by Alex Dyson
‘I said, AS IF YOU WOULD HAVE ASKED HER ANYWAY!’ Miralee yelled. A few people next to them stepped back. Miralee started chuckling. ‘I mean … you’re too scared to even talk to her, so don’t blame me.’
Caleb couldn’t think of a comeback. Miralee’s words had hit a nerve so deep he was rendered speechless. It was both the benefit and downside of having friends: they knew you so well that, when things turned sour, they knew exactly where to put the knife. He was shattered, and said the first thing his brain allowed: ‘Go have some more shots.’
Caleb turned and walked away.
‘Aw Caleb, don’t be a baby. Stop!’
Miralee’s parting words had the opposite effect. Caleb quickened his pace, pushing through the crowd back towards their booth. He was going back to Rachel. Going to tell her he wanted to go. Get away from the lights and the music and the drinks and the glare.
He reached an opening and saw Rachel there with Jai, their mouths connected. Kissing. Jai’s right hand on her arm.
Caleb stood for a moment, shocked. Anger was rising, and so were tears, so he put his sunglasses back on and turned towards the exit. The rooftop was at capacity now. The line for the bar and the dance floor were one thick organism that Caleb had to push through to escape. Escape from the two people he came with who, like others before them, had left him for better options. And just as he was in the epicentre of the crowd, it happened.
The chords started.
The chimes swelled.
The DJ was playing his song.
Playing ‘Ella’ to the whole rooftop.
Westlake, you make my chest ache
A cheer went up. Smiles surrounded him. But instead of feeling great, Caleb was filled with the most indescribable sense of isolation.
Everyone around him was laughing and dancing to his song. And yet he stood in the middle of it, completely alone. He’d offended his friend. He was a friend offender. His sister was more interested in his A&R guy. His mum had grounded him and his dad was dead. And he was on a random rooftop, wearing sunglasses at night like a cool idiot.
He had to get out.
Caleb used his elbows and feet like weapons, scuffing ankles and stepping on dresses. He finally made it back to where he thought the elevators were, but found some glass doors there instead.
Good enough.
He pushed through them and found himself in a corridor. It was pretty dark, but a light shone from beneath a door on his right. He shoved it open and a face looked up at him.
It couldn’t be –
7. That’s meant to be ‘modelling’, sorry. Bloody autocorrect.
CHAPTER 16
‘Hey.’ It was the simplest of things to say, but somehow, out of the man’s mouth, it seemed like the coolest of all things. He was sitting on a beige couch in what appeared to be a storage room. Fluorescent lights shone down on a stack of chairs in the corner, hidden away for future hotel functions or something. Caleb couldn’t reply.
‘Sorry, did you need something?’ the man said. ‘Am I not meant to be here?’
Caleb whipped his sunglasses off in case they were altering his vision, but the same man sat before him, calmly sipping a beer. He tried to answer, but was unable to generate words. They kept piling up behind his teeth, like branches against a bridge in a swollen river, until the bridge finally broke and they all tumbled out at once.
‘I’m doing you at school!’
‘Sorry. What?’
‘Um, I mean …’ Caleb took a deep breath. ‘I mean, I’m doing a project on you. At school. You’re … you’re Jake Townsend, right?’
He laughed. ‘I am, my friend.’ He looked at his phone, elbows on his knees. ‘Do you know that from my music, or the Tetris high-score board? ’Cos I am killing it tonight.’
Caleb laughed nervously. ‘Music.’ His heart was racing. He’d barely had time to take a breather after his argument with Miralee, and now here he was coping with running into a real-life version of one of his bedroom posters. Someone whose music he’d listened to for years. Whose songs had got him through some of the toughest moments of his life.
‘Thank you!’ Caleb blurted. Jake looked super confused. Caleb was sure he must have been weirding him out.
‘Uh – for what?’
‘Sorry, I’m nervous. I mean, thank you for your music. It really helped me through some … stuff this year.’
Jake looked into Caleb’s eyes, ignoring his phone for a moment. ‘Oh, man, I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine! I mean, well ... My dad died. But I’m okay. I think. It’s hard.’
