by Kat Colmer
Polly-Annie chuckles. ‘We must have watched that movie a dozen times, right, Luke?’
Right, so that’s how it is. Things might be over for Luke, but that sweet and sorrowful longing in her eyes is proof Polly-Annie hasn’t given up on their relationship yet.
‘Speaking of Rosie, she mentioned Mrs Bowers has broken her wrist and you might need someone to accompany you during her upcoming concert?’ Annie steps closer. ‘I’m happy to help.’
Luke starts his frantic cup tapping again. ‘Um, there’s no need for you—’
‘I want to. It’ll be like old times.’ Annie’s hand finds Luke’s bicep and he freezes. The anguished panic flooding his eyes ignites an unfamiliar burn inside my chest, and before I know what I’m doing …
‘It’s all sorted. I’ve already told Luke I’d play.’
I’m not sure who the lie surprises more: me or Luke. Okay, maybe Luke, because he’s stopped his tapping and stares at me.
‘I know the piece from Friday, and we’ll have plenty of time to practise what with meeting up for tutoring at least twice a week, so …’ I slide Luke what I hope is a meaningful look, but he continues his goldfish impersonation. Come on, Drummer Boy, I’m trying to give you an out. Work with me here. I sidle closer and, making sure Polly-Annie can’t see my hand, pinch him on the back of the thigh.
He flinches awake. ‘Yeah, all sorted. MJ’s already offered.’ Luke’s eyes are still a confused green when he glances my way, but his shoulders are floating away from his earlobes, shedding tension with each downward millimetre.
The corners of Polly-Annie’s mouth follow a similar trajectory. ‘Well, if anything changes—’
‘It won’t,’ I say and, in full view of everyone, especially Polly-Annie … I grab Luke’s hand.
What are you doing? What are you doing? What. Are. You. Doing?
Not putting the girl out of her misery, that’s for sure. The moment her gaze drops to our hands, the sorrow swamps the sweet in her expression, and for a blink of her glistening eyes, I feel her pain. But I’m not here for her. I’m here for Luke. Although I’m well aware he might not come showering me with thanks since I’ve just given Polly-Annie the impression I’m her replacement. But what was I meant to do?
‘We better go. We should look over the last section of your notes again.’ I tug on his hand, still warm and solid in mine. Maybe he’s okay with my impromptu decision to thrust us into this make-believe relationship. I risk a peek at his face and … then again, maybe not.
‘Yeah, we should head,’ Luke says. I try not to squirm too much under his glare; I didn’t know parakeet green could darken so dangerously. But his hand stays sitting in mine, even if he is squeezing my fingers a tad tightly.
He gives Annie a brief goodbye smile, then tugs me through the herd of tea-and-coffee-sipping churchies towards the front doors. I catch sight of Zac halfway to the exit. When he spots us, his brow creases, then lifts when he registers our joined hands. I have no idea what the speculative gleam in the preacher boy’s eyes means, but it’s making me squirm all over again.
Two seconds later Luke has dragged me out of the building.
Luke
What If?
I keep my mouth shut as I drag MJ round the side of the Crossroads building to the car park. I need a moment to sort the confusing emotions banging around in my head. What was she thinking, sliding her hand into mine back there in front of Annie? No matter how dense the girl is when it comes to non-verbal communication, saying she’d accompany me at the concert then grabbing my hand screamed ‘girlfriend’. By the time my blindsided brain figured it might be a good idea to let go, it was too late; Annie had heard the unspoken message loud and clear.
At first I was annoyed—for about five seconds—then it struck me: this was MJ trying to help. And after harping on about how ridiculous the idea of the two of us is, this was MJ stepping out of her comfort zone—for me. The way Annie was tripping down memory lane, every intention of coaxing me along for the journey, I should be thanking MJ for sparing me the painful ride. I don’t want to hurt Annie any more than I already have, but I shouldn’t have to hide my new girlfriend. Whoa! MJ is not your new girlfriend.
