Unrequited

by Emma Grey

  She laughs out loud. ‘You’re hilarious! On what planet would that happen?’

  ‘Well, I just thought. With the tweets . . .’

  ‘What tweets?’

  He stares at her, confusion spreading across his face. He looks like he’s going to say something, but stops. What’s that about?

  ‘Joel?’

  ‘What’s your degree in, Kat?’

  His question distracts her.

  ‘Oh, I’m not at uni yet. I’m just finishing Year Twelve. I’m seventeen.’ Did she have to tell him her age, like a five-year-old? At least she didn’t add ‘and a half’.

  He nods.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘What’s my degree or how old am I?’ he jokes. ‘Med Science. Turning twenty-one next month.’

  Hmm . . . A delicious, unspoken question passes between them. For a moment, Kat forgets the coffee and the song and her co-composer and Sarah Elliott and the formal and Angus Marsden and Unrequited. It’s as if there’s nothing else in the world outside the moment she’s having with almost-twenty-one-year-old med student, Joel Isaacson who, in Kat’s mind, despite the age gap (or maybe because of it) has ‘first boyfriend material’ written all over him.

  Chapter 21

  Joel can’t even begin to describe the conflicting thoughts vying for attention in his increasingly scrambled brain.

  Kat.

  She’s intoxicating. Passionate. Impulsive.

  She’s clearly not enjoying the flat white but she’s wrangling it, regardless. And once she gets talking, she seems to forget she’s nervous as hell.

  And what’s with the Twitter thing? L26 was her seat number. It must be her. She looks like she has no idea what he’s talking about, though. How is that possible? Unless . . . The only thing he can think is that someone else is writing the tweets on her behalf. Could it be . . .

  He can’t take his eyes off her. She keeps apologising for talking so much but, the fact is, he could listen to her for hours. She’s like an open book! Way too trusting. The way she’s caught up in the idea of this other guy writing good music with her and swapping letters and sharing talents and passion and who knows what else, eventually . . .

  Joel has zero right to be jealous. Kat’s barely even a friend yet and doesn’t even know this other guy, but it’s twisting him up inside even thinking about what might happen. It’s not like he wasn’t already feeling twisted up inside over Sarah. And hurt. How could she know Kat and not have told him during the numerous conversations they’d had about this? Why? It makes no sense. He doesn’t know how or when to have it out with her. At the moment he’s scared that all he’d do is yell. He’s never yelled at Sarah and doesn’t want to start.

  Focus, now. Forget Sarah. Cross that bridge later.

  ‘You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to, Kat,’ he says.

  She looks relieved. ‘I don’t really like flat whites. What I really meant to order was a macchiato but I had a brain freeze and couldn’t pronounce it . . .’

  Did she really just tell him that? She’s drawing him closer with every sentence. Stop it! She’s in high school. She’s three years younger than him and clearly impressionable, if her response to that musician guy is any indication. Joel is unexpectedly hit with an overwhelming urge to protect her, which is how he felt on the train and why he ordered that cab. But he’s never been the knight-in-shining-armour type. He just doesn’t think about girls that way. So why now? Why her?

  He sips his coffee and wonders where she’s going after this — how she’s getting there, and if it’s safe. He has to remind himself that this isn’t Twilight. She’s not Bella Swan and he’s not Edward. She’s way more talkative, for starters. And, unlike Edward, Joel has no interest in watching her while she sleeps . . .

  Joel shakes his head as a genuinely inconvenient mental picture comes to mind. He’s trying to concentrate on what she’s saying. And on being a gentleman.

  ‘So, I guess since you know Sarah, you’ll be coming to see the show?’ she asks. He wonders if it’s a roundabout way of finding out whether they’ll see each other again.

  ‘I usually go to her shows. I often drop Sarah off at rehearsals, actually. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.’

  ‘Not literally next time, I hope,’ Kat smiles, and shivers. The day’s heat has left and the sea breeze is cool tonight. She rubs her arms.

  Joel knows he should let her go before it gets dark and some guy hits on her. He knows with certainty that he will be that guy if they stay here chatting much longer.