Jake looked sympathetic. ‘Well, when things suck, it’s good to have something to turn to. I, for example, play Tetris. Wanna crack?’
And that is how Caleb Clifford – awkward, reserved, social outcast, sixteen-year-old Caleb Clifford – found himself sitting next to his Grammy Award-nominated music hero, fitting different block shapes into gaps for points. It was weird. It was as if, by stepping through that side door, he’d entered a different dimension. And sure, his hands were shaking so much that he lost the game almost immediately. But he was in the same room as JAKE. TOWNSEND. The screen said Game Over.
‘Close one, bro,’ Jake said, taking the phone back. ‘My turn.’
Caleb tried to think of a question befitting the situation. He thought of a bad one, but was so nervous that he accidentally asked it anyway. ‘So, um, why are you back here and not out at the party?’
Jake laughed. He laughed! ‘Look, I can only handle so much at these sorts of nights.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s hard to say. It’s an interesting mix of people trying really hard to have fun, or people trying really hard to look like they’re not having fun. It makes it weird. It’s one of the worst parts of being in the music industry.’
Jake seemed to have the opposite opinion to Jai. And if the pain still lingering in Caleb’s guts after his own experience was anything to go by, he was leaning towards Jake’s view of things.
‘But,’ Jake said, ‘the girl I’m on a date with needs to be here, so I came.’
‘How long have you guys been going out?’
‘Well, I guess you could say this is actually our first date.’
‘Oh. Cool … Do you think there’ll be another one?’
Jake laughed again. ‘Good question. I’m not sure, to be honest.’ He looked pensive. ‘So – what’s this project for? Like, uni or something?’
Caleb scoffed. ‘I wish. I’m in high school.’ He held up his wrist, the massive CHILD taking centre stage.
‘Woah, they really don’t want you drinking, hey?’
‘No. But yeah, the project is an analysis of a song. I’m doing “Turbulence”.’
‘Right, and what’s your analysis?’
Caleb took another deep breath. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Jake. ‘Well, it’s in the key of G minor.’
Jake laughed. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘And, it talks about being held back by … pressure?’
‘Oh, really? Which bit?’
Caleb felt his cheeks turning red. ‘Ah, the chorus? You know, it’s hard to fly, when you’re stuck in the sky …?’
‘Ha ha, yeah I guess …?
‘Oh, I’m sorry –’
‘Nah, don’t be sorry, I just wish it was that deep! It’s about a girl I met in Scotland one time. On the Isle of Skye. Her name was Ava, and we had a thing for a bit, but …’ Jake looked like was trying to find the right words, but settled on, ‘Y’know …’
Caleb didn’t know, but nodded anyway.
‘So yeah, put that in your project,’ Jake continued. Caleb laughed, but he was the only one laughing. Jake’s mood had shifted, and he now seemed … distant. Caleb didn’t like the silence, and suddenly felt compelled to share something, even though Jake probably wouldn’t care.
‘I wrote a song about a girl too.’
Jake seemed to snap out of his reverie. ‘O
h, nice one. What’s it called?’
‘It’s called “Ella”.’
‘And is that her real name?’
Caleb nodded.
Jake laughed. ‘Ah, bro – never use the girl’s actual name. That way, you can always deny who it’s about.’
‘That’s … so smart.’
‘Yeah, I’ve got so many about Ava, but she has no idea –’ Caleb could practically see Jake cursing himself. ‘Hey, chin up, mate, she’ll love it. I’ve got a record label, so let me know if you need help putting it out.’
This was surreal. Did Jake just say that? ‘Oh my god, thank you, but … I already have.’
Jake looked taken aback. ‘Oh jeez, sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. It’s just … you’re super young. But hey, that’s great! I’ll have to look it up. What’s your name?’
Caleb’s heart was beating out of his chest. ‘I’m Caleb. But, like, my artist name is Button. With a V instead of a U.’
‘Like CHVRCHES?’
‘Yes!’ Caleb said, a little too loudly. Probably because Jake was the first person in the world to actually get it.
