Page 27 of What Did I Miss?

Avoiding Beau at recess becomes quite the challenge when Imogen seduces Makayla with a tray of warm baked goods. ‘Follow me if you want a blondie.’ She struts towards the South Wing office.

A bruised banana is no match for the buttery caramel aroma filling the hallway, so Makayla follows her nose. Why should she miss out?

Yesterday, she texted Beau to say something had come up, hoping that would suffice.

Nope. He replied with I hope everything is okay.

Of course it wasn’t. She’d sent him half-naked photos and then found out he was potentially role-playing with someone else.

It hurts. More than she cares to admit. More than she’s capable of dealing with at the moment.

So, this morning, she put on her leather jacket and decided she wouldn’t.

Makayla takes a seat at the communal table, opting for a chair harder than concrete instead of the cushy one next to Beau.

Her cheeks prickle; he must be staring, but she refuses to make eye contact.

One look and she might crumble like the gooey treat in her mouth.

She stays on mute while wedding talk dominates the conversation.

Imogen flicks her long bleach-blonde locks over her shoulder before the ends dip into her herbal tea. ‘Have you picked a theme yet?’ she asks Rongo.

‘What do you mean? Bali is the theme.’ Rongo rescues a white chocolate chip from his collar and eats it.

‘No. That’s the destination. I’m referring to the colour scheme, motifs …’ Imogen speaks with the authority of someone harbouring a secret Pinterest board. ‘How is this your second go and you still don’t know how to throw a wedding?’

Makayla laughs, although she really shouldn’t. She and Warren arrived at the registry office in matching Gotye tees and celebrated afterwards with a McFlurry. So many regrets.

‘What would you change if you got married again?’ Beau asks Makayla, clearly knowing she’ll speak to him in public to avoid raising suspicion among their colleagues.

‘The groom,’ she replies, making everyone laugh. ‘Not that I’ll get married again. It’s so redundant. No offence.’ She dips her head at Rongo.

‘What if you met the right person?’ Beau asks with life and death seriousness.

Makayla scoffs so hard a chunk of blondie lodges itself in her throat until a forceful cough evicts it.

The right person? Is that Beau’s excuse for dipping into the school mums’ pool?

Looking for wifey material? The possibility that Makayla has been a stop-over until he finds somewhere permanent to land doesn’t sit well.

‘Did you all hear the good news?’ Rongo squeezes his arm around best buddy Beau. ‘My boy is coming to Bali.’

Applause erupts as Makayla digests the news. Why would Rongo invite him? They’ve only known each other for five seconds. Who’s he going to ask next, Agnes?

‘That’s perfect, we’ve got a spare room in our villa.

You can stay with us.’ Imogen misses the daggers Makayla’s throwing at her and whips out her phone to show off the accommodation.

‘Cece, Jimmy and bubs will stay in the main bedroom and I’ve got this one.

’ She points to a four-poster bed with a sheer canopy.

‘Makayla is on the other side of the pool; you can have the one next to her. This’ll be great. ’

It’ll be terrible. How’s Makayla supposed to tackle ‘Have a holiday hook-up’ and all the other experiences from her list with Beau there?

The wedding is a week before her birthday, so it’s her last chance to get everything ticked off.

Considering their muddy situation and how small Goldbrooke is, hooking up with people an ocean away seemed like a rock-solid plan. Now, it’ll have to be scrapped.

‘Thanks for the offer,’ Beau says. ‘I’d love to stay, as long as everyone’s cool with it. Makayla?’

Backed into a corner, she gives a noncommittal shrug and starts picking at the edges of the chipped table.

‘Are you ever going to look at me?’ he asks, bringing the chatter to a standstill.

‘What’s going on?’ Imogen stage whispers.

‘Mummy and Daddy are fighting,’ Rongo says out the side of his mouth.

‘I thought they spent the weekend together?’

‘They did. Something bad must’ve happened.’

Makayla’s chair squeals as she stands. ‘I have to set up for my next class,’ she announces.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Beau leaps up like it’s a done deal.

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

Makayla hightails it out of there and charges towards the West Wing, taking corners like a race car driver.

Students slump against lockers with their legs out, testing her agility and footwork.

Music, so awful it doesn’t deserve to be called that, blares from the courtyard.

She forges ahead through an intoxicating cloud of deodorant that a bunch of year sevens spray generously.

The key to Room 8C gives her grief as she jiggles it in the lock.