Like she said, the idea is ridiculous. We’d never work. She’s way too uptight and I’m not off-the-scale intelligent, efficient or driven enough. Doesn’t matter that we locked into one another like a perfect fifth during the drum circle rehearsal, or that her surprised laugh spread through me like warm honey when she finally bowled a strike yesterday. She’d never see me as someone who could push her to her full potential and—hold up one damn minute! Why am I even thinking about this?
We get to the station wagon and, after a quick scan of the car park, I pull her around to face me. ‘Back there, with Annie, thanks, but that wasn’t the best way to handle things.’
‘Yes, well, I know you didn’t want to give the impression that we were, you know, together.’ She peers up at me, moonless midnight tinged with wariness, just a little. ‘But you looked like you needed some help, is all.’
I nod. ‘And I appreciate your effort, it’s just that …’ Now Annie, and possibly all of Crossroads, will think I’m dating this complex, smart and—okay, kinda cute—little hedgehog, and I’m freaking out, because somewhere along the line the idea stopped being as ridiculous to me as it is to MJ.
‘It’s only been six months,’ I say instead. ‘Since I broke it off. It’s still raw.’
‘For her or for you?’
My brows shoot up. ‘What do you think?’ How can she even ask that after my awkward as hell reunion with Annie just now?
MJ shrugs and adjusts her bag strap with her free hand, because I’m still holding on to her other one.
We both look down at our clasped hands. When MJ’s gaze next meets mine, there’s a question in her huge eyes. Yeah, if only I had the answer.
I let go of her hand and am rattled by how much I miss the warmth of her small fingers as they slide from mine. So much so I scramble for something—anything—else to take my mind off the feel of her skin against mine. ‘Back there, about playing at Rosie’s concert, was that a genuine offer or just for Annie’s benefit?’ Because if Rosie has her facts straight, I still need to replace Mrs Bowers.
Both MJ’s hands are now on her bag strap, one of them sliding up, then down the thin leather material. ‘For Annie’s benefit but …’ the up and down stops and she blinks up at me. ‘It can be genuine, if you want.’
MJ playing at Rosie’s concert—with me. If I want. ‘Yeah.’ I nod before my brain has fully processed the offer. ‘That’d solve my problem. Thanks.’
MJ shrugs. ‘It makes sense. It’s a practical solution, what with me seeing you anyway for the tutoring and all.’
I fish my car keys out of my pocket and open the passenger door for her, trying to ignore the strange surge of … something at the idea of spending more time with her.
As she says, it’s practical. It makes sense. And it has me smiling well into the next day.
MJ
A Sunday Goodbye
Luke pulls up beside my Honda in the university car park after 5.30. ‘Sorry we’re cutting it close.’ He kills the engine and turns to me with an apology in his smile. ‘Rosie’s been strange lately about me leaving on Sundays. She must really like you to let us go when she did, and without much of a fuss.’
‘It’s okay. I should make curfew in time.’ Besides, I enjoyed spending the afternoon with Luke and Rosie. I insisted on a serious cram session after church, but the card games after that were fun, even the Fifty-Two Pick Up Luke tricked me into. I had it coming, Rosie said. What did I expect, after polishing off half Luke’s ice cream. But the guy left the bowl unguarded while he went to the bathroom. What did he expect?
He had his revenge on the way back here. The two hours of trailer park music were bearable—just—but then Unchai
ned Melody started on the radio and he refused to change the station. Instead, he sang along in a key not known to the human ear. And yet you can’t stop smiling about it.
It’s cold out, the sky spitting an icy drizzle, but I’m wide awake, strangely warm and buoyed in a way I haven’t been since … I can’t remember when.
Luke doesn’t seem to mind the spittle either. His lanky pace, usually an effort for me to keep up with, is unrushed as he walks me around to the driver’s side of my car. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night then?’
‘Sure.’ Monday night equals chemistry tutoring. ‘We need to figure out a time to practise for the concert too.’
I’m still amazed I agreed to the whole thing, but really, it’s no big deal. I can play the piece semi-comatose, and if I’m honest, it won’t be a chore going up to his place for another weekend. With any luck we might get another game of bowling in. I have little chance of beating Rosie, but with some practise, I might just whip Drummer Boy’s backside for real.
