Morning has broken, fresh and rain free, after distressing weather forecasts right up to last night.

God has blessed Egret's Rest with sunshine and a lovely breeze. There is no sign of rain today; even Aunt Holly Malone's ache-free knee is testifying to the lack of moisture coming towards us in sudden showers. Her knee is well known throughout Summerfields as more accurate than any weather forecast. It is never wrong.

Today kicks off the Founders' Festival, which will start in full swing in a few hours. Very early this morning, Ethan and his father went down to the town square (turned into fairgrounds for the duration of the long weekend) to help with last-minute constructions.

I had breakfast with Daddy, and we were both sad that he cannot join in this weekend's fun until Sunday. His current project needs his constant attention, and today and tomorrow, he'll be glued to his laptop screen, verifying the readings from various instruments, at home or at work. I, therefore, came to the festival with Aunt Gemma and Dell.

I'm now standing on the temporary bleachers built along the shore of the main beach, across the street from the town square. People will be sitting here when the festival finally begins. They'll first be listening to the speeches from the mayor and other town council members, and then the head of the historical society will tell the story behind the town. Mr Pravin is really too old for the tasks, and there have been calls for him to hand the job over to the next generation (people less than 100 years old) because he keeps on confusing the facts and starting over. That was last year; it will probably be worse today. All this boring official stuff has to be done before the fun can start, and the regulars are rather sick of hearing the same speeches and stories every year. 

Everybody was in agreement that if there was going to be rain this weekend, it should stick to the duration of the opening ceremony, just rain it out completely. I don't know why the Summerfields Council cannot just read the room (or the beach) and keep that part of the Festival short and sweet. Still, the citizens of Summerfields always dutifully show up and fill the bleachers to be tortured.

These bleachers will also be used by spectators of the various beach-related competitions this weekend, such as sand castle building, followed by sand castle smashing, followed by brawls. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure that those last two activities are actually official competitions and not simply cause and effect. They are, nevertheless, still rather popular.

Tomorrow is Founders' Day, and we'll be sitting up here to watch the big boat race, the highlight of the festival. Right now, though, I'm tying ribbons to the railings along its sides and running at various intersections down the middle. We're slowly turning the boring steel and wood structure into a cake with too much icing on it, just the way everybody likes it. I'm not alone in this endeavour, Delia is a few steps below me doing the same, and there are others too. We each have two rows to do, and I am making good progress with mine when the sun sparkling off of Ethan's hair, turning it into spun gold, suddenly draws my attention down to the beach.

I don't know how long I've been standing here, grinning like an idiot, when I finally realise what I'm doing, and now I'm feeling a bit queasy. Seriously! Since when am I unable to keep my eyes from straying to that dude? Last week, yes, just last week, I kept an eye out for the guy only so that I could be sure to dodge him! Now I'm constantly trying to find him and only feel really happy when I can see his face.

Ugh! I'm becoming so cheesy I could puke!

Still, he does use the sun rather well to enhance his good looks and make himself sparkle prettily. The sun and his smile and that laugh... everything is working together to bathe him in glorious...

What the hell?! Seriously! I think I might be suffering from sunstroke!

Ethan is helping Uncle Ian to plant a huge whiteboard on the beach. This board is always used for various communications, such as time slots for competitions and the names of winners, for those who don't hear the announcements... and for ridiculous scribbles by people (Ethan and his buddies) who don't understand the beauty of keeping things organised. Parents are often heard telling their kids to make their way to the whiteboard and wait there if they get lost. Their parents will go there to find them. It is a very important structure, the meet-up spot for groups and couples.

The Fletcher men are laughing together, looking at each other as though they've never argued as long as they lived. It is the most beautiful scene and possibly the most wonderful sound I've heard this week... and I've heard Ethan's voice a hundred times...

What the hell?!

"Seriously, Kira! Get a grip!" I scold myself and am startled when a derisive snort behind me draws my attention away from the golden boy and his father and the beauty of their bonding. 

Now I really want to puke! 

