Song for Jess: Prelude Series - Part Two

by Meg Buchanan

  Song for Jess

  Prelude Series - Book Two

  Meg Buchanan

  Copyright © 2018 by Meg Buchanan.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Meg Buchanan /Junction Publishing - United Kingdom - New Zealand

  junctionpublishing@outlook.com

  www.junction-publishing.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the email address above.

  Song for Jess/ Meg Buchanan. -- 1st ed.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter One

  Isaac Coleman.

  What I Know.

  Friday 20th September.

  I leaned against the window sill in the art room and waited. It was lunchtime, and Cole and Luke were with me. All around us these canvases, with black and brown screaming faces, sat on easels. It felt like being in a forest of tortured trees, and, up front of the room, a print of the same sort of shattered face had been stuck to the whiteboard.

  Cole propped up the wall, and Luke hung over Tessa.

  He waved at the agony fest. “Which painting’s yours?”

  Tessa untangled herself, took his hand, and led him across the room to the best copy of the picture.

  Luke studied it. “Cool,” he said.

  Then Tessa pointed at the canvas beside hers. Different, still black and brown, but it looked like the face hadn’t been painted. “And this is Jess’s picture.” Jess had painted everything around the face, and this familiar face watched from the canvas with no scream.

  Luke sat on a desk and pulled Tessa close, so she was standing between his knees. “Not bad either,” he said about the painting then turned her head and kissed her. Her hair fell over their faces like a veil, Tessa’s hair blonde, Luke’s even blonder. A couple of days ago, he’d had his hair bleached white.

  I’d seen the Tessa/Luke thing before, so I watched Jess.

  That’s what I do. Watch Jess with her eyes the green-brown of a bush stream and her hair a sort of peanut butter and dark honey colour, flowing and curving softly.

  I watch her constantly. Yearningly. Thirsting.

  Jess’s hand touched her lips. Then she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When I’m anywhere near her, or even anywhere not near her, I think about what it would be like to have her touching me in that slow way. I feel her fingers in my hair, and her palm on my cheek. In my mind, I reach out and touch her, and she touches me back. I can feel her fingernails run down my chest.

  But, that day in the art room, I was invisible as usual. Jess and Tessa were meant to be in there. They’d been cleaning up. We weren’t. We were meant to be in the music room practicing.

  “Come on, Luke.” I pushed myself away from the windowsill. “Adam and Noah will be waiting for us.”

  Luke didn’t make any moves to leave. It was Tessa who pulled away, teasing, her hair and skirt flicking.

  “We’ve got to go too, don’t we, Jess? We’ve got netball.”

  Luke pulled her back. “Skip it. Stay here with us.”

  “No,” said Tessa. “You shouldn’t be here anyway. We’ll get in trouble. I’ll see you after school.”

  “Stay.” Luke ran his hand up Tessa’s leg.

  Tessa looked tempted.

  “We really have to go, Luke,” Jess said quietly. She’s always quiet. “The team will be waiting for us.” She walked to the door like she was drifting. She waited while Tessa disentangled herself again, but Jess still didn’t glance my way.

  Yep, that’s the way it always goes, I get blanked by Jess.

  After Jess and Tessa had gone, Luke hauled a joint out of his pocket. “You could try talking to her,” he said as he lit up. He’d mentioned that before. He took a puff, then handed the smoke over to Cole. “She likes you as much as you like her.”

  He hadn’t mentioned that before. Maybe Tessa told him, and maybe that’s why the face in Jess’s painting looked familiar.

  Cole was just about to pass the joint to me when Collins came into the art room. Collins is the school’s music teacher, and he didn’t look too pleased to find us sitting there.

  “Mr Coleman, Mr Reilly and Mr Davies,” said Collins. “May I ask what you’re doing here?” Cole palmed the joint. Even Collins must have been able to smell the smoke, but he chose to ignore it. I’ll give him that. Collins can be cool. Instead of a lecture about dope, we got an earful about loitering.

  “I’ve left the music room unlocked for you lot.” Collins has entered us in this battle of the bands, Smokefree thing. Smokefree. Bit of irony that, considering.

  Then he turned on me. “And you, Isaac, if you want to do something, do it.”

  I wasn’t exactly in a receptive mood after being blanked by Jess. Again. Despite what Luke thought or that painting with the familiar face. “Do what, sir?” I asked.

  “If you want to write, start writing.”

  “Write what, sir?”

  Collins walked to the door, irritated. “Write what you know.” Trust a bloody teacher to come out with a cliché.