I dig around my bag for my car keys while Luke pulls his hands out of the pockets of his hoodie, then slides them back in again as though not sure what to do with them. ‘Wish me luck for tomorrow, yeah?’
His make-up test. I almost forgot. ‘You won’t need luck. You’ve got this. It’s all up here.’ I tap a finger to my temple.
‘Hope you’re right.’ He flashes me a smile, but it’s wobbly on its feet.
His lack of confidence has me reaching out, grabbing his arm and squeezing. ‘I’m seldom wrong.’
The gleam in his parakeet greens has every right to be condescending, but it isn’t. It’s warm and inviting—like the solid muscle under my fingers. I snatch my arm from Luke’s bicep and grab hold of the cold, damp strap of my messenger bag to steady me.
‘You’ll do fine.’ I nod resolutely. He’ll do better than fine. I feel it in my bones.
This time his smile is more assured, but after what I learned about him and his reason for studying chemistry over the weekend, I suspect it’s purely for my benefit. He turns for his car and I realise there’s something else I want to say.
‘Luke!’
He looks back, lanky form stopping between my car and his.
I take a shaky breath and grip the bag strap tighter. ‘I had a good time.’
He’s too far away for me to see his eyes, but his smile is brighter than the car park light he’s standing under, and wholly genuine. A sudden restlessness sends me climbing into my car, backing out, and heading for the boarding house with a last wave in his direction.
A quarter of an hour later, I sign in and rush up the stairs to my room, the palm that gripped Luke’s arm still channelling a mega case of pins and needles.
The tingles are forgotten the moment I step into my room and find Sandy sitting cross-legged on her bed.
‘Hey.’ She looks up from the Virginia Woolf text she’s reading. ‘How was your weekend?’ She’s smiling, but it’s tentative, like the memory of our fight over Luke and the tutoring is still weighing the corners of her mouth down.
I dump my bag on my bed and tug the emergency jumper I bought on the weekend over my head, so Sandy doesn’t see my face. ‘Same old. I did some reading and worked on my English essay.’ A half truth. I bend, pull out my laptop from my bag to plug in for the night, and so Sandy doesn’t spot the half lie on my face. Rosie’s Glee Club T-shirt tumbles out along with the emergency toiletries I bought on the weekend. I shove it under my pillow before Sandy catches a glimpse. It’s irrational; she will never connect the shirt with my weekend at Luke’s, but on the freak chance she does, it’s best she doesn’t see it. The way her sharp mind works she might jump straight over the harmless truth and land smack in the middle of some ridiculous conclusion.
Because that’s what the idea of Luke and me is—ridiculous. He’s the guy who gives up his Friday afternoons to jam with a motley crew of special needs kids. The guy who throws his bowling ball so it has no chance of hitting his remaining pins.
I rub my chest. That damn annoying kitten has curled itself up around something under my ribs again.
‘Well, other than a shopping trip for something to wear at Dad’s and Claudia’s engagement party, I spent the weekend with Mrs Dalloway.’ She holds up her novel. ‘So I guess neither of us had much excitement.’
The smack of guilt comes at me like one of Rosie’s well-aimed bowling balls. I push past it and grab my towel and toothbrush, ready to escape to the bathroom.
‘Although you might have had something to be excited about if you’d come back earlier.’ She shoots me a sly smile. ‘Jason came around today.’
The towel and toothbrush land back on my bed. ‘He did?’ He’s only ever contacted me on my phone. This is the first time he’s come looking for me at the boarding house, and on a weekend. This has to mean something.
‘What did he say?’ I ask, walking over to her bed.
‘Not much.’ She puts her book down. ‘Just that he was in the area and wanted to see if you were free.’
I plop down beside her. ‘Free? Free for what?’
She grins and shakes her head at me. ‘I don’t know, but you need to take a breath and relax.’ She pats my arm. ‘He braved the Boarding House Boy Test. That’s got to be a good thing.’
