by Melissa Keil
People wave at Joshua. He says hello to a few guys, who do that back slap thing I’ve seen boys do. I’ve never pictured Joshua as a back-slapping, fist-bumping guy guy. It’s a little bit troubling that I’ve managed to miss this component of his character.
He steers me through the whirlwind of people and smoke, the fingertips of one hand lightly on my back. I feel predictably queasy, like my insides are stretched too tight beneath my skin; it’s taking every stress-response technique in my book to keep me from fleeing.
Joshua stops every few moments to shake hands or kiss someone on the cheek, but I can see in my peripheral vision that he is keeping one eye on me. He introduces me to everyone but doesn’t linger, always keeping us moving, that hand never straying from my back. Inadvertently, I find myself storing names and faces alongside random bits of trivia, but mostly, I can’t tear my eyes away from Joshua.
The silent, ghost-like boy from St Augustine’s is totally in his element here, swarming in a sea of goodwill and friends. He smiles warmly at everyone, and people smile warmly at him; he never looks lost for something to say. This person could never be invisible in the back of a classroom. This Joshua stands out, like a cosmic spotlight is following him. I wonder how I ever saw otherwise.
He touches my elbow and points across the room to a messy-haired boy who’s attempting to manoeuvre another huge speaker out from behind the bar. ‘That’s Jasper. This is his place,’ he says near my ear. ‘He’s pretty cool, though he can come across a bit more … aggressive than he actually is. I should warn you, if this is gonna end up being one of his all-nighters, he will be throwing furniture off the second storey at some stage.’ I look up at Joshua in alarm, but his face just looks amused. ‘Just don’t bring up anything to do with Leonard Cohen. Or Bill Callahan, or Nick Cave,’ he says. ‘Actually, maybe just avoid talking music with him if you want to escape with your sanity intact.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind. Joshua, how the hell do you know all these people?’
He shrugs. ‘Around. Here and there. Work and, you know. Places.’ He grins.
A giant with more arm tattoos than I have ever seen grabs Joshua around the neck in a chokehold and plants a noisy, wet kiss on his cheek. I’m guessing this is an example of beer-fuelled party affection, and probably not unusual for this group. Though I really want to hand him a tissue for the shiny spot of lipstick that she has left on his face.
‘Hello, Amy,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘Um, Sophia, this is Amy, my boss.’ He extricates himself and wipes the back of his hand pointedly across his cheek.
‘Well hey there,’ she says. She looks back and forth between Joshua and me, blue hair bouncing across the shoulders of a hairy fur coat. Then she smiles at me. It’s a kinder sort of smile than I expected from someone so blustery. I smile back tentatively.
‘So how goes it, Ames?’ Joshua says. He straightens out his shirt and angles his body a little in front of me.
‘Just dandy,’ she replies. ‘Oh, hey, I almost forgot to tell you, I sold that Walt Sheppard box today – that’s this crazy expensive collectable piece that’s been gathering dust in the display cabinet,’ she says to me. ‘Yeah, some chick with a Sheppard obsession actually paid the whole fifteen hundred for it –’
She freezes, her beer bottle dangling over Joshua’s shoulder. It takes me a second to register that the music has changed from something with crashing cymbals and wailing guy vocals, to soft violins and wailing girl vocals.
‘What?’ Joshua says as he attempts to remove himself, again, from her arms.
‘Nothing. I just … like this song. Jesus, I think I told him that.’
She stares, stone-faced, across the room. Messy-haired guy, the future furniture-thrower, gives her a wave before turning back to a wall of records. ‘Like, what’s Jasper’s problem?’ Amy growls.
Joshua gives me a pained look. ‘I dunno, Amy,’ he says. ‘It’s a mystery. But you know what? You could always just cross this little ol’ room and ask him.’
Amy all but bares her teeth. ‘I’m gonna get drunk,’ she mutters. ‘Nice meeting you, chick,’ she says before vanishing into the dark.
‘Do I want to ask what that was about?’
Joshua shakes his head. ‘It’s complicated. Actually, you know what? It really isn’t.’ He gestures to Jasper and then nods his head at Amy’s retreating back. ‘Those two? They’re stubborn idiots.’