  ‘Is someone picking you up?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Nuh, I’m on the train tonight. I don’t usually leave it this late. My mum’s at a work thing. The twins are with my grandparents.’ She starts scrolling through her phone for the train timetable app.

  Joel can’t quite believe he’s thinking like this, but he doesn’t like the idea of her catching the train on her own at this hour and wants to lecture her about giving him — a virtual stranger — so much information about her life like that. What is he? Her guardian?

  ‘Okay, so . . . Thank you for the coffee,’ she says.

  ‘Are you right to walk to the station?’ What is he doing — waging a one-man war against the notion that chivalry is dead?

  She nods, unconvincingly.

  ‘Can I give you my number?’ he asks. ‘You know, in case you ever need a cab. Or an extra-large flat white. Or an unsolicited opinion about your composing buddies. Sorry about that. Or if you’d like company, walking to the station?’

  ‘Are you offering?’ she asks, hopefully. ‘I mean, unless you have somewhere to be . . .’

  He doesn’t. And it alarms him how trusting she is. She shivers again, and he throws his new, Sarah-approved, several-hundred-dollar, brown leather jacket around her shoulders without comment. She doesn’t protest. What’s next in this knight-in-shining-armour rigmarole? Sword-fighting her other suitors?

  They walk in silence to the station. Slowly. As if they’re each prolonging it.

  ‘I’ll hang around until the train comes,’ Joel says when they get there. She looks relieved. It’s just her on the platform, and a big group of teenage boys, kicking a full two-litre Coke bottle around and seeing how many things they can hit with it.

  When the train comes into sight, Kat starts to take off his jacket and he finds himself telling her to hang onto it. It’s cold. She can get it back to him, if not in person, then through Sarah.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ she says. She looks uneasy. What does she think he’s going to do?

  ‘Goodbye, Kat.’

  She steps into the waiting train. The doors close and they watch each other as it pulls away. It’s only then that Joel lets out a long, low breath. Another sixty seconds and he’d have kissed her. He can’t do that. He can’t afford to wholeheartedly lose his mind over this girl and watch his scholarship unravel.

  No. This is all wrong. She’s a schoolgirl. He’s too focused on his medicine degree. He hasn’t got time to fall for someone, particularly someone who it appears he’s compelled to look out for, like this is the Middle Ages.

  The whole thing would be one big mistake and it’s a mistake Joel cannot afford to make. It has to stop here. At coffee and a walk. No riding in on a white horse. No duelling.

  No seeing her again, even if she does have to return his leather jacket, and no matter how much of an enchantress she becomes in every single situation, without even trying.

  Chapter 22

  The carriage is inhabited by ‘safe-looking’ people. There’s a mum with two kids who act like they should have been in bed hours ago, an elderly man and a businesswoman reading something on a Kindle.

  The harsh lights flicker against the graffiti on the window and it’s such a jarring environment for the post-script to the most Romantic Moment Ever. But Kat doesn’t care. She’s wrapped in the warmest, cosiest leather jacket, with too-long sleeves and shoulders so wide she has to drape it across her body, and it�
�s all him. She buries her face in the folds of the jacket and just breathes in his scent.

  Is it even possible that she, Kat Hartland, who has zero real experience with boys, is now sitting on an ordinary train, still buzzing from nearly being kissed (at least in her imagination) by the hottest guy she’s ever met? Oh yes, lady with the Kindle who keeps staring. Yes, this is a third-year med student’s jacket. Thanks for silently inquiring, and yep, she’s rocking it in jeans, a strappy top and eau de first love.

  She can’t wipe the smile from her face. It’s all she can do not to stand up and start belting out love songs from musicals, dancing on the seats. But the old guy is nodding off and she doesn’t want to alarm anyone. Maybe she could post something about it instead. Share it, tweet it, have it go viral, even though it’s viral-worthy nowhere but in her own head. But then, another part of her just wants to keep this as a captivating secret, which is going to be hard given she intends never to take the jacket off, and people are sure to ask her about it . . .

