Mine. S.A Partridge
Creamery. It’s cheap suckers and old-school brands that haven’t changed their packaging since the Eighties. And there are cockroaches living in the freezers. It’s actually really gross. Lorenda and Jerome are fine with me working there, because they’re too stingy to give me proper pocket money. They don’t want to spoil me. I mean, honestly – you’d think they’d give me a break. But at least I can sort of call this place my own.
I freeride my longboard to work, breathing in the rush of freedom. I love being on my own, just me on the street, music in my ears – the real Kayla, who can get down an entire rail on my board without wiping out. Well, almost.
Sometimes I go to the skatepark under the unfinished bridge in town and have a go on the half-pipe. I never talk to anyone. I like the idea of being invisible, anonymous, letting people form their own opinions about me. I like this version of me. It’s the one hardly anyone gets to see.
Today I pass my shift at the ice-cream shop sitting on a white plastic chair trying to catch rare kitties on my Neko Atsume app while the fridges hum around me. The only customer so far has been a creepy-looking dude in an Incredible Hulk T-shirt who came in to buy two boxes of Twice as Nice.
But the silence eventually gets to me, and then my brain goes into overdrive. I don’t want to think about what happened with Sebastian or that I really, really liked him. No one ever wants to take my number because they find me interesting or cute. I’m already sixteen and I’ve never had a real boyfriend. But I keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
I have no one to talk to. No one to hang out with. Craig is the only person I see outside of school. In a weird way, he’s my only friend, the only one who knows me.
I message him to ask when he’s coming around, hating myself for needing the little attention he gives me. I am truly pathetic.
Near closing time, I fetch my flute from my bag. No one is going to come in here now, and it’s the perfect time to practise. There’s no Lorenda nagging me. No laser-beam eyes staring into my back. No Lucinda. No Sebastian.
I close the door on the night. As soon as I put the instrument to my lips, the notes flow. The flute is difficult. The flautist always gets the hardest parts in concertos, and everyone is always on my case when I’m too slow at getting the phrasing. People forget that flautists need to manage their breathing.
God, I love Bach. I turn the page of my sheet music on the cold glass and continue to the next stanza.
This is when I love music the most, when I’m alone and can geek out over how cool higher octave notes sound when you know what you’re doing. I stop when the dent in my index finger doesn’t bounce back. Then I help myself to a Jelly Stick because no one will notice one missing. Half of them are congealed at the bottom of the box anyway.
After work, I kick off the gravel and roll down the hill on my longboard, straightening my back so I don’t go tumbling into the gutter, like I did last week, leaving me with a massive copper-brown graze on my chin. I love the downhills of Cape Town, like mini roller coasters. Now you see the mountain, now you don’t. I love the way the wind whips my hair back, the way my heart skips a beat and my stomach lurches on that first dip. Exhilarating.
I never wanted to move here. Ma has Jerome and she’s happy, but I’m the third wheel, the dikbek teenager. We moved from the northern suburbs to Rondebosch so Jerome would be closer to work. And who cares if I don’t fit in?
I’ve been trying to take care of my own happiness and failing dismally. Music, my board, the Reader’s Den comic book store in Stadium on Main – all the things that keep me going – can’t replace the feeling of being accepted.
At the bottom of the hill I kick my board up into my hand and heft it over my shoulder. I hear the screach of tyres and jump out of the way just as a white Citi Golf takes the corner at fullspeed, nearly wiping me out. I look back to see a guy sticking his head out the window, chin-length dark hair hanging in his face.
“Sorry, beautiful!” he shouts.
I lift my middle finger and the car speeds away. My nose twitches from the smell of marijuana.
Finlay
KENILWORTH, SATURDAY
I look back at the girl standing with her skateboard over her shoulder giving me the finger. She’s wearing grey jeans with holes at the knees and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt – I recognise the Icarus design from their album artwork. The tips of her blue hair blow in the air like flames licking the sky. The rained-out lights blur around her like an electric halo. She turns around with her finger still in the air and I sink back into my seat, laughing. I love my hood. I really do.
I realise how high I am. Normally I wouldn’t let Bones pick me up at home, but I’m in no condition to navigate my way around. I walked as far as Kenilworth Centre before sending him a WhatsApp.
“We almost hit someone,” I say, wiping my hand over my face.
“Who cares? Got any more spliff?” asks Brendan from the back seat.
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon, man. You always say that. Don’t hold out on me.”
Grudgingly, I reach into my pocket and pull out a joint. I guess he did sort of pay for it.
Brendan takes it and tucks it into his pocket. “Cheers.”
“Whatever. Just rob me. Like I care.”
“Hey, have you checked your phone lately?” he asks. “Julia is trying to get hold of you.”
I look up guiltily. “Me? Why?”
He shrugs. “Ask her yourself.”
He doesn’t know what happened last night, or I hope he doesn’t. And Jules is the last person I want to speak to right now. I look back, but Blue-haired Girl is gone. Or maybe I just imagined her. That can happen when you spend ninety per cent of your day high.
We hotbox the car all the way down the M5.
Once we get to the city, we hit a hole-in-the-wall club called The Bunker, where drinks are cheap and the bouncers don’t look at you twice unless you hit someone. I’m struggling to focus on what’s happening around me. That second joint has really pushed me over the edge.
“I need a beer, man. I need to come down. I’m way too high.”
Bones starts laughing and I whip around. “Whoa. When did you get here, man?”
“I drove you here, asshole.”
“Oh yeah.” This is not good.
We head inside the graffitied building, where I crash into a pool table. When I look up, dazed, Bones and Brendan are polishing pool cues with bits of blue chalk.
“I think I passed out.”
Bones presses a beer into my hand and then I’m up again, throwing my arms in the air and dancing round the table while Bones and Brendan laugh like cavemen. This is the life I know. It’s only a matter of time before I lose myself in one epic, unending party.
A vision of short skirts and mermaid hair clouds my vision – Jules and her friends have arrived. I sink back onto a chair and finish my beer, trying to pretend I haven’t seen her. But she’s already spotted me. Like a shark that’s picked up the scent of blood in the water.
She sits down next to me and starts talking animatedly. I nod, hardly listening.
I’m staring at my nails, freaking out at how yellow they are. Were they always this yellow? It’s hard to concentrate on anything else. Weed does strange things to your brain.
“So you’ll come with me, as my date? I hate going to these things alone.”
I finally look up from my nails and I blink till Jules comes into focus.
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to, but I can’t say no to Jules.