Five more jerks and she’s inside, making her way to the storeroom at the back where some bozo has put the projector on the highest shelf.

There’s a ladder staring her in the face, mocking her.

Even if someone offered her a million dollars, she wouldn’t climb it.

She’d likely fall to her death. Makayla turns to get help and bumps into Beau’s brick wall of a chest.

She stumbles backwards. ‘I told you not to follow me.’

‘No, you said you’d rather I didn’t, which is more of a preference than an instruction. I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’re avoiding me.’

‘Fine then. I’ll leave.’

The storeroom door slams shut – she’s not sure how, given Beau’s nowhere near it. Makayla yanks the handle with no luck.

‘It’s locked from the outside. Rongo! Imogen! Are you out there? This isn’t funny.’ She pounds on the door with her fists. ‘Did you set this up so you could be alone with me?’

‘C’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that.’ Beau steps in, lending muscle to her escape attempt.

It’s no use. They’re stuck in there without a phone between them until recess is over and the students let them out. If they do.

The air thins. It could be because they’re trapped in a small space without windows, or it could have something to do with the unavoidable discussion Beau is likely to instigate in three, two, one …

‘I don’t know what kind of relationship you and Warren had, but the one I want doesn’t involve passive-aggressive silence. You can’t block me out like this.’

Makayla bristles. She knows she’s being petty.

That’s how she’s always done things. Warren never had an issue with it.

Then again, look how that turned out. Years of sidestepping all the niggles instead of addressing them until she finally broke.

Why does Beau have to push her so hard? Can’t he let her wallow in her misery where it’s familiar and safe?

‘Ignoring your problems doesn’t make them go away.’ Beau looks into her eyes like he can see her fear. ‘Well, we’re here now. Might as well hash things out. How about it?’ He sits, and pats the floor beside him.

With nowhere to run, Makayla slides her back down the door until her bottom thumps onto the ground.

‘I’ll go first,’ Beau says. ‘I had a great time on Saturday night and I thought you did too, especially when you sent those photos.’ He exhales like he’s got a photographic memory.

‘Then, radio silence. For the life of me, I can’t join the dots.

Did I make you uncomfortable? Did you change your mind? Get embarrassed? Scared?’

‘I don’t get scared.’ She pretends the ladder in the corner doesn’t exist. ‘I’m pissed off. Given our history, if you’re going to be casual – or serious – with other women, I’d appreciate it if I didn’t know them.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘I know you’re catching up with someone this week, and don’t try to deny it. They told me yesterday when I was leaving Frillies.’

‘Who?’

His question hits her like a brick to the face. If he doesn’t know who she’s referring to, he must have a few women on the go.

‘Rhiannon.’ Makayla tries to say it without jealous undertones. ‘She said you called her. Let’s just say she’s selected quite the outfit for the occasion.’

‘You’re right. I did call her.’

Even though those were the words Makayla expected him to say, she doesn’t want to hear them. Beau doesn’t have any obligation to her, and yet, the idea of him with someone else – more importantly, not with her – makes Makayla … scared?

‘You’re wrong about the intention. I invited Rhiannon to a meeting to discuss Ebony.

I’ll admit, she was flirting with me on the phone.

I didn’t tell you because you were touchy about her after the parent–teacher interviews.

From my end it’s all above board, I promise.

Why don’t you sit in on the meeting and see for yourself?

I could use the support from my mentor.’

The humiliation and anger she’s been clinging to for the past twenty-four hours starts to lift. Why did she automatically imagine the worst-case scenario? Beau has consistently proven to be a good man, and yet she can’t accept that he won’t let her down like Warren did.

‘As the coordinator, I’d like to be there to advocate on Ebony’s behalf and ensure a level of professionalism is adhered to. That’s what I’m mostly annoyed about.’

‘Really?’ Beau calls her out again.

‘Fine. I was hurt.’ She throws her arms up, giving in.

Beau swallows a smile. ‘For the record, if you and I were involved in any way, serious or not, I wouldn’t see other people. Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve always been a one-woman kind of guy.’

‘You might change your tune when you see the librarian costume Rhiannon picked out.’

‘I’m more into leather.’ He winks, then drops his hand between them, accidentally brushing Makayla’s thigh. ‘What are my chances of seeing you in that little number again?’

She laughs. ‘The moment’s passed.’ Even if Makayla was willing to fish it out of the garbage, it’s shredded like cheese.

Beau removes his hand, nodding silently.