Читать книгу Mine - S.A Partridge - Страница 7

Instead of going straight to Brendan’s, I walk home to pick up my gear. The route takes me underneath a dodgy bridge lined with unconscious bergies. Sometimes I wish one of them would start a fight with me. But I think it shows in my face, because no one ever does.

At home, there’s still nothing in the fridge. I’m going to have to grab something at Brendan’s place or get something on the way. Fin the bum. I untangle my headphones, second-hand like all my gear, and stuff them into my backpack. I pull on my heavy jacket and cap, which makes me look even more street. Then I raid my secret wad of cash inside my lampshade for taxi money.

I head off quickly past the dead grass and random metal junk rusting in the sun, and jump over the wall. I hate people knowing this is where I live. That’s why practice is always at Brendan’s place. I tell them we can’t come here because the old man works nights as a security guard and needs to sleep. It’s easier for them to believe a lie.

The taxi rattles down Main Road. I get off in Claremont and walk up Kildare Road, where all the fancy restaurants are. Brendan lives in his parents’ place in Newlands. It’s the type of house where normal, happy people live. Garden. Welcome mat. Chimes that tinkle in the wind.

Bones is just getting out his Citi Golf as I come round the corner. He lifts his arm and makes a dumb-ass gesture with his fingers. I do the same because we’re all just a bunch of dumb-asses. He puts a beer on the roof of his car and disappears to the back to fetch his gear. I grab the beer can as I pass, and head straight inside before he notices.

Brendan and his dad are busy transforming the garage into a studio for us, with proper soundproofing and everything. It’s pretty sweet. Wish my old man would do something like that. But if I told him Dark Father was getting steady gigs, he’d just hold out a hand for his share of the cash.

I make a beeline for the kitchen and start pulling food out the fridge. There’s bread on the counter. I don’t even bother buttering it, just start piling stuff on and eating it right there, out my hand. I finish the beer and grab a can of Pepsi out the fridge because Jules won’t mind.

Oh crap – Jules. I forgot I was going to run into Brendan’s little sister.

Someone slaps me hard on the back, and I turn around and snap my fingers against Brendan’s.

“You alright, bru?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m always alright.”

Brendan grins and fiddles with his peak cap. It’s so big it makes him look about fourteen years old, which is funny because he just turned twenty-one.

“Bones wrote the sickest beat last night. Wait till you hear it.”

It’d better be good – I ditched detention to be here.

I down the rest of the Pepsi and follow him to the garage, passing Jules’ bedroom. She lifts her head and smiles, and I quickly look away. Brendan doesn’t know his sister basically threw herself at me at the ElectroVerse party a few weeks ago. Her exact words were very PG 18. And how was I supposed to respond to that? I’ve known the girl since she was nine years old. I told her in her drunk state that I didn’t want her to be a one-night stand, that she means more than that.

Special. That’s what I said. What the hell was I thinking? So now she’s been texting me. I hope she doesn’t think we’ve got a vibe going on because we’re both in school or something. What a nightmare.

Bones is already laying down a track 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.