A good thing? I’m not convinced. It could go either way. But he came looking for me. On a Sunday—not on an agreed study day. This has to mean something! But what? I’m dying for answers here!
I’ll call him. I hop off Sandy’s bed and scramble around for my mobile. No sooner have I pulled it from my messenger bag, Sandy’s hand is on my arm again.
‘You can’t call him now.’
I frown at her. ‘Why not?’
‘Firstly—’ she counts off with a manicured finger, ‘—it’s nearly dinner time and it’s chicken Kiev night.’
She says it like it would be the end of the world if I missed that.
‘And secondly, you don’t want to come across too eager.’
‘I don’t?’
She shakes her head. ‘You’re seeing him tomorrow for one of your science sessions, right?’
I nod.
‘I’m sure you can wait that long to find out why he wanted to see you.’
I can’t! But Sandy knows what she’s talking about here, so I really should listen. The second slap of guilt is harder to push past this time. Tell her about the weekend.
I swallow, open my mouth and … ‘Did you find something to wear to the engagement party?’ Coward. I’m such a coward. But I can work at being a better friend by taking a greater interest in her weekend.
Sandy sighs and flops back down on her bed. ‘No. Claudia didn’t like anything I suggested. The whole trip ended one outfit short of a fight.’
‘I don’t understand. You’re the one who will be wearing it. Why should Claudia have a say at all?’ It’s not logical for someone other than the wearer to make clothing purchase decisions.
There’s a scoff from Sandy’s side of the room. ‘Because it’s her engagement party and she’s a control freak underneath all the let’s-have-a-mani-pedi-girls-bonding-night talk.’
I kick my shoes off and slide onto my own bed. ‘I thought you two got along?’
She shrugs. ‘She’s okay. Sometimes she tries too hard. It’s a bit sad having your father’s thirty-year-old personal trainer girlfriend try to be all buddy-buddy.’ She peers across at me. ‘I should tell her I’ve already got a best friend.’
Relief at her words allows me to sink back against the wall. She wouldn’t call me her best friend if she was still peeved at me.
Sandy leans over the side of her bed and pulls a plastic bag into her lap. ‘I found these at the Op Shop, though.’ Two berets fall out of the bag—one red, the other deep blue. Sandy pulls the blue one onto her head. ‘What do you think?’
I take in the s
ize and shape of the floppy head gear. ‘It’s not going to do much to keep you warm.’ The fabric to head circumference ratio is much too small.
Sandy snorts. ‘I didn’t buy it to keep warm, you nim-wit,’ she says, adjusting the angle of the beret. ‘I bought it ’cause it’s cute. Try this one.’ She frisbees the red beret across the room at me. It’s soft and velvety and totally impractical, but in the interest of friendship, I tug it on, not sure how to make it sit properly.
‘Here—’ Sandy scoots over onto my bed and adjusts the angle on my head. She turns me to face the mirror on the back of our dorm room door. ‘Perfect. And Jason’s going to think so, too, when you wear it on the date he came to ask you out for.’ She smiles.
I’m not sold on Sandy’s theory about Jason, but in that moment it doesn’t matter—what’s perfect is the way her reflection hugs mine.
***
Despite Sandy’s theory, by quarter to twelve the next day, I’ve run through every possible reason for Jason’s unplanned visit to the boarding house. And in the harsh noise of the packed student cafeteria where I’m waiting for him, most of the scenarios flashing across my mind aren’t anywhere as positive as they were in the sleepy excitement of last night.
Scenario one: He’s reconsidered the topic for our paper and wants to start from scratch. This one sucks, but not a total disaster where my non-project plans with Jason are concerned.
Scenario two: He’s decided we’re not a good match for the science project and is requesting a different partner. One word: shattered. Because his rejection on an intellectual level translates into a rejection on a personal one.
The only thing keeping me from shredding the entire contents of the napkin holder on the table is the steady stream of texts from Luke. In the jittery nerves stakes, he’s right up there with me this morning. His make-up test isn’t until twelve and it looks like I’m his choice of diversion until then.