Читать книгу Mine - S.A Partridge - Страница 15

What the actual –? It’s Blue-haired Girl.

My head jolts up like I’ve been struck by lightning. I grin into my hand while Jules sits still and straight next to me, concentrating on the music. I didn’t have much choice when she asked me to come as her date to her friend’s recital. Could it have been fate? Weed makes me slow. Sometimes I see patterns and connections that aren’t there. It doesn’t help that this place is so formal. But it is her – I recognise the hair. And the face. It’s hard to forget a face as pretty as that. All big brown eyes and tiny button nose. Or did I imagine those too?

I wipe my forehead. I smell like a spice rack.

What are you doing, Fin? You’re here with Jules, but you’re checking out someone else?

It’s the way she’s smiling at me, like she’s telling me the song she’s playing is for me alone. I should force myself to look at Jules. Smile at Jules. But I can’t look away from Blue-haired Girl.

Kayla, the guy said.

She plays really well. I’ve never liked classical music. I haven’t even listened to that much of it, but when she plays it becomes … interesting.

This has never happened to me before. I don’t stare at girls like a crazy person. Thor definitely doesn’t.

Every couple of minutes, she stops playing to wipe her mouth. She has pretty lips. I smile. Then stop myself.

I’m here with Jules.

I sink back into my chair and try and look anywhere else but at the girl. It’s impossible.

What am I even doing with Jules anyway? I shudder and reach up to tie my hair into a ponytail to stop it from falling into my face. It’s greasy. I forgot to wash it again.

Kayla turns the page and starts a faster, more energetic piece. She leans to the left as she gets into it, like her body is following the course of the notes, trying to keep up with them.

This is so bad. I’m grinning again. I realise Jules is staring at me. I cough into my hand.

“What?” I whisper and turn towards her.

“Isn’t Lucinda gorgeous? I wish I could play like her.” Jules’ eyes are shining.

I nod. I haven’t looked at Lucinda once because Kayla is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

I jerk at the sound of applause and stand up quickly. I need air. Sky. Anything. I need to get off this tiny chair. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Across the room, Kayla looks up from her flute and our eyes meet again. When she’s not smiling, she just looks sad. I tear my gaze away and rush outside before Jules can gather her bag.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home writing music. Or out with the crew. I decide to let Jules down via text message and I pull out my phone. I’m a coward. The sooner she realises that, the better. I can’t give her what she wants.

I’m busy typing when I hear voices. I look around the corner and see a group of girls in black dresses drinking water out of plastic bottles. Blue-haired Girl is among them.

“Well done, Kayla. You didn’t screw up. That’s a first, right?” It’s Jules’ friend Lucinda. Inside the hall, a clarinet echoes moodily.

Blue-haired Girl looks defiant. “Wow, you were nice for what, ten minutes? That must be a new record.” Her voice has a certain brusqueness to it. Almost tomboyish.

They all laugh. It’s a catty, ugly sound.

“I wasn’t being nice. I was being professional so that you didn’t fall apart and ruin our piece. It’s not fair that I have to carry your weight during my own recital. I’m going to ask for another partner next time.”

Blue-haired Girl stalks off. In my direction. I back up against the wall, trying to make myself invisible.

Blue-haired Girl wipes a tear from her eyes with the back of her hand, and I can’t resist. Without knowing what I’m doing or even why, I step out just as she passes.

“You okay?”

She looks up in fright, then bristles. “What do you care?”

I can’t help but smile, remembering the middle finger from the other night.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I’d made a joke,” she says crossly, folding her arms across her chest. Her feistiness and mock-bravado is adorable.

“I’m sorry. It’s just … ah … never mind. You shouldn’t take crap from those girls. You’re better than them.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Wow. Okay. That’s a first – I’m better than the future Miss South Africa finalists. You should tell them that.”

“I would if I had any interest in talking to them. You played really well. I liked it.”

She looks around uncertainly. “You’re not from this school, are you?”

“No. Does it matter?”

I’m smiling. She’s not. In fact, her expression is blank.

“Yeah, because if you went to this school, you probably wouldn’t be talking to me.” And with those words she disappears down the dark path.