‘You mustn’t take that personally,’ said Sam. ‘One of Carter’s endearing qualities is his brutal honesty.’
‘He has more than one?’ I said. Even Richie laughed, and I felt like I could breathe again.
‘If you think you can write better by yourself, you should try that,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe we should call it a night and all come back with something to work on tomorrow.’
I started hunting in my coat pocket for the KitKat I’d half-finished yesterday and went over to the door. ‘I’ll go and tell Carter. But I bet he won’t like it.’
The sound of the river rushed up to greet me as I left the boathouse, and I could smell cigarette smoke coming from beneath the willow. Stepping under the drooping branches was like entering a cocoon. The light from the boathouse window was very dim out here and I had to squint to make out Carter’s expression. I held out the chocolate as a peace offering and wondered why I was apologising when he was the one who’d said my lyrics were bad. ‘We’ve got a new plan,’ I said.
He broke off a KitKat finger and took it between his teeth. ‘Oh yes?’
Sarcasm wasn’t much of an improvement, but at least he’d wound down. I twined some leaves through my fingers as I told him Sam’s suggestion.
‘I want us to write together,’ he said. ‘That’s what all the greats do.’
‘Well, it’s not working,’ I said. ‘Would you rather we had the perfect process with no songs to show for it, or that we actually had something to perform on Saturday?’
He took another drag and considered this. In the distance, a boat chugged by, setting off the ducks. ‘Show me your hands,’ he said.
I held them up so he could see the blisters on my fingers, which were white and raw, close to popping. He took hold of one and I flinched.
‘They look bad,’ he said. He traced a circle over my palm.
I suddenly realised what this was and let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Are you tuning me?’
He looked uneasy, but didn’t deny it.
I pulled away from him. ‘Carter. Please. How many girls do you need?’
He blinked. ‘I didn’t mean it like that …’
‘Verity might fall for this stuff, but it doesn’t work on me.’
‘Oh, yeah, you’re not into blokes, are you?’
I laughed again, reminded of Austin’s cruel remark after my audition. ‘Seriously? The only possible reason someone wouldn’t fall at your feet is because they’re not into guys?’ Richie and Sam would be able to hear us, even over the sound of the river, but I didn’t lower my voice. They might as well hear this. ‘I am into guys. It depends on the person. But I’m not into players.’
‘Verity’s not my girlfriend,’ he said.
‘I don’t care if she is,’ I said, my voice hard. ‘I don’t care what you do.’
There was silence as we stared at each other. I was the first to look away. Then he said, with a slightly raised eyebrow, ‘Are you really into guys?’
I rolled my eyes. Kids at this school seemed to be living under an academy-shaped rock, as if the world still adhered to the gender binary, as if the internet had never been invented.
He nudged me. ‘So I am in with a chance, then?’
I was glad our fight was over. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘You should try olive oil on the blisters,’ he said, and I had the unsettling thought that I was playing a game without knowing the rules.
CHAPTER 7
The next morning at breakfast, Carter was sitting with Ava. I waved and he smiled at me, but it felt awkward to follow him there so I sat at our usual table instead. Verity and Freya didn’t come down for breakfast, but at break I came across Verity in the girls’ toilets, fixing her make-up.
‘I guess you’ve heard, then,’ she said as I went into a cubicle, her eyes red and raw. ‘I guess everyone’s heard.’
Now that I thought about Carter switching tables this morning, and what he’d said last night about their relationship, it seemed obvious, and I was secretly glad Carter had seen the light. When I came out of the cubicle, I asked, ‘Are you OK?’
Her face crumpled. I tore her a piece of paper towel, which she dabbed over her newly applied mascara.
‘You’re better off without him anyway,’ I said. I hadn’t really spoken much to Verity before, but I’d been through this routine with Phoenix many times and knew I had to say something vaguely sympathetic. ‘I mean, he’s hot and everything but he’s not a great guitarist.’