‘Nice, man. I’ll definitely check it out.’
Caleb was equal parts amazed and scared. Amazed that Jake Townsend would listen to his music, but scared because he’d see just how much worse Caleb was than him. ‘Okay, but lower your expectations. You are so much better than me.’
‘My man, if I am, it’s only because I’ve been doing it longer. I think you’ll find I’ve written more shitty songs than good ones, so really, your average is probably a whole lot better than mine.’
‘I doubt it.’
Jake frowned. ‘Mate, you all down on yourself already? You’re meant to wait a few years for that.’
Caleb gave a half-smile, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know, it’s just … overwhelming.’
‘I get that.’ They sat in silence. ‘Look, I don’t want to be dishing out random advice or anything,’ Jake said eventually.
Caleb wanted him to.
‘And I’m the last person you should base anything on.’
Jake was the first person Caleb would base anything on.
‘But all I can say is – feel it.’
‘Feel it,’ Caleb parroted, nodding as if he understood.
‘Yeah. Emotions are useful, man. Ride that shit.’ Jake took another sip of his beer.
‘Sorry, what do you mean –’
The door to the storage room burst open, and Rachel poked her head in.
‘Caleb, oh my god – here you are. Come on, you need to help.’
‘But –’ Caleb wanted to stay, to keep talking to Jake Townsend, but Rachel hadn’t even realised she was in a storage room with one of the best musicians in the world. Instead, in a panic, she grabbed Caleb’s hand and dragged him away. Jake raised his beer in farewell.
‘Rach, can I just –’ Caleb pleaded. Rachel ignored him and tugged even harder at his sleeve.
‘Caleb – this is an emergency!’
CHAPTER 17
Caleb’s phone buzzed on his bedside table. It was the seventh time it had happened so far this morning, and the seventh time he’d ignored it. Instead, he decided to stay under his doona while memories of last night replayed in his head.
Rachel dragging him away from his hero.
Jake giving him a casual wave as he left.
Miralee limp in the arms of a burly security guard, like a pile of wet linen.
Jai arguing with a furious Tony Priestly about having his brand-new, expensive crocodile-skin shoes vomited on by a very small and very drunk fifteen-year-old.
The phone buzzed again, shifting ever so slightly and bumping into the oversized mirrored sunglasses Caleb had brought home as a souvenir.
He knew it was Miralee texting. It was the stream of consciousness that gave it away, the messages piling on top of each other. Also – she was pretty much the only person who ever texted him.
Caleb pushed his doona away and stared at the ceiling, picturing what her words would say. Vague apologies. Various excuses. Expressive tales of dramatic break-ups and the scientific studies of alcohol’s effects on individuals with a low body mass index. But he really didn’t feel like accepting apologies right now. Last night, Miralee had begged to be taken to Dana’s place, needing to avoid her parents’ house at all costs. So Rachel and Caleb had obliged, despite the fact that Miralee didn’t know which house was Dana’s. It was excruciating, involving some false starts and a very patient limo driver. Eventually, a confused Dana came out of her house in her pyjamas at midnight to take a stumbling Miralee inside. Dana seemed angry, and Caleb couldn’t blame her, because he was angry as well. But, as angry as he was at Miralee, he was even angrier at himself.
Angry because he’d had a chance to avoid the whole mess.
He’d been poised to invite Ella.
And he’d chickened out.
He’d tried to be nice and invite his friend, and all he’d got for his trouble was a night babysitting a drunk person who took it upon themselves to mock him.
All he could think about was how much better it would have been with Ella standing next to him. They could have talked. And laughed. And maybe even officially moved on from that awful first day at Riverview.
The phone vibrated again, ringing this time. It shuffled across the nightstand with each buzz, like a dog trying to get off its leash. Caleb grabbed it, noting MIRALEE KAHN on the screen.
He hit decline. He had to concede there was one positive from last night: if Ella had come along, maybe he would have been distracted and wouldn’t have found Jake Townsend hiding in a storage room. Maybe he wouldn’t have made his hero laugh. Maybe he wouldn’t have got help with his project, straight from the horse’s mouth. Maybe –
A knock at the door interrupted Caleb’s thoughts.
