Can't Beat the Chemistry
Page 22
I nod and pull out my palm cards, but when I look at the first one I can only see melting clocks.
Dad’s diagnosis, Rosie’s concert, Luke’s card. It’s all churning inside me, a ball of fire burning the lining of my belly.
Across the aisle, a purple pony gallops along the empty seats, banging into people, prancing through limbs. Jason gulps the rest of his coffee, scrunches the empty cup in his hand and dumps it under his seat. ‘You know what gets me?’ He tips his head at the little girl. ‘All this money pumped into medical research and genetic abnormalities and we still haven’t found a way to fix mistakes.’
Time might never have melted with Jason but at that moment it stops. Dead still. ‘What did you say?’
‘Downs, fragile X, autism. All of the above. Don’t you think it’ll be a great day when we have the knowledge to eradicate all of these genetic imperfections? For the wellbeing of the human genome, of course.’ He turns to me and smiles. And I lean back, scared I’ll cut myself on all the sharp angles. ‘That’s why you like genetics so much, right?’
Blood rushes in my ears until the noise around us is drowned out by the pounding of my heart. All I see is Rosie’s huge smile as Luke gives her the latest movie poster; her determination as she lines up to take down the last standing ten pin; her unquestioning, nonjudgmental acceptance of people. She’s not an imperfection. She’s nothing short of beautiful.
I reach beneath Jason’s seat, pick up his coffee cup and dump it in the bin a couple of metres away. Along with my palm cards.
I am gripping my bag strap so tightly my fingers start tingling. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say loudly enough for both Jason and my parents to hear. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’
My mother looks up from the Time magazine she’s reading. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mackenzie. You’ll look unprofessional if you don’t memorise your presentation.’
‘You don’t understand. I don’t want to do the competition anymore.’
‘Are you insane?’ Jason’s out of his seat and following me to where Mum and Dad are now standing. ‘We’re about to board the plane.’
‘Board it without me.’ I grab my carry-on. So does my mother.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Eyes demanding an immediate answer, she juts out her chin. I try to hold on to my resolve but eighteen years of toeing her line sees it slip.
Then I find Dad’s eyes and … Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.
I take a deep breath. ‘Jason can deliver the presentation himself. He doesn’t really need me.’ And I don’t need him. I never did. I can do this by myself. I need to do this for myself. I square my shoulders and prepare to wrestle my mother for my carry-on.
‘He will do no such thing, because you aren’t going anywhere other than on that plane.’ Mum jerks the carry-on away from me. ‘An opportunity like this does not come along every day, Mackenzie, and you will not throw it away. Do you hear me?’
‘Meike.’
Mum ignores my father. ‘Do you know how hard it is to be accepted into a top medical program? Have you any idea how few—’
‘Meike, stop.’
‘Not now, Ben, I’m—’
‘Yes, now!’ Dad’s near-shout stops her rant in its tracks. Dad never shouts.
He pries Mum’s fingers off my luggage and gently but firmly takes her hand in his. ‘Jason, do you feel you can deliver the presentation without MJ there?’
Looking half-annoyed and half-confused, Jason shifts from foot to foot. ‘Yes, but—’
‘Good. In that case, please inform the competition organisers your partner couldn’t make the flight due to—’ Dad glances down at me, his serious expression giving way to one of his gentle smiles, ‘—an unavoidable change in personal circumstances.’
My arms are around his neck the next moment. ‘Thank you,’ is all I manage, because my throat is thickening up.
‘If you leave now you might still make the start of the concert,’ Dad says as he hands me my carry-on.
‘Has everyone gone mad?’ My mother’s shoulders are pulled back in a stance that’s still all battle, but her eyes blink over and over with confusion. ‘She can’t leave. Not now.’
Mum reaches an arm for me, but Dad pulls her back into his side. ‘She can, Meike.’ He loops a firm hold around her waist and puts his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss. ‘And you need to let her go.’