  Which is precisely what happens when she walks through the door at home and finds that her mum hasn’t, as planned, attended a networking function and is, in fact, wondering why she is so late. And seemingly attired in someone else’s jacket.

  ‘It was cold, Mum. A friend let me borrow it,’ Kat explains, sweeping through the kitchen and grabbing a pink lady apple on the way past the fruit bowl because a girl can’t survive on a mega flat white alone.

  She can sense her mum’s suspicious frown boring into the back of her. Thankfully, the jacket acts like a force field and repels all negativity until she makes it safely to her bedroom. She shuts the door behind her, closes her eyes and takes a deep ‘can’t-believe-it’s-true’ breath.

  She gets her phone out, clicks on ‘Joel’ in her contacts list and then ‘message’ and types:

  ‘Hi Joel. Home safely. Thanks for the coffee. And the chat. And for walking with me. Oh, and thanks for lending me your jacket. Hope to see you again soon. Maybe at the theatre? Kat. xx’

  Too much?

  Maybe: ‘Home safely. K.’

  Yes. Better. She hits ‘send’ before she can back out.

  Two minutes later, there has been no reply. Maybe he’s caught in traffic or something. But what? It’s been two entire minutes!

  ‘Kat! Would you like me to re-heat the lasagne?’ her mum calls through the door.

  What? Lasagne at a time like this? Actually, yes, she’s famished . . .

  ‘Thanks, Mum!’ she calls, then she gets back to pressing the ‘messages’ icon on her phone, in case there’s a fault.

  She sends a message to Lucy. ‘Is this working?’

  Lucy replies in ten seconds flat, like a normal person. ‘Yeah, why?’

  Oh.

  The phone beeps at last! But it’s not from Joel. It’s from Becky at the Seymour Centre. She’ll look at that later.

  Ten whole minutes drag by. Nothing.

  She goes onto Facebook and hovers over Joel’s profile, the way she hovered over it on the train for a while, trying to work out whether or not to add him. Such a quandary! It’s not like they’re in Year Seven. She’s not on a friend-grab. This is a serious medical student and potential boyfriend who could be Douglas Booth’s twin! What’s the etiquette?

  She checks out his friends list. Searches straight through to the S’s.

  There she is. Sarah Elliott. Plus her half a million friends and a profile shot that looks like it’s lifted straight from the cover of Girlfriend. Lots of pics with her and Joel, including on holiday in Europe. Even one on top of the Eiffel Tower, huddled together like it’s freezing. Beanies, gloves, scarves. He’s standing behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her, and she’s tossing her head back, laughing.

  Oh, great. And one of them on that bridge near the Louvre where people write their names on padlocks and throw the key into the Seine. Nothing more official and lasting than that, surely! J&S and a love heart. Bleuch.

  Right. The reality of the situation is beginning to dawn. Of course, Kat took a non-kiss on the Redfern Station platform, followed by radio silence, and ran with it . . . People are always telling her not to jump to conclusions. Not to read too much into things . . .

  Oh, WAIT! Incoming text! FROM JOEL!

  It reads: ‘Good.’

  That’s it? Good?

  There’s no room to manoeuvre in this conversation now, Kat thinks. Maybe he’s not good with English . . . Oh, duh, he’s studying medicine. He’s brilliant and articulate. Maybe it’s technology that he’s not good at? No. Doctors are good at technology.

  Maybe he’s not that into you, Kat, a voice pipes up. It’s the same voice that often tells her she’s not good enough, or not in other people’s league . . .

  She doesn’t want to think about it. Her fingers surf automatically onto Twitter. She hasn’t looked at the site in ages. Hours! There’s a lot to catch up on on Angus’s page, mostly in response to a selfie posted by Cassidy Moore, hanging all over him at a party last night. Looking hot. Both of them.

  Annoying.

  And then there is Elle, who . . . hmm… interesting . . . has asked him if he’s free on November eighth, and suggests he saves the date. Wowsers! Maybe she likes him after all.

  Also, that’s the same date as the formal. Kat’s heart quickens. She still hasn’t found a formal partner.