  Luke eased himself off the desk. “Okay. Practice time.”

  I followed Luke and Cole out of the room. What had made Collins pick on me like that? Usually he was all right. He looks old and stuffy with a chicken neck and balding head, but, if you talk to him, he listens and doesn’t give advice until he’s thought a bit about the problem.

  It had to be that careers advice thing we’d all just been to. That questionnaire about our future careers. We all put rock star. I added ‘write lyrics for rock stars as my second choice.

  Teachers talk. I can imagine them in the staffroom.

  They didn’t take it seriously.

  Create an elite. What do you expect?

  They’ll get a shock next year.

  Put them out in the real world.

  Etc.

  Etc.

  But despite what the teachers might think, the rock star thing isn’t all fantasy. I’ve been having music lessons and doing music and theory exams for years. We all have. We can all play at least a couple of instruments. Well except for Cole. He can’t, but he plays those drums by instinct.

  After a couple of months to
gether, we aren’t too bad. That’s probably why Collins was so tetchy when he found us loitering when we were meant to be practicing. He thinks this year he might have a chance of winning.

  “Improving,” he says on a good day.

  But the question is, if those teachers had Sonny Bill Williams in their classes and he’d put professional league player would the reaction have been the same?

  Some dreams you’re allowed. And if I want to do something, I get to do it. If I‘d wanted to fly to the moon, by age six I would’ve been taking astronaut lessons. Now I can make the violin weep, the guitar sob, the piano talk of lives unfulfilled.

  And the music makes everything tolerable. Even the way I feel about Jess. Like she could have my soul if she wanted it.

  But she can’t see me. Total invisibility.

  “Try talking to her,” Luke suggested.

  “Easier said than done,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  When we got to the music room, Luke left his guitar leaning against a chair and just stood there. Cole’s drum set glistened at the back of the room. We could hear the other kids outside. The silence inside closed around us like you could shatter it with a note, a chord, or a drum beat, and it hovered over us, threatening, like slivers of glass.

  Adam and Noah were sitting on a couple of desks mucking around with their guitars. Noah’s got red hair and has freckles. Adam is dark-haired like Cole. They were settled in and didn’t look like they were up for a real practice. I got my violin out of its case and started making sure it was in tune, but no one else moved to do anything.

  “We need somewhere to practice,” said Luke. It was a good idea.

  “There’s a shed at home no one uses much,” I suggested.

  “How big?” asked Luke like he had plenty of options to choose from.

  “Huge.”

  “Would your olds let us use it?” asked Cole.

  “I’ll ask. Let you know tomorrow.” I put the violin back in its case. Lunchtime was almost over anyway. Too late to practice.

  “Anyone up for a practice after school?” asked Luke.

  “Nah. Gotta work,” said Cole, and that was the end of that idea.

  After school, I was waiting for the bus, and Collins was on his way to the crossing to do road patrol. He must have been planning on finding me because he came over and gave me a DVD and a notebook he’d been carrying around.

  “Have a look at this.” Collins nodded at the DVD.

  It didn’t look promising. For a start it was a DVD, and who bothers with those these days? And on the cover an old guy in a black hat and crumpled suit leaned into the microphone like he was making love to it. The title said, Leonard Cohen, the London Concert.

  “Who’s he? Never heard of him,” I said.

  “One of the greatest poets of this generation. And use that.” Collins nodded at the notebook.

  I flicked through the pages. Just lines, not a word written on them.

  The bus dropped me off at the gate, and Mum was in the kitchen. “How was school?” She was really asking how practice went. I’m living her dream.

  “Great. Do you think Dad would let us use the old shed to practice in?”

  “I’m sure he would.” Mum smiled like all her dreams were coming true.

  I went to my room, put the journal on the desk, found a pen. And here I am, writing what I know.

  Chapter Two

  Sunday 22nd September

  Yesterday, we took over the shed. We cleared it out and made a stage. We used a few spare pallets we got off Luke’s dad.

  When we’d finished setting things up, Luke stood on the edge of the pallet stage. “What are we called?” he asked. We’d already discussed this a fair bit

  “Arena?” Cole suggested again. For some reason Cole wanted Arena.

  “Nah, already taken, I checked.” Adam played a few chords on his guitar and looked at the tuner on his phone.

  “What about Stadium?” said Noah. “It’s the same sort of thing.”

  Luke nodded. “That’ll work.”

  “Yep,” says Cole. “I can live with that.”

  It was decided, we were Stadium. We spent the rest of the day practicing.

  Thursday 3rd October

  At school today, Tessa said she wanted to come and watch.