I don’t know what, but there’s something in Dad’s words, because even though the tightness of her lips tells me she isn’t happy, Mum’s shoulders sink and she leans into him. She’s finally—finally—heard him. And maybe me.
Not about to give her a chance to change her mind, I grab my carry-on and head for the exit. A glance at my phone confirms I have three hours. I’ll only need to break the speed limit by ten kilometres or so. It’s worth the risk.
He’s worth the risk.
Luke
Out of Pitch
‘Where do you want this one?’
I turn to find Zac’s head poking over the djembe he’s hauling into the school hall. He’s been helping me set up for—I glance at the clock on the back wall; ten to eleven—for almost an hour. If it weren’t for him it’d take a miracle for this gig to get off the ground by midday. With the screwed-up state my head is in, I’m surprised we’ve managed as much as we have.
‘Towards the back beside the piano.’
Okay, truth is, Zac’s been doing most of the running around, whereas I’ve spent the last twenty minutes stuffing around trying to tune my kit and—ah hell. My fingers fumble one of the drum keys. It slips off the tension rod, landing on the wooden floor with a clang.
‘You all right?’ Zac shoots me a concerned look. One of several today. Not that I’m counting. Just hard to miss, given they’ve become more severe as the day’s worn on.
‘All good.’ I give him a thumbs-up but don’t meet his eyes. The guy’s always seen way too much for my liking.
Stuffing around. Great. Like it’s not bad enough I can’t stop thinking about her, now I’ve got to start thinking like her?
I pick up the drum key and tighten the last of the tension rods, then go through the motions of loosening them while tapping the tom, looking for the right sound.
It’s been just over two weeks since our last tutoring session. Sixteen days since I last saw her. Not that I’m counting. I close my eyes and groan at the ceiling—silently, so Zac doesn’t hear. I’m so counting.
Truth is, I’d give anything to hear her explain AOs and MOs to me one more time, see that nose twitch of hers, hear the spark in her laugh. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I’ve replayed the crazy push-pull of our conversations, I keep going back there. Even though it kills me, my mind keeps dragging me back. I must be a masochist.
But damn I miss her.
‘That’s the last of the drums from the music room. What’s next?’ Zac’s voice pulls me from my pathetic navel gazing.
I look around the stage, trying to focus on the job at hand. ‘Chairs. We need to set them up in a semi-circle.’ We also need to move the piano to the side of the stage, but I’m not going near that until I have to. I’m not that much of a masochist.
Zac disappears into the storage room. When he comes out wheeling a stack of chairs on a trolley, I heave up off the drum throne to help him. The guy’s put up with enough of my moping for one day.
We line up one row of chairs and I head to the storeroom for another. Lift. Position. Adjust. Lift. Position. Adjust. If I focus on the mechanics of what I need to do I almost forget about the funk I’m in. Almost.
‘You know, I’ve been watching you for the past hour and I’ve come to a conclusion,’ Zac says after a while.
I slowly lower the chair in my hands onto the floor but don’t look up at him. Like I said, the guy has always been way too perceptive. I’
m not sure I want to have this conversation, but if I don’t give him a response …
‘And what’s that?’ I turn back to the trolley for another chair and so my friend can’t see my reaction when he says what he wants to say.
‘You weren’t anywhere this cut up when it ended with Annie.’
I suck in a breath, let it puff up my cheeks on the way out and turn to face him. ‘Imagine how bad I’d be if there’d actually been something to end.’
Chair legs halfway to the floor, Zac freezes. ‘Are you kidding me? I thought after you brought her up here that weekend … Are you saying you and MJ were never together?’
I shake my head. ‘I got as far as telling her that I wanted us to be but …’
‘She turned you down?’ Zac lowers his chair to the floor and sits. His brow is all bunched when he looks up at me. ‘I don’t get it. I would have bet Dad’s King James she was interested. Sure, both of you toed the “just friends” line but I was definitely picking up a whole other vibe.’