  Her phone beeps again. It’s that unread message from Becky: ‘Hey, Kat. If you want to phone your secret admirer, here’s his number . . .’

  Chapter 23

  Angus can’t believe Elle replied on Twitter. Or that November eighth appears to be free for the band, and he’s available. He also can’t believe how long it’s taking him to reply. Or that he’s even doubting himself about how to speak to a girl when, every single day, millions of girls throw themselves at him. In person. Online. Everywhere.

  He’s never been tongue-tied before, although he’s never seen a girl like this one, either. He can’t even explain what it is about her that’s so intriguing. And intimidating.

  So yes, he’s free. And edgy. ‘Okay, Elle. Saved.’

  There’s a part of him that wonders if she’s just playing him. It’s crazy that he’s this insecure. Meanwhile, the envelope from Kat is lying patiently on the lid of the piano. He’s been thinking about it all afternoon. He thought the other guys would never leave his suite!

  He opens the music and sits down to play through the song. What she’s changed is good. There’s nothing predictable about the way she writes. He wonders how she moves. She can sing but can she perform? He doesn’t even know what she looks like.

  Those doubts aside, he has that same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’s had before every double platinum Unrequited hit has been released. This is a winner. He’s sure of it.

  How the two of them put this together separately he doesn’t know. Is there more where this came from? He’s never been on the same wavelength with another musician quite as much as this. Even with the boys in the band, and that’s saying something. Kat should have her name in lights with this song . . .

  His phone rings and it’s Cassidy (again) and he ignores her (again). When will she get the message that he’s not interested in her particular brand of perfect/crazy? Can’t she find some other guy to hassle? Zach would be perfect. He’s got the required sense of humour! Maybe Angus should change his number. Except he can’t. He had Kev give it to the Seymour Centre staff to pass on to Kat. They need to discuss ‘what next’ with this song, because she doesn’t realise she’s been writing it with someone who happens to have his own recording studio on tap, a network of top international music producers and marketers . . . and the rest.

  But how to break that news to her without scaring her off? ‘Um, BTW, you might have heard of a little band called Unrequited?’ Would she even believe him?

  He opens the fridge and pulls out some leftover pizza, eating it cold. Maybe it’d be better to tell her who he is in person. If she doesn’t call him, he could find ou
t when she’ll be rehearsing and sneak over, hoping like hell she’s not a Fangirl. The last thing he wants is for the whole thing to degenerate into another one of the screaming, crying, autograph-signing show-stoppers he always wants to run from. Those girls simply don’t get that he’s not the perfect pin-up boy on their bedroom walls. He’s as flawed as the boy next door.

  He looks again at the song. There’s a maturity in Kat’s music. She probably wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle of admiration at first sight. Maybe the opposite. She might be the kind of musician he used to hang out with at the BRIT School in London — back when he was fourteen and started taking music seriously.

  But, hang on, why is he agonising so much over something as simple as talking to a girl? A more pressing worry is what happens once the Unrequited ‘machine’ gets hold of this song. He’d love their support if they offered it, but it’s a risk because the song is hers. He contributed to it, but really, it belongs to Kat. He wants to make sure it’s attributed to her fairly. The last thing he wants is for a bunch of hit-hungry execs to jump on this, claim it’s his and freeze her out. He’s been in this industry long enough to be wary.

  He and Kat need an independent lawyer specialising in artistic copyright. He could use the band’s legal team, but they represent the band as a whole. This is different. It’s not about the band at all. It’s not even about him. This is about protecting Kat and her intellectual property. And Angus suspects it’s going to be worth millions.

  Chapter 24

  Sarah stirs at the sound of the front-door latch, and jumps when Joel comes in, closing the door hard. He walks through the room, looks at her on the couch, tosses her library bag heavily onto the cushion beside her and walks straight through to the kitchen.

  What is wrong with him?

  Cupboard doors open and slam shut again. She hears the fridge open and shut. Eventually he re-emerges, sits on the chair opposite her and asks how she’s feeling.