"Hurry It's going up Tim. Let's go."

Tim stood transfixed by the poster on the Cinema's grubby wall.

"It's about Laurence of Arabia, Maze. War and Camels in the desert!"

Maisie's ice-cream was dripping down her yellow jumper and she licked it cursorily peering at the poster behind the smudged glass.

"My sister won't like it Timmy. She likes Abbott and Costello and soppy love stories. We only go to the pictures every second Saturday you know." She grabbed his coat. "Hurry. We'll miss it!"

They were interrupted by a screech of tyres as Les and Dave's flashy new bikes mounted the footpath. Tim's sixth-class mates.

"Get your bike Tim. Race you to the bridge." Les, the ringleader, shouted glaring at Maisie.

Tim, with a side-long smile to Maisie ran back to pick up his fallen bike. Maisie watched them power up to the bridge. She didn't have a bike yet. Maybe for her birthday. Mum told her times were tough with dad out of work again. She kicked a can moodily into the gutter following the boys. She'd seen Mr. Jeffries fishing in the Channel this morning. Maybe he's caught some bream.

The old boat shed's doors creaked open as she neared the Channel. She watched the arrow prow of the gleaming surfboat slide into the water as the crew jumped in. Sitting cross-legged on the weathered jetty she marvelled at their bronzed muscled bodies straining as the oars dipped into the fast-moving current. She'd like to row that boat over foaming waves. Tim planned on joining the Surf Club when he was old enough to get his Bronze Medallion. No girls allowed.

The fresh nor-easter blew her short dark curls across her face as she left the foreshore. She crossed the road heading for the building site for the new swimming pool. Sitting on the concrete steps she re-tied her grubby volleys and brooded. This was her favourite place. She could see home from here and a tinnie drifting on the blue-green waters of the deep Channel. She needed a plan. This might be her last chance. She must get to that movie. Soon Tim will be going to the High School over that very bridge. He will meet pretty girls from other towns. Looking down at her flat chest covered by her ice-cream-stained yellow jumper she sighed. So far, no sign of breasts. For an eleven-and-a-half-year-old girl growing up in a small fishing village the world over the bridge was scary. Her older sister had changed after High School and not for the better.

Tim's family had moved in next-door when she was four. He was an only child and both his parents worked. He spent most of his time at her house. Her mum's mulberry pie his favourite treat. They'd started Kindie together, hand -in hand. Every morning Tim waited at her gate before school. This year was different. Now all the boys met at the school gate rushing in to play footie before class. She'd tried to join in but Les rudely pushed her to the ground grazing her knee on the hard ash-felt paving. Looking up to Tim for help she saw how things were changing. Girls holding the skipping rope were giggling. Her friend Diedre beckoned her over and she was quickly distracted counting jumps.

Something had shifted inside her this year when the Circus came to town. It was always thrilling to see the Roadies wielding huge sledgehammers ramming tent-pegs into the sandy soil in the park near the School. All the kids looked forward to the erection of the Big Top as it slowly rose to the sky. When the wind caught the tent, it billowed like the sails on a ship. She liked to see the lazy lions stretching and yawning in their tiny cages behind dirty bars revealing sharp, yellowing teeth. She loved the high-wire artistes. The women like film-stars, so glamorous in their skimpy costumes. She always held her breath when they hung upside-down from the trapeze above the waiting net.

Their caravans came right up to the school-gate and you had to step carefully over the tent ropes when school finished dodging animals tethered to pegs. That day she was watching the elephant drinking from a bucket held by her keeper. She heard the angry chattering of the monkey too late. Turning around she froze as he launched at her teeth bared. Strong arms grabbed around the waist and she found herself tightly held to a boy's chest. Maisie stared into Tim's brown eyes confused by a rush of unexpected feelings. He smelt of salt and sweat. Flushing Tim abruptly released her.

"Are you okay Maze? The boys have been teasing him. He was ready to bite." Seeing a furious keeper approaching, he yelled,"let's split!"

To Tim, she was just the girl next door but since then she had caught him looking at her strangely. They'd spent most of these holidays together swimming and fishing, but this year he'd spent more time with his mates. Remembering the poster she was determined to get to that movie whatever it took.

On movie Saturdays all the kids dressed in their best. It had taken every bit of pocket money and a promise to do all her chores for two weeks before her big sister Helen would agree to accompany her. She'd promised not to tell dad. Outside the pictures Maisie smoothed down her favourite faded polka dotted dress, clutching her purse in nail-bitten hands.

As soon as the newsreels finished, Maisie left her seat and snuck over to the middle aisle where Tim was waiting. They watched the film eating Jaffas and holding hands. Her first real date.

Anne Davy, of Redhead, the author of this piece, is a finalist in this year's Newcastle Herald short story competition.