She let out a surprised laugh and I pretended not to notice the snot that came with it. ‘Liliana, I wasn’t with him for his guitar skills.’
I laughed too. Maybe we could be friends; maybe she could put her defensiveness away, now that she wasn’t with Carter. I thought about the way he’d touched my hands under the willow tree, his fingertips on my stinging blisters. ‘Anyway, don’t you want to be with someone who’s not looking over your shoulder all the time?’
She stared at me in the mirror. ‘Did he say something to you?’
‘I just mean …’ I stuttered. ‘The kind of guy everyone’s taking bets on to see who he’ll take to the Summer Ball … well, that guy’s not going to make a lifelong commitment, is he?’
‘I didn’t want a lifelong commitment, babby,’ she snapped. There was tense silence and then she added, ‘It must be so much easier to date girls.’
I hated it when people assumed that dating within your own gender was the easy road, but she marched out of the bathroom without giving me time to correct her.
Carter didn’t turn up to the rehearsal room during Chapel, so I took the opportunity to try writing something new. It was hard enough to write a song only I would perform – writing a song for the band was a whole other challenge.
I wrote my first song after Mum walked out for the final time. I was fourteen. Jack and I had been expecting her to leave for weeks, but we were still shaken. For the first few days I felt like I was underwater, and then finally anger started to break through the numbness and I took out my rage on my guitar, lyrics pouring out of me like tears. The song was much too personal for me to actually show to anyone, but since then I had been a songwriter as well as a singer.
I tried to summon up that anger now, but everything I’d left behind in Sydney felt so far away, and anyway, it wasn’t like I could turn up to rehearsal with a song about my mum. I cast my guitar aside. I hadn’t spoken to Ellie in days. It was late in Sydney, but she picked up on the first ring.
‘I thought you were going to call me yesterday.’ Her voice had a slightly high-pitched echo. I started to pour out my heart about the songwriting process, but she cut in abruptly. ‘Liliana, I’m not sure I can do this.’
It was like the moment the bass drops – except I felt it in every part of my body. My mouth moved but I couldn’t speak.
‘It’s just so hard. I didn’t sign up for rushed phone calls with you whenever you can fit me in between band rehearsals. I want to be happy for you, but every time you mention this Carter guy I want to punch something.’
And I hadn’t even told her about last night – the way he’d asked ‘So I am in with a chance?’ like it was an offer he would take back the moment I showed interest. Was it lying not to tell her? Even if I was doing it to protect her feelings and I had no interest in starting anything with Carter?
‘It’s only a month till I’m back.’
‘God, Lil, we’re only halfway through,’ she breathed. ‘It’s killing me. Being at school is torture with everyone asking about you all the time. And I’ve got nothing to tell them, apart from that you seem to be having the time of your life. You do know it’s been almost a week since we actually spoke?’
I hadn’t realised it had been that long. Our daily phone calls had been replaced by texts. The band had taken over my time.
‘I need to hear your voice,’ she said. ‘And you need to call me when you say you will. Is that too much?’
‘No.’ My throat felt thick with panic.
‘It’s not too much, not at all.’
‘Because you should tell me if I’m being unreasonable.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I could hear the desperation in my voice. ‘Let’s make it a regular thing.’
‘You have Sundays off, right? I’ll call you on Sunday at five pm my time. That’s about eight in the morning there.’
When we hung up, the background photo stared up from my screen: the two of us at the skate park, just before I packed for England and the academy and everything that awaited me here. Now, our smiling faces looked so naive, struck out with sunlight, as if we should have known we were about to detonate our relationship.
I spent the rest of the day in a fog. In the evening, I Skyped Phoenix from the rec room; I wanted to see a friendly face. Midway through our conversation, Carter poked his head into the viewer, his breath on my neck. I didn’t shove him away. It was nice to know he hadn’t been avoiding me at breakfast.
‘Is this the famous Ellie?’ he demanded.