Before I can ask any follow-up questions, something catches his eye across the room. He straightens, tucking his hair back and doing that wiggly shoulder move that I have come to recognise means he is bracing himself.
‘Hey hey!’ a melodic voice calls out. ‘You’re here!’
A girl shoves her way towards us, waving madly. She’s wearing a silky red dress with a billowy skirt, and a pair of heavy purple boots that everything in my limited fashion vocabulary tells me should not be worn with a dress.
‘Hey, Camilla,’ Joshua says. He gives her a hug. ‘Yeah, we made it.’
I can tell right away that she’s one of those bubbly, confident girls, the ones who instantly make my skin feel all clumsy and askew. The type of girls I have gone out of my way to avoid since I was old enough to realise how they see me, the ones who give each other smug side-eyes when I say something weird, or call me ‘cute’ in a way that even I know is supposed to be patronising. I can only imagine the things Elsie would have to say about this shiny, smiley girl.
I try not to shrink, instead transferring my attention over her shoulder. She’s dragging a guy behind her, a tall boy with blond hair and a small, nice smile. He leans around her and shakes Joshua’s hand, then peers curiously at me.
‘Hey guys,’ Joshua says casually. He looks at me. ‘These are my friends, Sam and Camilla. Sam, Camilla, this is my … friend. From school.’ He pauses, and something in the pause makes me inexplicably nervous. ‘This is Sophia,’ he finishes.
I’m not sure of the catalyst for the events that follow. There are too many people in my vicinity, and all of them seem to suddenly engage in a series of rapid, senseless actions.
The girl in the red dress – Camilla – snaps her eyes to me. For a brief moment she stares, agape. Then she lunges forward, as if she’s going to hug me, but stops at the last moment. She gives me another huge smile and an enthusiastic wave instead. ‘Hey! Ah, welcome! It’s really nice to meet you, Sophia.’
The blond guy behind her – Sam – and Joshua seem to be engaging in some obtuse, silent communication above my head, mainly consisting of eyebrow quirks. Then Camilla turns to Sam, her eyes widening, then narrowing, before flicking to somewhere over his shoulder. He clears his throat.
‘Ah, yeah. I’ll be over there,’ Sam says, before bolting in the direction of the bar.
I turn my back on them so only Joshua fills my view. ‘Have you been saying stuff about me?’
Joshua’s cheeks turn crimson. ‘Um. I may have mentioned you. Once or twice. It’s nothing more ominous than that, I promise.’
‘Bollocks,’ Camilla mutters.
My whole body tenses, but when I turn around, it’s not us that she is looking at.
Sam is at the bar, next to a short guy who appears to be wearing one of those curly novelty clown wigs. Sam leans down, gesturing frantically as he talks in the short guy’s ear.
Camilla shoots Joshua a look. His face seems, I think, pained yet resigned. Sam and the other guy walk back towards us.
The short guy stops in front of me. ‘Hello,’ he says solemnly. ‘My name is Adrian. I’ve heard nothing about you at all. Can I ask, what is your name?’
Behind him, Sam clears his throat. And I could swear he surreptitiously pokes curly-haired guy in the back of the head with an elbow.
‘Hey, man,’ Joshua says, shaking the guy’s hand. ‘How’s it going, Adrian?’
Adrian’s eyes are zeroed in on me, his round face alive with a thousand expressions. He’s standing way inside the zone of my personal space, and I can’t tell if he ha
s been dancing or running, but he is also sweating profusely.
Then I notice the picture on his T-shirt.
I point at it. ‘Doctor Who?’
He beams, a wide smile that makes him sort of cute-ish. ‘Hell yeah,’ he says, stepping even closer. ‘Did you watch the last behind-the-scenes special? Man, did you wanna give Moffat a slap in the nads, too?’
I let out a small chuckle, even as I move backwards. ‘Um, okay – yes, and, well, maybe, a few times.’
Adrian looks like he’s about to explode, but then Sam grabs him by the neck of his T-shirt and hauls him away.
‘Sorry. He’s not housebroken. We’re trying, but it’s like wrangling a puppy with ADHD.’
Camilla jabs Sam in the ribs. ‘Don’t be mean. We’re just all really excited to meet you, Sophia,’ she says.
