Mine. S.A Partridge
from one of our first albums. As soon as I hear it, my thoughts about the Jules situation disappear, and all that matters is the music.
I roll my head from side to side and start rapping out loud:
The city, the city, the city.
The city and me, forget about me, go bury me.
Blacker than black, booze fumes and smack,
what the hell is the point of that?”
Brendan waves his hand and starts freestyling. Sometimes we like to mix it up on stage for the fans who remember the older stuff. Add some more bass, maybe dub it up. People go crazy for that. Plus it makes us better than the rest of the losers trying to do what we do. Everyone we know is in a band. Even their girlfriends are in bands. To get anywhere in this town, you have to stand out.
We’re halfway through the song when the door opens and some girls come in. Jules is with them. They pile onto the couch in the corner, all legs and heels. I turn away, concentrate on the beat, but the momentum is broken – Brendan is posing now that the girls are here. I wish he’d stop advertising the times of our rehearsals on Facebook.
Jules smiles at me and something splinters inside my chest. It never used to be like this. When did she change from being Julia the sweet kid to Jules the boy-crazy teenager? She’s still wearing her school uniform, but with the shirt pulled out and her shoes off, her toenails painted neon pink.
Her friends are all in on it. It’s obvious the way they look at me and giggle. Even Brendan is starting to notice, and that’s a problem. I know exactly how these things go down. People are going to start putting two and two together and making jokes, and that’s when a situation explodes. Either we hook up or I diss her. I look like the asshole either way.
Practice is finished. Brendan isn’t focused anymore and, to be honest, neither am I. He’s picked up his bass guitar and is starting to jam Joy Division’s “She’s lost control” to show off.
I approach Bones’ decks. “I’m outta here. Check you later.”
We cross palms and snap fingers.
Brendan comes over, grinning broadly. “We’re going to kill it this weekend,” he says.
“Yeah, no doubt.”
The giggling goes into hyperdrive as I approach the door, and Jules jumps up like her chair is spring-loaded. “I’ll walk you out,” she says.
I press my lips together into a tight non-smile. I don’t know what my problem is. Jules is gorgeous. Smoking hot. But I just don’t want this. Maybe it’s because she wants it so bad … No, why am I even overthinking it? She’s my friend’s sister. She’s practically my sister.
I pull up my hood over my cap and press myself against the doorframe to put as much distance between us as possible.
Jules pins a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear and bites her bottom lip. “I’m looking forward to the show,” she says.
“It’s gonna be awesome,” I reply to the floor. “I’ll see you around,” I say, squeezing her cheek between my fingers.
She beams at me with those big brown deer eyes of hers, making me wonder if I’ve just done the right thing. Damn it.
As I walk away, I force myself not to turn around.
Like it matters. Everything I do just makes things worse anyway.
THE OLD MAN is on the front steps smoking a cigarette in his boxer shorts and security-guard jacket. I pull my hood closer to my face. He glares at me through red-rimmed eyes as I cross the driveway. I look left and right to see if any of the neighbours are out. They love a good show.
“You look ridiculous,” he says as I approach.
Here we go.
I shrug. “It’s just a jacket.”
“You look like a thug.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re sitting outside in your underwear.”
His grizzled skin creases around the eyes as he blows smoke in my direction. “Careful what you to say me. You don’t want the whole street watching me take you down a level.”
I step past him into the house, which smells stale no matter what time of day it is. Sweat. Smoke. Old booze. I close the door to my room and start patting my pockets for my Rizla papers. I’ve started feeling edgy since leaving Brendan’s place, which always happens when I go too long without smoking a joint. My stash is under the mattress. I never take it with me to practice, or everyone else will want to smoke too. I can’t afford to supply the whole crew.
I kick my duvet cover against the door so that the smell doesn’t seep out, and start rolling a joint. As I light it up, I fall down onto the bare bed, inhaling deeply as the seeds spark and pop between my fingers.
I stare at the damp that’s spreading on the ceiling. I don’t want to think about Jules or my dad right now.
I don’t want to think about anything.
Kayla
RONDEBOSCH, TUESDAY
Rebecca and Jasmine don’t want me to sit with them at break anymore. True to character, last week they broke up with me in a note written in pink and purple koki pen. People look at us and wonder if we,re as weird as you are.
I wish they could have told me what exactly is so unforgivably weird about me. Because that would be helpful. Not that it matters. Those two BFFs are just the latest in a list of short-lived friendships that have gone absolutely nowhere. So now I’ve started hanging out with the Christians in their special breaktime clubhouse: the Maths classroom. I sit at the back and doodle in my school diary. I’m not religious. I’m just here because the other girls won’t come in here, especially the girls from Music. They like to sit close to me so they can talk loudly about me.
The Christ Club are playing some sort of wholesome version of Truth or Dare? and are alternating between their best and most embarrassing moment with Christ. So far we’ve heard that one guy started laughing in the middle of Cavendish Square because God chose that moment to talk to him, and another girl realised she didn’t need her childhood teddy bear anymore because she had found Jesus.
Kill me now.
“Ally, do you want to contribute?”
I look up to find they’re all staring at me. I gave them a fake name. None of them are in any of my subjects anyway.
“Um, not really.”
“Come on, Ally. Join in. It’s fun.”
Happy, expectant faces bore into me, like a cult family from a horror movie. I guess I have to. How embarrassing would it be if the Christians threw me out too?
“Uh, when I was a kid I thought I saw Jesus in the Cango Caves.”
A couple of them laugh. The guy that asked me, Shaun, nods enthusiastically. He’s their leader or something. “So, what happened?”
“It was just a hippie.”
An awkward judgemental silence follows my words. I look back down at my book and continue doodling. It’s an intricate drawing of my ex-friends being disembowelled by a narwhal. I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Christ Club again.
After break I head to English and take my normal seat at the back by the window so I can watch the rain spit against the glass. Craig and his friends walk in, laughing loudly. I roll my eyes.
There are a couple of red-winged starlings playing outside – watching them is more entertaining than anything going on in class. I used to sneak comics into class, but they kept getting confiscated. I wonder if anyone else has noticed how starlings are always in pairs. I watch them for a bit, hopping around and whistling on the wet grass, tilting their heads so they can keep an eye on each other. If only people were