Nat poked his head in. He looked annoyed. ‘I can’t believe Mum let you out of the house last night.’
‘It was a work thing. Anyway, I wish she hadn’t …’
‘Why?’
‘Nothing,’ Caleb said, sitting up. ‘Why are you here?’
Nat shrugged. ‘I’m bored.’ He hovered, eyes flicking around the room, until his gaze landed on Caleb’s nightstand. ‘What are they?’ Nat said, motioning towards the large glasses. ‘Since when have you worn sunnies?’
‘I dunno. Since never. You can have them if you want.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, take them. Consider it an apology for knocking your tooth out.’
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. It was obvious that he thought it was some kind of trick. But it was also obvious that he wanted the sunglasses. He shuffled into the room and picked up the large, reflective, strawberry gold Isabella Manfredi Collection glasses.
‘How do they look?’ he said, placing them on his face.
Ridiculous, Caleb thought.
‘Good,’ Caleb replied.
‘Right, well … thanks. But this doesn’t make us even!’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’
Nat closed the door.
The doors remained closed on most of the Clifford family’s bedrooms that Sunday. To say it had been a big week would be an understatement. The solitude of his bedroom was incredibly comforting to Caleb after so much, well, socialising. His mum didn’t leave her bedroom for ages either. The post-nightshift hibernation was real, and after one late night, Caleb was getting his own insight into what a messed-up body clock felt like. He had a total of four naps that day. A new record. It was too good to last, however, and soon Monday reared its ugly head. By this stage, their mum had recovered enough to drive him and Nathaniel to school. As usual, Nat was in the front seat, wearing his new, large, somewhat feminine Italian sunglasses. He had his window down, the wind fluttering through his luscious long-backed locks as he adjusted his head-angle to take the perfect selfie.
‘Where did you get those glasses?’ Mum enquired. ‘They look … interesting.’
Caleb’s back stiff
ened. This could easily lead to a list of questions Caleb would be unable to answer.
‘Nowhere,’ was Nat’s mumbled reply.
This was quite miraculous. Nat never usually missed an opportunity to rat Caleb out. And, given Jai had told Monica Clifford they were going to a record-planning meeting, rather than a shade-sponsored booze fest, Caleb was vulnerable.
‘How did your meeting go on Saturday, Button?’
Caleb thought of Tony Priestly using the corner of a tablecloth to wipe Miralee’s spew chunks off his shoes. ‘It was fine.’
‘And what’s happening with the music stuff in general? Is that all going okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s all right.’
Their mum seemed underwhelmed with the answer. She was trying, but Caleb wasn’t giving her much. It was all he had the energy to offer. The car fell silent again, only interrupted by the sound of tyres on the road and the faint buzz of Caleb’s phone vibrating in his pocket.
He glanced at the screen. Another message from Miralee Kahn.
Talk to meeeee.
Caleb locked his phone and tucked it back into the depths of his pocket. He didn’t feel like talking to Miralee now. Or for the foreseeable future. He may not be as angry at her as Tony Priestly was, but there were certainly some metaphorical chunks of vom in the shoelaces of their friendship.
Caleb was so reluctant to see Miralee that, instead of going to Music, he did some private study in the library. It gave him a chance to work on his project without being asked what the Penguin from Phresh FM’s favourite colour was, and also to include the new bit of exclusive information he’d obtained on the weekend. Jake had finally given him something to talk about in his song analysis. He now even had a title: Turbulence – An electro-step ballad about failing love. Mr Hommelhoff was going to be pretty impressed. Caleb doubted that many other students would have firsthand quotes from the artist themself. ‘Sky, in this case, is a double entendre, intended to have dual meanings …’
Lunchtime came around, and Caleb was in his fourth-favourite sitting nook scrolling through Spotify. (He’d steered clear of his top three to avoid being found by a certain small, enthusiastic, probably still hungover someone.) Instead, he curled up behind the Art rooms, leaning against the wall with his earbuds in while refreshing his ‘Ella’ play count.