  “Can I bring Jess?” she asked.

  Jess looked sceptical. “Are they any good?”

  “Come and see,” said Luke.

  “Tomorrow, Jess’s brother Denis is going to drop her and Tessa off here,” said Luke. “He’ll pick them up later.”

  Did you know girls travel in pairs if they’re nervous? That’s something I’ve learned.

  As soon as I knew Jess was coming, I talked the guys into playing “How You Remind Me” by Nickleback because it had some cool guitar in it, and I could act all interesting and deep while I was singing.

  “You don't need to try that hard,” said Luke. “She likes you, or she wouldn't be coming.”

  “I haven’t seen any signs.”

  Luke just snorted and shook his head.

  Tuesday 8th October

  At lunchtime today, I was sitting on a bench near the quad, elbows on my knees, backpack on the ground. I was fiddling with the strap of the pack waiting for Luke. He’d shot off somewhere to find Tessa.

  A girl walked slowly towards me, the sun at her back, just an outline, shoes, legs, body, skirt. I shaded my eyes and Jess came into focus, all pleated skirt and legs long forever.

  “Hi Isaac,” she said.

  “Hi Jess.”

  She sat down. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for Luke.”

  “Are you practicing today?”

  I nodded. And my soul threw itself at her. In the stillness, it curved down and whispered, “Say something. Anything. For once. Ask her about coming to watch practice today. Anything.”

  The silence paused.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  After a while she stood again. She tucked her hair back and smoothed the pleats of her skirt. “I have to go.” She waited a little longer.

  I nodded. “See you, Jess.” Pathetic.

  Then she turned up at the shed with Tessa. I’d only seen her in school uniform before. But in jeans. Fuck. But we didn’t talk. I couldn’t make the words. She didn’t make any words either. She just watched. At least she didn't do that giggling and nudging thing that girls do to make fun of you.

  She didn’t say anything though.

  At all.

  She left without a word.

  “She’s waiting for you talk to her,” said Luke like a broken record. Then he sat on the edge of the stage again. “Now, we need a look.”

  “I’ve got a look,” said Cole. He never bothered much about what he wore. Boots, jeans and black T-shirt suited him.

  “Not me. I’m not dressing up either,” said Noah.

  “No,” said Adam.

  So basically, Luke’s idea got shot down by everyone except me. Luke was right. I needed a look.

  Monday 14th October

  Last night when I sloped through the lounge, Mum was watching American Idol and there’s this guy on TV. All styled hair, heavy makeup, leather pants, and long coat. You need to visualize goth meets Matrix, to get the picture. I studied him. I wasn’t too keen on the bare feet. I thought he should’ve gone with boots, but it was a good look.

  I went to my room and Googled the guy. I’d never heard of him. Probably why he was on American Idol. I printed off his publicity shot and took it to the hairdresser. She had her hair dyed red and piled on top of her head. She stared from the photo to me and back, looking doubtful.

  “You want to be on American Idol?” she asked. But she went to college too and had heard the rumours. “You one of Collins’ crew this year?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She studied the photo again. Her eyes flicked, me, photo, me, photo.

  “I guess you’r
e not bad looking,” she said after a while. “Nice eyes, grey, unusual, should work.” She studied me again, then the photo, then the top of my head, then the photo. She was acting superior under that fountain of red hair.

  “You got a GHD?” she asked.

  “A what??”

  “Hair straightener.”

  “No. How much?”

  “Three hundred and fifty dollars,” she said, going to the glass shelf near the counter, picking up this black bag and pulling out what looked like an electric bread knife.

  “Three fifty?”

  “Yeah.”

  I thought about that for a while. “Mum’s got a blow drier.”

  “No good, you won’t get the look with a blow drier.”

  I shrugged. There was no way I was spending three fifty on a hair straightener. That would take every bit of grandparent Christmas and birthday money I had saved up. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay.” She got to work on the hair. After an hour and a half, my hair was straight and dyed black with a long fringe over my eyes.

  She hovered over little tubes and pots like an artist then waved this wand thing around.

  “I’ll use the smoky velvet. Should work with grey eyes.”

  She got to work. When she was finished, it wasn’t me there behind the mirror with a long fringe like a curtain and eyes smoky velvet. It was Zac Coleman, singer, songwriter, future rock star.

  I bought the GHD.

  Tuesday 15th October

  “For goodness sake, Isaac,” said Mum at the breakfast table. “You’re not going to school looking like that.”

  Dad just looked up from his newspaper and studied me as I sat down with the muesli packet.