Phoenix laughed. ‘You have me mistaken, Sir.’
‘Phoenix, this is Carter,’ I said. ‘Phoenix is my best friend in Sydney. Carter is …’
‘The guitarist. I’ve heard about you,’ they said, with a wink I hoped he missed.
‘Only bad things, I hope,’ said Carter mildly.
‘The very worst,’ said Phoenix, flitting their eyelashes.
Carter grinned, rolled off the couch and headed to the pool table on the other side of the room, where Austin and Benton were failing to pot any balls. I made sure he couldn’t hear me before I turned back to my phone.
‘So,’ said Phoenix. ‘That’s King Cutie himself.’
‘King what?’ I laughed. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘When you said he was charismatic, you didn’t mention he was also downright gorgeous.’
‘Oh, you noticed, then,’ I said. ‘You and the rest of the world.’
‘You shouldn’t let a little competition put you off.’ They tugged their hair elastic free and blonde strands dropped around their shoulders. For a moment, they looked like they hadn’t aged since we were white-haired kids making Play-Doh worms. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’
‘God, have you forgotten about Ellie?’
They shrugged. ‘What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.’
I loved Phoenix, but sometimes they were brutal. ‘Well, I’m not built like that.’
Their expression softened. ‘I know you’re not. That’s why I love you.’
King Cutie. Phoenix had always had a way with words. I turned to a new page in my notebook and wrote it down. Carter was still shooting pool with Austin. I thought about Verity crying in the bathroom, the way Ava had basked in his attention at breakfast, and my own weirdly flattered response when he joined in my chat with Phoenix. King Cutie suited him. A guy who always had a girl, but never a girlfriend. The kind of guy you’d write songs about.
CHAPTER 8
The slam of the boathouse door echoed off the water and the whole structure shook.
‘Whatever happened to keeping things on the down-low?’ Richie protested.
‘I’ve got a song for you guys,’ I said as I unpacked my guitar. ‘I only started it tonight, so it’s rough, but I think it’s actually pretty good.’
Without any further introduction, I plucked out the opening bars, hearing their richness reverberate in the boathouse. And it was only then that I realised I was about to play a song I’d written about Carter to Carter. I’d been so excited at having finally dragged a song out of myself that I hadn’t thought about how it would feel to play it to its subject. Would he guess? Worse – would he think he was my muse? My blood was pumping so hard I thought it might escape through my blistered fingertips. But it was too late to back out now, so I squared my shoulders and started to sing.
He’s always single but he’s never alone
He’s got a million girls saved into his phone
If he’s ever lonely he just calls up and sees
Who’s ready to tango with King Cutie
When he asks, he asks so easily
Steps up fast and moves in close to me
And I reply, I know absolutely
I’m with him, and he’s King Cutie
Heat rushed into my face and my hands cramped on the strings. What was I thinking, writing a song about a guy in my band? But I pushed on, hoping it was dark enough in here that they wouldn’t notice how red I was.
He was built for chasing tail
Almost undefinably male
He’s got the words, they always work
One cocked eyebrow and an arm’s-length smirk
Sam held his crossed drumsticks in one hand like he’d forgotten they were there, a smile splitting his face. Richie seemed more interested than I’d ever seen him. But I was too embarrassed to meet Carter’s eyes.
When he asks, I answer physically
I’m with him, and he’s King Cutie
And when he leaves, he does so freely
Can’t tie him down, he belongs to nobody
When I came to the bridge I stopped and finally looked at Carter, expecting him to sneer, but his expression was similar to Sam’s.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘That can’t be it?’
‘That’s as far as I got,’ I said.
Sam took my guitar and strummed out a bar as if he’d known the song his whole life. ‘How about this? If you try speeding up the tempo a bit, it’ll make it more of a warning.’
‘What’s this word?’ Carter had my notebook. ‘You might ...?’
‘Resist,’ I said.