I suddenly find myself face to face with Amber Dyson's mocking smirk where she's sitting on the step just above me. Great, she is doing the two rows above mine and was working from the left while I was working from the right, and our paths are now crossing.

Oh, joy!

She is running her hazel eyes over the length of my body, starting at my wind-tossed ponytail, pausing on my chest to read the slogan on my cheeky t-shirt "My Cat Says No." It's true; Scamp might not look as grumpy as the cat on my t-shirt, but he is always saying no. He's still young; he'll grow into that look. Technically Scamp is Ethan's cat, but he hangs out in my room quite often and reminds me so much of the boy who rescued him from a tree that I often find myself calling the cat Ethy.  They have the same cocky, don't care attitude and are equally destructive. 

Amber's lips quirk for a moment, and then she's giving my old denim shorts and my legs a sceptical look. She is seated in a good position to assess my appearance right now, and I'm about to ask her if she wants to buy me when her eyes flash to my face again. She languidly, like a mermaid in a shampoo advertisement, brushes a couple of rebellious strands of golden hair from her cheek.

"You do know that Ethan is just panicking about next year and all the changes it is going to bring, and that is causing him to make a last feeble grab for the safe things in his life, right?" she tells me, batting her long (probably not quite natural) lashes slowly as if she's trying to convey her sincerity, she's failing miserably. No sincerity detected at all! "Surely, you must know that he's not into you, Kira. He never will be. To him, you'll always just be the awkward little sister he feels protective of. That's all."

I have no idea what to say to this. Who asked this girl's opinion, and what is she talking about anyway? Ethan and I have a deal; we're involved in a project! I've never thought that he was into me. Never. Why would I? Because he practices kissing with me... and he does it sooooo well... so convincingly? Because he has a way of looking at me that sets my heart galloping like a colt escaping from its corral? 

Why is this girl even speaking to me?!

"I'm not trying to be mean, Kira," she says in a mean-girl tone of voice. Come on! I've seen some movies. I can recognise the tone. "As fun as it is to see you make a fool of yourself, I feel it's my duty as a fellow female to look out for you and to warn you. Ethan likes his girls a little more... experienced; I should know." See, totally mean! "You might as well carry around a banner declaring yourself a virgin. It's hard to watch."

Then stop watching, you witch!

I'm yet to say a word, but I'm afraid that if I open my mouth, I might puke all over her over-priced pink sneakers and tanned legs. I know this girl! She loves winding me up every chance she gets. Always has and always will, even when I wasn't dating the boy she likes to play with. Usually, I just ignore her and carry on with my life. I don't know why I'm letting her words hit me like razor-sharp poisonous darts today, but they do.

Falling in love with Ethan has made me vulnerable. I don't like being vulnerable!

The idea of puking on her is growing in appeal. I hope I get some on her pink spaghetti strap t-shirt and her lace-detailed shorts the size of slightly large panties. Feeling inspiration bubbling up inside me, I open my mouth. What did I have for breakfast? Scrambled egg, bacon, toast, tomato, cheese, the works. It's going to be spectacular! I can already imagine it splashing into her face!

"Maybe you should worry about your own relationship," I hear myself tell her, and I'm not feeling half as calm as I sound. Those were words, not vomit. I'm disappointed. "I saw that bully of yours, Whatsisface from St Albany, making out with a girl behind the coffee stall... or is sharing your boyfriend a normal thing in a relationship consisting of more... experienced people?"

I really did see Marshall doing that; still, getting into this kind of exchange is not my style. I turn away, no longer interested in hearing any of Amber's venom. Delia is far away, struggling with a ribbon; she's not within hearing of this awful conversation or seeing it. If she were, she'd be punching Amber in the face by now... verbally.

"Whatever, Kira," Amber huffs, clearly irritated now. Irritation sounds so much better than spite. "Once Ethan has dealt with his fears, which will be soon, he'll grow bored of this game. Don't say I didn't warn you."