‘So was I.’ I swing my chair in beside his. ‘Guess it wasn’t enough though.’ I wasn’t enough. I rest my elbows on my knees and let my head hang for a bit. The truth of it is physical.
We sit staring at the scratched wood of the stage floor for a while. I wait for Zac to fire his next question, but he stays quiet, and for once, I’m damn thankful for his ability to read people.
Eventually he shifts and I feel his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. If there’s anything I can do, just say the word.’
I lift my head. ‘Help me get through today, yeah? This is Rosie’s big day. Don’t let me screw it up.’
‘That I can do,’ he says with a nod. I go to stand but he stops me by grabbing my arm. ‘So, in the interest of not letting you screw up, I don’t think that—’ his eyes flick to the piano at the back of the stage before coming to rest on me, ‘—was such a great idea.’
It takes a moment to figure out what he’s getting at, and when I do, a whole new wave of heavy washes over me.
I rub a hand down my face. ‘You think I don’t know that? She offered to step in and I was too … too …’ Ah hell. ‘It’s too late to change anything now. Just help me get through today, okay? I’ll deal with the fallout later.’ When I have the energy to care.
He nods again, slower this time. ‘I’ll do what I can. Let’s get the rest of the chairs.’
He wheels the trolley into the store room and I go to follow, but the hall’s side door opens—and my shoes are suddenly stuck to the floor.
‘Hey.’
I want to wince at Annie’s chirpy voice.
‘You’re early.’
‘I thought we could do a run-through together before the kids arrive.’
Because the three run-throughs we’ve had so far aren’t enough? The moment the thought forms in my head, I hate myself for it. She’s only here to help. Because I said yes when she offered. I need to stop being a dick—even though the naked longing in her eyes confirms Zac’s worry that this was a bad idea.
I take a steadying breath. ‘Yeah, sure,’ I say, motioning to the piano.
Man, I hope Zac’s got his preacher kid vibe on today; I’m going to need divine intervention.
MJ
Out of Time
The moment I pull into the St Patrick’s River High car park, I tear out of the Honda in the direction of the school hall. Thanks to a stupid slow caravan and the sky’s decision to open up and dump what had to be at least 25 per cent of the Pacific Ocean on the highway, I’ve missed the start of the concert. But as annoyed as I am, a part of me is also relieved. I’ve got so much to say to Luke, so many questions to ask, and I don’t have the patience to start only to have to stop so he can go do his drum circle thing on stage. Yes, it’s better I’m late.
By the time I make it under the hall door awning, my hair is plastered to my forehead and annoying rivulets of Pacific Ocean have snuck their way under my coat collar and down the back of my shirt. But I don’t care because the familiar rhythm of Take Five pushes at the closed hall doors and by the sound of it, they’re about a third of the way through the piece. Which means I haven’t missed Rosie’s solo. Not wanting to waste any more time, I shake what rain I can off my coat and slip into the hall.
The noise takes away my breath. Or maybe it’s the sight of Luke. Sitting tall behind his kit, a white tailored shirt doing distracting things to the lean muscles of his arms, he’s completely in control of the beat.
I catch the corner of my bottom lip between my teeth and look around. Thank god it’s dark in here, because my face is suddenly so hot I’d be able to sterilise surgical equipment on my cheeks. Get a grip, MJ. But I can’t. It’s been a fortnight since I’ve seen him and I can’t help but drink him in.
Although it’s almost impossible, I force my eyes away from Luke and scan the faces of all the other enthusiastic drummers on the stage looking for Rosie. The stage lights are so bright they wash all the kids’ faces out, but I know what I’m looking for: the bongos. Rosie plays the bongos. A half bar later I spot her. She’s got her serious bowling face on. I smile; we must be coming close to the improv section.
Trying not to trip over or annoy the people watching the concert from the back of the hall, I shuffle along the back wall. It’s a full house and the hall isn’t all that small, so the turnout is impressive. I might be biased, but as good as Luke is, I doubt all these people are here to see him. They’re here to see their children and brothers and sisters drum up a storm.