‘You might resist, but soon you’ll see, it’s hard to say no to King Cutie,’ he read. I ran hot. Hearing my lyrics without the safety net of the music, the rhyme seemed as forced as a jingle.
‘What about this: You might think you’re different, but soon you’ll see – it’s always a good time with King Cutie.’
I watched as he made the changes on the page. He had the thickest lashes of any boy I’d ever met. As though he could feel me looking at him, he glanced up, and I studied my hands.
‘What about this for the bridge?’ Sam said, still holding my guitar. He strummed a couple of chords, then launched into it again, slightly faster than I’d had it, and with a lick he pulled out at the end. I sang the words as he played, adding in Carter’s change.
At the party, the bar, or in the club
He’s chasing the night but it’s never enough
You might think you’re different, but soon you’ll see
It’s always a good time with King Cutie
And on the dance floor, with the bass real low
He steps up close and says, ‘Baby, let’s go’ ...
My body was humming. I cupped my cheeks in my palms, not wanting them to see how much their approval meant to me. And now that we had something good to work with, we did seem able to collaborate.
‘So, that’s one down, then,’ Carter said. ‘One more as good as that, and we’ll win Regattle for sure.’
•
The next night, Sam turned up with the skeleton of a high-energy punk track he called ‘Cat and Mouse’, and by Saturday, both songs were close to ready. I was never going to feel confident about the Regattle, but at least I didn’t think we would embarrass ourselves. Ms Marney narrowed her eyes at me when I asked for my night pass and grilled me on the details of the movie I wasn’t going to be seeing, but she gave me the pass in the end. Sam forged his old music teacher’s signature from Reading Comprehensive on the competition application form.
The night before the Battle, we rehearsed into the early morning until the songs were smooth as stones. By the time Carter finally called a cigarette break, my hands were so cramped they felt like claws. While Richie and Carter lit up outside, Sam asked, ‘So, Liliana – who exactly is King Cutie when he’s at home?’
I glanced automatically towards the door, worried Carter could hear us, and Sam laughed. It was the first warm evening since I’d
arrived in England and the boathouse was humid.
‘You know what’s hilarious?’ said Sam. ‘He has absolutely no idea.’
I didn’t want to laugh, but couldn’t stop myself. The door opened and Carter and Richie whirled back in. ‘What’s so funny?’ Carter asked.
‘Shortest smoko in history,’ I said, dodging his question.
‘I only needed a quick hit.’ He threw his cigarettes into his guitar case.
‘Yeah, I’m sure you can stop anytime,’ I said.
He leaned across and put his palm flat against my forehead. ‘Shut up, you.’
I moved away. It wasn’t just that his hand smelled of tobacco. It was the easy movement, like he knew I wouldn’t flinch. It reminded me of the way he’d skimmed my blisters under the willow tree.
But it should have reminded me I wasn’t his to touch.
CHAPTER 9
On the night of the Battle of the Bands I walked across the old stone bridge to the town of Henley-On-Thames and waited for Sam to pick me up and drive us to Reading. Carter had deemed it too risky for us to leave the school together in Richie’s boat, especially as I was meant to be seeing a movie alone. I tugged my favourite tartan jumper – my birthday present from Ellie – down over my hands, working my thumbs into the holes I’d torn in the wrists, as Sam’s beaten-up station wagon pulled in.
He turned up the Doors on the stereo and sang along as he drove. When we passed a grey concrete tower block on the outskirts of town, he pointed it out and said, ‘That’s where I live.’
The block looked bleak and depressing, and I was uncomfortably aware that in a month I’d be returning to my own decent-sized house. Sam caught the look on my face and smiled. ‘It’s small, but it’s got a great view.’
It started to rain as we reached Reading Hall, a fine wet mist that seeped horizontally into our clothes. We joined a line of black-clad kids that snaked down the stone steps while a security guy checked everyone’s bag for booze. I held out my wrist to be stamped and side-eyed the list: Lady Stardust was towards the bottom.
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