbelievably, he seemed to genuinely want to hang out with me, and he didn’t laugh when I made up bullshit stories about my parents being spies working on a secret mission in Russia.

He just asked if we could reenact their story, playing undercover agents ourselves.

Jace, on the other hand, spiralled into chaos at the Reynolds’. He kicked and hit, threw stuff, had furious meltdowns, and refused to listen to anyone. During one of his temper tantrums, he hurled a rock so hard at the glass door that it shattered.

After that, Jace’s case officer—a woman who specialised in challenging kids—came and took him away. Leah and Jeremy had reached their limit. They were happy to continue caring for me but, sadly, couldn’t handle my brother anymore.

I cried my heart out when Jace left, and Mike assured me the agency was looking for a home we could stay in together.

But as upset as I was, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

I’d grown attached to Austin and his parents; their house felt like my home.

In my perfect world, my mum would’ve come to get both Jace and me, but if that couldn’t happen, Austin’s home was the next best thing.

It was the only place I felt truly safe, and I grew angry with Jace for ruining everything.

I refused to hear Mike’s argument that my brother and I should stay together, sobbing as I begged him to let me remain where I was.

Austin backed me up with his own tears, and eventually, the pleading worked.

It was agreed that I would stay with the Reynolds family while Jace and I kept in touch through phone calls and visits.

But my troublesome brother was thrown from one house to the next and eventually sent to the other side of the state, making our meetups impossible.

We shared awkward phone calls and stunted letters for a number of years, but eventually, the connection fizzled out.

As painful as it is that Jace and I are now estranged, I believe that if I hadn’t made the heart-wrenching decision to remain with Austin and his family, I’d be in one of two places right now: in the ground or, like Jace, in jail .

A suffocating pressure envelops my chest as I stare through the window at the multimillion-dollar view paid for by Austin’s Tate Hunter films. Austin catches my gaze through the glass and makes a subtle eyeroll at his dad, who appears to still be in lecture mode.

I shoot him a smirk while Leah and I finish cleaning up the barbecue lunch spread.

‘You’re such a good boy,’ she says as I push a new garbage bag into the stainless-steel bin. ‘If only Austin would offer to clean up once in a while.’

‘He does,’ I lie, tugging the damp tea towel off my shoulder.

I offer Leah another juice but she shakes her head, and we head back out to the balcony.

‘Austin was just telling me about the movie,’ Jeremy rumbles in his radio announcer’s baritone.

For as long as I’ve known him, he’s hosted a weekly program on a Christian radio station.

‘He said he feels it’ll be a strong contender on the awards circuit,’ Jeremy adds, staring at me, waiting for me to validate this information.

Austin’s career as a thespian is generally a living nightmare for his conservative father, but Jeremy tends to feel more positive about his son’s artsy career when there’s talk of him starring in a brilliant, complex film that’s slated to win prestigious industry awards.

He’s only interested in projects that allow his son to make some kind of positive impact on the world, not ‘sinful’ cash-grabs like the Tate Hunter thrillers.

From what I’ve seen so far, the only award that Moving could hope to win is a Golden Raspberry for Worst Picture.

‘I think it’ll be a crowd-pleaser,’ I offer for Austin’s benefit.

The truth is that audiences probably will enjoy Moving, but not for any reason Jeremy would approve of.

I can already picture the countless social media threads devoted to thirsting after the leading couple.

Austin’s got no shortage of lolly-eyed fans, and I’m frankly worried about how much attention Buzz’s camera is going to pay to Evie’s body.

That director is a fucking lawsuit waiting to be filed.

Without needing any encouragement, my mind floats back to that night on the farm last week, when Evie and I shared a spontaneous drink on her cabin verandah.

Unless I imagined it, there was a fiery little zing flying back and forth between us, which threw me so out of balance that I had to get up and leave.

‘ Fuuuuck. ’ Austin’s elongated growl steals back my focus.

‘Language,’ Jeremy chastises while Austin runs his fingers through his hair, his other hand tightly gripping the phone he’s gawking at.

‘What’s wrong?’ I reach across the table to snatch the phone off him.

My stomach drops at the social media post filling the screen. Nadia just uploaded a series of screencaps of an old text exchange between herself and Austin, in which he comes across as ruthlessly cruel, hostile and sexist.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I mutter an excuse to Austin’s parents, telling them that he and I need a minute to discuss a work issue. Austin jumps up and follows me into the apartment.

‘Why the hell did she post that?’ he spits out, chasing me down the hallway and into his bedroom. ‘That chat is years old.’

I shut the door so his parents can’t hear us. ‘I know.’