She's not wrong. I know Ethan is stressing about next year. He is having so many arguments with his father about it. We are all stressed about next year, but he is not dating me because I'm safe, and he is grasping at straws. That's rubbish! He is dating me to change so that he can prove to his grandfather that he has become a decent upstanding citizen and is no longer a ne'er-do-well-ruff-a-tuff. That is all. Wouldn't Amber just love to know that?! I've lost sight of the goal a few times, but that is what it is... Unless he lied to me...

She's right, though; I am starting to make a fool of myself. If she could see how I really feel about the guy, everybody else should be able to see it too. Even Ethan. That would be incredibly embarrassing. I don't know how he'd react if he knew. He would never be mean to me; he would probably just quietly remove himself from my life. Gently... gradually... It wouldn't hurt any less, though.

"Kicks!" Ethan's voice, followed by that loud whistle of his, bursts through the fog gathering in my mind, causing my wayward heart to break free of the stranglehold of anxiety, and I involuntarily turn my head towards the sound. He is standing at the bottom of the bleachers looking up at me. "Want some ice cream?!"

Those are some of my favourite words, and they are spoken in my favourite voice!

I should be overjoyed right now, but my heart is hurting, my head is spinning, and I can feel stupid tears burning in my eyes, causing my sinuses to well up, ready to cause a runny nose. I silently nod my head, not trusting my voice. I'm trying to smile, but my lips are stuck in a harsh line, fighting to keep my emotions at bay.

"He can be so sweet while he cares," Amber mutters sadly, and I turn to look at her again. She is still speaking, and I'm vaguely aware of more cruel words predicting my eminent abandonment spilling over her painted lips, but I'm not listening because I'm fighting a brand-new horror.

I've managed to get one of my sneakers tangled in strands of the broad ribbon I was working with, and I've kicked over the bag of supplies for the task I've been dragging along with me, scattering rolls of ribbon, scissors, cable ties and other equipment all over the bleacher seat I'm standing on. Some of it is spilling through the gaps to the ground below while others get in the way of my feet. I am losing my balance, gasping in shock, as my arms pinwheel and I start to fall backwards, unable to stop myself.

Today, I am going to die, and the last thing I would've heard are mean words from the girl I like the least in all the world. I so much rather would want Ethan's pretty words about ice cream to be the last thing I heard.

Amber gives a shrill bark of fright and makes a grab for me, her nails cutting into the skin of my forearms. This action does stop me from falling backwards, but it doesn't stop my fall completely; it just changes the angle slightly sideways. As her nails gouge grooves into my arms, unable to dig in and retain their hold, I slip free of her grasp, rolling down the bleachers like a ragdoll crashing into obstacles on my way.

It's not so bad, I think to myself, when I finally stop falling. I didn't hear anything break; I should be able to move again soon. I just fell for a very long time. It was bright sunlight when I started, but now the sun has set, and dusk has taken over. I can hear myself breathing loudly, and yet I feel like I'm suffocating.

"Why did you push her?!" I hear someone shouting.

"I didn't, I swear!" That voice was Amber's. I try to confirm that despite popular belief, she might not be quite as awful as generally assumed. She did, after all, at least try to save me. I'm trying to tell them, but I think everybody has left already because it's quite dark now, and I don't know where my mouth is.

"Kicks! Shit, Kicks! Open your eyes! Look at me!" Ethan's voice is calling me back. I think I could be trapped in the depths of hell, and that beautiful, husky voice would call me back to him. "Please open your eyes. Please look at me. Kicks!"

I don't know what he means. My eyes are open. I can see him... he is smiling so warmly, stroking my cheek. I think he is about to kiss me again. Oh, I do hope so!

"Kicks! Please!"

Why doesn't it sound like he's smiling? He sounds panicked, close to tears. I can hear Uncle Ian and Dell too, but I cannot see them, and they do not sound like they're smiling either.

I try to move, to tell them that I'm fine, but it is so dark, and I'm sleepy, and their voices are drifting away, just drifting... drifting... drift...

♂♀