Three smiling faces stare at me with various levels of intensity. And I am struck with a sudden blinding insight into the possible fate of Grigori Perelman. Perhaps it was simply this – one ill-advised foray into the world, one Smirnoff-soaked Steklov Institute bash, one excruciatingly awkward, inept exchange with other humans, that broke his peculiar brain.
Fact: Three perfectly nice, normal-ish people are waiting for me to speak, and the prospect of retiring to a Russian hovel with the cockroaches seems increasingly appealing.
I back up a few paces, having rapidly reached the end of my small-talk reserves, only to discover that Joshua has disappeared. I cast my eyes around frantically and see him moving hurriedly back through the crowd.
He is carrying two plastic cups, and hands one to me as he reaches my side. ‘Just Sprite,’ he says. ‘I assumed you wouldn’t want booze, although maybe that was a crappy assumption. I mean, I don’t drink, but I’m not judgey, and there’s plenty of other stuff if you want, beer or –’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, taking a long sip as Joshua’s friends drift into their own huddle. I use the lemonade and conversational reprieve to attempt to pull myself together. ‘I’m not sure either of us wants to see the effect alcohol has on me. Have you seen that YouTube clip of Mr Grayson? I’m assuming I would be something like that. But with less splitting the crotch of my pants, hopefully.’
He gapes at me. ‘Ms Reyhart! Was that a joke at your own expense?’ He grins. ‘I don’t see you being a sloppy drunk. Or a crying drunk. Oh, clearly you stopped watching that vid way too soon,’ he says with a laugh at my no-doubt quizzical expression. ‘Just wait till he drops his kebab.’
The music changes to something that sounds like it was made in an atomic testing ground, rendering further conversation impossible. Joshua and I lean against the back of a couch and watch the melee in strangely companionable silence. For the first time all night, I feel the sharp tension in my shoulders begin to ebb.
Joshua drifts into conversation with his friend Sam. His eyes keep floating back to me, so I do my best to give him a reassuring smile. But then I am bailed up by Camilla, who lands beside me in a pouf of red skirt and looks at me expectantly.
I fidget with the zip on my jacket. It’s hot in here, and sweat is starting to pool at the base of my spine. I slip the coat off, but immediately regret it. I feel exposed, uninteresting and pedestrian in my plain dress. I hug the jacket to my chest and hope that Camilla will take pity on me and find someone else to talk to.
‘So. Joshua said they’ve made you take Drama? Man, that must be all kinds of sucky.’
I blink at her suspiciously. ‘No-one forced me. But it’s not my favourite thing in the world, no.’
Camilla doesn’t seem fazed by my abruptness. She sips her beer. ‘I’ve tried it,’ she says, her plummy accent carrying over the noise. ‘People kept telling me the only cure for stage fright was to just get up and do it. As if fear can be cast out, like Merrin casting the demon –’ She giggles. ‘Sorry. My boyfriend’s bad influence. But yeah, I made myself do this play – I was Molly the orphan in Annie, Marylebone Primary’s end-of-year extravaganza.’ She shudders. ‘Seriously, all it did was guarantee that stage lights now give me PTSD. And proved that the best use for an Annie wig is as an improvised puke bucket.’
I take a moment to evaluate this person, who seems a thousand miles away from introverted. ‘So what you’re saying is, you should have just stayed in your comfort zone?’ I say cautiously.
Camilla shrugs. ‘Not exactly. But jeez, I’ve never understood how being forced into a situation where you’re possibly going to pee your pants is supposed to make you less freaked. Do things when you’re good and goddamned ready, I say.’
I sigh. ‘What’s so wrong with living in a bubble?’
Camilla is watching me closely. ‘I know, right? Like, everyone should want to be front and centre, belting out a song at the Grammys or collecting their Oscar or Nobel –’
‘Well, maybe a Nobel wouldn’t be the worst thing –’
‘But maybe not everyone is supposed to be a superstar!’ she says, spilling some beer as she gestures emphatically. ‘Maybe some of us are perfectly happy writing music for superstars to sing.’
I stare at her curiously. ‘Then again – what’s the point in doing anything extraordinary unless other people can see it?’ She laughs. It’s light, I think, not belittling. ‘Ah, is that the whole does-a-tree-falling-in-the-woods-make-a-sound-if-no-one’s-around-to-hear-it thing? Or, like, that dude with the dead cat in a box? I never understood his whole deal. Something isn’t really a thing unless someone’s observing?’