It’s too dark to identify anyone in the audience. I scan the heads all the same. Mrs Bains is here somewhere, waiting for her daughter to steal the show.
So am I. I find a good spot up against the wall next to a fire extinguisher. Up on stage the big kid, Solomon I think, takes the first four bars of the improv section. He beats away at his djembe with all he’s got and then it’s Rosie’s turn. I grip my bag strap with both hands. Please let her get it right.
I shouldn’t have worried; she’s owning it. Face split in a this-is-happiness grin, she rides the beat expertly for her four bars. And Luke, his smile so full of love and pride for his baby sister. Yes, this is where I want to be. With each beat Rosie plays, my path becomes clearer.
This is who I want to be.
The feeling of rightness stays with me until the end of the piece when the hall erupts in applause around me. I join in. I’m dying to talk to Luke, dying to see the parakeet green take over his face when he sees I’m here. Dying to tell him how I feel about him—about us.
It’s only when Luke motions for everyone to stand and take a bow that I register another face on the stage. My smile slips. What is she doing here? Considering the way he feels about her, this isn’t his brightest idea. Then again, I did leave him short a piano player and she did offer before I poured water on her enthusiasm and, it’s only one song. It doesn’t mean anything. Except I don’t like the way she grabs his hand as they bow. I’m also not a fan of the way she leans into him once they’re upright. And I could definitely do without him smiling at her because—no. No! He can’t—
Ow! I look down to see what’s just hit my foot and make out the outline of my messenger bag on the floor. The bag strap is dangling from my hand; I’ve tugged so hard I broke the clasp.
But the damage is nothing compared to the burn tearing through me at seeing Annie put her lips on Luke’s like they belong there.
‘Sorry. Excuse me.’ Too many feet. ‘I just— the exit. I need the exit.’ I can’t breathe. I need out. Out.
Finally, I yank the door open and take a rain-soaked breath. The door clicks softly shut behind me. It’s wrong somehow when everything inside me is collapsing, crashing. I need a slam! But there’s no slam. No bang.
No Luke.
The applause inside competes with the downpour and the growing buzz in my head.
No Luke.
No Luke.
My hands, wet and stiff with cold, are shaking, so it takes a moment to find the car keys. And when I find them I don’t climb into the car. I turn my face to the sky instead, making sure every last inch is wet.
That way I’ll have a chance of convincing myself it’s the rain that’s to blame—and not something as pointless as my tears.
Luke
Unsatisfactory Performance
The audience is still standing, applause and whistles flying our way, so I fight hard to keep the shock off my face. As soon as I see the first few bums sink back down onto their seats, I drag Annie side stage.
‘What was that?’ I try to keep a check on my irritation but what the hell?
Cautiously, she looks up at me. ‘The music, the moment, it was like old times, Luke, and I just thought …’
The kids are filing off the stage with their instruments, but we’re well enough out of the way. Still she steps closer.
I step back. ‘Well you thought wrong.’ So wrong that I can’t … I don’t even …
I shove my hands into my hair and resist the temptation to pull. ‘Look, I’m really sorry how things ended. I never meant to hurt you, but this idea you’ve got in your head that we’re getting back together …’ My hands drop to my sides, palms out, pleading for her to understand. ‘It’s not going to happen, Annie.’
The soft gaze—the one she’s been reserving especially for me lately—slips and a hard glint replaces it. But only for a moment. Then her smile is back in place. ‘I know I made mistakes, Luke. And, believe me, I’ve learnt from them. This time I won’t push, I promise.’ She touches my arm and it’s all I can do not to step back some more. ‘There won’t be any talk about the future unless you—’
‘There won’t be any talk about the future, period.’ I shake off her hand and run my own down my face when I see the flash of hurt in her eyes. But I need to get this through to her.