I smile. ‘That’s … kind of accurate, actually.’
I look across the room again. Joshua is laughing at something Adrian is saying. Sam’s hands are covering his face, but he seems to be laughing too.
Joshua looks happy. Comfortable, safe in his own skin, some other, better version of himself. His hand is wrapped casually around his cup, not tapping or fidgeting or any of his other anxious tells. And even though I can’t hear him, somehow I know that there isn’t a hint of a lisp in his voice. He fits in here. The realisation makes me feel inexplicably dejected.
‘Hey,’ Camilla says softly. ‘It’s quieter out back. You know, if you need … space?’
I clutch my jacket. ‘Does everyone here know that I’m a giant freak?’
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is gentle. ‘Trust me, Sophia. There isn’t a single person here who I’d classify as normal.’
Joshua drifts back. Camilla touches my arm briefly before she walks away.
‘Okay?’ he asks.
I look around. Adrian now appears to be demonstrating some kind of Sontaran battle manoeuvre to a tiny blonde girl. The two beanie-guys from outside, now hand-in-hand, have joined them.
‘Your friends are nice, Joshua. But, maybe I could use some air …’
He leans across the space and taps Sam on the shoulder almost before I have finished speaking. ‘Hey, we’ll see you guys later, okay?’ Then he steers me towards the rear of the bar-house.
It’s darker here, the music muffled. The huddles are smaller, the conversation more subdued.
Joshua makes a beeline for an orange sofa. Beer boxes are stacked in front of it, forming a wonky partition.
‘Are you really okay?’ he asks as we sink into the soft couch, side by side.
I’m fleetingly waylaid by a vision of the damp park bench on the edge of the school grounds; I can’t explain why, but this parallel-universe situation makes me feel even more unmoored.
‘I’m fine. This is … fun?’
Joshua nods. ‘Sure. Now tell me how you really feel.’
Suspicious-smelling smoke hangs above us, so thick that if I stand, I suspect my face would be obscured by the cloud. ‘Your friends are great, Joshua. But I don’t think I make a very good first impression. Or second impression.’ I sneak a glance at him, but his face is infuriatingly indecipherable. ‘You make it look so easy. You’re good with people. I didn’t think … I don’t know why you don’t use that skill set at school.’
Joshua seems nonplussed. ‘You go there with t
he same people I do, right? Okay, maybe our entire year level isn’t made up of douchebags, but most of them aren’t interested in people like us.’ He shrugs. ‘Why would I waste my time?’
My brain flickers over the ‘people like us’ comment, but I’m not sure what to do with it. Instead, I lean backwards, the couch doing its best to swallow me whole. Joshua mirrors my posture, long legs stretched out. He is doing that thing he does, watching me without expectation, waiting for me to reply.
‘How had I been at school with you for so long and never heard you speak?’ I blurt. ‘Clearly you’ve mastered the whole talking-to-strangers thing. You don’t ever seem to run out of words.’
Joshua laughs. ‘Most of the time that’s just patter.’
‘What?’
‘Patter. You know.’ He turns on the couch and crosses his legs. I lean against the smelly cushions, tucking my feet sideways. A crisp deck of cards materialises in his hand. He taps it against his knee, then proceeds to shuffle it in an elaborate move that I recognise from my research as a riffle shuffle.
‘Okay, so, it’s like this,’ he says as the cards flutter through his fingers. ‘The most difficult part of close-up magic is managing your audience’s attention. Unless you’re one of those stage dudes who relies on a half-naked assistant or some doped-up tigers or whatever – and I think you know how I feel about them – well, you only have a couple of options.’
He holds the deck flat in his left palm and cuts it cleanly in half with the fingers of the same hand. The two halves pivot around each other, expertly guided by just his fingertips. Then he uses his index finger to flick one half of the deck up. The Queen of Hearts’ severe face peers out at me. ‘One – you can use your hands and movements to direct the eye where you want it to go.’ He cuts the deck again, using a finger to spin the two halves over themselves a couple of times. He flutters the cards from his left hand to his right, a rapid waterfall that lands in a perfect deck. He turns the bottom of the deck up towards me. The Queen of Hearts gazes out at me again.